~ The finishing touches now done, Kaltain catches the gaze of the girl in the mirror. Kohl-lined eyes, huge earrings, and many-layered ice blue dress seem to pull her down to the floor. She knows what she must do, setting her shoulders back a fixing her gaze on the door that could lead to certain death, or to showers of adoration. Strutting to the door, she keeps her chin held high; ever a pompous and arrogant rich girl; that was her role in this world. The door slams against the wall, startling the few servants awaiting her exit. They scatter to grab her train as her shoes chatter along the floor creating a menacing rhythm as she flounces down the hall where her bride awaits. Screw what the king thinks; Auriol was hers and nothing but the gods themselves could keep Kaltain from marrying her today. Her steps falter, breath catching as she nears the entrance to the chapel. Auriol was going to be hers- only hers, to hold and protect and laugh with, and no one could threaten them anymore for Auriol would become part of the royal court. Once a mere laundress, her hands would never have to touch another wash tub after today. Realizing her steady pace had slowed, she resumed her confident stride, the tall oak doors grow ever closer to sealing her fate. There she will wait, just as she has three times before; her mother's burial, her father's remarriage, and her father’s death. Thoughts of her past cease and drift as Auriol appears, her slight frame outlined in the permanent rosy glow only multiplied by the peachy lace which adorns her.
One would expect such a girl to be meek, quiet- Auriol instead met the gaze of every servant and noble, nodding with a courteous smile no matter their rank. The church now full, Auriol and Kaltain saunter hand in hand down the wide aisle, faces melting away as they stand before the High Priest and are sworn into the impervious bond; slicing each of their palms carefully, they clasp hands again, bonding their blood forever. The roar of the nobles and servants’ alike echoes around them, but quickly turns to shouts of fear as the King falls forward in his seat, rolling down from his perch slightly above the crowd.
The newly wed couple steps back as Gailen lurches forward to stop the King’s steady descent, throwing his evergreen cloak to cushion the King’s head as he reaches the marbled floors. Gailen kneels beside his king, lifting two fingers gently to the King's’ neck. Everyone stills, all noise ceasing as they wait with bated breath; “Dead”. The word tumbles from the base of the dais, rolling across the slack jawed nobles and servants alike. Thorley Renwick, their King, and in many ways savior, is dead. He was kind to his servants, even if a bit old fashioned. While he was old, he was in no way close to death. Their kind, the Damion’s, have lived for centuries. Great-great-great-great grandparents were not uncommon; this leaves only one conclusion. King Renwick had been targeted, had been murdered. These thoughts crash through Kaltain’s jaw goes slack; and she isn’t alone. Grasping the hand of her new mate, Auriol pulls her from the altar and through the great oak doors through which started their new life- and ended another, possibly the most important life in Aurelia. Shoes in one hand, Kaltain clutches Auriol’s cold fingers in her other and marches towards their chamber. Pushing down the excitement of finally being able to hold Auriol through her night terrors, Kaltain focuses on the buttons that run up the back of her dress. She hurriedly changed into a dress of worn taupe cloth before aiding Auriol with her own buttons. She smiles reassuringly as they face the door, clasping hands before striding to take on possibly her heaviest weight yet- the crown of Aurelia. ~ One nervous step back, then another, a spatter of blush growing on her high cheekbones. A small and dainty laugh. Downturned green eyes, ever the subservient and submissive lady. The same song and dance, day after day. This is her life, the life of a courtier who has been trained since age six to obey men. She was born to serve, to obey, to relinquish all control. Her acting is impeccable. Few can see through her carefully controlled features. She shifts in her itchy, pale-green gown, the movement sending the man before her into practically a frenzy when her full chest moves with her. The phrase "Men are dogs", rattles through her skull. It's an effort to not roll her eyes as he almost drools. Excusing herself politely, Evalin bustles off to her home- if you could call it that. Forced into service as a young girl, her mistress insists she pay off all the cost for her "education" over the years. At nineteen, she was nowhere close to being free nor paying off her debts. She had been there. Almost. Almost to freedom, almost to a life where she could choose who and when and where she was. A life where she belonged to herself. However, just as she was at the climax of her bondage, a whirlwind of auburn hair, bright blue eyes and a sing-song voice was dragged into her world. All she could see what herself in the eyes of the brave little girl, looking at the filthy men who held her with such contempt that it was a wonder the men didn’t turn into dust where they stood.
Those deep-set cerulean eyes found Evalin’s jade eyes, only letting her see the terror which had built behind the bravado. The twin strike that followed were not out of anger, but love and desperation. One jagged mark on each side of the neck, forever marring the eleven-year-old who has slept on a cot in Evalin’s tiny room since that day a little over a year ago. The daughter she would never have, the sister she longed for, Adelaide was everything. Her cheerful companion when she was down; but also one of the largest burdens she carried. While taking on the child as her own was a pleasure, it cost her the freedom she so desperately yearned for. Her Mistress has made her pay for the full extent of the damage to her “property”, claiming Adelaide would’ve been her most successful courtier. The cost of her education, plus the cost of Adelaide’s would’ve-been education had secured her for at least ten more years. There was never a question of, “Could she endure?”, she would endure. For her ward, for herself, for freedom for them both.
~
Rushing to the cobalt-and-gold throne room, together Auriol and Kaltain knelt beside the still-cooling body of her father. All members of the court had been escorted from the room and sworn to secrecy, however unlikely it was that this could be contained. A roar was already climbing the high castle walls- the King was dead, and despite his faults, he had been loved by his kingdom. Guilt and regret crashed over Kaltain in a wave, ready to drown her for the fact she’d not even told him that she loved him. Her brave façade cracked, a solemn tear trailing down her cheek. How would she go on?
She wasn’t ready for the crown. She wasn’t ready to maintain the peace her father had guarded so carefully. She wasn’t ready. She may never be ready.
“Tatah?” she whimpered, voice cracking as more tears poured down her cheeks in black streaks. Her father. Her Tatah. Gone. Never would she go out to the gardens with him before dawn and talk like old friends, never would she feel his hand on her shoulder, never would she see that proud smile again. For all her shirking and arguing, she loved him, and he was gone. Her cries became more strangled, more insistent as she shook her father’s corpse, begging him to come back. To wake up. Thorley Renwick would never wake up; Thorley Renwick, the ing of Aurelia, was gone.
~
A dip of her chin had him striding for Auriol. He kindly but firmly gripped Kaltain’s shoulders, pulling her sobbing frame from the dais and back to her chambers, Auriol staying to reach an agreement as to how and when her former father-in-law’s body would be moved to the morgue for further investigation. When they passed the threshold of the deep blue marbled floors, Gailen hefted Kaltain into his arms and walked her back to her chambers. His cousin, his playmate, his Minty. The thought of her childhood nickname brought a smile to his face, despite the cry rising from outside. His life was devoted to protecting her. She may never know, but he’s proud. Proud of the way her spine stays straight during boring council meetings, proud when she talks to the servant children as though they were her own. He knows she’ll make a wonderful Queen, even if she needs a shoulder to cry on right now. He would be there, right beside her until the end. A glance ahead reveals the already-cracked door to her chambers which opens further with a slight nudge of his shoulder. Still cradling Kaltain to his muscled chest, he pads across the thickly-carpeted floor through the antechamber into her bedroom. “Here we go. Is there anything I can get you?” Gailen says tentatively, knowing she’s toeing the line of hysteria. A blank stare is the only response he receives as he turns, whispering to her servants to watch her carefully.
As much as he cares about his cousin, this kingdom needed a Queen not a teenager in a catatonic state. ~
“Are we even sure she can handle the responsibility of the crown? I understand that the loss of a close family member is agonizing, but she’s been shut in her room for a week.” Lord Quinn of Annieth says cynically, leaning back in his leather-upholstered chair. Disgruntled sighs sound around the council chamber. Shadows of doubt grow in the gathered Lord’s eyes. “She’s merely - still a child in the eyes of the world! Her focus is no doubt on the expansive wardrobe which adorns her chambers rather than the uprising in Caecus.” exclaims Bricius, letting his callused and war-worn hands hit the table. “I propose that we allow Cassius to take the throne. At age , he’s seen battle and has been trained from birth to take up the throne one day. As Kaltain has yet to show she is worthy of this responsibility, Cassius is the only sensible choice.” “And this, Lord Drakon, has nothing to do with the significant increase in power you’d have if your son became King, correct?” spits Bricius, thoroughly sick of sitting with these entitled men.
If anyone was fit to be Ruler of Aurelia, it was Bricius. He had seen more battle then all these ostentatious Lords. Their “wars” were child’s play compared to the carnage he’d seen and left in his wake.. He had slept in a pigpen, severed heads without a second thought, and visited the slave camps of which the Royals were so proud of. He knew his people and knew that a little girl would never be able to sit on the throne of velvet and remember those in the trenches- those who light the lamps, those who fished the wide ocean, and those who ran the falling-down inns. Those who were the backbone of this kingdom. Those like himself.
~ She was alone. Utterly alone. No mother, no siblings, and now no father. She was to be crowned Queen of Aurelia. Would a Queen remain shut in her chambers for days? Ignore the responsibilities and burdens of which had been passed down to her? No, a real Queen would support her Kingdom through the mourning of their beloved King. A real Queen would begin looking for profitable suitors for an alliance between Kingdoms. She wouldn't marry a mere scullery maid, she wouldn't throw a tantrum, and she would be there during the council meetings that decided the fate of Aurelia. Glancing to the carpet beneath her bare feet, a great Wolf howled back to her. The symbol of her Court, of her Kingdom. A symbol of knowledge, of leadership. A creature who had long protected the citizens of Aurelia and fiercely guarded refugees of war-torn continents. The Amarok protect and serve, but are only loyal to one master- who was their master not that her father was gone? Easily able to ransack entire Kingdoms at will, they were a powerful tool for peace and war.Realizing her grave mistake in leaving the bloodthirsty lords to their own devices, she dashes to her closet and throws on a dress of dark green challis, light blue flowers swirling about the bodice. A pair of woven powder-blue flats as she throws open the door to her bedroom, startling a servant girl so thoroughly that clean sheets tumble to the floor. A string of apologies follows Kaltain’s long stride down the hall, quieting with a turn of a corner. Raised voices emit from the towering, engraved oaken doors as guards bearing the Renwick coat-of-arms on their breast draw the doors open. The room silenced as she entered, the Lords all bowing their heads in the presence of their princess. Though she was small and frail, a mere speck compared to the hulking men scattered around the table, she seemed to look down her nose at the gathered Lords. For the first time in days, she felt as though she was where she was supposed to be. Her father's throne sat on the dais, and she knew that soon it would be hers. “M-my lady,” Lord Osman greeted her, “we weren’t expecting you here today.” Kaltain resisted the urge to roll her icy blue eyes. “As your princess and soon to be Queen, you should always be expecting me to join council meetings,” she addressed the room,eyes meeting every vicious gaze, clenching her teeth. “Of course M’Lady,” Lord Quinn butted in. “It’s just, you’ve locked yourself in your room since your father… we didn’t expect you so soon. You are, after all, fragile in this time of sorrow.” He said, sympathy in his eyes but a sneer on his pale, thin lips. “Considering the Kingdom of Aurelia is still in mourning, shouldn't you be wearing something a bit more suitable? I’m sure you have something white to wear to your father's funeral.” Quinn continues, thoroughly enjoying the flash of pain and surprise in Kaltain’s eyes at the mention of her father’s funeral. How had she forgotten? She couldn’t disgrace herself or her father’s good name by asking when it was, even if she had no clue. “Of course I do” she says with a loud, clear voice, making a mental note to check the date in private. “Though I’m not surprised at your interest in Lady’s things. Your reputation precedes you. ” Kaltain scoffs, a calculated smirk playing on her rose-red lips. The creak of wood follows as a low-ranking Lord vacates his seat in anticipation of Kaltain joining the table. Easing into the chair with feline grace, she nods her thanks to the man who had stepped back beside the guards. The ruddy face of Lord Quinn turns from red to deep plum at her remark. Bricius’ white knuckles grip the arms of his chair as he grumbles “I’m glad to see you are well, Princess. Was there really a need for such an entrance?” “Don’t you know who I am?” Kaltain remarks, picking at her perfectly-manicured nails with a mask of disinterest covering her swirling thoughts. “Carry on with your discussion.” She says,waving of her hand. “I’m very interested in knowing what was so important that your shouts were heard from two floors down.” Leaning forwards in her seat, Kaltain says with a challenge in her voice.Gazes shift around the room. “I fail to see what is suddenly so interesting about the drapes, Duke Elek,” quipped Kaltain, barely containing her frustration at the blatant disrespect that the men were showing. “Please inform your Princess, and your fellow councilmen, of your previous… conversation.”A crimson blush creeping up the column of his wiry neck, Duke Elek stammers “S-some of our fellow councilmen feel t-that someone else may be more suitable for the throne of Aurelia. Not me of course, but s-some b-believe that… that Cassius is better for Aurelia. That he’s been better trained than you, your Majesty.” Fear and anger spikes through Kaltain. How dare they attempt to steal her throne, her birthright. Ice spreads through her veins, a lethal calm setting over her ivory skin. “There is power in who speaks first.” As many times as she’d heard her father say it, this was the time to put silence to good use. True to spirit, no sound echoed in the drafty chamber. Kaltain’s eyes found the watery eyes of the crass Lord Quinn Kaltain’s eyes narrowed as they met Lord Quinn’s, a fire dancing on her porcelain face. “Care to enlighten me, Lord Quinn, ” she spits his name like it’s venom “as to whom, exactly, rejects me as Heir of Aurelia?”