Fantasy The Weight of the Crown

[Elle Joyner]

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[Elle Joyner]

CAIN'LOREN

​

ABRIGEL BAELESTON

​

Light collected in the droplets of wine splashed across the surface of the table, the cup tipped on it's side, a current red river flowing into Abrigel's lap. Red was everywhere; the scene of a massacre, the victim her highness's patience. The temper tantrum befitting a child had plunged the room into near silence, the only sound the rustling of Dansin's coat, as he wiped specks of wine from his forehead and cheek. The queen sad like rigid stone, staring down the red-haired girl with icy animosity.


"I think perhaps it would be best for all of us to retire." The interruption came from Crispin, his clear, steady voice penetrating the tension with a much needed air of calm sincerity.


"Agreed..." The king's voice, neither steady, nor calm, broke from the doorway, where he stood watching the room with passive authority. The blue in his eyes, deep, darkened by anger, was fixed on his wife, who shrunk some in her seat beneath the stare.


Chairs scraped against stone and the brunt of King Ordin's children rose, leaving Abrigel on her own, staring helplessly at the puddle of wine pooled on her skirts, on the floor beneath her slippered feet. With some small measure of apprehension, Crispin held a scrap of fabric, a napkin out to her. Slowly, the others filed out, past their father and into the hall. Pausing along the way, Dansin plucked up the glass bottle that had fallen from the table in the fray, "No sense in wasting--" He mused, lips snapping in a cocky smile. But with a glance from his father, he set the bottle down, the smirk dissolving as he disappeared from the room.


All that remained now were Ordin, Aimera and Abrigel.


"You're dismissed..." Ordin muttered coldly to the queen. Her eyes twitched to her husband, her hands knotting into fists, but without argument she stood, following in her children's wake. When she had gone, Ordin's gaze shifted to Abrigel, who looked up from the puddle to meet her father's eyes.


"I'm sorry..." She started, but he held up a hand, the lilt of his voice shifting to a tone all too familiar. A reminder of the burden that she placed on him, every day.


"Don't. I saw what happened." Moving to the table, Ordin pulled out a chair and sank down into it, "I should apologize. No... she should. Time and again I have told her that sort of behavior is out of line. You don't deserve to be treated that way, and it's certainly not appropriate..."


"I baited her. It was my fault... It's just..." Frowning, Abrigel's eyes fell to her lap again, "I can't understand why she's so angry with me. What I've done..."


"It's not what you've done, Abrigel. It's what I've done."


"It's been so long..."


"Anger has no sense of time, Dear Heart. And however misplaced hers is... it isn't entirely wrong." A sigh escaped and Ordin pinched his brow, "I've done terrible things. Unforgivable things..."


"Papa..."


Holding his hand up again, Ordin smiled faintly, "You'll understand, someday, sweet girl. You're a light in my darkness that I do not deserve... My sins are great and I will answer for them some--"


Ordin paused as the door to the dining hall opened and a small, timid mouse of a man stepped inside. He might’ve been handsome, were it not for the strange scrap of hair across his upperlip, which he idly scratched at with long, thin fingers, "Your Majesty... I beg pardon. It's just, you told me to inform you if any news came from Thornwild..."


Rising, Ordin's expression fell oddly stoic, "Go on, Amblin?"


"The King, Your Majesty... He's dead."

The basket was only half filled, and most of it scraps, but even when the best she could do were crumbs collected from the ashes of the fireplace, Abrigel would bring them. And without fail, no matter the bounty, the people were gracious and welcoming. For over two years now, Abrigel had come when she could, bringing what she could scrape together - food and clothes, blankets... even medicine, though the apothecary at the palace was a painfully suspicious man and she daren't take anything without his say so.


She had seen little change in their way of life, in their declining health or their living arrangements, but their spirits, certainly seemed lifted. And after the dinner she'd had, that was all she needed to see. Perhaps it was a touch selfish, and she could acknowledge as much, even if it hardly made her feel good, but she needed to do something... anything worthwhile just to banish the queen's hateful words from her mind.


She'd been dismissed as soon as the news came of King Baronthorn's death, and it hardly came as a surprise. Her father was a good man, whatever he said about sins and darkness, but even Abrigel, with little understanding of political matters, could understand the importance of the Thornwild king's passing. Cain'loren was a successful kingdom, but to gain control of Thornwild was to gain control of Ellemar... In the hands of another kingdom, that would be a disastrous outcome.


She understood then, why it was so important to her father. But she didn't necessarily enjoy the political intrigue that was sure to come of it. So she had packed what she could from the kitchen scraps, thrown them into her basket and donned her cloak, making the journey from the palace to the Western District as the sun cut along the horizon, bathing the city's white walls in a blaze of orange light. She reached Micha's home as shadows stretched out into blocks and the sky overhead darkened to a muted violet.


"Princess!" Micha greeted her with a kiss to her cheek and a toothless smile, his grizzled hands clapped around her own, warm from a fever he'd been fighting since the rain storm two weeks prior, "You've come! Oh, I had hoped you might. Brienne's about to set the table... Have you eaten?"


"Ah. That's sweet of you, Micha, but we've talked about this... Besides, I've just had supper. ."


"That my food is for my family. You're as good as family to me, Abrigel. None of that nonsense."


Smiling delicately, Abrigel shook her head, holding out the basket, "I haven't got much. I'm sorry. There's a few more blankets, and some bits of meat and bread. I managed to grab a bottle of wine for you and Bri. I'd feel bad taking it, except I'm certain Dansin would have gone back for it if I hadn't."


"Well! That's exciting, indeed. You'll at least have some wine, then. Celebrate?"


Her smile folding away, Abrigel looked down at her skirts, still stained from the wine at dinner, "I've had a bit more than I rather cared to, tonight. But thank you, Micha. You'll give Brienne my love?"


"Of course, child. Be safe..."


"You, too."


Handing over the basket, Abrigel turned back in the direction she'd come. The first signs of starlight sparked across indigo and glancing up, Abrigel released a soft sigh into the silent evening. It was her only hope that if Cain'loren was to assume the Thornwild throne that things in the Western District would improve, but sometimes it felt as if she was fooling herself in thinking there would ever be resolution for the people who made their home there. Still... where she could help, she would... as long as she was able.

CALIN FALSWORTH

​

The bastard had lied. It wasn't the first time, and certainly it wouldn't be the last. Ordin was a man of many faces, and so few of them were honest. But this? This was beyond any predilection the man had covered up before. Devon Cordain wasn't much of a soldier, but he was a damn good man. Losing him had been a blow. Now nearly two years later, the scars of the skirmish with Telra finally healing, news came that Calin had not been expecting.


The missive, signed by the king himself, to set Devon at the front, to all but ensure the young man didn't come home. And why? The message didn't say, but Calin wasn't stupid. Raenna had hardly been discreet in her affections for the young man. Their decision to elope and the timing of the missive were entirely too coincidental. It was at least the second time Ordin had meddled in such affairs. The first time, it had cost Ordin a trusted friend and a pinky... this time would be considerably worse.


"You're sure?" He asked, glancing up from the parchment.


"I watched him write it myself. When I asked him about it, he told me it wasn't any business of mine. Not the first time he's kept something from me. I had to assume that it had something to do with another one of his whores..." Calin's fingers tightened around the missive, but he bit his tongue, looking away from the fair haired woman, who continued, "So when he retired to bed, I read it."


"You're lucky you weren't caught. He could've had your head for that."


"He's done much worse than I have. King or not..."


"Does Raenna know?"


"No. I haven't the heart to tell her. Not after... not after all that happened. Losing her child... and then that foul man discarding her, as if she were nothing."


“Sounds familiar.” Calin muttered, beneath his breath before glancing up, “Say nothing of this to anyone, Aimera. We must be wise in our actions. Even to meet this way, it could be seen as treason. We must play our roles with caution. In time, we’ll reconcile all of this. Understand?”


“Yes. Thank you, Cal…”


“Indeed. Goodnight, Aimera.”

RAENNA BAELSTON

​

“Aren’t you excited, M’lady? I hear it’s like a whole ‘nother world, down there. Like a fairytale.” As Greta mused, she tightened the leather thong around Raenna’s braid, tying it tightly. Raenna smiled at the words, giving a small shake of her head.


“It’s hardly another world, Greta. But I am excited. Though I doubt I’ll have much time to explore properly. I’m to meet with the queen as soon as we arrive, and I imagine it will take some time to negotiate my father’s terms.”


“You’ll simply have to insist the queen show you around! OH, I’ve heard it’s so beautiful… And the men…”


Frowning softly, Raenna shifted, cutting off Greta’s girlish giggle with a curt note of disapproval, “It’s a diplomatic mission, Greta.”


“Right, of course. Sorry, M’lady.” Straightening, Greta set the brush down on the mantel and with a tight smile, bowed her head, “I’ll leave to rest, Princess. Good luck, tomorrow.” Greta retreated and with a sigh, Raenna leaned back in her chair, her index finger brushing across her neck. She’d stopped wearing the necklace at her father’s insistence, but sometimes she could still feel it there, pressed against her throat. It was all she had left of Devon…


Brushing a hand across her cheek she rose and moving to her bed, sank down beneath the covers. Tomorrow she and Dansin left for Bastillos. They would meet a man who hailed from the underground city at the border and he would guide them the rest of the way. She wasn’t escaping life in Cain’loren. She knew that, but whatever she told Greta, the change would be nice. It was welcome. It was needed…

AUDRA BAELSTON

​

Majestic. The land was absolutely majestic. Cain’loren, for all it's wealth of beauty, could have been a barren wasteland for how the splendor of Silvern shadowed her homeland. Sprawling hills and towering mountains, a forest, thick and green, and a lake that seemed to steal radiance from the sun itself. Her father had been wary of the suit between her and Silvern’s crown prince, and she thought now perhaps he was right to worry.


If her betrothed was anything so fine as his land, she would never measure up. Nerves clutched at her stomach and with every bump in the hardened path, the carriage gave a nauseating jolt. Night had fallen swiftly, the sky overhead a blanket of obsidian, bejeweled by stars at every inch of her expanse. Even the night seemed brighter and more glorious, and it was all the princess could do, not to leap from the carriage in horror.


“Nearly there, Your Grace.” Anton, her guide offered, his smile disquieting and warm. Tugging at the fur of her cloak collar, Audra swallowed.


“I'm not feeling all that we, Anton. Perhaps we should turn round.”


“Turn rou--… Your Grace… it's been two days. Certainly Silvern will have adequate rooms for resting. And I imagine they're anxious to meet you?”


Looking out the window of the carriage, adjusting the small ornamental brooch at her bust, Audra grimaced, “I'm not so certain.” She whispered, but Anton had gone back to studying the itinerary.

ROSLEIGH BAELSTON

​

Another fit of coughing stole the words from Rosleigh’s lips, as Keira eyed her with some concern, “Princess? Are you alright?” She asked, her voice soft and wary.


Holding up a hand, Rosleigh nodded, “I'm fine. I'll be fine.”


A tumbler was passed into her hand, a tonic, which Rosleigh swallowed down, swiftly, pulling a face at the taste of it, “They head for the mountains tomorrow. Dansin and Raenna. Is it wrong that I envy them?”


“...Wrong? I don’t think so. I’ve heard it’s a lovely kingdom, Bastillos. Maybe someday you’ll get to see it?”


“...Maybe.” Smiling faintly, Rosleigh nodded, “Thank you, Keira. I’m going to lay down, now.”


“Of course, Princess.”


With the woman gone from sight a moment later, Rosleigh crossed to her small drawing desk and reaching into a drawer, pulled out a map. A small sigh escaped as she glanced down at the vision of Ellemar, splayed on parchment.


“Someday…”

DANSIN BAELSTON

​

“But I don’t understand… Why do you have to go? Why can’t she go on her own?”


Tying the strings on his trousers, Dansin glanced back over his shoulder at the young brunette camped out on her stomach, across the edge of his bed. She was a pretty young thing, dark blue eyes, lashes that curled up towards eyebrows a little too thick. He liked her, whatever the creature’s name was.


“My father doesn’t deem it appropriate for any of my sisters to travel on their own with a male guide. Normally he insists on Crispin going, but well… I guess brother dear has other plans. But I’ll be back in a few days…” Moving to the bed, he bent down and pressed a kiss to the girl’s temple, before straightening upright.


“And you promise to tell me? The minute you return?”


“Of course.” He lied, his smile brilliant, “But if I’m going to be any useful sort of guardian to my sister, I should get some rest. Come on, up with you.”


Giggling, the girl straightened, rising to her feet, “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be awfully sore. The minute you return.”


“You have my word.” She bent and kissed him and was off like a feather in the wind, tightening the laces of her bodice as she went. Rolling his eyes, Dansin rolled back off the bed and made for the door at the back of his chamber, pulling it open. A few seconds passed, before a petite young blonde appeared around the corner, smiling coyly at him with a wave of her delicate hand.


Grinning, Dansin stepped back, holding the door opened for her.


Margo. He was pretty sure this one’s name was Margo…

CRISPIN BAELSTON

​

His mother’s outburst at dinner was greatly disturbing… It was hardly the first time that something had happened along those lines, and with tension only increasing in the palace, it wasn’t likely to be the last time. Abrigel’s betrothal to Wren Pavone had come as a shock to all of them, but none more than Abrigel. The man, for all his intelligence and social graces was hardly a sterling character, and for someone so soft and delicate as his sister, it was little wonder she’d taken the news poorly.


But his mother’s attempts at moving up their marriage, and announcing it at dinner the way she had…? Rarely did Crispin find himself so disappointed in someone. And perhaps Abrigel’s reaction had been less than proper, but to hurl a goblet of wine at the poor girl? This, decidedly, was why a king lacking in certain upstanding virtues was a danger. His father was a decent leader, a fair and just ruler, but his inability to remain faithful to his wife had proven, time and time again, detrimental to the family.


His mother would never accept Abrigel… She was a reminder of her husband’s infidelities, and whether or not that was fair to Abrigel, she was the only one that his mother would dare to blame. At least out loud. Things over the years had gone from bad to worse and they were guaranteed to escalate. He’d need to speak to his father, as soon as possible.


“M’lord…?” The door opened slowly and Crispin glanced up from his desk to see a familiar face in the frame.


“Douglas. Come in, please.”


“Ah. I don’t want to interrupt, sir. It’s just… a letter has arrived.” Moving into the room, Douglas held the missive out and Crispin took hold of it with a small nod.


“Right. Thank you…” As Douglas turned to leave, Crispin pried the letter open and pulled out the parchment from without, a small frown forming as he read over the words, color brightening his pale cheeks.


“That woman…” He muttered, setting the letter down, but as he did, the faintest smile turned at the corner of his lips, and pulling out a quill and parchment of his own, he got to work composing a reply.

TAGS:

@Anomaly, @Bone2pick, @Effervescent, @Kencen, @LeviathanL, @Lakita, @Rissa

 

[LeviathanL]

Corvago

The Crimson Nightingale was one of Corvago’s most prestigious establishments. A gentleman’s club exclusively catering to the rich and well-bred upper crust of society. Its dignified exterior invited a vision of civil debates between men of worth regarding the latest turns in Corvago’s turbulent court life. However, if one where to scrounge together enough capital and blue blood to actually be allowed entrance into the nightingale’s sacred halls, one would find a club less about civil discourse and more about the prodigious indulgence of beverages, substances and womanflesh. Each one as exotic and expensive as the nightingale's privileged clientele warranted.

Nobleman Gulliver Silencio was no stranger to this den of extravagance. In fact, he was guaranteed a lifelong membership thanks to certain favours done to the club’s owners. Favours that even in tolerant Corvago would see all involved gently swinging in the wind in front of the Nest should they ever come to light. Silencio provided these and more with efficiency and discretion, with the tacit understanding that he could be infinitely less discreet if the owners would ever think about renegading on their partnership.

Today however, Silencio was here primarily for pleasure. As soon as he entered the Nightingale he was swiftly escorted to the best table and handed a complimentary glass of their best wine.

“Now gentlemen,” an announcer spoke, “for your entertainment, the Crimson Nightingale presents: Nirvanii Cucú.”

Silencio straightened himself in his seat as a beautiful woman in a provocative dress entered the stage and proceeded to dance. Now the nightingale was no stranger to dancers and certainly not to gorgeous barely-dressed ladies, but there was something about this one that captivated the audience. Maybe it was the unusual and exotic dancing style, or the sheer confidence with which the young woman carried herself, but Silencio couldn’t keep his eyes of her. He had had plenty of women sharing his bed and gleefully spitted on the few laws Corvago had left, but as soon as Nirvanii turned her head to look him straight into the eyes his breathing stopped. When the dancer came down the stage and proceeded to seductively dance among the seated audience he felt a pang of desire, and as she neared his own table his heart started thumping like schoolboy. Their eyes met, and Nirvanii’s mouth lit up in a dazzling smile. The dancer then approached Silencio at his table, and continued her dance before, behind, and against the nobleman. The woman’s perfume intoxicated Silencio better than any drink or drug ever could as the beauty moved for him with a grace reminiscent of a bird in the sky. Then, just as soon as she had come she was gone, leaving Silencio with a whiff of her hair and the memory of her warmth.

Silencio couldn’t count his lucky stars to have been singled out amongst the audience by the captivating dancer, but as soon as his mind stopped reeling he realized it in fact was to be expected. His influence in court was growing rapidly, and that said nothing about the power he wielded in this particular establishment. It shouldn’t be surprising that commoners would start to recognize him, soon he wouldn’t be able to take two steps without someone throwing themselves at his feet in an effort to curry his favour. Silencio grinned and downed his glass. The future was looking bright indeed.

Two minutes later he was dead.

The sudden and mysterious demise of an influential nobleman warranted an investigation by the Gray Guard, one that not even the Crimons Nightingale’s rich owners could prevent, mainly because captain Costudum threatened that the next person who tried to bribe her would be force-fed their own silver. The investigation yielded that Silencio's wine was poisoned, and it just so happened that a container of that very same poison was found within the club manager’s desk. Now normally such a small thing like murder would not be hard for the rich of in Corvago to get away with. But that changed once the guards found the children. The Crimson Nightingale was immediately shut down and its owners suddenly found themselves scheduled for an early and very brief appointment with the hangman.

Meanwhile the dancer had disappeared into the night, with all records of her employment mysteriously vanishing, as if Nirvanii Cucú had never even existed.

Though as succulent as the whole affair was to the gossip-hungry citizens of Corvago, it wasn’t the most interesting thing to happen that night, and soon enough the news of Thornwild spread through the state like wildfire.

​

 

[Bone2pick]

Mármor

​

"Do you suspect foul play?" Vicente spooned honey into his morning tea as he considered his Monarch's question. It wasn't until he swallowed a careful sip of his breakfast before he finally shared his thoughts.


"It does feel very sudden." Marquez Deodato, lording over his cherrywood desk, glanced around the library for other reactions.


"How about you?" He asked one of the four guarding Picaróns—all of whom were purposefully posted outside the dawn's light as it streamed through the stained glass windows. The sentry, whose crimson bandana marked him as Capitano, was busy pacing beside a bookshelf. He ended his restless prowling at the question and merely lifted a single eyebrow back at Deodato.


"He always suspects foul play My Lord." The answer came from the other man sitting opposite the Marquez's desk: Sir Micael, one of the fourteen Knights of Mármor. He smiled tiredly in the direction of Capitano Heidor, but the Picarón simply shrugged.


"It's projection." Vicente chimed in; everyone grinned at that. After a moment Marquez Deodato steered the conversation back on course.


"And who do we think will scramble for the empty Thornwild throne?" The two advisors across from the Marquez traded unsure looks; not because either lacked an answer, but because neither wished to speak over the other. It was Sir Micael who sat up in his plush chair first.


"Bastillos has more swords than anyone. They can march into Thornwild and demand fealty should they want to." The Majordomo shook his head and rattled his teacup into its saucer


"But Cain'Loren will have an easier time swaying over the people."


"Does it matter how willingly the knee bends, so long as it bends?" Sir Micael countered. The Marquez stroked his chin while the two debated. Vicente continued his argument.


"If Ordin moves first, and if he's smart he will, Thornwild will fall inline with nary a protest. And should that transpire, even Bastillos will keep its soldiers home." Before the Knight could respond Capitano Heidor growled from the shadows.


"Either of those outcomes is wishful thinking." The three seated men shifted to face the settled Picarón.


"Explain." Ordered Marquez Deodato. Heidor stalked forward stopping just short of the light.


"Corvago will likely try and plant one of their many puppets in Thornwild as the new king. And if they succeed, they'll double their army and control all of the eastern seas." When Deodato looked back over his desk he found shaken men staring back at him. Sir Micael quickly recalled his composure.


"An alliance that unholy would threaten our prosperity."


"It would threaten our existence." Deodato corrected. He sunk back into his cape, ran a hand through his hair, and then snuck a peek at the wall map of Ellemar; it was an enormous piece suspended between a pair of bookshelves. The continent had grown ugly overnight. Vicente pushed himself upright.


"I will go, tonight, to work against our enemies." The Marquez, surprised as everyone else in the library, stood to meet his Majordomo. Sir Micael promptly followed suit. "I will find a sensible answer in all of this, I swear it," Vicente continued.


Deodato rounded the desk and embraced his friend. When the embrace ended the Marquez left one arm clenched on Vicente's shoulder. "Heidor will handpick your security. Keep eyes in the back of your head at all times once you arrive, assassins will likely be on the prowl. And if things get too heavy I want you back on a ship and headed home."


After a lengthy bow the Majordomo made for the exit. But just before he reached the door he rounded back to Sir Micael. "Don't let our Lord's new concerns keep him from sleeping." He gestured to the then embarrassed Marquez. The Knight grinned wildly.


"Don't worry, I'll have Heidor sing him a lullaby every night you're gone." And with the exception of a grunt from the shadows they all broke into laughter.

 

[Dusky]

Glaen

Refusal of the Call

​

Interactionsn/a

Mentions@Elle Joyner, @Effervescent, @Rissa

Major Moves & ChangesGlaen is not (yet) attempting to establish itself in Thornwild.


Glaen has sent condolences, one directly to the late King's ward.


Glaen has invited Princess Lucianna of Silvern to spend time in their lands.

Maeve the Leaf, Queen's Faithful

"Your Majesty..."


"I wonder who first had the idea to eat eggs? Who looks upon a chicken squeezing an egg from its tw-"


"Your Majesty."


"Oh, Auntie Maeve, you know my name, why must you be so stuffy? Live! Silliness is a luxury we can all afford."


"Your Majesty."


Queen Alana rolled her eyes at Maeve, much to the older woman's chagrin. "Yes, my Faithful?" she answered, stirring her tea with a pinky finger.


Maeve shifted her weight from foot to foot, then stood straight. Her shoulders were squared back, as was her habit, and she felt naked without her leather gear protecting her, though her sword cinched to her hip and the time she'd had to get used to it helped with that. She thought for a moment about how to phrase her news. "We have had word from Thornwild," she began.


Alana's pleasant smile slipped off of her face as she leaned back, straightening in her chair and folding her hands in front of her. "And?"


"The King has passed in the night."


Maeve watched Alana carefully as the young woman sighed heavily. She wanted the Queen to mobilize, to want to mobilize. She wanted to see a spark of fight. Instead, she listened as the Queen murmured. "Such a sudden illness. The state of the kingdom isn't good... When the requirement is royal blood, there are several who would lay claim to their lands. Have we received any word of other nations' reactions to the news?"


Maeve shook her head. "No, Your Majesty. Though I suppose one could guess. King Ordin in Cain'loren hasn't exactly hidden his ambitions, and with the size of Bastillos' army..."


"There are other players on the board, as well. I think it is safe to say almost every land in the realm dreams of seizing Thornwild now. These are interesting times that we live in."


Maeve couldn't help but smile at that. She thought of the dead King, of the ones he was survived by. It reminded her of her old friend. Roisin was a large personality, and her absence was still felt even after the several months that she had been gone. Did Kings and Queens conspire again in the next life? After a moment, Maeve asked, "Does Glaen, too, dream of seizing Thornwild?"


Alana looked uncomfortable. "Should it?"


Maeve blinked and did her best to keep her face passive. "Glaen is a proud country for strong men and women. We once ruled all the forest and we deserve a return to glory."


Alana sighed again. "Oh! Dear Maeve, I cannot dispute that Glaen deserves all the world has to offer. But this is not an attainable dream. It is..." She struggled to find the words for a moment. "One must not pick fights one is doomed to lose. It is not like a duel, wherein the small seem to dance around the strong."


Maeve gestured to a chair at Alana's table. "May I?"


"Yes, of course, of course."


The Queen's advisor sat down and gazed intently at the regent. "It can be like a duel. I hear you; our army is made to repel, not to attack. But with training, with mobilization - and not even very much of it - that could change. We would strike in concentrated, brief instances, bring specific targets down-"


"My Faithful!" cried Alana. "This sounds two skips of a flat stone away from an assassination. No; we will not shed blood needlessly. This is not Glaen's battle. The kingdom has comfortably maintained itself for many years and it shall continue to do so. Besides," she said, tone turning dark, "we have other problems. Have you heard anything about the heretic?"


"What?" The topic change befuddled Maeve for a moment, and she had to tug her mind over to the subject now at hand. "...No. No leads. She appears in so many different places it is difficult to pinpoint her location, though she is almost certainly here in the easternmost side of the kingdom. But, Your Majesty-"


"No 'but's. I am grateful for your counsel, Maeve, I truly am, but I will not be swayed to senseless violence." Alana's blue eyes speared through Maeve for a moment, then dropped to her meal as she picked at it. "Would you like my decrees?"


Maeve was speechless for a moment, so she rose from her chair and bowed to gives herself a moment for thought. She didn't know how to articulate how insulting it was to hear the art of war and battle implied to be barbaric and pointless, didn't know how to relate to the girl's seemingly lacking sense of pride or honor. She wasn't sure she wanted to - but that thought had no place in her head. She expelled it. When her voice was back under control, she said, "Of course, Your Majesty."


Alana popped the meat of a hazelnut into her mouth and chewed for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Well, before all else we will send our condolences, of course. One letter addressed to the council; it's the most official structure they have, now. I haven't visited since I was a girl... The King had a ward, yes? A girl, not much younger than Meg. Send her a letter too, a little softer in tone."


Maeve's heart swelled, and again she was sent for a tumble. From frustration to pride and back again - Alana was not the vision of a Glaennish rule, but at least she was kind... "Yes, Alana. Anything else?"


"Yes! In such... interesting times, we should take extra care to be friendly with our neighbors. I believe I will begin to make an earnest effort to proceed with Shay's marriage to the Silvern princess." 'Silvern' was said with some measure of contempt. "What do you think?"


Maeve nodded. "Alliances are never amiss. Do not forget, though, that the closer we become to other kingdoms, the greater the risk is that we offend them."


Alana pursed her lips, brow furrowing. "Ah, May, what a soothsayer you are. We will have to be careful. Send a letter to Silvern. Invite the princess... Invite Lucianna to spend some time in our court. There are others I would like to entertain here as well... but let us not get too far ahead of ourselves."


"Sometimes, Your Majesty, I feel I have very little to advise you of at all," Maeve admitted with a chuckle.


"Just as I would have it!" Alana laughed, but there was some truth to the joke, Maeve was sure.


The scarred woman bows, dismay and affection pooling in her heart. "I will bring your will into reality, Your Majesty."


Alana nods approvingly. "Thank you. You are dismissed."

 

[Lakita]

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Someone had gone out and spilled her paints on the sky.


Gray rain slid down the windows in sheets and the clouds mirrored the sea below. Every few minutes, the skies rumbled with thunder before a bright jolt of light illuminated the few straggling ships desperately trying to return to port. The black waters of Telra battered the shores furiously as if they meant to claim them, and the ocean spray reached ever higher with every wave.


At times like these, Lifa Bayard wondered if there really was a God above. After all, her father had been appointed the King by divine right, had he not? It only made sense that He would stir the seas around a bit, if only to show his respect for her father's loss.


"Only, Mother died a year ago... it sure would be nice for it to stop now."


She peered out the window and rubbed the glass to try to clear her vision. The obscuring rainfall didn't take much notice of her efforts, and Lifa could just barely make out the silhouettes of the ships that were being spun around like ants in a puddle.


"You can do it. Don't give up."


Lifa sighed as the oceans claimed yet another victim. Erik would be mad again. He'd probably refuse to pay any of the villagers their restitution money - he'd probably question why the sailors were out at sea in the first place in such weather. But Erik had never set foot on a boat by himself before. Lifa knew, from her childhood of playing around in the tides, just how quick the ocean's temperament could change.


That was why, she mused, they called the ocean a mistress.


She closed her eyes and fell back on her cold bed. Even though her mattress was richly furnished with all manners of furs, there seemed to be nothing the sea-chill could not penetrate. Her mother had often complained of it, she remembered. But for Lifa it was the damp moreso than the cold that bothered her. The air itself felt heavy - like she would drown if she wasn't careful. She burrowed her head under her pillows as muffled shouting in the distance began to sound.


Her siblings had finally gotten up, it seemed.


"Shut uuuuuup," she moaned. "Go away. Shut up. Shut. Up. Shut up, shuuuuuuuuuuuut uuuuuuuuuuuuup, shut up!"


Instead of moving away, like Lifa had hoped, the voices grew louder and louder until they were right outside her door.


"-an't do this, it's not righ-"


"-ally dead up there, so it i-"


"-ick! I'm still ol-"


"-tand then don't sa-"


"-owing me then, sto-"


Lifa screamed into her pillows and kicked out as she felt a frustrated spasm rip through her body. Not a day went by without her eldest siblings at each other's throats and today, it seemed, was no different. Lunging from her bed, her hair even more messier than when she woke up, Lifa wrenched her wooden door open.


"SHUT UP ALREADY! I CAN'T HEAR MYSELF THINK! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO IT OUT HERE? SHUT UP ALREADY, GOD! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHU-"


Her voice cut off abruptly as she heard a large crack sound across the room. Lifa's head wrenched sideways and her eyes smarted with tears. Her breathing seemed amplified and she sensed her siblings eyeing her warily. Like a wildfire, the tiny pinpricks of pain began to grow swiftly until it enveloped her entire cheek. Lifa glared at her brother, Erik, before speaking.


"You slapped me."


"..."


"You made me."


"You. slapped. me. You slapped me!"


Her tone was reproachful yet it seemed as if Lifa could hardly believe it herself. Holding her wounded -though the pain had already begun to subside, her heart seemed to make it not so- cheek, Lifa uttered a last, "Fuck you, Erik. Just fuck you," before she slammed the door shut on both her siblings. With the slap, she had bought her long yearned silence at last. Lifa nursed her wound bitterly as her siblings footsteps and words -though now spoken through harsh whispers- receded down the hall.

When she had received her breakfast in bed -as Lifa had refused to go down and eat with her siblings- consisting of cured fish and seaweed soup, she began to feel a little better. The rain had let up slightly as well, with the constant drumming on the windows now a gentle pitter-patter. The saltiness of the food felt good, as if she were replenishing all that her tears had expelled. Leaving the bowls outside her room for her handmaiden to take back, Lifa bounded over on her bed to check on the sailors once again.


There was nothing else to do.


Even her sword, which she had begged her twin brother for ages to commission for her, seemed to have lost its sparkle. The unused blade seemed dull to her and it lay forgotten under a pile of books which Lifa had already scoured through a million times. She blew raspberries and amused herself by talking gibberish after checking to see that yes, the ocean had indeed claimed all of the unfortunate sailors left stranded in her grasp.


It was then a knock sounded on her door, making Lifa look up before her twin brother, Edvard, walked in. Though he was a broad-chested warrior, to her, Edvard still seemed like a meek child. Perhaps it was because he let her walk all over him or maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were twins - either way, Lifa was used to having him follow her bidding.


"Hey."


That was her brother, alright. Always so simple.


"What're you doing here? Is it something from Father?"


"No." He had a deer-in-sights look and Lifa thought he might just run away as well.


"Oh. Well... I don't know, maybe he'll get better soon. I think he smiled at me yesterday, do you? Anyway, you'll never guess what just happened." She waited patiently for her brother to follow along, but all he could do was look down and give a half shrug.


"You're supposed to say what."


"Okay," he sighed while rubbing his temples, "what?"


"I think three ships just sank right now. I definitely saw one go down, don't know about the others but I feel like, I don't know. I don't think that-"


"You say it like it's a game."


Lifa stared slightly. Her brother had never interrupted her unless there were urgent matters at hand. "What?"


"Nothing. Keep talking."


"Is something wrong?" She eyed him nervously, now aware of the tension he had brought into her room. His body seemed wound-up and ready to spring like a cat.


"No."


There was a silence before Edvard got up and began to pace around. It seemed as if he were walking on prickle-weed. He fidgeted and blew out his cheeks.


"There is something wrong! Tell me!"


"No, it's nothing," he mumbled.


Lifa looked at him incredulously.


"It's ju- Erik sai- Alright. You're not going to like it though, Li."


"I never lik-"


"You're promised to Prince Cid Taeg of Caeryth." Edvard spoke his name with an equal amount of pity, scorn, and exasperation. Having said that, it seemed that he was filled with relief. He sat back down and began to talk regularly again.


"I'm what? Oh, no! Really?"


"Yeah."


"No, no. What? Really?"


"I already said yes, Li." Catching both her eye and her hand, Edvard spoke once more. "And you can't slip out of it this time - Erik's orders."


"What? What? Really?"


Edvard rolled his eyes, a trait of his sisters that he rarely borrowed.


"Yes, really. Apparently you've already said yes."


"What? I never said yes!" Lifa jumped up, anger flushing her cheeks. "He said I said yes but I never said yes! Where is he?"


"Calm do-"


"No! I never said yes, I never wanted this!"


"I know, I know."


Tension slithered back into her room and Lifa wrenched her hand away from Edvard's. She seethed silently, valiantly trying to remain proud while wiping her nose.


"Look," Edvard handed her a handkerchief, "it's not so bad. He's around our age."


"How -hhkk- old?" Her head was ringing and her eyes stung. It hurt to keep them open but closing them only made them worse.


"Twenty... two? No, wait - twenty-three," he said triumphantly. "That's not so bad."


"H-Hee-e's foo-ouur yee-eaarr-ss o-o-oold-er."


"Well, our name-day's soon. Can't you think of him as three years older? Besides, wasn't that merchant boy older than you by four too?"


Lifa blew her nose before handing back the handkerchief to her brother. She took a few minutes to calm down to speak properly. Today definitely was not a good day.


"Yes but that was different. And he was like, two years older only."


"Oh, only two years?"


"Yes!"


Comforted by her unusually eloquent twin, Lifa tidied herself up before making up her mind that yes, she was leaving for Caeryth - as morose as the decision had been, she knew that she could not disobey Erik in such a direct fashion.

Rain pelted Lifa's hide umbrella as she walked towards the stables to retrieve her horse, Saoirse. Her black hair had been brushed shiny by her late mother's hand-maiden, Svetlana. Free of any tangles, it had been tied back into a neat braid and flowers had been cleverly planted in place. Lifa had been persuaded to wear her best, and she held up her dark blue dress to avoid it from touching the ground. Her seal-fur riding cloak was pristine white. Her eyes remained a little red but Svetlana had said that the unseemly effect would fade by the time they reached Caeryth. Lifa, on the other hand, didn't care one way or another.


As her brother unlocked the stable doors, Lifa clicked her tongue to call her steed.


"Saoirse! Come here!"


Her prestigiously bred mount shied away, opposite of her demands. Though Lifa admired her well-maintained coat, there was little else she knew about Saoirse. She handed her umbrella over to Edvard before reaching out with a suger cube.


"Saoirse. Saoirse! Come here, girl!"


After watching his sister's pitiful efforts to charm her steed, Edvard came and beckoned for the horse to come. With a few persuasive whispers, Saoirse soon came to Edvard's call and stood waiting patiently.


"Why won't she listen to me? Saoirse isn't even your horse."


"Saoirse likes gentle approaches." He shrugged, not mentioning the bond he'd created with the horse through many months of care-taking.


"You're a traitor, Saoirse."


Lifa clambered onto her dappled filly and clutched tightly to her mane. Taking the umbrella back from her brother, Lifa began to urge the horse forwards to join the rest of her escorts. Her face was tight and her jaw was clenched. However, Lifa remained sitting tall and her head stood up both proudly and defiantly. For a moment, she imbued the royalty she was born from. Lifa wasn't about to cry again. At the entrance of the stable, however, she brought the animal to a halting stop.


Though she had not spoken a word, Edvard instinctively knew what his sister was about to say. Suddenly, he felt ashamed and could not look up to meet her eyes. He knew that if he did, his wavering spirit would break and Erik's orders would go unheeded.


"Don't tel-"


"I don't want to go."


Saoirse nickered and pawed at the dirt while the drizzle of the rain spoke for the two twins. In their silence, a multitude of feelings were passed between the two - guilt, shame, fear, anger, and love were all mixed into one. The salty sea-wind blew the raindrops into the stable, staining the dirt a dark brown and wetting their faces. When Lifa finally rode forwards again, somehow the twins had understood each other just fine.


Sometimes, you had to do things that you didn't want to do. And that didn't make you a weak person - many circumstances were simply too big for individuals to fight. But as Edvard watched his twin sister ride away to a foreign kingdom, he found himself feeling like the smallest man in the world.

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[Kencen]

Caeryth

​

The two great forces clashed, every impact shaking the room. The small crowd of Caerythan Knights and off-duty City Watchmen cheered as their champions battled it out, as they did nearly every week. The stench of sweat and ale permeated the fighting hall of the Knight’s Headquarters. Bets had been made, of course, on both of the fierce competitors. Their matches were so even, though, that even if one bet on the same man every week, it never took too long to break even.


Steel clashed with steel as the massive claymore sword was, time and time again, turned away by the spear. Conversely, the spear never found purchase either, deflected by the sword every time, often at the last possible moment. This back-and-forth stalemate continued for nearly twenty minutes, until the spearman finally found his opening! After blocking a particularly brutal slash of the sword, the spearman spun around with the force and used the built up momentum to sweep at the larger swordsman’s legs. The swordsman fell back and the sword was knocked away by the spear, the tip of the spear held at the swordsman’s chest. The crowd was split- many had gone wild with their cheers, while still many others groaned in disappointment or had fallen quiet.


“I yield,” Sir Talver Valenway, Knight-Commander of the Knights of Caeryth, said as he wiped the layers of sweat off his forehead.


“What does that make it again?” Prince Cid Taeg asked, grinning, as he flourished the spear a few more times, ultimately transferring the weapon to his left hand. He knew as well as Talver did that Cid had finally managed to even their score, at 477 wins each and 142 draws. But he wanted to hear it from the Knight Commander’s own mouth. He offered his friend a hand, Talver took it and pulled himself up.


“477 wins for me, 477 wins for you, 142 draws. It has been over a year since we have been even, has it not?” He stretched out as he reclaimed his claymore sword, sheathing the weapon on his back.


“That it has, Tal. I mean Knight-Commander Valenway, of course,” Cid said, grinning. “First time since you have become Knight-Commander, actually.” They broke into some idle chit-chat as Tiberius Valenway, Talver’s teenage brother and squire, as well as Master of Ceremonies in their weekly fights, passed out the winnings. It was not long, however, before the door burst open and a man ran inside.


“Prince Cid!” Shouted the short, green-eyed man with the gaunt face. His long, dark hair was pulled back in his traditional ponytail and he wore the official Caerythan Messenger’s uniform - a dark green vest with matching pants - proof that his business was actually important.


“Atton? What is it?” While most in the room saw him as a simple royal messenger, Cid and Talver were well aware that Atton was Cid’s spymaster. If the news was not important, he would have just sent one of his many underlings with it.


“My Prince, Knight-Commander,” Atton nodded to them in turn before continuing, “The ruler of Thornwild, King Barenthorn, has passed away, leaving no heir behind him.” A hush fell over the room, as all eyes turned to the skinny messenger.


“Knight-Commander, Atton, I believe we should discuss this privately,” Cid said quietly. “Tiberius, give the men their coin then head on home, alright?”


“Yes, Prince,” the squire said, and continued his job as the Prince, the Knight and the Spy went to a back room together.


“How did it happen?” Cid asked, once they were in private.


“Poison so they tell me, Prince,” Atton said, with a glance at Sir Valenway. The Knight flinched, no doubt mentally criticising the use of poison- a coward’s weapon, he called it. Real men fight with swords or words, so he believed. Bit of both, usually.


“Who do they say was the poisoner?” Cid asked intently.


“Margery Callister.” At Cid’s raised eyebrow, Atton continued, “A simple serving girl. She was no older than your little brothers, my lords.”


“Was?” Talver and Cid asked at the same time.


“They say she poisoned herself just after the King.”


“Well that certainly is convenient. Who do you believe was actually responsible, Atton?” Cid asked, as Atton smiled lightly.


“There are simply too many suspects, Prince. The upper echelons of Thornwild society are of course the first to be investigated- and that they will be investigated, I assure you. But there are countless nobles and royals throughout the Kingdoms who stand to benefit from this development,” Atton continued.


“What do you mean? How exactly do the other Kingdoms benefit from this? I do not believe Thornwild was at war with anyone...” Talver asked, glancing between the Prince and the Spy.


“He means that King Barenthorn left behind no heir- Thornwild has no King, no Queen, no royal family. One of the other Kingdoms will have to take control, if none of the locals seize power fast enough.”


“We are about to enter a whole new era, my lords,” Atton spoke up, as Talver looked back and forth between them, understanding dawning on his face.


“A lot of people are going to die, Cid,” the Knight said solemnly. “What can we do?”


“As much as I want to rush off to Thornwild right now, I am supposed to be married soon… Atton, I need you to go to Thornwild. Find out whatever you can. We should send an official to attend whatever funeral services King Barenthorn receives, in any case. I doubt my father will care to send anyone, with his very limited interest in the international theater as of late, and Corvus will probably send his wife’s cousin- Nico, I believe his name was. Curic is too young, Cassandra is playing her games with Dansin’s brother… Marick, then?”


“Your cousin does seem to be the best choice, Prince,” Atton said happily. He actually enjoyed the company of Duke Marick quite a bit; he could be a cutthroat businessman but he treated his people well and his rather lackadaisical manner was somewhat rare among the highest nobility.


“Cid, my little brother has been begging to see some of the other Kingdoms for years. Do you think we could send Tiberius along? I am sure Marick would not mind.” Talver had thought making his brother his squire would calm him down, but if anything it had gotten worse.


“Of course he can go along. He is not too good with his pick yet, but he is a better archer at fifteen than any of us will ever be. I fear the day he is old enough to compete in the King’s Games; Nero will finally have some real competition, at least in archery.” Cid looked between them one more time, then adjourned the meeting. Talver went to talk with his brother, Cid to talk with his cousin, and Atton to talk to his other employer.


---


“Dead? What do you mean dead? How?” Corvus asked, staring in shock at his spymaster.


“Poisoned by a serving girl, so they say, Prince Corvus,” Atton answered.


“I see. I assume she has been executed by now, then?”


“Poisoned herself, so I hear.”


“A cowardly death for a cowardly killer. Fitting, I suppose.” Corvus rolled his eyes, staring at the high ceiling of his “study”. War room, was more like it, with the maps he had drawn himself covering every free space on the walls and desks. He had been working on one, in fact, when he was so rudely interrupted by his spymaster. The information really was important enough to warrant the interruption, so he would forgive him, this time.


“I will need to discuss this with my father by law, once he is back from that damned Senate meeting. I suppose I will need to send a representative to the funeral. I certainly do not wish to go there myself…”


“Might I suggest your wife’s cousin, Prince Corvus? Nico, the one who arrived in the capital just a few weeks ago.”


“An excellent suggestion, Atton. Ah, but I want you to go as well. See what the other royal families are saying about this. And keep an eye on whoever my brother sends- our fool of a cousin Marick Lorianis, no doubt.”


“Of course, Prince Corvus.” Atton laughed internally. The brothers’ thoughts were much more similar than either would ever care to admit. “If that is all, I shall begin my preparations immediately.”


“Yes, yes, you are dismissed.” Corvus got back to his maps, wondering how vast the changes to the borders would be in light of Thornwild’s current situation. He might have to make the maps all over again! He found that thought oddly delightful.


---


“Your Princeship! Your Princeship!”


“What is it, your Bardship?” Curic asked as Limmel skidded to a halt a few feet before him. Curic had just finished his fencing practice for the day and, after a few words of wisdom, his instructor had gone on his way. Sitting in a comfortable chair Curic drank from a goblet of clear water while a servant girl, around his age, massaged his sore muscles.


“We have much to discuss. But, perhaps, it would be best were it just the two of us,” Limmel responded, not really asking.


“I see. You are dismissed, Lucia. Thank you for your service today.” Curic smiled and brushed the redheaded serving girl’s cheek, staring directly into her eyes.


“Of course, Prince Curic. Any time, Prince Curic…” She smiled and slowly walked away, blushing. Lucia kept peeking back at the youngest Prince, silently gasping and turning away every time her eyes locked with his again, so it took her much longer than it reasonably should have to leave the room. Limmel just laughed quietly, as he did whenever Prince Curic displayed the traits and bad habits he had picked up from the Bard over the past year or so.


“I hope I draw not your ire, but I bring you news most dire,” Limmel began once the girl had finally shut the door. His face even looked serious, but he continued to speak in rhyme as he always did. “The king of Thornwild has been murdered with poison. The whole continent is making much noise...on.” Curic chuckled- Limmel frequently made up new words to fit his rhymes. ‘Anything for a rhyme,’ he often says. He quickly gathered his wits, though; regicide is no laughing matter.


“Surely my brothers have heard by now, then. I suppose they are sending someone to Thornwild?”


“Their cousin Duke Marick will be sent over, along with young Nico Crover. Also on this journey most serious, will be your good friend Tiberius.”


“I suppose that makes sense. Tiberius has wanted to see the world for a long time now.” Curic thought for a moment. “I suppose that will be enough. I have never met the King of Thornwild. Barenthorn, was it? I do not really have anyone to send, anyway. Let us go to our courts, then. I am sure the noble ladies are just dying to hear your tunes, your Bardship.”


“And so it shall be!” Curic got up, stretched, and headed for the door. Limmel just stood there for a few seconds, before shouting, “My lord! Please wait for me!” He ran after Curic, a classic Limmel grin plastered to his face.

 

[LeviathanL]

Corvago

The sun was just beginning to edge at the horizon when Raven entered the office of the most powerful man in Corvago. The tyrant's quarters had been the seat of power in Corvago since before the fall of the royal family. History had been made in this room, and more than a few past tyrants had found theirselves becoming history within the boundaries of these walls. Although she had been inside hundreds of times, she still felt a flicker of disconnection between the room's story and it's actual contents. Each king, queen or tyrant to hold the office had left their own mark on it, and Machevolo Ombra was no different. The current tyrant had done away with the extravagant interior of his predecessors and instead opted for a spartan and utilitarian space. All the furniture was selected with efficiency in mind, and there were no personal belongings or decorations to be found, with the sole exception being a silver circlet, set with deep purple amethysts, that was encased in glass on top of a pedestal against the wall opposite the large oak desk. Behind that desk Machevolo Ombra was reading a report, as immaculately dressed as always. No matter what time Raven had barged in in the past, she had never found the tyrant being anything less than completely presentable, it was as if the man didn't need sleep. Frankly, it freaked Raven out, but she knew better than to comment on it to the man's face.


Ombra didn't look up at her entrance and simply kept reading the report. Only when he had finished the page did he deign to shift his gaze so that his icy eyes looked over his glasses towards the assassin.


"It is done," Raven said, long since used to the Tyrant's hawk-like gaze.


Ombra slowly put down the report before answering.


"So I have noticed. Captain Custodom nearly exploded with excitement at having finally caught the ringleaders behind that distasteful affair, or so I heard."


"You didn't tell her about me?"


"And ruin this glorious victory of justice and due process over corruption and decadence? I wouldn't dream of it. This is the first real win of the Gray Guard against those that hide in the shadows. Let's not spoil that with something as inconsequential as the truth. What matters is that the guilty were apprehended, innocent lives were saved, and that the people learn that the law still exists in Corvega."


Ombra moved his arm to indicate the window, which offered an exquisite view of a city that was already waking up to greet the new day.


"And thus a tiny bit of order is restored in a nation that has known nothing but chaos for far too long. A good thing too, cause it will need every little bit if it is going to survive what comes next."


"What do you mean, sir?" Raven asked with a cocked head.


"The king of Thornwild is dead," Ombra said, indicating the report on his desk.


"Oh," Raven responded, "and, ehm, did you make it happen?"


Ombra glared at Raven, causing the assassin to involuntarily take a step back.


"Sorry, but to be fair I did just come back from an assassination you ordered, so I thought you might want to go for a twofer."


"That would be a negative, by my knowledge I had nothing to do with this particular assassination. Amazing as it sounds that does tend to happen from time to time."


"Fine fine, sorry for presuming. So who did the old man in?"


"According to the report, he was poisoned by a serving girl. Who apparently was so overcome by guilt that she committed suicide almost immediately afterwards."


"Riiight, and I'm the queen of Corvago."


"Careful now, do you want to have my job?"


"Wouldn't dream of it sir!"


"I don't blame you. But yes, the official story is quite unlikely, which makes it seem that this was an internal affair. I'd like to think that a Corvagon assassin would have done a more thorough job."


"Unless that's exactly what the assassin expects you to think."


Ombra gave the girl an uncharacteristic smile, "You're starting to catch on."


Raven smiled back, "I try. But regardless of who engineered the hit, why should it matter to us that another royal got snuffed?"


"You seem to forget that the late king had no heirs whatsoever. As of right now, the royal family of Thornwild is extinct. I trust I don't need to remind you of what happened the last time a royal line got 'snuffed'. Nearly a century gone, and we still haven't fully recovered from that unholy mess queen Robin created. Now I don't care for royality anymore than you do, but Thornwild is our best ally and trading partner. It is simply not convenient for us to have it descent into chaos as players both internal and abroad squabble for an empty throne, especially once this mess spills over into other countries. No, we can't stay out of this. We must find a suitable replacement for the king, and make it happen."


"And I'm sure that replacement will in no way be indebted to the country that facilitated their rise to power," Raven replied sarcastically.


For just a fraction of a second a twinkle of mischief might've been visible in Ombra's otherwise cold eyes.


"I'm certain they wouldn't be indeed."


Raven chuckled lightly. "Alright then, so you're sending me to Thornwild to keep an eye on things?"


"Sadly no, I'll be sending master Passeri on that particular errand. I'm sending you to Silvern."


"Silvern?" Raven blurted out. "That's on the other side of the continent! What in the crows am I supposed to do in Silvern?"


Ombra gave Raven a look as if he couldn't believe she wasn't able to grasp something so obvious.


"Why, save it of course."

 

[Bone2pick]

Mármor

​

She should have known better than to accompany him tonight. He had been absent in her presence for the last two days and none of his symptoms had lessened: the ceaseless fidgeting, the half-hearted smiles, the perfunctory conversation—he would be unbearable if she didn't love him so much.


"You should have sent someone else," Fabia breathed through her practiced smile. She continued to wave sweetly at the adoring couples being ushered into the theatre. Marquez Deodato shook himself out of his spell and stopped picking at the platter of grapes between them.


"What are you talking about?"


He knew precisely what she was talking about. And when Fabia finally turned to face her father, her expression announced that. "Vicente, you regret letting him go."


Deodato raised a dismissive posture, but it never stood a chance. The most socially adept Marquez to ever rule Mármor hadn't been able to fool his daughter since she could dress herself.


"It's part of his job, Fabia."


She frowned and snatched the ready fan off the lap of her dress. "But now you're going to worry for weeks until he returns," she protested. Her wrist worked furiously to cool herself; even in their balcony seats she could feel the theatre grow stuffy. Deodato shrugged and then tossed down a grape.


"That's part of my job," he smirked.


Resisting the impulse to scoff at her father, she joined him in waving down to the various nobles filling up the audience, many of which were desperately trying to get the attention of the Royal Family. Opening night at the Palace never failed to sellout.


"When the summer ends I'd like to study in Caeryth for a year."


He pressed a finger into his lip and nodded slowly. She watched him look over his shoulder at the pair of Picaróns guarding them before he leaned closer towards her. "So you're trying to rile me up now?" His voice was just above a whisper.


"No. If I'm going to govern this country one day I'll need to have a worldly education," she replied in her normal volume. Her smile had returned and it was noticeably more authentic; a blessing for the young lady as she continued to acknowledge her public. Deodato stared at his daughter in disbelief and then rolled his eyes.


"You're fourteen Fabia, slow down and enjoy your youth."


She pursed her lips and patted her elegantly braided hair. The words she was seeking found her when she spied the Royal signet on her father's hand.


"Need I remind you that the first Marquez of Mármor, my great grandfather, was only sixteen when his reign began?" Deodato wiped a palm over his face before replying.


"Times were different then—people were different. Be thankful that you have better opportunities...Furthermore, you have everything you need right here."


Her smile was gone, in its place was girlish disappointment.


"If you only trusted me..."


Deodato reached out and took her hand.


"It's not about trusting you; it's about protecting you from the wickedness in this world."


Her father had finally returned.


"Well, if you won't permit me to leave, I'll have no choice but to run away with the theatre troop."


He mouthed a gasp and then beamed at his daughter.


"Well, fortunately for me, I can still remember you stumbling through your monologue during—"


"How dare you bring that up! It was my first performance...Why, I wasn't even trying!"


Fabia's playful cries, along with a few bouts of hearty laughter from her and her father, drifted out into the audience below. But to the Royal Family's credit, they managed to quiet down before the curtain raised.

 

[Effervescent]

Isaac Dessai

​

News of the King of Thornwild's passing still had yet to reach the ears of Isaac Dessai. He heard only the sounds of his beating heart, the breath escaping his lips, and the harsh padding of his running footsteps along grassy earth. He had been framed for the murder of his own King; the very man hemistakenly spoke out against in passing. But somehow it was enough to place the blame on a man such as he, and to that he had been on the run ever since.


It was only this past week he finally broke free from the confines of Bastillos's vast and winding tunnels. It was a predictable system despite the man power within the kingdom to fully regulate each and every path to the surface. It gave Isaac time enough to get a head start from his pursuer, but not enough to shake him entirely.


Cain'Loren was unfamiliar to Isaac. Having grown up only knowing the cavern of Lumin, there was little knowledge how to follow the sun or stars for direction, or how to determine the weather just in the formation of the clouds. The summer sun was stifling during the day causing his hair to mat against his dewing skin, and he always found his skein empty of refreshment. The birds were noisy and rasped angry calls as he passed by their nests too closely. It took him a few days to adapt to the extreme change in setting. His feet carried him wearily through the forests as he traveled further and further North.


He felt he could never sleep or rest his feet. That man, the beastly looking man, was always somehow right at his heels. Even when Isaac thought he shook him off and got away, it was as though he manifested himself in the vicinity. This had been his life and his fear for weeks, and it was only by narrow escape he was still in his final semblances of freedom. He knew in his heart that eventually he would be captured. He felt far too tired to continue.


And yet his feet still pressed onward, carrying him into the Western District of Cain'Loren. The dirt roads were compacted from traffic and set with parallel streaks worn from passing wagons. There was an unmistakable smell within the air that reminded him of the slums back home, though without the tinge of musk. His pace slowed as he took in the outter city village.


Day was turning to night as the sun slowly sank into the horizon of clustered rooftops. Isaac looked over his shoulder, just as he had been doing each day to gauge how close his pursuer was at any given moment. He couldn't see the imposing silhouette, and yet there was still the looming threat that choked his stomach and twisted it into knots.


It was possible his hunger was contributing. While he knew how to hunt and gather food, he lacked the means to do so more easily. The only weapon he carried was his grandfather’s sword, and at this point it was likely his only remaining currency to barter with. He kept it hidden under his tattered and muddy cloak so as to not draw attention. A fever began to set causing his bones to ache in protest as his body yearned for rest.


And so he searched for a back alley or secluded corner in which he could halt his wanderings, even if just for a moment. The yellow of the sky dipped into hues of amber and magentas that melted seamlessly into a growing indigo night. It reminded him of the paintings his mother would create of visions she could only see in her mind’s eye. They were glittering and magical, just like the stars that slowly appeared in their twinkling. There were hardly any people walking the streets at this hour. Those who could afford candles sat in the soft orange glow barely visible through their windows. Isaac once again found himself missing home and wondered if he would ever be able to return again.


He glanced over his shoulder again before turning down a narrow alley. His heart lurched in his chest as it seized in fear of what he saw… or thought he saw. It was dark now to the point where shadows stood black like a void, one in particular looked just like the silhouette of his pursuer. Isaac spared no extra time to confirm his suspicions. It could very well just have been a stack of hay upon a cart or another nightly wanderer headed home. But it could also be him, and that was enough to quicken his pace down the alley. He had nearly sprouted into a sprint until he emerged from the other side of the alley and ran right into an unsuspecting red head.

@Elle Joyner
​

Queen Imeen

​

Delicate fingers toyed with a filigreed ring forged from gold. The band's sheen was still vibrant, its surface cleaned daily to preserve the rose colored metal. It was the symbol of Queen Imeen's union with Thornwild’s Prince and heir. Their joining would mark an expansive alliance overtaking most of Ellmar’s land and finally bridging the gap between every coastline. This was initially without love as most royal marriages were, but they had luckily grown to love each other as if it had been their choice all along.


But now he was dead leaving her alone and without an heir. Her people began to doubt if she could conceive and wondered if the line of Queens would end with her. And to that Imeen began to doubt her accomplishments, for what has she done for Bastillos since her reign began? Weeks had passed since Jorad’s death and still she would not part from her grieving. Laballa was her only comfort, and it was often the blind clairvoyant was by her side patiently.


“What happened to the messenger we sent to warn King Barenthorn?” Imeen asked through her dimly lit quarters. She still laid upon her bed lethargically, her eyes staring out to her trusted advisor across the room. Laballa sat in the darkness close to the candlelight out of curtesy and tilted her head somewhat in thought. The headdress atop her blonde, curly hair was covered in small metal medallions that jingled with each movement.


“I cannot see him,” Laballa admitted. “I don't know. I am sorry I cannot see all, my queen.”


A soft sigh escaped Imeen as she rolled onto her back. Her hand grasped the ring and clutched it to her heart as she stared at the fabric canopy of her bed. Yet another thing to add to her list of failed accomplishments. Laballa’s vision of the King’s death was vague, and even Jorad was skeptical of the woman’s foresight. But Imeen knew she would have felt worse if she hadn't tried.


“Do you see anything new?” the queen asked. There was a moment’s pause as the two sat in silence. Imeen was used to it by now. There were times where she and Laballa would sit in this silence for hours waiting for her Hand to return to the present. This time, the silence only lasted a few minutes.


“Laughter,” Laballa finally said. “And your smile.”


Imeen chuckled as she looked over to the clairvoyant. Despite her inability to see the world, she never doubted she could see it all in her visions. Laballa smiled sheepishly, her head tilting downward to hide a blush beneath the shadows followed by a small frown. The Queen did not notice.


“I do hope Captain Moraus journeys safely to meet our coming visitors from Cain’loren,” Imeen said as her own smile faded. “I know you haven't seen it, but I worry Thornwild might retaliate and come for Bastillos.”


“If it will come to pass, I will tell you,” Laballa promised. There came a moment’s pause once again, and Imeen eyed her advisor suspiciously. Was she having another vision? She knew interrupting would do no good, for in those times Laballa closed out the world around her. But she was not seeing anything of the future, her headdress chiming as she turned her blind eyes back upward to reveal her features.


“You have a right to Thornwild by marriage,” she said candidly. “It was the arrangement, was it not?”


“The arrangement was to begin uniting all of Ellemar,” Imeen explained. “And that arrangement died with Jorad.”


“I believe it died with King Baronthorn,” Laballa said in return. It was Imeen’s turn to sit in contemplative silence. She hadn't the time to consider King Baronthorn would honor the union, especially since one of her own was responsible for his son’s death. There was a small part of her that still resented Laballa for not having seen Jorad’s death.


“We should still fight for what the arrangement stood for,” Imeen finally said. “We must insure the right successor is placed on the throne.”


“It could be you,” her advisor said thoughtfully. “If you own Thornwild you can insure the purpose of your union.”


Imeen rose from her bed, her brow furrowing at the suggestion. It could be her. Her army was vast and capable; a force to be reckoned with. It had always been rumored that their former lands of Nyrim extended through Thornwild beyond their ruins, and that could be enough to rally her people behind the concept of such an expansion.


But she knew she would not be the only one vying for the land and throne. Already it looked as though she could have been guilty of King Baronthorn’s death should anyone determine it was, indeed, foul play. The official word for now was that he passed of natural causes. Only she and Laballa knew the truth for now, it seemed.


“Bring me General Davroste,” Imeen commanded. “If we are to move forward in any light, I need to confer with him.”


Laballa stood and bowed her head low and dutifully. “As you wish, your Majesty.” She left without another word, her robes fluttering around her like the wings of a dove accompanied by the sound of wind chimes until she was out of sight.

 

[RZA]

S I L V E R N

Beyla, The Druen Princess

MENTIONED &/or TAGGED

​

• @Elle Joyner
  
• @LeviathanL *
  
• @Anomaly *
  

* Not by name

NOTES

​

I assumed two things:

​

1. Princess Audra hasn't arrived in Silvern just yet, though the royals are expecting her arrival before they retire for the night.


2. Queen Alana's invitation has not been received. (Or sent? I'm unsure of each kingdom's exact timeline.)

King Avenius of Silvern

“Is it true, father? Is it true the King of Thornwild is dead?”


Beyla peeked her head into the solar even further and watched hesitantly as her father glanced between the Queen and Princess Lucianna. "Now where did you go and hear something like that?" He asked kindly, though the skin around his eyes were tight. King Avenius set his smoking pipe down upon the oaken table and beckoned his youngest daughter forward.


"Come child, and tell me what you have heard."


King Avenius' youngest daughter tiptoed slowly into the room, unsure of what to make of the milkmaids idle talk. Though she was far too old, she climbed onto the king's lap and looked him painfully in the eye. She tried to discern the knots forming in her belly by the crestfallen blue orbs staring back at her. Beyla knew something was wrong, the air tasted sad and morose but for what reason other than the untimely death of the King in the East? Her father was a kindly man, stern, but undoubtedly kind — yet cold anger emanated from him. Beyla thought it was rather unbefitting.


"Well?" asked King Avenius, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.


"I went down to the kitchens to get some warm mulled wine," Beyla said, pausing to glance at her mother who scoffed haughtily at the notion of doing her own fetching. "When I heard the milkmaids whispering." She shrugged her shoulders all too innocently and said, "I listened to them father, I know I shouldn't have, but I did. They say King Barenthorn is dead — that he was killed by one of his handmaidens. I-Is it true?"


Avenius sighed deeply and nodded, lowered his head to Beyla's forehead and gave her a whiskery kiss. He gave his wife and eldest daughter an apologetic side-ways glance before speaking. "It seems to be so youngling."


"Oh that's horrible," Beyla said. "So close after the death of Prince Jorad… I didn’t even get my warm mulled wine." She finished the sentence whilst stifling a yawn.


"Perhaps you should retire for the evening Beyla, there will be plenty of time to meet your future queen at daybreak. It goes without saying the young maiden will be exhausted from her journey. Lucianna, why don't you show your sister to her chambers?"


“Mother!” Beyla cried with injustice, a dark scowl flashing across her face.


"Come," Her sister Luce said softly, diffusing the situation before it escalated further. She rose from her seat and held out her hand. "Let us find some warm mulled wine and let mother and father speak alone."


She wanted to argue and plead her case, but the stern look on her father’s face told her to stand up and take Lucianna’s hand. Beyla gave her father a goodnight kiss before scowling faintly at her mother. “Goodnight,” She said tepidly. Together, she and her sister left the solar and went in search of mulled wine.




The King stared at his heart's queen for a long moment, regarding all their time together. Love wasn't there at first sight, but it grew and blossomed with time. After each child she bore, he found his love growing stronger... and when she agreed to a raise a daughter that wasn't of her own blood, he knew he'd love the woman forevermore. Still, trouble brewed and with the news of Barenthorn's death the southern vultures were sure to bring touble into his land. Avenius glanced back at Clariscia and the Oaths he swore at his coronation filled his mind. He couldn’t help but think there were only two paths he could travel.


Silvern could keep her soldiers safe and out of the Thornwild fray or unite with powerful allies and aid in their desire for the Thornwild crown. He sensed monumental danger down each path.


“I value your judgement, my lady, what are your thoughts on what’s transpired?”


“My thoughts have been elsewhere… our son will be wed soon Avenius. It seems only yesterday he was a boy.” Clariscia said sadly. The queen gazed wistfully at the tapestries lining the walls until finally her brows furrowed and she opened her mouth to speak. “Barenthorn’s death has caused more of a stir than I ever imagined it could. We have peaceful, if strenuous, relations with almost all the kingdoms Avenius… I feel we’ll be pulled into the fray whether we want to be or not.”


“If that’s the case, would it not be simpler to choose who we’d rather fight alongside and unite before getting dragged in?” The King replied, scratching his beard absentmindedly.


Queen Clariscia was silent for a long time, so long in fact, that the King rose from his oaken table and bid her farewell.


“I must find Rannulf and ensure he is befitting of his betrothed.”


“Avenius…”


“Yes my lady?” The King said quietly, glancing back at Clariscia.


“Who should Silvern fight alongside?”


“Before we can think of that my lady,” He said gravely, “We need our adjacent kingdom’s allegiance.”


His queen looked stricken. She whispered her firstborn daughter’s name softly, as if saying for the last time. “Lucianna.” When she looked at him next, her eyes spoke of betrayal.


King Avenius left the solar in search of his son, who’s betrothed rode farther north every moment. He sighed and scratched his beard, mind full of questions and wonderings, knowing that the princess of Cain'Loren wasn't the only southerner to be traveling north.

 

[Lakita]

[border]

"You're still our brother, aren't you? You're still my brother."


The feasting hall was decidedly empty save for the bickering siblings. The tall chairs loomed ominously over the two despite their lack of inhabitants. Where previous festivities had previously heavied the tables with their extravagance, only a lonely set of silver goblets remained.


"You're not in charge of our family, Brima."


"Neither are you, Father's stil alive!"


"And which decisions would he have made differently?"


Erik had seated himself in his father's own seat, further aggravating his sister, Brima, to the point of shouting. She stood opposite him, her golden locks uncharacteristically in tangles. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes raked her brother's condescending expression with an accusatory glare.


"I don't know what that fool Andor has been telling you, but you're not the King."


"Andor's been invaluable. I certainly trust him more than you."


"You. Aren't. the. King."


Erik shook his head as if he were a parent overseeing his child's naive antics. Casting his eyes on the goblets before him, he wondered out loud if there were any wine left in them, and if so, the possibility of Brima settling down if she had something to drink.


In return, she cooly strode over to the glass before flicking it off the table. The empty goblet clattered to the stone floor and rolled to Erik's feet.


"You're going to stop this now, Erik. You're not the King and you have no idea what you're doing. You're going to stop this nonsense and you're going to bring our sister back home."


Erik sighed and ran a hand through his braided hair. If only Andor was present - he would have surely talked some sense into his belligerent sister.


"Have you taken a look at our Father lately, Bree?"


Ignoring her bristling upon being called her childhood nickname, he continued.


"He's getting old, sister. He hasn't left his room in months. He sits there," Erik relaxed in his chair and lolled his head, "like this. All day long, just gaping at the gulls. Last I heard, he couldn't even wipe his own arse."


"That's not true."


"Check for yourself and see that his room doesn't smell like shit." Erik rose up with a sudden spurt of energy. "And that's the man you'd call King? Do you honestly think that Father's going to get better? Is that what you girls think?"


"Edvard thinks that too and he's m-"


"Edvard's such a pussy I wouldn't be surprised if he had one too," Erik retorted. "Get this through your fucking head, you stupid bitch. Our father died a year ago. I am the King now! It doesn't matter if you're my sister, you'll do what I command!"


As Brima stood there shocked at the words falling out of her brother's mouth, the doors pushed open with a mighty shout. Andor Eklund had returned from his diplomatic mission and something had clearly excited the scheming old man. He moved at a pace that seemed almost dangerous for a man of his age, and Brima secretly hoped that his legs would give out before he reached them.


He waved a piece of parchment held tightly in his grip and shouted merrily before noticing Brima alongside Erik. Immediately he swapped out his grin for his trademark scowl and began to limp across the floor once more. Brima understood the message plain as day: she wasn't welcome here. No doubt he intended to whisper more of his treasonous plots into her brother's receptive ear.


"Now get out. Go tend to Father if you're so scared."


Without another word, Brima turned around and left at a brisk pace. She herself had plans of her own and seeing how Erik had failed to come around, she played around with the idea of setting her own chess pieces on the board. She aimed to protect the rest of her family, like she had always had - be the mother that she resembled so much.

Though the feasting hall remained the same, the mood in the room had lifted considerably. A freshly uncorked bottle of wine now helped fill the two goblets and the two men partook in their drinks merrily.


"It's a long way off, though." Erik said as his laughter petered out.


"Aye, my liege, it is. It is." Andor stirred his wine with a finger before sucking it clean. "Thornwild will not be an easy kingdom to take."


"But we will take it." Erik countered swiftly, fearful that the old man would view him a coward. "Our boats are the fastest in all of Ellemar."


"They are, my liege." Andor nodded and set his cup down. "But Thornwild is a juicy piece of meat and we are not the only hawks."


"Yes," said Erik. He drank slowly, deep in thought. "Enough of this talk though, Andor. Can we march on Thornwild? Do we have the men?"


Andor frowned. As much as his stubborn pride would have liked to say yes, his days as a warrior had taught him that war was won not through dreams but men and blood and steel.


"My liege, it would be prudent to wait. With your father in the state that he is, I fear that we would not have the full support of all your lords."


"Yes... my father." Erik massaged his forehead before speaking. "What can be done for him, Andor? He's been dead for a year now and yet my sisters insist on clutching onto his corpse."


"Ah, well. The girls will learn their place. Absence of their father has given them devilish spirits, if I may, my liege."


"I suppose so. That Brima... she thinks that just because she looks like my mother she should act like her," Erik complained. "But what about the 'King', Andor? Doctor Ishvik says that there's nothing to be done with him. He's a dead man walking."


The old man hesitated before answering. His face was shrouded in uncertainty and shadow - for although he had held Erik's ear for months, family was what defined a man. To go against one's own blood was the ultimate sacrilege. Wetting his lips, he glanced at Erik's face and spoke.


"Forgive me, my liege. Your father's not dead yet."


He had tucked his tail preemptively behind his legs and instead chose to push emphasis on his meaning through his dark expression and tone. Erik looked stunned for a moment before breaking out in a wary smile.


"You're not saying what I think you're saying, are you Andor?"


"I am only saying what while your father lives, the loyalty of your lords will be divided, my liege."


"It would be treason, you know." Erik drained his glass before nodding firmly. If this was the way Andor thought was right, this was the way. Besides, he hadn't seen his father for a year - the sting of losing him had already passed the day his mother had died.


"Father is old and sick. I've seen his blankets tied up into a rope - go up there and take it away from him before he harms himself, Andor. Those are my official orders."


With a curt nod, Andor said his farewells before leaving Erik to his own affairs. He made his way directly to the kitchen before snapping to the Grasslander maid to fetch him a bottle. Killing a King was no easy task, even when ordered to by the man's own son.


Andor was not a very religious man but Bayard II had still been appointed by divine right - he would not only be going against the King but the Gods themselves. He let out a sigh he wasn't aware of holding and uncorked the bottle give to him. Perhaps by dulling his mind he would be able to strengthen his resolve. It was time for Bayard III to ascend to the throne.

"Father?"


Brima poked her head in cautiously as she found herself recalling her brother's words. Even if she'd denounced him as a liar, the seeds of doubt had already been planted in her mind. To her relief, she found Bayard II wrapped up modestly in his black robes, staring intently out his window. The glass had been shattered and the sea air flowed freely into the room but there was no evidence of shit smearing the walls or whatever he'd said.


"Father. It's me, Brima."


The words felt foreign in her mouth. When had she last spoken to him? No, when had they? She forgave her younger sisters - they were young. But herself? As she looked upon his desolate frame, she felt a twinge of shame overcome her. For all of his wrongdoings, he had done nothing to harm her - quite the opposite. Brima reluctantly allowed memories of her childhood enter her mind and saw her father's forlorn face in a much more sympathetic light.


"Aleidis."


His voice was thick with emotion and yet seemed heavy - as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. His eyes pooled with tears which slowly dribbled down into his wiry black hair.


"No Father, it's me. Brima, your daughter, remember?"


She approached him like she would a wounded animal (or any animal, for that matter). Cautiously, she reached out a hand to comfort him before letting out a yelp as he grasped her in his iron grip.


"Aleidis. You left me."


Brima stopped struggling and froze. Things were definitely wrong here and her brain screamed danger over and over. Stiff as a board, she whispered in her father's ear, desperately trying to recover his senses. She realized then that the opportune moment to leave had been when he had called mis-named her. Now? Brima knew it was foolish to try to break her father's grip with strength - only her words could save her now.


"Why? I tried to stop you," he mumbled before he brushed his lips against her shoulder. Brima's breath stopped before she desperately began to break free again. This was not her father. This was not the man who had held her hand while they picked out pearls at the market. This was not her father but the man in the horror stories her mother had often confided with her. This was a monster.


"Were you not happy? Did I wrong you, Aleidis?" His voice was harsher now and it rose slowly. "Aleidis! Aleidis!"


"Get off of me! Have you gone mad, father?!"


"How dare you leave me! I did everything for you, I fought for you, I killed for you!"


"What th-hrchh!" As her father's rough hands closed around her neck, Brima stumbled and fell onto the bed. Her panic had risen beyond what she had thought possible and she began kicking out against his body. She heard a small crack but wasn't sure if it came from his ribs or or toes.


"YOU DID THIS TO US! YOU DID THIS TO US!"


Though Brima gasped and pleaded for her life through her eyes, Bayard II's were clenched shut. Tiny tears leaked from his crinkles and he shook violently, smashing Brima's head into the mattress. All thoughts had faded from her mind now and Brima was acting solely on pure survival instinct. Her lungs burned and felt as if they were bursting. With the last vestiges of her strength, Brima firmly kicked out against his sunken-in stomach.


"TSSCHHHHAUUGH!"


Even with the sea breeze blowing in through the window, Brima felt as if there wasn't enough oxygen for her. She heaved, each painful breath bringing life back to her cheeks. Her chest rose up and down and she flailed her arms, as she tried to get upright to get a better glimpse of her father, lest he attack again. A rising sense of panic overtook her and closed her throat as much as his hands had, making her dizzy as she fought to take in a breath.


A sharp intake of breath made her scramble to the side of the bed, where Bayard II had fallen after her kick. His head was bloodied and he too, struggled to get back on his feet. For a while, tension filled the room as both daughter and father watched the other like wolves in a fighting pit. Brima was the first to speak and she was surprised to find her eyes wet.


"You almost killed me; are you crazy?"


Her hoarse voice cut knives in the old man's heart. He cast his gaze towards the ocean. Right now, he wanted noting more than to jump into the waves and escape from his shame.


"Are you going to behave? I can't believe this even happened."


Each of her words -more suited for scolding children than lashing out against her attempted murderer- were punctuated with a gasp.


"I... did?"


"Oh, that is it!"


She hitched up her dress and slid off the bed -away from her father, just in case- and ran towards the door.


"You really have gone mad, haven't you? And here I was trying to help you when Erik's been fucking up our entire family and you try to KILL me and you don't even remember you liar, you liar! You li-"


"Brima! I'm sorry. Whatever I've done and not just for today. I'm sorry."


"How can I trust you," Brima continued before gesturing towards the harsh red marks on her throat, "How can I trust you when you've gone and done this!"


There was silence before Bayard II rose up to his feet. Though Brima was on high alert, she didn't make it to the door before she was enveloped in a crushing embrace. She tensed up and yelped as her father whispered into her ear.


"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know I haven't been a father to you. Whatever Erik's done, I promise you I will fix it."


WIth a lump in her throat, Brima shook her head. "You won't. You never do."


"But I can."


He let go of his daughter before resigning to his seat once more. He looked haggard once more and in the silence that followed, his eyes began to lose focus once more. His muttering continued under his breath and Brima looked on, positively bristling with anger and fear. She spoke urgently to try to pull her father out of his stupor.


"It's not safe here for us. You, me, Katla - we need to get out of here before Erik kills us all."


"Erik?" he protested weakly. "He's my son."


"I should have let you rot in this tower," she growled. "How about Katla? She's only thirteen -and motherless- she needs her father more than ever! Erik's sold off Lifa to god-knows-where and you're not doing anything about it!"


He blinked. Once, twice, before saying, "Lifa was old enough to be married years ago."


It was then Brima knew that her deed had been hopeless from the very beginning. He was too entrenched in the past for her to save, too weighed down by his own mind for her to pull out. Perhaps if she had more time... but Erik was rash and had become mean over the years. He would not wait -especially with Andor back in the realm- and with her outburst earlier, there was no doubt she had become a target for him.


She took in a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do.


"I don't care what you do - but I'm taking Katla out of here!"


"You're right... you're right." He sighed and rested his face in his palms.


"Don't say I didn't warn you, because I really did. I really tried for you. I don't know where we'll go, but we're going. So..."


She could feel her voice cracking but she promised herself not to shed any more tears over the matter. A King, she resolved, should be forbidden to cry in front of their subjects. It broke morale like none other. And a father... well, Brima wasn't sure if she could even consider the man to be her father at this point. Blood connected them only by name - it was loyalty that made family. Brima silently left the room and left Bayard II to well in his own tormented self.


The jagged bits of glass still stuck to the window grinned as the ocean wind came to chill his bones. His robes, poorly made as they were, were no substitute for the damp furs strewn around his room.


"Don't go... Aleidis. Don't leave me."


Memories of the fight had already begun to flee from his mind. Bayard II dragged his stool over to the window. The gulls were building their nests on the salt-rocks now. They bickered constantly over which bits of sea-grass to use for their bedding. He'd been watching their colony for a while now but today, something special had occurred.


One of the gulls stood alone -his mate had been dashed against the rocks by a particularly violent wave- and yet he stoically carried on, pushing bits of seaweed around with his beak. Now and then he would pause and screech, as if to say, "What's the point? What's the point?" His nest all but completed, the two lonely men locked eyes with another - man and bird sharing in their collective misery.


There was a creak as the door opened but Bayard II did not notice.


The gulls screamed.

[/border]

 

[Elle Joyner]

THORNWILD

IRIN DANTHOS

​

The little girl was a problem. She had never been a factor, never been a part of the plan, but she had seen something, and while the word of a servant and a child was hardly binding, if even one miserable creature believed her… She'd been dealt with, but it was sloppy and crude, and they'd had to reveal the nature of Baronthorn’s death. Murder wouldn't sit well with most members of the council, and some were likely to hold suspicion. He'd bought time… but there was much work to do.


Still, two elements had fallen. Only three remained. The brat of a ward… that damnable Prince of the People… and the council. The latter would be easy enough to sway, and the ward posed little trouble, but the Prince character. He would need to be handled aggressively.


But Irin had a gift for planning. He'd find a way. Pin everything on the fool of a vigilante and break down his invisible kingdom before he had a chance to ruin all of the hard work Irin had put into his grand scheme. Things would be changing in Thornwild… soon enough.


First, the council. They would need to trust him and in order for that to happen, he needed to ensure them he was the right man for the throne. His lack of royal blood would prove little problem if all came to order. What he needed was an advocate. Someone to put their faith in him, and by proxy instill faith in the council as well. Already he has pieces in play, people in the proper positions. He'd considered all the angles.


No one would surprise him again. The servant girl's unfortunate discovery was a mistake, and it would be the last. Of that, he was deadly certain.

AEONA STAVROS

​

Aeona sat before the throne, her knees curled beneath her, tears rolling down her cheeks, leaving little pools of dampness in the folds of her skirts. He was gone. Arden. Taken by trusted hands, stolen from Thornwild, leaving her behind. Her broken family now gone completely. First her parents, then Jorad and Arden… it was cruel. Bitterly cruel.


Footsteps sounded behind her and rising swiftly, she spun round to find a familiar face watching her. Without a word, she ran to the cloaked figure, arms looping round his waist with a sob. With hesitation, Jace Ore caught hold of her, a hand on her back, one cupped behind her head, as she burrowed into his chest, a kiss pressed into her hair, “I'm here… Shh… I'm here. I'm sorry I took so long. Oh, Aeona, my treasure… I'm so sorry.”


Pulling away, wiping vainly at her cheeks, Aeona’s lips fell in a frown, “I don't understand, Jace… I don't understand why anyone would do this.”


“Because we're close, Beloved. We're so close. I promised you we'd find whoever was responsible for Jorad’s death… and I haven't forgotten that. We're uncovering something someone wants hidden, and it cost Arden his life. Aeona, listen… I'm afraid for you. Whoever is doing this… I think they're after more than just the throne. And I'm afraid they might assume you'll be another obstacle in their way. I want to take you away from here… somewhere safe. But first there's something I need to tell you.”


“I already know, Jace… who you are. I've suspected for some time, now. Since Arden took you into his confidence. I… I imagine it's why he never minded the way I… How I felt about you.”


Brushing a thumb across her jaw, Jace shook his head, a crack of a smile forming, “I must be slipping for you to have rooted me out so quickly.”


“I’m not the only one who loves you, Jace. And very few people love this kingdom the way you do. It was easy for me to see you behind so important a position. Not to mention your disappearing all those times. When mysteriously the People’s Prince would be seen? I put a few things together.”


“Clever girl. But if you know, than you understand the danger? Not only that I face, but that I’ve put you in? You understand why I need to take you away from here?”


“I do. And I’ll go. But Jace… Oh, Jace.” Her arms looped around him again, pulling herself tightly to him, “You’re all I have left. If… if something happened to you…”


“If anything happens to me, it will be because I’ve the duty that was put upon me by the people of this land.” Feeling her tense beneath his gentle embrace, his smile softened and easing her back, he grasped her hands, bringing her knuckles to his lips, “But I’ll be safe, my love. I swear it. And when this is over… you and I will finally be married, just as I promised.”


“We were only children when you made that promise. And if I recall it was shortly after you’d put mud down the back of my gown and pulled my hair. I’d threatened to tell Jorad you were bullying me…”


“Aye. You called me a stupid boy and I told you that I only did it because I loved you…”


“And I said if you loved me, you’d best marry me.”


“So I gave you my word that I would..” Tenderly tugging her forward, Jace kissed her, and as he pulled away he twisted a lock of hair around his finger with a coy smile, “I did, you know? Love you. Even then…”


“Well, I would hope so.” Aeona replied, breathlessly, “I couldn’t stand you…”


Laughing, he kissed her again for quite some time. When he released her, it was with a solemn expression, a shake of his head, “I’ll come back for you, tonight. After your maid leaves… Be ready?”


“...I will. Be safe, Jace.”


“I will.” With a kiss to her forehead he turned and looking back at her, he disappeared from the throne room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

RIGOR GORON

​

The king was dead. The king was dead and he was a fairy princess if that pitiful servant girl had anything to do with it. No. There was no doubt in his mind that two acts of murder had taken place - and somehow, someway, he was going to get to the bottom of it all. Irin had his suspicions, of course - a wild accusation against the People’s Prince - but one not entirely without merit.


The man was a vigilante, and while he most typically dealt with those outside of Thornwild’s best interests, he nevertheless held some disregard for the king’s authority. If he thought the king ought to be removed… forcibly?


But no… Though Rigor had never met him, he’d seen the man’s work and privately, he’d admired it - he’d seen the control the man had, to ensure no one innocent was harmed in his quest to see the city safeguarded. But he was nevertheless capable of great atrocities… and murdering the king to ensure the best for Thornwild didn’t seem entirely a stretch. Poisoning an innocent girl to play the scapegoat, though? That was where Irin lost Rigor. That, and the despicable way the man referred to the poor dead girl as ‘that miserable creature’ left a terrible taste in his mouth.


Rigor was a man who believe in law and order within the kingdom, and he would do his duty to bring the Prince to justice if that was what he was called to do… but often what was right and what felt right were not always to coincide.


“It’s true then?” The voice interrupting his thoughts belonged to his brother, unmistakeable in it’s familiarity. Balmir, for all of Rigor’s sense of solemnity and command, carried a certain quality of freedom his elder brother could only dream of. Balmir had wanted desperately to escape family duty, but it had been Rigor that had eventually convinced him to enlist in Baronthorn’s patrol. Now, day by day he watched the light in his brother’s eyes fade a little more. Today, it seemed almost entirely gone.


“Bal… I was just coming to find you.”


“The king? Is he really dead?”


“...Aye. Last night. I… I assume you’ve heard the whole of it?”


“Murdered. By a servant girl? I can’t believe it.” Frowning, Rigor watched his brother’s expression shifting, noted the look of actual disbelief.


“...It does seem a bit odd, indeed.”


“Rig… Look… I never wanted this job. You know that. You know it and father knew it as well. But I took it, because it felt like the right thing to do. Because you convinced me it was the right thing to do. Well, I’ve a chance now to make something of myself and I’d like to take that chance. I want to investigate what happened. I want to find the truth out for myself. With your permission, of course.”


The frown twisted, and as a brow lifted, Rigor smiled faintly, “...That’s not entirely the speech I’d prepared myself to hear. You’re sure you want to take this on?”


“The man had faults… but he was a good king, and I stand by the oath I took, whether I stood by the desire to give it or not.”


“Very well. But Bal... Tread carefully. Keep your eyes opened and trust no one but me. I fear this is a greater threat than we can anticipate.”


“You’ve my word.” Nodding, Balmir headed for the door again and watching him leave, Rigor sighed. Their father would have been proud, though whether or not Rigor was pleased with that notion, only time would tell.

TAGS: @All

 

[LeviathanL]

Corvago

At the same time as the tyrant was organising his pawns, another Corvagon powerhouse was also responding to the news out of Thornwild. Swan Pavone checked her hair and admired herself in a hand-mirror before stepping outside of her carriage to meet the warm breeze of Corvagon night. Even surrounded by darkness Swan wouldn't dream of appearing outside with a less than perfect appearance, you never knew who might be watching. Followed by her manservants she made the short walk from the cobbled streets towards the gate of her family's mansion in the capital. A huge and lavishly decorated house that rivalled the Nest in defensibility, and far exceeded it in style. The sentries opened the doors as she approached, as was natural for one such as her. She couldn't remember the last time she had to open her own doors or even had to slow down her walking pace for one. She simply kept walking whilst keeping a warm and friendly smile plastered on her perfect face. Once inside the mansion's main hall however, that smile was dropped in favour of a scowl.


"What's the meaning of having me come here at this hour?" She complained towards the room's other occupants. "I had to cut short the lady Montseriet's party, do you have any idea how much information I'm missing out on?"


"Not as much as you'd do should you have skipped this summons, girl" a raspy voice answered her.


Swan redirected her gaze towards the large mahogany table in the centre of the room, at the head of which one of the most influential men of Corvago was seated. Torre Pavone, patriarch of house pavone, possibly the wealthiest man in the world, and her father.


"So you've claimed over and over for the past half hour," the last occupant of the table complained. Wren Pavone didn't even bother to suppress a yawn, for all his charm and grace in public, with just his family present he didn't feel the need to keep his own impulses in check. It was but one of the things about her twin brother that never ceased to annoy Swan.


"And if you spared any of that time to think, you'd have realized that I wouldn't say that with no reason," Torre grunted and glared at his only son, clearly as annoyed with him as his daughter was. Still, now that Swan had arrived the patriarch wasted no more time getting to the meat of the matter.


"The king of Thornwild is dead, leaving no heirs."


Swan was intrigued with the news, instantly grateful that she left the party for this meeting. It always paid to be the first person with the latest gossip in Corvago, it ensured that most others heard it from you first, a situation any decent storyteller could spin in her own favour. Her brother was less quick on the uptake, not to say he was less intelligent, just that his mind didn't automatically laid connections between old plans and new information.


"So?" he asked, "I don't see how that affects us here in Corvago."


"Naturally you don't," Torre said sarcastically. "A kingdom without an established ruler is sure to cause a mighty stir between all other nations, each one considering whether they could use this as an opportunity to expand their borders. It is also the perfect time for chaos and unrest to fester, and as such it means that our family's plans might be carried out sooner than planned. Me and my agents have been setting things up for months, sometimes years, and this news is the perfect starting sign. On that note, Wren, you've been engaged to Abrigel Braeston from Cain'loren."


Wren appeared flabbergasted for a moment. "Who?" he asked, "I know the Braestons rule Cain'loren but I never heard of this 'Abrigel' before."


It was Swan who answered him, but not before breaking out into giggles.


"Haha! The spare child! Haha. A bastard child, and one widely mocked at Cain'loren court at that. Hihi. You've truly gotten your perfect match, dear brother."


Wren Pavone's face became as red as glowing iron, both from shame and from anger as the implications of his new fiancee settled in.


"I refuse!" He screamed.


"Too late boy, me and queen Amiera formalized it ages ago, I simply didn't bother telling you about it until now."


"You sell me to some motherless bastard without so much as my consent?! How is that restoring the family honour!"


Torre clenched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed. "Once again boy, you never think. Cause if you had gotten your head out of your own arse for longer than a few seconds, you'd realize what a tremendous favour I'm doing you. House Braeston has a blood connection to the old royal house of Corvago that rivals our own, more if you consider that they are royals in their own right. By marrying you to one of them I'm effectively doubling your claim. True the bastard-bit is a distasteful, but that was the best I could do. So long as she has Braeston blood though, it shouldn't matter in the long run."


"What do you mean it shouldn't matter? Of course it matters!" Wren protested.


"It matters," Torre said with an exasperated expression on his old face, "because sometime very soon our dear Tyrant will meet an unfortunate accident, and when he does a successor must be found. Now we could try to claim and hold the tyrant's seat as our family has attempted an uncountable amount of times in the past, or we could point people to two people who together posses enough noble blood to skip that whole mess and instead hold a claim to the throne whose strength hadn't been seen in a century. So forgive if I don't care a single bit about your feelings. You are ordered to serve your house, and serve it you will. You will play the perfect fiancee to an imperfect bride, at least until our man in Telra comes through and our victory is assured. Once our family has taken it's rightful place as royalty I couldn't care less what you do with your bastard, just make this happen first."


With the warning for failure left unspoken in the air, Torre stalked out of the room, vaguely mumbling about idiotic sons and ungrateful children.


Swan was still sniggering some time after their father had left.


"So thus ends the most desired bachelor of Corvago, promised to a bastard girl born from western barbarians."


Contrary to her expectations, her brother didn't turn to swear at her, instead he got up with a renewed vigour, as if an light had appeared to brighten his earlier foul mood.


"It would seem now it is you who doesn't think, dear sister." he said calmly. " Cause if you mulled it over again in that pretty head of yours, you'd have noticed that despite father's insults, one thing is certain. he chose me. Being made to marry a bastard I may be, but that is solely a means to an end in order to see me settle my well-formed ass on the Corvagon throne. I wonder how funny my wife-to-be is when I'm a king, and you are still a mere noble."


Wren smiled and walked off, leaving Swan by herself. Indeed, she wasn't laughing anymore.

 

[Effervescent]

Isaac Dessai

​

He came out of nowhere... a force propelled by speed, by fear and as he crashed into her, Abrigel went down, hard, landing on her backside in the muddy streets with a small cry of surprised.


There was only the briefest of moments where Isaac debated on continuing on with no more than an apology. Someone was after him, and he wasn't sure how far behind this man was to catching him. But the sound of her surprise and the weight of her fall caused him to scramble back to his feet. "Are you okay?" he asked as he held out his hand toward her. "I am so sorry. I'm so sorry."


Staring up at him, eyes bright and wide, catching the light of the pale reflection of the crescent moon overhead, Abrigel managed a small, sheepish smile and reaching to take his hand, pulled herself to her feet, "No worse for the wear. That'll teach me to stand in the road like a mule, then." Brushing herself off, her expression caught a small grimace as she glanced down at the scrape on her left palm with a thoughful frown.


"You're alright, then?"


He tucked his hair behind his ears as he shifted his weight nervously. There wasn't much time for pleasantries when one is on the run for murder, even if framed. But Isaac found himself lingering despite his better judgement. Clearing his throat, he nodded in response. "I'm alright," he said to her, and then pointed to her palm. "You should get that taken care of. It would be a shame for it to get infected." His eyes wandered around the quiet street and then quickly looked over his shoulder.


A brow lifted as he shifted his gaze away and lowering her hand, Abrigel's frown deepend with a glimmer of concern, "Are... are you sure you're alright? I... couldn't help but notice you were going awfully fast. And I'd surmise from your consideration you aren't hunting... which doesn't leave much as far as options go."


A small chuckle escaped him as he considered the woman more curiously. He looked back behind him again. Was there someone there? The alley was so dark from where he came, the exit like a solid line of blue almost seemingly so distant. His nerves struck once again as his reality caught up to him. "I am not alright," he admitted, "but I have to go. And you should too. The night is no place for a lady to travel so alone. Tell me you have an escort."


Smiling dryly, she shook her head, "...If I had an escort, I'm afraid I'd be in very much trouble, as I'm not actually supposed to be here. So... I propose if you're so concerned that you escort me home, and for a kindness, I can offer you a small bit of sanctuary for the evening and possibly a meal?"


He couldn't deny he was hungry or tired. Isaac desperately wanted a place to stay at least for one night. Just a moment's rest. But how could he be sure this woman could provide him sanctuary? How could he know she wouldn't be put in harm's way just by association? He wasn't sure of his hunter's morals or resolve when it came to women or innocents. But he could also feel his fever closing in on him, threatening with fatigue and lethargy.


"Then let us make haste," he said as he agreed to her proposal. "The sooner we get there, the better for both of us."


"Indeed..." And with a smile possibly too bouyant for such an operation, she turned to make way towards the main road. It was a fifteen minute trek to the palace gates, but one that Abrigel had made all too often to be anxious. Yet the man's words and the state of him seemed to argue that haste was indeed a pivotol goal, "I find those in your position are generally running from either men... or ghosts. I'm curious... which is it?" She asked as she quickened her pace to match his longer stride, "A ghost or a man? Or perhaps a bit of both?"


"I wish it were a ghost," Isaac said to her through deep breaths. He let her guide the way, and naively with absolute trust. "It's best you do not know all the details. At least not until we are within your sanctuary."


"Fair enough. There we'll make a ghost of you, hm? So you needn't crash into any other unsuspecting women in the dark." Her eyes moved ahead through the streets as she wove across the familiar route, keeping more alert than she might have otherwise. Only when they had departed from the Western District did she breathe easier.


Isaac was still uneasy, his head turning back to the roads behind them as she guided them through the streets of the city. "Why are you helping me?" he asked curiously.


"Because..." Considering her response, Abrigel smiled delicately, "You stopped. A man, running from something who still takes the time to ensure no harm was done must either be a mad man... or one worthy of aid."


A huff of a laugh escaped him. "Maybe I am mad," he suggested playfully. "Then what do you do?"


"I thank God my father's guard taught me how to hit a man..." Glancing his way, her smile brightened, "Though it's not entirely a comfort... and I would remind you, good sir, my fall injured my hand. It would be rather ill-mannered, making me strike you with it."


"I wouldn't dream of it," Isaac said in return. Her smile was enough to lift his spirits even just a little, though the desire to reach safety was still tantamount in his mind. "Your father's guard was wise to teach you how to take care of yourself. Especially if you make it a habit to wander at this hour alone."


"It has indeed become a habit, though I've had little cause or need to recall his lessons. They're good people, so long as they're treated as such. Unfortunately, what is and what appears to be are not always so well intertwined and most of Cain'loren's commonwealth see the Western District at face value and miss what's beneath the surface. Ah..." Biting her lip, she shrugged, "I'm ranting. Sorry. We're almost there... We'll need to sneak in. I hope you don't mind?"


He looked about their location, curious as to where they were exactly headed. This area they moved through was far more well off than the district from which they came. It was becoming more clear to him that this woman was one of the more fortunate. "I don't mind," Isaac said. "And I don't mind your ranting. I feel it is the same for most kingdoms. At least Bastillos shares the ideal. The upper caste is blind to what is really there, and history will surely repeat itself."


He was ranting, too, and together they created a soft commotion amongst themselves. This was no quiet run away, and the notion never crossed Isaac's mind. The looming threat of his hunter tracking them even by the sound of their carrying voices was not even a small concern of his. They shared a common mind set, and it was this very mindset that got himself in this mess in the first place. But for him, it felt so nice to talk to someone after so long in silence.


"Unfortunately, there's little I can do about it, politically, anyway. But I do my part as well as possible. If they'd only take the time to see how good and kind the Westerners are..." Looking over at him, studying him for a moment, she managed a weary smile, "Bastillos. Then you are quite far from home..."


He nodded his head slightly. Home was far and away and likely to be so for the rest of his life. It all made his stomach tie into knots, and he clutched his torso under his cloak while feigning a weak smile. "Far from a lot of things," he said. "But hopefully not far from your home?"


Chuckling faintly, Abrigel nodded, "Just 'round the bend. There's something I should probably have warned you about. Ah... well, bit late now." As they came around the corner, the palace fell into view, the spires and towers climbing high into the rich blue-black of twilight, white as the moon overhead.


Smiling sheepishly, Abrigel shrugged, "...It's a bit larger than I might've let off. Come on, there's a side entrance the servants leave open for me."


He felt like he wanted to puke. Isaac let himself be led straight to the doors of Keep Loren. Did they know? Did this woman know what he was wanted for? Isaac took a hesitant step away from the castle walls as his naivety finally sunk in. But he looked into her eyes and saw sincerity in the blue, soft and inviting. Her expression did not look to him of anything sinister or underhanded, and the feeling of safety still remained in her presence.


"I..." his voice trailed off with the thought. "Do you work here?"


He paused and the stress in his expression was evident, but Abrigel's smile only softened as she shook her head, "I should be insulted, but I know well how I look right now." Extending her hand, the knuckles out as a lady's ought to be, she chewed unconsciously on the edge of her lip (as a lady ought not), "Princess Abrigel of Keep Loren. Though rest assured... I'm about as welcomed here as you might be."


His stomach churned as his nausea was further agitated. He was in the presence of royalty. He had run into royal blood and knocked her to the ground and scraped her palm. Isaac was in a mess that only got messier, and he couldn't discern how to feel. On one hand the situation could be very bad; just as bad as giving up to his hunter wherever he may be lurking. But on the other hand Princess Abrigel could be his savior. She was showing him a kindness he hadn't received in quite some time, and she displayed it so genuinely. Isaac gently cupped her fingers in his hand, his rough pads lightly skimming her soft porcelain skin as he leaned downward in a bow. His lips brushed her knuckles, and his heart skipped a beat. It was customary in Bastillos to kiss the rings of royalty in such a fashion, but his lips touched bare skin. Was this proper? He straightened his stance with more nervousness than before. Every misstep could spell his end.


"Isaac Dessai," he said. "Princess, before you let me in, I must warn you of what you are doing. I am a wanted man, and your further aid may reflect poorly on your people."


"Then before we proceed, I should ask you a question, Isaac..." Taking a moment, fingers still gently grasping his own, she met his gaze, a certain element of discerning in her eyes, "...Are you guilty?"


He shook his head no, for the betrayal from his people still stung in his heart. All he wanted was to see equality and a better life for all citizens of Bastillos to the point where he spoke his mind too freely and openly. He was sure this entire debacle was due to this.


"I was nowhere near where the murder took place," Isaac explained. His only witnesses could not account for his whereabouts, for he made them swear on their life they would keep quiet. Where he really was and what he was really doing the hour that King Jorad was murdered would be just as bad in the eyes of the upper caste. "But it does not matter if I am innocent. This is... I have no way of proving it. If anyone knows you've helped me it could throw our kingdoms into dissonance."


Smiling dryly, Abrigel's shoulders rose as her eyes fell, "...I'm the daughter of the king, and the queen is not my mother. I hardly think my reputation carries much weight in Cain'loren, or anywhere else." Looking up again, she nodded, "I will help you, Isaac. But perhaps not in the way you might expect. The man who's hunting you... He has no authority here, if I say so. In these walls, you're safe... but only if trust me. Do you?"


Isaac looks over his shoulder one last time. The streets were so dark even in the moonlight, and the shadows just as deep as the feeling caught in his throat. He turned back to Abrigel with a renewed sense of trust in the woman. She was practically a stranger, but this was his best chance at staving off his pursuer long enough to rest and eat.


"I trust you," he assured.


"...Right then." Her smile renewed, she reached and took hold of his hand, leading him on again, "Let's get you something to eat and a bed to rest in. We'll figure out the rest in the morning."


Isaac complied and molded to the soft touch of her hand as Abrigel guided him into the palace. He did not look behind him for the bounty hunter anymore, for what was ahead was far more interesting. And as his foot stepped past the threshold, it felt like a part of the weight was lifted from his soul.

A collaboration with

@Elle Joyner
​

 

[Bone2pick]

Mármor

​

"Why did they leave her body?" Vicente's index finger traced the rim of his untouched soup bowl while he considered his own question. He had every expectation of producing the answer, even though he was in the company of others, but he wasn't permitted enough time.


"Maybe they figured most folks would take it at face value, and that she acted alone?"


The reply came from the Majordomo's guest—Paulo Passos—Mármor's primary contact in Thornwild. Just a moment ago he was cleaning spilled mustard off the gut of his tunic. Vicente, without bothering to make eye contact, waved off the suggestion.


"The people here may be poorly educated, but they're not imbeciles. They know a political assassination when they see one."


Unfazed and largely uninterested, Paulo sank his teeth into a potato roll. The portly man had pawed at their breadbasket since their server had placed it on the table. After a second, less enthusiastic bite, he coughed and eyeballed the roll with utter disapproval.


"The bread here is shit compared to what we have back home."


He tossed the chewed up bread back into its basket and smiled sheepishly at Vicente.


"But their fish soup is good."


Vicente, sifting through more important thoughts, hadn't heard a word of Paulo's. The man had failed to impress the Majordomo a single time since they met in Thornwild. Focused as ever, Vicente had just brushed his silky hair behind his ears when his eyes flashed.


"To leave her behind is to stir up more suspicion — and that's precisely what they wanted..."


The Majordomo looked like a tracker who had just uncovered a perfect print. He felt every great pursuit was best compared to a hunt. Paulo merely slurped his fish soup.


"Bah, they over salted it this time. It's ruined."


Like a dove sailing into a smudgeless window Vicente crashed back to reality. He peeked over at the nearby pair of Picaróns who had accompanied him to Thornwild, but both were busy leering at the other patrons in the bustling tavern. At least his security was competent. Vicente reached out and swatted Paulo's spoon to the table.


"Listen to me, the actual killer wanted the public to know Barenthorn was murdered for his kingdom."


Agitated and sweaty, Paulo plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and began cleaning his spoon. His fat brow furrowed back at Vicente.


"Why would the killer want that?"


"To net two birds instead of one." As much as Vicente wanted to allow his metaphor to soak in, he feared it would be lost on his contact. He leaned closer and took careful consideration to speak plainly and clearly.


"They knew that if they eliminated Barenthorn, another undesirable claimant to the crown would come calling. And it's conceivable that this new claimant, whoever he or she might be, could have equal or greater ties to Thornwild's monarchy than themselves. Needless to say that would pose quite a big roadblock for them. But if they have a readymade conspiracy to fling at their new rival... Well, their path to taking this country would get considerably easier."


It relieved him to see Paulo nod along the entire time. It was the fat man's turn to speak. "So they planted the servant girl's body to get the word out that the king was assassinated?"


A group of thirsty looking sailors shot sideways glares at the Mármorns as they made their way to their table. Vicente cleared his throat and dropped his voice to a whisper.


"Keep your voice down...Yes, that is my suspicion."


A squealing chuckle bubbled out of Paulo, and nearly every head in sight turned to see where it came from. But after he spotted the burning contempt fixed on the Majordomo, he quickly composed himself. Paulo hissed out his own whisper.


"That's brilliant."


"It's sinister, which is hardly out of character for this continent."


Before the Majordomo could start reciting a few of the many disgraceful moments in Ellemar's history, Paulo cut in.


"So what now? Where do you go from here?"


The dramatic difference in his contact's focus was certainly a surprise. A few minutes before Paulo was spilling mustard on himself — now he was seated on the edge of his seat with his nostrils flaring. Vicente, a bit taken aback, pulled a boot over one knee and cocked his head. He wasn't sure if he was ready to answer that question, but he offered one all the same.


"I'll wait and see who the first rounds of accusations gets fired at, because he or she will most likely be the innocent party. And by that reasoning, the king's murderer will likely be the accuser."


Vicente was stunned to find Paulo staring skeptically back at him. There was an intelligence in the fat man's eyes that he'd never noticed before.


"And what if you're wrong about all this?"


The trackers print started to not look so perfect. Paulo had saved his best question for last.


"Then I might very well end up helping a kingslayer take the throne."

 

[Dusky]

Glaen

A Little Bird

​

InteractionsNone

MentionsNone

Major Moves & ChangesMorag is becoming bolder by singing her songs right at the royal palace - or planning to, anyway.

Morag the Treetop Singer

Blissfully unaware of the turmoil rearranging the political landscape so thoroughly, a woman reclined in the shade of a hazelnut tree, the cracked remains of outer shells strewn across the ground beside her. She looked to be napping. An older man walked out of a nearby small, humble home and nudged her gently with his shoe.


"Almost time," he said, looking up through the swaying branches to the night that encroached upon the dusk.


The woman cracked one pale eye open and gave her father a hint of a smile. In a sudden move she leapt to her feet and straightened her dress, fixing her blue gaze on the man. "Almost," she agreed, heading inside.


Once within, she helped her mother with the dishes, taking pleasure and a quiet thrill in the absolutely ordinary nature of the task so soon before their deeply spiritual revels. It was odd, she reflected, to both worship and be worshiped. Her communion with the spirits was more of a camaraderie than that of her followers who revered her, she supposed. She had such a duty to the humans... and she was determined to see it through, despite being stuck in this mortal life.


After the last ray of light fought its way through leaves and air and the window pane to fade out on the humble floor of the family's abode, a young girl tugged on the woman's skirts and handed her a dark cloak. "I grabbeded it for you, Morag," said the small one.


Morag crouched down to look the girl in the eye, unsmiling. "By day, when we tend to the elders whose roots run deep and harvest their fruit as ordinary citizens, you may call my Morag." She glances out the window. "But now it is night, and we need not hide me behind my mortal ruse. I am the spirit of song, sister, and I have no name."


Her sister stared back confusedly, and Morag smiled and patted her head.


"You do not understand. Nor did I, when I was this young. But I have felt the old god in this body - I know my guise was created to house it." She stood and fastened the cloak around her. "At night, call me spirit. No matter how much fondness we may share as sisters, I must have respect."


The girl frowned, but nodded.


"Good. Now, it's time to go. There are three miles to walk between here and the capital... It's about time we sang them a song, isn't it?"

 

[LeviathanL]

Corvago

@Effervescent
​

With a sudden jolt did the motionless man return to the world of the living. The man known as Kaervek the merciless blinked twice before the bright lights and loud noises started to make sense to him. When they eventually settled he found himself slumped over on a barstool within a crowded tavern and having no memory of getting there. This was nothing new to Kaervek, who habitually lost all his money in an attempt to drink himself to death. Although so far with little success. He immediately reached for his hidden stash, but his hand stiffened midway as Kaervek first scanned the crowd for any greedy eyes that might look to separate a passed out drunk from his coin-purse. Finding none, he checked his stash. The purse was still brimming with coins as well as one other object, although the sack was already distinctly lighter than when he got it. A simple man could feed himself and his entire family for the rest of his lives with this kind of money, but the sellsword counted on pissing it away as soon as possible. With that in mind he ordered another drink, and immediately chugged it down before slumping back on the stool.


Kaervek had no clear recollection of the time passed between now and then, it being about as much of a blur as most of his life after the mines was, but for some reason the memory of him 'earning' the money in his purse kept creeping back to the forefront of his mind.


It was a straightforward job, just one more rich tosser paying him to whack another rich tosser over the head. Business as usual. What did it matter this head happened to wear a crown? It is not as if fancy headgear made it any harder for one to die.


His mind slipped back into memory lane, helped on it's way by copious amounts of booze, and the details of the hit started to come back to him.


The white light illuminated the wide Bastolli tunnel, guided by a complicated series of mirrors that redirected the light all the way from the surface. Impressive as it was, it did not reach the whole underground, and it was from within a dark side-tunnel that Kaervek waited.


There they where, exactly as his employer had told him. A small group of four, two on horseback. All of them armed, with both of the men on horseback reportedly being extremely skilled, too bad the target was one of them.


Kaervek fastened a bandana over his face, and waited for the procession to pass before retrieving something from his pack. A smoke-bomb, Corvago-made, those back-stabbing birdbrains might not be able to tell massacre from a tea-party, but at least their tinkerers had some good stuff to give fighters an edge. Without preamble or fanfare Kaervek tossed the bom at the procession.


At first he'd considered simply smashing a few mirrors instead of springing for the expensive tool, but then it occurred to him that Bastillosi would be much more at ease with fighting in the dark than he would be. Smoke was better. It not only obstructed vision better than any darkness could, but was also prone to cause a coughing fit in anyone who didn't already have a cloth in front of their face.


Kaervek had already began to stalk towards the men before the bomb had hit the ground. When it did it exploded in a bellow of smoke that briefly covered the entire tunnel. As the men cried out in surprise and started coughing from inhaling the smoke, Kaervek simply walked up from behind and brought his axe down on the nearest foot soldier. The man went down with nary a word, but his armour clattering on the stone floor alerted the rest to trouble.


Not that it mattered. Before the other footman even reached for his weapon Kaervek was upon him, locating him solely by memory. A swift kick at the inside of the man's leg brought him to his knees, and a downward swing with his axe did the rest.


Now, for the hard part. The smoke had already begun to dissipate -bloody birdbrains-, and the two most dangerous men were still on their steeds, but not for long. Kaervek lunged forward, his axe raised sideways. He however wasn't aiming for any of the two men, rather for the crown's startled horse's hind leg. The slash cut the tendons, and the animal went down screaming, pinning the crown's leg between it and the stone floor.


Kaervek moved to finish the noble off, but heavy slam instead pummeled him to the side.


Stupd! He had underestimated the captain. He should count himself lucky that he was at the side of the captain's shield-arm, had he been hit by a sword he'd have been a goner. As it stood, he'd fought through worse. Kaervek crawled up to face the mounted rider, who after checking on his ward's safety turned around to finish the job on their assailant. Kaervek gritted his teeth, foot-soldier versus cavalry-man wasn't the best odds for him, but they didn't teach their cadets nothing at the silver legion. If the enemy was high, go low, a sword only had so much reach, and a horse couldn't turn without losing it's momentum.


As the captain charged at him Kaervek feinted to the right, then ducked to the left. The ruse worked, and the sellsword got little more than a few scrapes and bruises for his trouble. He couldn't afford to keep lying there though, he had to counterattack before the captain got his horse around. Kaervek got to his feet and retrieved his axe, before letting out a loud roar and sprinting towards the rider. He swung his axe just within full range, giving the horse a long cut instead of a deep gauge. The horse screamed in pain and balked, throwing off it's rider.


Kaervek breathed deeply as he stood behind the struggling captain, he raised his axe.


And promptly spun around to use it to block a sword strike coming from his flank. The noble had gotten free from his horse and proceeded to attack him. Even in the throes of battle Kaervek felt a shimmer of admiration, most blue-bloods would have turned tail and ran, let alone risk their lives to save a subordinate. However Kaervek had long since ceased being a heroism-addled boy, and commendable behaviour didn't ensure victory. Kaervek used his greater strength to push the noble away, and gave him a solid kick with a steel-tipped boot in the stomach to keep him occupied. Once free from any royal interference, Kaervek swung his axe in a half-circle, meeting the captain who had just gotten to his feet. The axe embedded itself deep into the captains shield, possibly breaking the man's arm but certainly getting too stuck to be removed easily. The brave man gave a feeble effort to strike the sellsword with his sword, but Kaervek stepped on the man's arm and pinned him to the ground. From there it was a simple measure of wrestling the sword from the man's clenched fingers and turning it against his owner.


Kaervek got this his feet covered in blood and sweat, and still he hadn't killed the man he came her to kill. He turned back to the wounded noble, still clenching his stomach as he tried to get up to defend a man already dead.


Kaervek grabbed him by the hair and readied his stolen blade.


"You're far more trouble than you're worth you know that?"


The noble just looked reconciled with his fate as he uttered a final prayer:


"The Lord's light will shine upon you in your darkest hour, and by his hand, lead you to his side."


Kaervek snorted, "He never did for me."


The sellsword brought down the sword, and for the next moment the only sound in the massive tunnel was the sound of metal on stone as a bejeweled circlet bounced over the cavern floor before rolling to an abrupt stop.


Kaervek jolted awake again, also this time briefly wondering if that last drink had finally been the end of him, before realizing that it once again hadn't. In a last ditch effort he ordered one more drink, after which he slipped off the bar-stool and wandered outside into the night, his stash still filled with coins, as well as one surprisingly heavy crown.

 

[Lakita]

[border]

A collab post with

@LeviathanL
​

The hut had been made for the occasion. Thin wooden stalks formed a great dome for privacy against both prying eyes and the rain. Decorative shells were strung all over the structure; a stark contrast to the emptiness inside. Ailu sat waiting on the ground as she waited for her fellow Kona to enter - as she had called for the meeting to begin with, she was expected to act the part of the host. It wasn't long before she heard the whooping calls of the other clans signalling their arrival. It was an act of defiance to announce one's entrance with a war cry but Ailu wasn't about to break up the meeting before it began. It had taken almost a week and many bribes to even get the other Kona to consider it and as such, Ailu could tolerate some disrespect.


The sea-grass parted as Kiowa's painted face came into view. The animosity between the two women were clear before the newcomer even took her seat.


"You made it."


"Are you surprised?"


"Not at all. I just didn't expect you to be first."


"Men are lazy."


They sat opposite one another and spoke no more until the rest of the Kona began to file in. Ailu was pleased to find their arrivals less flamboyant and arrogant and she welcomed each man graciously as they stepped into the hut. There was Juho of Saltrock, a hulking beast of a man whose features were only amplified by the bone and fur he wore. Hegon came next and despite his recent defeats, he looked none the lesser. Mohkku had arrived last and as he slapped aside the sea-grass "door", he gave no mind to the quips Ailu had made about his tardiness. Though the Konig had been planned weeks earlier, it took a few hours before the Kona were all in place.


"Kiowa. Juho. Hegon. Mohkku. Before we begin, I give my thanks fo-"


"Enough with the ceremonies, Ailu. We all know the ways," snapped Kiowa. She upturned the bowl they had been passing around and the sea-water seeped into the dirt.


"They are nothing if we do not practice them." Ailu admonished the younger girl before reaching across to retrieve the bowl. Kiowa further aggravated her by kicking it away. "You must be tired from your journey. Perhaps you'd like to rest while the grown-ups speak?"


"Stop with the squabbling and get on with it. What do you want, Ailu?" That was Mohkku. Having both the attention span and temper of a child, he always wanted the point straight away.


"What do you think she wants? Toe-licker!"


"I have always held my people's interests at heart," Ailu countered. "If that means holding hands with the Telrains, then so be it. I've seen their ships, their fleets of men. Their weapons, their armour - no. This is a fight that I feel we cannot win."


The two fighters of the group, Kiowa and Mohkku, smirked derisively at her comments. Kiowa spoke first.


"We already know what you think, Ailu. We've -I've- known that ever since I raided your goddamn villages and you did nothing."


"You don't care for our people; you're scared of fighting for them." Mohkku added.


"I am not. I have never been scared. But I do know when the fight is over." Ailu looked around for a helping hand. "This fight is over. It was over before we were ever born - it began and ended with Seastone Keep."


"She's right." Kiowa looked incredulously at the man sitting to her right, just to make sure the words were really his. Hegon did not look ashamed for his uncharacteristic position but rather resigned. "We don't have the men."


A gloomy silence was cast upon the five Kona as the weight of Hegon's words dropped into their stomachs. Even Ailu, who was as peaceful as the Saomi came, felt a little melancholy as she realized that true freedom had always been a wistful dream.


"I'd fight them anyway," Mohkku piped up. "Telrains are soft."


Hegon shrugged and picked at his teeth. "You'd be surprised."


"Shut up, Hegon." Kiowa's fire had been rekindled with her disgust for her comrade's defeat. Her eyes flashed dangerously before she turned to face him. "You make me sick. Crawling to Ailu like a whipped dog - what kind of man are you? A mewling babe has more fight than you."


Ignoring his tightened smile, she continued. "I don't care what you say. A peace-lover like yourself has no place among us. I will continue to dye the oceans with their blood. This is our way." Kiowa locked eyes with her peers, daring them to challenge her. "This has always been our way."


Ailu almost tore out her mussel necklace; she was so frustrated. Her voice was strained from the effort of not shouting. "Our way is dying, Kiowa! If we don't change, we will die alongside it. You are dooming your people."


It was then Kiowa smiled, revealing her sharp white teeth. In the dark lighting of the hut, Kiowa almost seemed as if she really had been sired by wolves. "Change is coming, Ailu, but it is not the cock-sucking you seek. Bring him in!"

After hearing his cue a hooded man strode into the hut, flanked by two of Kiowa’s warriors. This stranger’s poise and demeanor however showed no worry about being surrounded by heavily armoured grasslanders, instead he carried himself with absolute confidence, even going so far as lighting a pipe. The short spark of his tinderbox briefly illuminating his pitch-black eyes.


“Good day ladies and gentlemen,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. “My name is Valencio Celtello, and I can make your dreams come true.”


"The fuck's this?" Hegon grunted. "I thought we were talking peace with the Telrains."


"Not anymore. This man, Hegon, is the change that I bring." Kiowa rose up, forcing the others to look up to her. "I bought him with Telrain gold and Telrains he will slay. Tell them what you told me, so they may open their eyes!"


Celtello didn’t look quite as enthusiastic as his employer, but he started talking:


You grasslanders are mighty warriors, feared for your prowess in battle, and rightfully so. But the Telrains have thick armour, impenetrable castle walls, and there are a lot more of them. Even the mightiest of you can’t survive against an army of them, no matter how vast the difference in individual strength. I can provide leverage. Give me access to your contacts as well as authority over a few of your people and I can kill people no matter how much armour they carry, I can make the gates of castle open for your troops, and I can identify and target specific individuals, leaving their vast hordes of sheep leaderless against the slaughter. I can do all that and more, all you have to do is ask my employer for permission.”


He gestured to Kiowa, coupling it with a submissive nod of his head, clearly indicating which of the Kona he was following here.


"An assassin." Juho broke the silence with his scratchy voice. He shook his head with disapproval. "It goes against all honour."


"And what has honour brought you? Years of fighting over a rock."


"I thought you were for peace, Hegon," Ailu protested. This was not the way she had wanted the meeting to pan out. "The Telrains will retaliate."


"Let them! I will kill a hundred men myself - without their leaders, they will be scattered fish." Perhaps she had sensed the weakness in her fellow Kona; either way, Kiowa jumped in to reassure him.


"I agree with Juho. This is a... a..."


"Cat stole your tongue along with your balls, Mohkku?" Kiowa practically spat on the floor.


Flustered, the young man carried on.


"This is wrong. We don't hire foreigners to do our work. Especially not rat-scum like him," he raged, "who stab their enemies in the back instead of facing them. I am not for peace, hear me well, but I am against this."


A resounding agreement (more or less) echoed around the gathered chieftains save for Kiowa. Not only had she brought in a foreign assassin into their meeting, but she had also violated many rules of the Konig itself. Ailu eyed Kiowa's men warily, fully aware of the fact that if things came to the worst, the bloodthirsty Kona would have the advantage on everyone. As the woman who had called for the gathering in the first place, Ailu felt it was her duty to reign their tempers before blood was spilled.


"Enough, Mohkku. This has gone out of hand. I called you all here to discuss Telra's peace treaty, nothing more. I thought you all to be have our people's self-interests at heart. I have tolerated your actions but no more - we will not discuss this matter here."


"Yes, we will!" Kiowa carried on. "You do not get to tell us what we can do, Ailu. You tolerate my actions because it is all you can do."


"How much did she pay you, sneak-thief?" Hegon interrupted the rising tension between the two women. He seemed genuinely curious and on the edge of accepting the assassin's offer. “You talk well for yourself. Where’s the proof?”


Celtello looked at Hegon calmly and without any show of emotion.


“My fee is a private affair, though I can tell you ms. Kiowa has paid it in full. From now untill the end of this situation, I’m hers to command. Whether that means my skills are also yours depends entirely up to her. Proof though?


Back in Corvago my name would be proof enough. But here I suppose actions speak louder than names.”


“The rat squeaks,” Mohkku grunted, “but I hear nothing. He is not one of us. He is not Saomi. The rules of our people do not extend to this foreign bastard.” He stood up, refusing to look Kiowa in the eyes any longer. He took a few steps forward to confront the assassin.


For a fraction of a second Celtello’s demeanor changed, he shook off his submissive attitude and glared at the Kona like he was something he found on the other side of his boot. With a tiny flick of his wrist a knife was shot flying through the air, hitting the large grasslander between the eyes.


“Well, if the rules don’t apply to me...” Celtello said softly, before resuming his servile position in front of Kiowa.


There was shocked silence as blood began to trickle from the Kona’s head. The knife had been lodged deeper into his skull when he had fallen, destroying any hope of his survival. The dirt slowly turned to mud as his heart pumped in vain.

“You killed him!” Ailu stood up, filled with indignation and fear. “You don’t kill in here. We will be cursed for this.”


“Better to be cursed than to be dead, Ailu,” Kiowa snarled. “Sit back down. You aren’t in control of this Konig anymore.”


“It was stupid to kill him,” rumbled Juho. He hadn’t spoken more than two sentences during the entire meeting but now he held a look of deep disgust on his face. “Whatever he was, he deserved to die in battle. Not like this.”


“It was a good throw.” Hegon shrugged. He stared at Mohkku’s corpse in deep thought before nodding. “I will take Mohkku’s men in lieu of my own - I have no more need for the Telrain’s peace.” His face split with a grin, Hegon reached over and rolled Mohkku onto his back. “They’ll never need to know how he died.”


“They will not stand for this. I will not stand for this!” Ailu had refused to sit even in the face of Kiowa’s new attack-mutt. “This is treachery of the highest kind, Kiowa.”


“And who’s going to convict me of it?” Kiowa jabbed a finger at the corpse. “Sit. down! Unless you want to end up like Mohkku, you’d do well to listen.”


"No."


With a flourish, Kiowa's warriors brandished their weapons. Their steel swords -obviously looted from dead Telrains- forced Ailu to relent. She sat down slowly with her hands held slightly up in a show of peace. Her mouth told a different story, however, as she berated those she had once thought of as loose allies.


"The rules still apply for us. Saomi blood must not be spilled here. You know it as well as I."


"Times are changing, Ailu. You said it yourself."


"I want to hear her talk," Hegon added. "Sit down and shut up."


When silence filled the room again, Kiowa spoke. Her plans were not ones that Ailu hadn't heard before - such violent rhetoric was a common feature in her rival's speeches. The only difference now was that they seemed plausible.


"Seeing as how you can't get rid of him, Juho, our man will kill that peasant-lord Bero first."


"No!" His voice was filled with disdain. "You dishonour the man. I will take him, as I always have."


"Don't you want your stupid rock back?" Kiowa sneered. "You'll get it, once I take it for you."


"Of course I want it. But l must be the one to take it from him," he argued. "It should be won with blood, not with poison."


"Why is it more honourable to waste your people's lives? Wouldn't you agree, Ailu?" Before she could open her mouth, Kiowa continued. "You had years to kill him - if you couldn't do it then, you can't do it now. What, do you love him? Have you fallen in love? You love the Telrains more than your own people, is that it?"


"Only a whipped dog would behave as you do." Hegon noted.


"Who's the whipped dog? Last I checked, he wasn't the one blindly following that poisonous I'm uncultured!" As Kiowa's men had sheathed their weapons, Ailu's temper had returned. "If you follow her, you will be throwing us all into the sea, I feel it - I know it! Do you think the Telrains can tell the difference between us Saomi? You are dragging us all into your fight."


"I thought I told you to shut your mouth, woman."


“Why-”


"You're right. I won't shed any more of my people's blood." Juho seemed almost deflated, as if his muscle had turned to fat under all his fur. "How will you do it? Poison?"


“Yes,” Celtello said softly. “Bero’s keep is relatively isolated from his Telrain allies, as such it has few staff, who are likely to all know and trust another. It would be easy to get a grasslander sympathizer or weak-willed Telraini to smuggle me into the keep. Once inside poisoning the lord’s meal would be child’s play.”


Celtello shrugged, “I recognize that it isn’t as glorious as a month-long siege that’ll cost dozens of men their lives, but this is something with a much higher chance of success, and I can have it done by the week. Honourable combat is fine and good, but you must consider the fact that you have a choice to make. Do you want glory? Or do you want to win?”


“Do not misunderstand my compassion, foreigner. I do this to save my people, not to win a false victory.”


Kiowa shrugged, clearly not impressed with Juho’s mentality. “As long as you agree with me, I don’t care what you think. It’s settled then. Cel-”


“Wait! If y-”


“Oh, nobody cares! Give it a break, you old ha-”


“If you do this, Juho,” Ailu spoke frantically while eyeing Kiowa’s men, “hundreds more will die. That’s a promise I can make, that’s something real you need to think about! Do you think they will just lay ove-”


“I said enough and I meant it!”


Kiowa lunged forwards and kicked Ailu in her stomach, cutting her speech short. Though the other Kona seemed perturbed by her actions, any actions they would make were neutralized by the sight of Mohkku’s corpse cooling on the ground. Ignoring Ailu’s heaving as she tried to catch her breath, Kiowa kicked her once more to hammer in her point - she had effectively hijacked the meeting.


“Are we to be fish now? So scared of fighting that we will surrender at the sight of our enemies’ shadows? Our ancestors would spit on us for being as meek as this one,” she spat on her defeated rival, “and with good reason! We have fought the Telrains for centuries. Peace? Why should they be the ones to decide the terms of peace? Give us land? This land was never theirs to begin with! They mock us in their stone castles!”


She paced around the hut, stopping every now and then to look her fellow leaders in their eyes.


“They call me Kiowa of the Wolves. I have led my people from one victory to another - believe in me as they do now. You all know of my battle prowess. You know it. With this foreigner’s help, I will give the Telrains our own ‘peace treaties’. Our terms,” she snarled, “will be writ with blood. This I can promise you.”


What her speech had lacked in eloquence she compensated with her intensity a hundreds time more. Though her words were crude and poorly stuck together, her ferocity managed to paint a vivid image of victory. Even Ailu saw a glimpse of the glorious vision she conjured - though it only lasted a second before being swept away with a swarm of flesh-picking ravens.


“There is only one way for the Saomi to survive. There has always been one way. Join me and we will tear down their stone keeps and send them back into the sea - where they belong.”


Her piece being said, Kiowa promptly swept out of the hut to leave the others to their thoughts. Hegon was the first to rise -as Ailu had expected- and he too, left. Juho had a few more words to share with his host before following the others.


“She shouldn’t have kicked you.”


“She shouldn’t have done a lot of things. It doesn’t matter now. You’ve all joined her.” Her voice was tired and thick, her face even more so. “You knew it was wrong. Why did you do it?”


“What?”


After receiving a pointed glare he broke out in a wry smile.


“I don’t know. Maybe I’m more ambitious than I thought.”


He got up slowly, his joints struggled to support his sizable bulk. Ailu realized for the first time just how old and damaged the man seemed to be. A few more serious injuries and he wouldn’t be able to stand up straight.


“I’ve led my people on my crusade long enough. Isolation - that’s no way for people to live. You should think on it too, Ailu. Saomi should stick together - if only I learnt that earlier, things would be different.”


With that, he passed through the sea-grass door curtain and left his host alone in the dark with nothing but a corpse for comfort.

[/border]

 

[Effervescent]

Laballa Sola

​

The rooms were brightly lit from the sides. It was no dwelling in the mountains. She could see the thick trunks of trees just outside the windows. Queen Imeen was just in front of her, her silhouette wreathed in the golden sunlight as she opened the door to the surface and looked back at her. Laballa felt more warmth in Imeen's smile than she did the sun. The queen was vibrant and happy, and within her arms cradled a small bundle that cooed up at her.


"I want him to know the sun," she said to Laballa. "I want him to grow up knowing both worlds."


Laballa agreed, and she couldn't help but smile. It felt like it had been so long since she had seen Imeen so happy. She deserved this after all that had happened. Imeen walked back over to Laballa, her hand reaching out and clasping her own to guide her out the door.


Oh...yes... Laballa remembered. I can't see.


And yet in her visions, even in the first person, she could. And she was grateful for it just to know the traces of her queen's lips as they brightened into a smile. She felt her heart flutter as their hands met. She was in love.




Coming out of a vision was always somewhat disorienting. She returned to the blackened consciousness with her other senses to anchor her in the present. Laballa never resented her disability, and she worked quite well within it. And so, as she attempted to orient herself she began her mental checklist to resume back on her track.


To her left stood a man, tall, her arm linked within his and wrapped around fine fibers. It was a strong man, and she could tell by his distinct smell of musk and mint it was her dear friend EnesttDavroste, the General. He was the only other person in this world to treat her so kindly after presented with her innate ability to see into the future. And he, just like his daughter, would always wait patiently through her visions. Though unlike Imeen, he would often be the first to speak.


"It is a fine day for a walk," he said to her. "The surface light doesn't seem overcast today. Luminhold is very bright, almost as if it were glowing." Enestt never asked what her vision entailed. She had once asked him why he wasn't curious like everyone else, to which he told her he was only interested if she wanted to tell him. And sometimes she would share what she saw, good or bad. But this vision was intimate and personal, and it was not her place to reveal the news that the queen was, infact, with child. The news would stir the lands even if it wasn't Jorad's.


She smiled faintly and took a step forward. Enestt followed suit and continued to walk towards the throne room with Laballa at his side. Such a kind and patient man was he. "Do you know what happened to the messenger we sent to Thornwild?" she asked. He followed it with a hesitant pause until he sighed through his nose.


"He hasn't returned," he admitted, "and he hasn't sent word to us of his delay. I've sent out men to search for him. If anything were to have happened... Well, I would want to see him returned to his family for a proper burial."


"I feel ashamed we were too late," Laballa said as they passed through one of the gardens. The scents were sweet and fresh making her wish to linger for a moment longer. But they pressed on, for the queen requested their audience as council.


"You cannot place the blame on yourself, Laballa," Enestt said to her. "You can't control when you see what you see."


"There isn't really a rhyme or reason," she said in agreement, yet the notion still did not lift the weight of guilt from her shoulders. "I fear, though, that it will start a war. That Thornwild will blame us for taking their king's only son. That we left their lands heirless and in chaos."


"If they declare war, they will have a lot more than our army to contend with," he said confidently. "At least, we would hope so. That is one reason for why we are having guests from Cain'loren in a little more than a fortnight."


Laballa nodded her head somewhat, the small medallions on her headdress jingling with the motion. It was difficult to find confidence all would be well when she had not even seen a vision regarding the state of the lands for weeks. It had all been small things she couldn't piece to anything of substance. Nothing was presentable just yet, but nothing pointed towards seeing war or peace. They entered the throne room, the doors closing behind them to leave the three alone to discuss matters. She hoped this session would calm her nerves, but with the state of things presently, that would be difficult to achieve.

Allarith Moraus

​

Ever since that day in the mines, Allarith hadn't been able to escape the legend that now was associated with him. Even his own men under his command would whisper when they thought he couldn't hear. Captain Moraus rose to his rank when no one ever knew of him. He was approached by General Ravar and escorted to Luminhold so that the queen herself could present the title. It was sprung on him so quickly, and rumor had it his acceptance was hesitant.


But hesitant was an understatement. Allarith felt uneasy about it all from the start, and at first thought he was in trouble for murdering all those bandits. He was just protecting his family when Bastillos had failed to do so. But even after he learned they were commending him, he did not know if he wanted the responsibility bestowed upon him so graciously by a queen who did not know of him until the happening.


That was a point brought to light in their first meeting when she offered him the position of Captain of the Guard. There were thousands of qualified men for the job already within her grand army. But she calmly stuck to her decision and listened to his concerns. Beside her, the blind advisor sat quietly, her head tilting thoughtfully in his reservations.


Despite all of that, he took the position, granting his family income beyond what they had ever imagined possible. His first task as Captain of the Queen's Guard was as an escort for the party from Cain'loren. He had the entire trek to calm his nerves and focus his mind. The main road from Cain'loren leading into Bastillos passed through calm lands with little conflict from highwaymen or bandits. They still performed their sweeps to insure a smoother journey for their guests.


"What if we run into the king killer?" one of the guards quietly said to another. "I mean, he's still out there. And these are important people. Who knows what his motives were."


"The captain'll handle him real quick," said another. "I don't think there's much to worry about."


"He's only one man, sure," Allarith piped in, "but he's still dangerous. He took out four men and got away with it." He looked back at the party with a lofted brow as he waited for the notion to sink in. There were four of them, and one of the guards looked around to count the party.


"Oh," he said in realization.


"Oh," Allarith repeated, and huffed a small laugh before turning back to the road ahead. The smile faded as the pressure once again found its place in his gut. Hopefully combined with the Cain'loren guardsmen they would be powerful enough against any threat along the road. It was imperative they brought them to Luminhold safely.

 

[Bone2pick]

Mármor

​

He had hoped for better weather but had to settle for a dreary morning. The regular overnight fog, though it had thinned, still lingered; the cloud choked sky held it hostage. As a consolation everyone gathered had escaped the summer heat. Marquez Deodato, the conductor of the ceremony since dawn, had barely broken a sweat.


"With this embrace, I gift unto you the most esteemed distinction among your countrymen."


With the Marquez's lead each man kissed the other's cheek. Then, as tradition dictated, they sealed the moment with a hearty embrace. Afterwards the younger of the two did his best to conceal an effort to dry his eyes. Deodato smiled proudly and seized the emotional man's wrist.


"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... Fidalgo Luiz Atílio Souza!"


The Marquez hoisted the arm of Fidalgo Luiz above their heads and the crowd erupted with cheers and applause. Luiz shined on the stage like a champion, and he waved to his adoring wife and children in the front row. As the cheers continued the newest Mármorn noble bowed graciously to his nearby Monarch and then motioned for the gathered public to quiet down. It was time for his speech.


But the clapping would't stop. A lone set of hands continued to slap together long after everyone else had paid their respects. Its rhythm and energy, instead of sounding celebratory or enthusiastic, was clearly laced with mockery and rebellion. The audience parted to allow the heckler to approach the stage. Only then did he cease clapping.


Luiz didn't immediately recognize the man under his feathered cavalier hat. He noted his skin, half a century old and dull bronze; his hair and beard, permanently paled by the sun; and his dress, an unsubtle callback to an earlier generation. It took a few seconds for Luiz—demoralized as he was—to put it all together and identify the fellow lurking at the foot of the stage. Deodato had identified the bastard before he ever crawled into view.


"You're interrupting a treasured Mármorn ceremony Machado...I'm shocked."


The Marquez issued a faint shake of his head at Capitano Heidor who had already, along with the other guarding Picaróns, moved to intercept the intruder. Accepting the order to stand down, Heidor and company didn't engage. But the Picaróns were a proactive defense guild, so the Capitano and five of his veterans melded into the crowd to search for additional threats. This all went unnoticed by Machado who tipped his hat back and leered up at the men on stage.


"It's as they say my Marquez, one man's treasure is another's trash."


Deodato couldn't help but peek at Luiz's family — his children were confused and his wife was appalled. Seagulls, awake and searching for breakfast, started to swoop and honk over the pier. The fog had finally lifted.


"Regardless of your objection, today is not your day."


Deodato strolled to the edge of the top of the plank stairs, which left left him looking sharply down at his challenger.


"Have I gotten the day wrong, My Lord? Forgive me, but rarely is it the day of a humble commoner, while there are so many days for your aristocrats," Elias Machado called back. The Marquez spotted a grin forming on his adversary's face.


"Our nobility—unlike the Empire you hail from—are awarded their titles based on achievement and service to their country. Each and every Fidalgo was born a commoner. You've been here several years now Machado, I expected you to know this."


Elias spat on the first step in front of him. Gasps and whispers flowed through the crowd while Deodato frowned at the vulgar display.


"I know what you're feeding me doesn't match what I've seen. It doesn't match what a lot of folks here have seen — that Mármor's nobility gets passed out like candy to the wealthiest ring-kissers."


The Marquez reflexively thumbed the Royal Signet on his hand and squinted down at Elias.


"Is it candy you're seeking then? I remember passing you a piece when I granted you sanctuary here. How quickly you have forgotten, exile... Now if you don't mind, it's past time for Fidalgo Luiz's speech."


Each man stared daggers into the other. Deodato's attention shifted when he spotted Heidor slip through the tightly packed bodies of the front row and settle behind Elias. The Capitano's hand was tucked inside his breast pocket; a clenched fist printed through his shirt.


"A final question for you then, My Lord...Were you also born a commoner?"


Deodato marched down until he stood on the bottom step in front of Elias. His boot stamped into the pooled spit.


"I was born into the very Monarchy whose legacy freed this country from your oppressive ancestors... Now go on Machado, before I have you removed."


There was a brief but intense standoff before Elias let out a gravelly laugh. Then he turned his back to his enemy and called out to the audience a final time.


"Enjoy your ceremony folks. I recommend you enjoy all of them, along with your titles, your lands, and your fashionable manors. Because one morning you might wake up and find they're all gone... And what a tragedy that would be."

 

[Kencen]

Caeryth

​

A Collab with @Lakita


"Caeryth draws near, my lady."


"Ayuh."


Lifa sat gloomily on Saoirse as her prison drew ever nearer. Her legs hurt from riding so long and some of the flowers on her hair had wilted (she'd neglected to change them for days). She knew that she was to upkeep a presentable image but the further away from Telra she got, the less motivated she felt. Even when they had passed the the border she had felt little excitement.


The lands of Caeryth were not so unlike Telra, at first. As the party progressed deeper into the Kingdom, however, the trees gave way to long grass which in turn gave way to villages where the people toiled. They seemed to only spare a quick glance for the foreigners before returning to their work. It stung her pride slightly to be subject to their short attention-spans. Lifa noted that many of them seemed to returning to their homes covered in dirt and dust. Was it farming that caused all that, or something else? She wasn't sure but after she had passed through a few villages, Lifa grew bored with ogling the commoners.


An idle thought had passed through her head though - it was the furthest she'd ever been from her Kingdom. Faint memories of her failed expedition with the merchant boy flit through her mind and Lifa smiled slightly. Regardless of what was happening now, those had been excellent days. In a way, she was getting the adventure she had so desired. She was even getting married now, wasn't she?


It's not the same, a voice in her head answered. Those men had shining armour and fought dragons for their ladies hands. Those men believed in true love, not this cold mockery of a marriage. Lifa felt like throwing up even though she hadn't eaten anything since morning.


"I want to stop here for the night."


"Begging your pardon, my lady, but the gates are only minutes away."


Although her efforts at delaying the journey had been thwarted, Lifa did not yet resign herself to hopeless despair. As they rode, Lifa threw out various excuses to stop and rest - none of which worked on her tired guards.


However right before they reached the gates of the Emerald Fortress, Lifa's mood was slightly lifted by the return of her forgotten sword.


"Your brother asked us to deliver this to you, my lady."


"My sword! I almost forgot I had it."


Despite it not being proper, Lifa hastily buckled her weapon around her waist. It had been a long time since she had felt excited over the blade again - the deep mahogany sheath was particularly fetching. Even though she had no idea how to wield it properly, the weight of the sword reassured her that she was not alone. Her brother had not forgotten her - that much was evident, she realized, in not just the sword he had given her. Edvard had allowed her to ride her own horse to Caeryth instead of being cooped up in a carriage.


She felt pleased enough to pluck the dried flowers out of her hair, leaving only the freshest behind. She made sure her hair was in place and even smoothed out the creases in her dress. Lifa had not forgotten the message the twins had sent each other - it had just been a hard pill to swallow. Still, she straightened her back and assumed a neutral expression on her face. What little she remembered from her mother's teachings came into play as the Telrains made their way to a waiting Prince Cid.


"On behalf of our Majesty, King Bayard II, we have delivered his daughter, Princess Lifa Bayard, to Caeryth. May our two kingdoms find peace through this marriage."


---


As foreign as he found the concept of marrying someone he’d never met, Cid had had plenty of time to get used to the idea. Indeed, the announcement had shocked the entire royal family. Cassandra and Curic protested immediately, and even Corvus, who actively opposed his older brother, spoke out against the decision eventually. After a long, private talk with his father the King, Cid agreed to the engagement, if begrudgingly. “The engagement is for the good of the realm,” so said King Canus. Cid could see the wisdom of making a true peace with Caeryth’s historical adversary, the peace especially important now that the throne of Thornwild was left unfilled. Cid did not know exactly what the future would bring, but he did know that his Kingdom needed all the help it could get.


Now that the day had finally arrived, Cid had been pacing in the Knight’s Headquarters for over an hour, Knight-Commander Valenway and Princess Cassandra watching him. Well, occasionally glancing at them. Cassandra was actually drafting her latest love letter to Crispin Baelston, Talver reading it over her shoulder and offering the occasional word of advice. All of which were ignored, of course.


Cid’s cousin Marick would have delighted in poking fun at his situation, had the lanky merchant not left for Thornwild that same morning. Eventually, just as Cassandra finished up her letter, Cid let out a great sigh.


“I suppose we should head to the gates now. They should be arriving soon,” Cid said, looking to the Knight-Commander.


“We should have been there an hour ago, Cid,” Talver said, eyes rolling.


“I look forward to meeting my future sister by law tonight, brother. But of course, I must find a messenger soon- I can not afford to dither about now! I am meeting with Mother and Nina soon, as well. Good luck, Cid.” After a quick hug, Cassandra grabbed her letter and ran off, in a decidedly un-princess-like manner.


Cid and Talver locked eyes, collectively sighed, and were on their way. Cid wore a regal green tunic with a silvery trim and matching green pants- he had adamantly refused to wear a toga, despite his mother’s claims that they were wonderful and stylish. He donned his Prince’s Circlet, a silver band with a single emerald set in the center. Talver called on two of the knights and a handful of the town watchmen to join them at the gate.


Cid would never admit it to anyone, not even his best friend who stood next to him, but he was nervous at the thought of meeting his new bride. He took several deep breaths once he saw the horses off in the distance, and scanned the riders as they approached.


After they announced Lifa’s presence, Cid stepped forward. He took in the sight of the younger princess, his face lighting up in a grin at the sight of the sword strapped to her side. He also took note of the fact that she had elected to ride a horse rather than in a carriage. He liked that. Cid wiped the smile off his face though, adopting a more formal expression as he began to speak.


“Peace is all we have ever wanted,” Cid began, looking each member of Lifa’s retinue in the eyes. “I am Cid Taeg, First Prince of Caeryth and Heir to the throne! I welcome you all to the Emerald Fortress. A feast is being prepared as we speak; I hope you can all partake. I am honored to finally meet you, Princess Lifa,” Cid finished, as he moved to help her dismount her horse.


Wordlessly, Lifa accepted his hand and pulled herself off Saoirse. She pat her horse on her neck which caused her to nicker with annoyance. "Stop it Saoirse. It's just me." Remembering her brother's words, she tried to invoke his gentler spirit in her words. "It's alright, it's alright. Don't worry Saoirse; this is our new home now, okay?" They seemed to have little effect and Saoirse even walked ahead a few steps. Lifa rolled her eyes in exasperation and threw up her hands. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Saoirse!"


"With your leave then, my Lady?"


"Aren't you staying?"


"I'm afraid our orders were to escort you to Caeryth, my Lady. They'll take take of it from here." Bowing their heads, they began to retrace their steps. One stopped and offered a short excuse to Cid, speaking of their regrets in not being able to partake in the feast.


Lifa watched wordlessly as her last connections with Telra faded into the villages beyond the Emerald Fortress. Her face was twisted in a resentful pout but she kept silent, thinking of her duties to her kingdom and brother.


"Will I be allowed to rest before the feast, Prince Cid?" Though in her books the fair maidens had bestowed such titles like "champion" and "beloved" on their husbands, Lifa found it hard to speak such words - they mocked her of her naivety far too much.


“Of course you may rest first, my lady,” Cid replied as he watched the riders leave. “Gaveth,” he continued, looking at one of the watchmen, “Please take Princess Lifa’s horse to the stables.” The man nodded and approached the horse, smiling merrily all the while. The middle aged watchman had always been good around animals. “Princess Lifa, shall I escort you to your chambers, then?” Cid held out his arm for her to take, smiling weakly.

 

[Elle Joyner]

CAIN'LOREN

Three Weeks Later
​

ABRIGEL BAELESTON

​

Slippered feet padded quietly across the cobblestone as Abrigel made her way from the palace steps to the stables - a path well known by now. Isaac had been in Cain'loren for nearly three weeks, safely tucked behind the gates of the palace, safe under her protection, and nary an eyebrow had raised. In all reality, there had been no reason to visit him so often, but the simple truth of it was, Abrigel enjoyed his company, probably more than she ought to... all things considered.


Yet time and time again, despite what she told herself, despite her hesitations, she found her steps carrying her on that familiar path, and with heart duly exposed, she would step through the stable doors. That evening proved little different, and as the sky darkened to a pale orange, the clouds a prim pink, she found herself a silhouette in the frame of the door, quietly watching the Bastillosi work.


"She's on her way again," Colby, the stable boy, called out to Isaac. It had become so routine now to expect Abrigel on a daily basis, but when she came around still always took him by surprise. Even in the shade of the stables he would still find himself sweating profusely. Coming from the world underground, he wasn't used to such a climate. He had even become the brunt of a few jokes after he passed out once in his first week on the job.


But he had acclimated well enough to the work, his drive to keep it rooted in his friendship with Abrigel. Colby had been his saving grace once he figured out the correlation between the two. And once he called out her approach he quickly washed away the sweat and grime hoping the stink of manure wouldn't be present on him. Just as she approached the door, he was slipping his shirt back on to be far more presentable to a lady.


Turning about, he wasn't expecting her to have arrived so quickly, and he jumped at her appearance so close. "Hey!" he said with a smirk. And then he shook his head to snap him back to reality. He was a stable hand and she was royalty, and while he knew of only Colby's presence at this time, who knew who would be lurking. "I mean, good evening Princess." His lips still adorned a playful smirk at the formalities, for in their privacy their statuses were stripped.


Good evening, Princess... His formality was amusing, as usual. There was a sense she'd always possessed that Isaac was different, not only because of his nationality. He carried a wisdom... a knowledge that belied a simple commoner. He was a man who understood the way the world worked, and how to maneuver within it.


She never felt manipulated, however, by his feigned formality. It was not for her benefit... he knew she cared little for her position.


And she knew enough to uphold appearances, while they were under the watchful eyes of others, "Good evening, Isaac. I wish to take River for a ride, but I require a companion... How quickly can you have the horses ready?"


"I'll get them ready right away, your highness," he said with a bow, and then motioned for Colby to aid. He hopped off the stall door and rushed into the tack room to retrieve the reins and blankets while Isaac handled the saddles. Their horses were ready within minutes.


"I'll bring you a tart in the morning, I promise," he said quietly to Colby. He was easy to please, that boy, but there was always the notion the kid would break under pressure, as all kids do. Never the less, there was something about him that reminded him of his younger brother, Baelyn, and to that a bond was formed.


Colby smiled and nodded as Isaac brought the horses out of the stables for Abrigel. "Do you require assistance?" he asked her as he motioned to her horse.


With a polite nod, Abrigel allowed his aid and when she'd settled into the saddle it was with a comfortable, warming sense of routine. She rode River often, partially to prove the poor creature was still of use, despite the accident, but there was also something immensely freeing about the brief trips she took…


With Isaac beside her, she gave River a gentle nudge to the flanks and the horse started out of the stables. Abrigel was quiet however, until they'd reached the gates that would lead to the field beyond the palace. There, she slowed River to a stop and glanced over to Isaac, smiled faintly, "...I'd like to show you something, if you think it's safe to leave the city for a little while?"


He slowed his horse to a stop next to her's and smiled. Leaving the city would be a welcomed change in scenery, but it would take some consideration none the less. For a moment he sat there in silence, his mare shifting her weight and flicking her tail about as he contemplated. The two had been careful to keep him out of sight and mind. It had been long enough without action to where maybe, just maybe, his pursuer had gotten bored. Maybe his price was not as enticing in his unavailability.


"I don't see why not," Isaac said. "Where are we headed?"


Smiling faintly, Abrigel gave River a nudge and the horse started forward again, "When I was younger, my siblings... they... they weren't exactly understanding of my circumstances. I understood, of course, even then. I was the outsider. The product of their father's unfaithfulness. I didn't belong, and their intention was to make that clear. But it wasn't always easy. So, sometimes, I would come out here, where I could be alone... where no one knew who I was, or cared. Where I wasn't such a burden..."


Along the canal, Abrigel slowed again, climbing down from the back of the gelding, "We'll have to walk from here."


Isaac dismounted and grabbed River's reins to secure the horses to an overturned tree. "Why is it you don't have any guards on you?" he asked. "I've never known a royal to have as much privacy as you seem to find. Not that I am complaining, of course."


Her expression was delicate, almost guarded, as she made her way carefully along the edge of the canal, stepping gingerly over the stones, "...The Queen... she doesn't want palace resources wasted on me. My father used to fight her on it, but over time, I think he's been wornd own... He... he feels guilty for what he did to her, and he wants her to be happy, so he gives in to her."


Glancing over at him, she shrugged with a small smile, "...While most of her decisions were made in spite, I have to say, I'm rather glad I'm not more carefully observed. It's important to me... helping the people in the Western District, and that isn't something I could do if I were guarded. Well... that, and helping you."


He hopped after her on the stony edge of the canal, his arms held out for balance. "Aye, I am grateful for that," Isaac said. He had thanked her likely a thousand times by now, but he couldn't find it in him to stop. He was truly grateful for everything she has done and all that led up to it. "Maybe God favors us. He seems to like us enough, anyway."


"Perhaps... Though I wonder how, when everyone else seems to hate me." Glancing back at him, she smiled, laughed softly, "...Now, be careful... Don't you fall in! Summer or not, it still gets awfully cold in that water and I won't have you catching ill on me."


"Sometimes good things come from the bad," Isaac said. "In this case, God would favor you because he gives you freedom unlike any royalty. Through this freedom you are able to help his people in need. It was an answer to my prayer, for sure. Maybe it is through this you can find freedom from your family?"


"That's certainly a way to see things that I've never considered... but it does make sense."


Turning to face him again, maneuvering carefully as she walked backwards, Abrigel's smile tightened, a brow quirked in curiosity, "Freedom from my family...? Are you offering to take me away from here, my dear Isaac?"


A sheepish smile adorned his features as he looked down at where his feet were maneuvering. "If I could," he admitted. When he looked back up at her, his smile was still present. "But I would not dare place my burdens upon you. I'll need to be a free man myself, first. Right now you wouldn't be guilty for aiding a treasonous criminal. I'd like to keep it that way."


Blinking, the smile edged away ever so slightly and Abrigel paused as she studied him, studied his face for any signs of jest, "...But... but you would, if you could?"


It was a dangerous question, one that Abrigel should very well have danced around, but the fact of the matter was, it was the only question in the whole of their strange circumstances that she'd wanted to ask. Whether or not he was guilty, and she believed with all her heart that he was not, she didn't care what had happened or why…


She cared about him... Though until now she'd never dared to think…


"Why...?"


Collaboration with @Effervescent

CALIN FALSWORTH

​

“You told me you would have results, Calin! You told me you would figure out a way to deal with this!”


A sigh escaped as Calin eyed the irate queen from across his desk. Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head, “Aimera… I’ve told you. These things, they take time. I cannot risk exposing myself, or you, for that matter, because you’re feeling impatient.”


“Impatient? That man… is insufferable! I have watched him parade around the product of whore, like she is some flouted princess, while treating MY children like common scum! My precious Raenna… Her heart will never recover, and he deserves to be exposed! He deserves it!”


“Enough!” Rising, hands smacking against the surface of the desk, Calin narrowed his eyes at the woman, “I told you I would handle it! If you cannot control yourself, you will ruin everything… and I will not stand behind you and watch you drag this kingdom down with your irrational behavior!”


Staring wide eyed, Aimera opened her mouth, but closed it at the look on Calin’s face. As she sank back into her seat, he followed suit, folding his hands in front of him, “Now then...What was going to say, before your outburst is this. We cannot move until Raenna returns from Bastillos. The letter will bear no emotional impact without her, and that is what you need, Aimera, to draw them away from Ordin. If you want Crispin to take his father’s position, you need to bide your time, be patient and allow me to do the work you asked me to do in the first place. You need to maintain control, or I swear to you… we’re done. I will not take one step more. Understood.”


Nodding, Aimera lowered her gaze to her lap, “...Rosleigh is sick, again. We’ve sent her to Telra. The doctors seems to think the sea air might help, but… but it’s worse than it was the last time.”


“I’m sorry.” Rising, Calin moved before her chair, sinking down to clasp her hands, “I know that things have been easy for you, Mera. But I promised you, we would find a way to fix this, and we will. For all of them.”


“Thank you, Calin.”


“Go get some rest, Mera. You’re looking tired.”


He rose, and the queen followed suit, “Be careful, Cal. He… you know what he’ll do, if he finds out what we’re planning.”


“I know. Have faith, Your Majesty. Have faith…”


As she left his chambers, Calin moved to the window that looked out over the castle grounds, the courtyard nearly emptied as the evening sun set. From his vantage point, he could see the flash of red, moving swiftly across the stonework path, heading towards the stables on the outskirts of the palace walls.


Sneaking off. Sometimes, she was so like her mother…

RAENNA BAELSTON

​

Bastillos. Sweeping and cavernous, and damp. So damp. At the foot of the mountains, Cain’loren was no stranger to rain or snow, but with the open air, and the warm summers and springs, the dry periods during fall, it seemed reasonable to think Bastillos was another beast, entirely. But the rumors had been true, it was beautiful. Most especially the lights, the extraordinary mirror system, which brightened the tunnels as if the sun itself shown within the caves.


They were a people of undeniable culture, and as she discovered swiftly, in their negotiations, eager to make allies. But the Queen was a busy woman and with so much to discuss, their visit had been prolonged more than was to be expected. Surprisingly, it was refreshing, being away from the palace, having a change of scenery, a change of pace.


She had taken to walking… sometimes for hours, on her own through the halls of the keep, exploring the fascinating architecture and the magnificent artwork. The very construct of the palace felt like a masterpiece, and she had taken to sketching bits of it with pieces of coal. She’d taken to sketching people, as well, though one in particular had captured her attention. It was his eyes that fascinated. So kind, but almost sad…


When first they had met, Allarith had seemed a quiet, pensive soul, so much like the guards at the palace, whose very purpose it was to blend into the background. But over their travels, she’d picked up on some rather intriguing qualities, including a note of feistiness that was in essence, refreshing. His methods for dealing with Dansin, who was a pain in the neck on a good day were without question impressive, and over their week long journey, the young Captain had endeared himself to her greatly.


Seated in the alcove of the great hall, Raenna glanced up from her parchment to watch the Bastillosi as they puttered about - Working, always working, every last one of them with something to do or somewhere to go. Coal had darkened her fingertips and a smudge rested above her cheek, but for the first time in a long while, Raenna felt at peace...

AUDRA BAELSTON

​

She'd managed, somehow... possibly by sheer will alone not to vomit on her guide as the carriage continued on the way up into the mountains, but as they neared the gates of the palace she felt her stomach clench again with a furious sensation. She was going to die. She was going to keel over and die before she even had a chance to meet the prince. What a horrible first impression she was making...


"Princess?"


Looking up, she realized to some horror that Anton had asked her a question. Feeling her pale cheeks flush, she looked down awkwardly at the lace gloves encapsulating her delicate fingers, "Oh, Anton. I don't think I can do this. I... I'm not ready. What if... what if he hates me? Or what if I hate him? Or what if he's got a terribly large nose and I can't kiss him... or awful breath... or warts? God, what if he's not hideous and he thinks I am? Or what if I... oh God... I'm going to be sick."


"Princess. Breathe. Please... I..." Frowning, Anton shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I'm sure he'll find you quite lovely. And while I've not the experience of meeting him myself yet, either, from what I understand, he's a handsome young man. But you must calm yourself, or you won't make any impression but one of showing up unconscious."


Taking a breath, a long, slow, steady on, Audra nodded, "...You're right. I'm nothing but a silly, stupid girl. Oh dear... We're slowing down."


"Indeed." Smiling faintly, Anton bowed his head and as the carriage came to a stop he pushed open the door to help her down, "After you, Princess."


”Stop pacing about my Prince, she’s just a woman - you have been introduced to hundreds and there’s nothing different about this one.”


Rannulf paced back and forth, despite what his steward had told him, and waited alone just outside the castle. One by one, thousands of stars blossomed into the night sky. The beauty was almost strong enough to tear his mind from the ever rising apprehension inside him. Almost. Rannulf turned sharply on his heel, agitated and anxiety-ridden. The steward had spoke falsely; this woman - this woman - would be his Queen, of course this one was different. He sighed and sat down upon the roughly-hewn stone unsure of what concerned him the most.


Was he truly that vain, that he seemed to worry most about her physical appearance? That his heart quickened and his stomach dropped at the thought of marrying some unpleasant wench? Or the thought of sharing his life with a woman whose nature was foul and unsavory made him wish he wasn’t the heir of Silvern?


“Stand.” A voice said out of the darkness. “Your garments will be ruined.”


It took him a second to recognize his father’s voice out of the haze his mind was trapped in. “Any word?” Rannulf inquired immediately.


“Your betrothed will be here momentarily.” King Avenius replied.


The prince, now standing, watched appreciatively as his father’s appearance changed from kindly to kingly. Subtly was key, Rannulf noticed. Avenius’ shoulders stood straighter, his worried glance turned cordial, and his crown shimmered with faint starlight. He heard the sounds of hooves as he noticed the growing crowd around him. His mother stood to his father’s right and his eldest sister made her way to his right. Behind them stood handmaidens and manservants waiting for instructions. The carriage came into view and with bated breath Rannulf waited for it to come to a halt. When it finally did - after what seemed like a century - and the door swung open, he held his breath as he caught glimpse of a golden tress of hair.


She'd worn it down. She never wore it down. It was a long, curled mess of hair, which was entirely too long, too wild and was certain to remind her Prince of some mad creature that hunted in the mountains at night and disembowled unsuspecting passerbys. Why hasn't she asked Larissa to braid it? Why had she let Abrigel... Abrigel of all people convince her it looked pretty? Oh, she could've spit.


One step. And a pray not to fall. Two... and she'd made it halfway. Three and then four and her feet touched solid earth and with an audible breath, she glanced up to see the two men standing with full regality and her stomach and heart collided. He wasn't handsome. He was unearthly.


Why then shouldn't she step on the edge of her skirt and come crashing down like a ruin...


Anton reached out, but only just missed and as she toppled forward she could hear the thought running through her mind over and over again. At least she hadn't thrown up. But it felt less like a victory, mid-fall.


His first thought after seeing the flowing golden tresses and the starlit face they belonged to, was that all his worrying was for naught. The princess wore her golden hair down, so unlike the plaited styles of the Silvosi nobles. The style suited her flawlessly. Briefly, or perhaps his eyes tricked him, his betrothed wore an aureole crown, one surely made of grace as she stepped out of the carriage and into the night. He stared in awe, the southern princess was even lovelier than his father said she’d be.


Her feet had just kissed the earth when the princess stumbled and came crashing down right before his very eyes. Rannulf lurched forward and crossed the distance between them in less than four long strides. On one knee he outstretched his hand in aid.


“Let me help you rise, my lady.”


Eyes shut tight, bitterly biting her cheek to keep from crying, Audra lifted her head, jaw tight, trembling and nodded, reaching for his hand, one which engulfed her own lace-covered.


"...May I present..." Anton cleared his throat, recovering far more aggresively than the princess, "The royal princess of Cain'loren, Audra Miranda Cecilia Elsabeth Baelston, daughter to his lordship, King Ordin Augustus Baelston the second and her majesty Queen Aimera Rayella Amelia Baelston." With a stately bow, Anton held a hand out to the blushing princess, who turned her eyes up to Rannulf with a small, sheepish smile.


"...Well... I hardly expect to remember all of that. Audra will do... Uh..." Swallowing, not entirely certain the heat of her blush couldn't be felt so close to him, inclined her head a little lower, "...That is... if it pleases Your Highness to do so."


Rannulf paid very little attention to the traditional formalities being swapped and instead focused on the palest of blue eyes he had ever seen and the fairest of lace-covered hands. It was a shame, truly, that they had never met before. It seemed as if Rannulf was only now seeing clearly for the first time. When she glanced up at him with a small, hesitant smile, all of his worries swam away. When she spoke, a swarm of merlin's fluttered about in his stomach.


He was sure she was exhausted, but the last thing he wanted to do was bid her goodnight.


“It would please me so.” He replied with a smile of his own. “If I may, allow me to personally introduce you to my mother and father, the King and Queen of Silvern before you retire. I’m sure your journey was long and tiring.” He extended his arm towards them with a lively spark in his eye.


"Oh..." A moment ago, she could have fallen straight to the ground and slept there until her trip ended, but his mouth twitched into an extraordinary smile and feeling her knees wobble beneath her, she nodded, "Not so tiring."


She could practically hear Anton's eyes rolling behind her, but ignoring the guide she slid her arm through the prince's, her smile returned in full, warm and confident, even if she was certain she was shaking, "Lead the way, My Lord."


He felt as though the world fell into place as she slid her arm through his and smiled gracefully up at him.


Rannulf adjusted his stride to match Princess Audra’s and guided her the short distance to the king and queen. Already, handmaidens and manservants bustled about, no doubt carrying in the princess and her guests belongings. He stood directly in front of his mother and father, trying hard not to beam, and bowed to them out of respect. His father more or less wore the same expression he had on earlier, but his mother smiled at him with damp eyes.


“My lady Audra, this is my father, King Avenius and my mother, Queen Clariscia.”


His father extended a hand, although his mother looked as if she were about to strangle her with an embrace. Rannulf was thankful his father put a preemptive hand around her waist to keep her in place.


Audra's heart hammered against her chest as she held her hand towards the king, fingers daintily directed towards the ground, "It's wonderful to finally meet you. My father sends his regards, and the hope that..." The practiced words had been so easy, so natural in the carriage, but they felt heavy as lead from her lips, "That with the union of your children there might come a union of kingdoms as well."


Breathing out, she smiled, "My mother, as well sends her regards... though those were remarkably easier to remember."


With a softer touch than Rannulf could ever imagine his father having, he took Audra's hand and gently squeezed it. When she spoke, he bowed his head out of respect for the King of Cain'loren.


"Many thanks, my Princess. I hope to hear that your journey north was comfortable and serene and that you find your stay in Silvern enjoyable. My queen and I are thrilled at the thought of unifying our kingdoms through marriage and blood."


Rannulf couldn't help but silently agree, he was quite thrilled himself.


Blushing softly, Audra nodded and let her hand fall back to her side, though possibly closer to Rannulf's than she ought to have. And that brought even more heat to her cheeks, "Thank you, Your Majesty. It was a lovely journey... and your kingdom, oh... it's so beautiful. Everything about it."


"Yes, the land of our forefather's is a beautiful one." King Avenius replied. "We try to honor it as much as we can. But enough of these pleasantries," he said with a smile. "The night is aging and these bones cool quicker then they used to, lets find ourselves in the warmth of the castle."


"Indeed." Smiling delicately, Audra glanced up to Rannulf, "...If his Grace would be so kind as to show me to my chambers, I would love to hear more about this fair kingdom."


Collaboration with @Rissa

ROSLEIGH BAELSTON

​

It was getting worse. With every passing day, her chest grew tighter, the weight pressing against her lungs with ferocity. She’d tried her best to keep it hidden, but the cough wasn’t improving and at dinner that evening, her father had noticed.


Telra. She was being sent away to Telra - piled into a carriage, the missive sent to the shore kingdom with absolute urgency. Her first venture from the palace, and undoubtedly, she would see nothing of value, cooped up in the walls of Seastone Keep.


Across from her Keira’s fingers were busy working embroidery stitches onto a skirt, Rosleigh cleared her throat and the young woman looked up, “Alright, Princesss?”


“Do… do you think I’ll die there?”


Straightening, Keira set down her stitching, brow quirked, “M’lady?”


“Telra. Do you think that’s where I’ll die?”


“Good heavens, Princess! What sort of talk is this? Of course not… Why on earth would you…”


“It’s just… I was so angry. With father… For sending me away. I… I’m afraid I said some terrible things. If… if this is the end…?”


Reaching forward, Keira rested her hand against Rosleigh’s, “Oh, sweetheart. You’ll be fine… Your father… he understands. You love him, and he loves you dearly. Trust me, a little sea air, some time to relax and you’ll be good as new.”


Turning her hands over, Rosleigh clasped Keira’s her eyes fogging with tears, “Thank you. I’ve been awful to everyone.”


“You’re scared… It’s perfectly reasonable.” A sigh escaped the young servant girl and sinking back, she plucked up her stitching again, “I’ve heard it’s lovely, Telra… right on the coast, overlooking the Eastern sea… I think it will be good for you, little one.”


“...Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it will be good to get away for a bit…”


"You should rest, Dear Princess. We'll be there in a few hours, yet. I'll wake you, when we've arrived."


Nodding, Rosleigh turned away, leaning up against the side of the carriage. In but a few minutes, she was asleep...

DANSIN BAELSTON

​

Blonde hair, a wild mane curved around pale skin, eyes, like glass fogged over, empty… staring past him. No. Beyond him. She called to him like a creature from a dream, but she was real. And the haunting nature of her words collided with his very soul.


"I've seen what you will do. A hand outstretched but not to reach. No, it was too late. Blonde hair and a look of betrayal as he falls. Death is coming. So like your father. So like him in every way.”


He begged… he pleaded to know the meaning, but she had gone blindly, into the night and left him broken and afraid. Three serving girls, a bottle of mulled wine and half a tankard of ale later, and he felt no better, though the faint sense of dizziness was calming as he wandered about the dark halls of the palace, his path aimless. But as fate would have it, his path was as circuitous as his thoughts and before he knew the destination, he found himself back at his chambers.


With a sigh, a bitter note of reluctant resignation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. There in the pale light of the candle’s glow, he spotted her, raven haired and full-bodied, frozen halfway out of his trunk.


Making a tisking sound, Dansin closed the door behind him, “...You’re in the wrong place, Little Girl.” Stepping forward, he reached for her hands and tugging her forward, pinned his arms behind her back, “...In some kingdoms, I could have your hands for that.”

CRISPIN BAELSTON

​

My dearest Cassandra,


I’ve received your letter, and once again I marvel at the kindness of your words. It has indeed been too long, and I pray forgiveness for my absence. Things within Cain’loren have been trying, as I imagine is the case in Caeryth. The passing of Thornwild’s king came as a great surprise, and I fear only strife can come from such a tragic and untimely event. With none but myself and dear Rosleigh at home, I am all too aware little opposition remains to still my father’s war hungry thoughts. He is grieved, as of late, by my mother’s impatience with his illegitimate daughter and I worry that his actions may reflect this all too well. Without distraction, he may behave foolishly and the consequences could be dire.


I propose then, that we hasten our plans to meet. If it suits her Grace, I have sent a carriage posthaste and it should arrive by the time this letter reaches you. Feel no obligations, my dear, but I do hope you will agree to come. Your presence will greatly sooth my father’s spirits, and by frankness, my own as well.


Looking most eagerly to the future,


Your Cris

TAGS:

@Anomaly, @Bone2pick, @Effervescent, @Kencen, @LeviathanL, @Lakita, @Rissa

 

[RZA]

S I L V E R N

The Crown Prince
​

MENTIONED &/or TAGGED

​

• A Collab with @Elle Joyner
  

NOTES

​

"Honored guests first, if you please." King Avenius said with a flourish of his arm.


Almost unconsciously Rannulf pulled himself to full height, inclined his head to his father, and walked into the castle. He knew every stone and rock that comprised Silvernest, which tapestries lined which hall and where all the secret passages led to... but he found himself wishing he could see it with fresh eyes. What will it be like to her? he thought to himself. What will she think of our humble mountain rock?


Silvernest was it's own kind of beauty, a castle-keep built into the mountain itself. The oldest and deepest of carvings were hundreds of years old and albeit humble, the halls were something to behold. Stone walls were smooth and carved with uncanny precision, sometimes lined with tapestries, or portraits of previous kings and queens and heroic figures of lore. Some halls were wide with low arched ceilings, others thin and vaulted. Together they made a stone labyrinth of Silvosi architecture and design.


Yet nothing compared to the sweeping views each chamber possessed. All of Silvernest's rooms possessed a view as far and as wide as the eye could see. The rolling hill viewscape took up the majority of the south-eastern side of the mountain, where dawnlight can compel one to wake and sunlight can permeate the damp rock. Though the keep had plenty of stone hearths and whale oil lamps, it still remained cold and damp vast majority of times.


“Your chambers are not too far off my lady, is there anything I can do for you before you retire? Our handmaidens and manservants are dutiful. I know the keep is rather chilly, but a blazing hearth and refreshments will be waiting for you.” Rannulf said softly, heart beating faster than normal. He waited a moment before speaking again. "What is it my lady would like to know of the kingdom?"


Fiddling with her brooch, her mother's voice echoing in the back of her mind to stop fidgeting, Audra took in every scene with a perfect sense of wonder and excitement. It was cold, and as she tightened her fur lined cloak around her narrow form she considered this meager downside, but not for long. Rannulf's voice cascaded from the stone walls with soft warmth and she was oblivious to the chill, "Everything... It's so lovely. I feel transposed... like I'm in an entirely new world."


A soft, girlish laugh escaped and she shook her head, "And I must sound like a ridiculous child..."


Rannulf remembered when he and his father traveled south for the first time, how otherworldly it had all seemed.


"No, not a ridiculous child" He said thoughtfully, smiling again at the sound of her laugh. "I remember my first trip to southern lands, I thought the same my lady, it's an entirely different world down there."


Pausing for a moment beside one of the windows which overlooked the mountainscape, she bit her lip and leaning against the rampart, glanced down at the darkening valley, almost fully cloaked in shadow, "...It's not what I expected. To be honest, neither are you. I... I'm afraid I worried quite a bit what you might be like... Now I worry I won't be quite enough."


Shifting, she straightened, "Oh, listen to me... I must be more tired than I thought."


"I-" The Prince faltered, caught unawares by her admission. Truth be told he had worried of her as well. What had she worried about though, he wondered thoughtfully, the same as he? Or perhaps that he was some pagan fool, or worse, some kind of northern blood hungry heretic? That the lands were sharp, unforgiving, and cruel? Filled to the brim with sacrilegious monsters?


"I-I worried myself princess..." He hesitated again but recovered quicker this time. "One rarely ever knows the person they marry, especially people of our birth... Being royal is both a blessing and a curse is it not? Who were the last king and queen, of any kingdom, that married for love?"


It was supposed to sound rhetorical, but Rannulf, genuinely interested in the answer, made it seem like a question.


"Your chambers are just down this hall... but if you please, only time will tell if you are not quite enough." He chuckled softly and offered his arm once more. "Something tells me I'll be unworthy of you, my lady Audra.


"Certainly my parents didn't..." Audra confessed to his question with a small, dry smile, "Bit of a mess, they are." Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she turned back to him and nodded, her cheeks oddly flushed, "I can imagine though that some people... some very lucky few manage to find what they haven't." Looking up at him, her eyes brightened, her smile warmed as she took his arm, "...I hope I will..."


I hope I will.


For a moment, he felt rooted to the stone floor beneath him as a flash of lightning burnt its way through his veins.


"I-I'm sorry," the Prince said, still a little flustered by what those four small words did to him. "About your parents I mean, my lady. Love may not have always been in their hearts, but in time my mother and father came to love each other very much... and I suppose I take that for granted."


The hallway was too short, in fact the castle was too small, and in less than a minute he would have to bid her goodnight.


"I think it's my parents, quite honestly, who took each other for granted. My father regrets it, now. But there's little repair for damages done to the heart. Still... it taught me the value of how to treat matters of that nature. I want most desperately, to avoid the mistakes they made."


Looking over at him, she smiled, "Though falling on my face, straight out of the carriage was hardly the intended impression I'd hoped to make."


Her chamber door stood proud only a few short strides away, and he did not want to bid her farewell. The princess was surprisingly easy to talk to -whether it was due to her melodic voice or candid speech - Rannulf couldn't be sure, all he knew is that he agreed with what she wanted so desperately. He had no intention of making the same mistakes his father did.


When she brought up the carriage incident, Rannulf gave her a cheeky grin and said, "Well, you know it was rather... endearing, if I do say so myself. I do hope you are alright though, Princess Audra. If something hurts I can summon the healer. I apologize for not asking sooner... I feel as though I've been entranced by your southern magnificence."


Laughing, probably more than a proper lady ought to, her cheeks a rosy shade that simply wouldn't fade, Audra shook her head, "I don't imagine a healer can do anything about wounded pride. Otherwise, I'm perfectly fine. Looking at her hands, a little scuffed, she smiled faintly, "Nothing that won't heal on it's own..."


Her melodious peals of laughter reminded Rannulf of something divine, like something he would hear in the Silver Sept. Druens of Music would perch themselves high in the Sept and sing, all day sometimes even all night.


They worshipped the gods with their voice, among other things, and sang so sweetly one would find themselves with tears in their eyes. He smiled softly at her rose colored cheeks and reached for her hand.


"Have not a wounded pride, my lady. You simply... lost your footing on the rough northern stone." He gave her another cheeky smile before his tone, and his face, turned solemn. "You must be weary after such a long journey." He turned his body slightly, revealing the silver gilded doorknob. "Your chambers, my lady." He said with a small bow.


Looking down at his hand, clasped around her own, back up again to the door of her room, unbearably close, and then finally back to Rannulf, to that sterling gaze, her smile softening, "...Right now, I feel as though I could never sleep again. You mustn't make for such fond company, my dear Prince..."


Her teeth found the edge of her lip and swallowing, she lowered her eyes again, "... It really isn't fair"


It was Rannulf's turn to flush and have his cheeks painted the color of a rose. Unsure of what to say, he studied her hand and the lace glove that veiled it. He noticed the little nicks and imperfections her fall from the carriage caused and made a note to have another pair delivered to her chambers in the morning.


"Oh I hardly think that is a fair thing for my lady to say." He said softly, trying hard not to stare at her pink cheeks or her pink lips. "Judge my company when we've spent an entire day together, my lady." He bowed slightly, keeping his eyes locked onto hers and kissed her laced palm.


From rose to scarlet, her skin brightened, her eyes as deeply rooted to his as his to hers, her voice breathless, those lips lifted in a coy lilt, "I can scarcely stand upon my knees, even now. I fear how an entire day will leave me, m'lord."


For the life of him, Rannulf could not tear his gaze from her dawn blue eyes. They roused something deep within him and with it, a strange feeling un-kin to anything he had felt before. Rannulf became intensely aware of the rhythmic thump in his chest and the flutter of wings behind his navel. His head cocked to side and he leaned down towards her, ever so slightly. It was then he noticed her rose colored cheeks were richer then before and his eyes, almost greedily, flicked to her upturned lips. Rannulf leaned forward again, his body almost flush with hers.


"If you are ever unsteady in the knees my lady, tell me and I shall carry you."


He smiled softly and gently ran a finger down her cheek. Unsure, for the first time in his life in front of a woman, of what to do next.


At the caress, Audra felt a shiver trail along her spine, and lifting a hand she rested it gingerly against his chest, the thread of his pulse quick beneath her fingers. She followed the train of his vision, and pinched her lower lip between her teeth, swallowed, her voice barely a whisper, airy and soft, "I imagine your arms may grow tired then, m'lord..."


Slowly, for this highborn maiden deserved the up most of respect, Rannulf put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.


"My arms will never grow tired if they're holding you, Princess Audra..."


Chest thumping out a war chant, Rannulf dipped his head down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then again closer to her lips. He whispered into her ear softly, "Forgive me m'lady, but I've wanted to do that since our eyes first met outside the castle."


Her breath catching on a soft, bearly perceptible gasp, she melted into that hold, her eyes fluttering closed, "...There's nothing to forgive. Except perhaps that you've missed..."


Rannulf smiled and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear before cupping her chin. His lips met hers and the world fell still. It was brief, the kiss, but he could feel the rush of a lifetime's worth.


"I do not think I missed that time, m'lady." He breathed against her lips.


"I would say you most definitely did not..." She whispered, fingertips brushing his jaw, "...Oh, Heaven help me. You are not what I expected." Opening her eyes, she smiled, almost slyly, her gaze bright, glistening, "I should go... before I can't bear to..."


Rannulf leaned into her touch, closing his eyes briefly in blessedness. Reluctantly, for it was the last thing he wanted to do, he released his grip on her waist and instead held on to her hand.


He sighed deeply, bent from the waist, and kissed her lace covered hand.


"Until dawn m'lady."


"Sleep well, My Prince..." As he straightened, Audra pressed up onto her toes, a hasty kiss pressed to his cheeks before she reached for the door and pushing it open, forced herself inside.