Kingdom of Zuland, Grezeit Castle, Present day.
Today was the day. Sara's birth ceremony. Like every year prior, it started with her handmaidens washing and braiding her hair as well as helping her with a layer of maquillage. After a bowl of hot broth, she was to go meet with her subjects.
The wood of Sara's chair scraped along the floor as she pushed away from the table. The echoes bounced off the dining hall walls. She had emptied her bowl, all that remained were red stains and loose pieces of herbs. The bowl was ceramic with light blue gilded designs. Elegant and clean, as one would expect from royalty; even their serving platters were exquisite.
"Is something the matter, Sara?" asked one of her handmaidens. She took the bowl from the table. "Did the cooks not deliver? Its rare that you eat with a frown." She eyed the inside of the bowl, as if to find the culprit of Sara's melancholy. "I'll see to them at once. I'll make sure that the next time they prepare a meal it will be one worthy of—"
Sara placed her hand on the old woman's wrist. "No, don't worry yourself. The food was fine, Quill. I was simply lost in thought is all." She smiled lightly.
Quill narrowed her eyes as she focused on her. "Hmmm. Twenty-four years I've been at your side and I can tell when you're lying, miss." She sighed. "And I can see that this isn't one of those occasions." The elder woman had always made sure Sara was comfortable and free of any distress. If there was a wrinkle in her bedsheets, or food that was either too cold or hot. Quill would fix it before it became a concern. She was like a second mother. There were times that Sara could swear the woman would spot a loose thread in her blouse or dress from tens of feet away.
Sara patted the woman's wrist. "Thank you."
More wrinkles were added to Quill's face as she smiled. She turned and made her way to the opposite end of the table, though she did so fairly quick for a woman of her age. Her feet were hidden under her dark green frock and she took very small steps, one would assume her ankles were tied. "How did your meal fair, my king?"
Her father's plates clanked together as he stacked them aside. There was still plenty of blood-red meat and feather herbs on them. "The meat was good, though the bread was stale." He threw a bun on the top of the pile of plates.
Quill stood as straight as an elderwood pine tree. "My apologies, my king. I'll have a new one brought straight from the masonry oven."
"No need. I've lost my appetite."
Quill fidgeted with one hand behind her back.
He waved her off. "You can go now. I've business to speak with my daughter."
She didn't delay on taking the dishware and left in a hurry, her gaze low and a mound of dishes in her arms.
Sara felt a pit in her gut.
Once Quill was free of the room her father brought his gaze up from the table, his face illuminated from many candles that decorated the wood surface. "I would wish you weren't so appealing to the servants. Learning their unremarkable names is simply a chore."
Sara felt the urge to frown, though she knew better. She instead sat upright. "I consider the servants here family. Most here have known me since I was a little girl."
"You're confused, daughter." He clasped his hands together. "Family isn't replaceable, not like these servants."
Tongue-in-cheek she replied. "What of mother? She's not with us, though it seems like she's just as unremarkable."
He tapped his clasped hands with a finger, a telltale sign that she had irked him. "I say again…" his voice gruffer. "…you are confused. I didn't reject your mother from the castle. Her being gone was her decision alone." He leaned forward with a glare. "Be more wary of whom you aim your accusations towards. Do you understand?"
She lowered her gaze. "Yes, father."
"Look at me when you answer."
She locked eyes with him. "Yes, father." She made sure to not show any malice behind her words.
He nodded to her. "Now, you wanted to speak with me? About something more?"
"Yes. I wanted to speak about what was said at the meeting." She searched in her thoughts for the right words. "About…about starting a war with our neighboring kingdom."
He tilted his head. "War? There is no war. Whether there will be one or not will be for Loradel to decide." He grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped his mouth. "I've explained myself in the council room, have I not? My daughter, don't confuse what we're doing. We are not pillaging or raiding this country. We are liberating it."
Sara raised a brow. "Liberating?"
"The rogue lancers incident affected more than just Loradel."
Sara leaned in. "What do you mean?"
"Zuland suffered the loss of fifty or so men when Loradel's civil war started."
Sara ran through all of the prior events that had transpired within the past three years. Nothing sparked a memory similar to what he had mentioned. "When did this happen? Why wasn't I told—"
"Your exile from the inner council meant that such things were to be kept from you."
The newfound information only served to ignite a new trail of questions as well as a rising anger for the council's lack of faith in the people. "What of the families who lost a loved one?" Her throat parched from her rising voice.
"The reality of their death was kept hidden from them. If they knew the truth, that a band of Loradel savages ripped their husbands, wives, sons and daughters apart…well the people would scream war. They'd thirst for revenge, for bloodshed."
Sara pounded her fist on the table. "It would be justice, not bloodshed. What difference would it have made waging war then in contradiction of now?"
Her father's features remained unchanged; calm. "Because you don't pluck a fruit before it ripens. The men responsible were nothing but criminals so it would have been unjust to hold Loradel accountable—it was the right decision to make then. We needed time to assure the fruits of our labor were ready—ready to purge the weak and assure safety for everyone before another revolt took the lives of our men." His focus drifted slightly as his eyes were motionless.
Sara leaned in. "Fruits of your labor?"
He seem to wake from a daydream. "Yes. I've spent years preparing for the liberation of Eredia—dedicated my life to stoking the flames of the Eshlon legacy." He stood from his chair. "Have faith, daughter."
Sara again was lost, her father was wise, of that there was no doubt. Like an artist, he'd paint a beautiful vison through words rather than vibrant-colored oils. But even a painter who used the brightest of colors on his canvas' visions were lost when presented to someone who is blindfolded. The fact that so much was withheld from her, an heiress to the throne, simply urged the idea that she wasn't trusted. She struggled to hide the irritation in her voice as she called to him. "Father, wait. Since I've been reaccepted into the council, shouldn't I know?"
He reached the exit's archway and turned back. "I'll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. You do trust me, correct?"
"Of course," she blurted out, unsatisfied.
"Good. I'm glad you understand." He left the room with a smile.
Sara sighed once her was free from the room. Perhaps she was overthinking, her father trusted her now, and she wasn't about to betray it. She would follow his lead and better learn how to lead from example. All she had to do was be patient, a challenge for someone like her.