Faith let herself soak a few minutes longer in the steaming water of her bath. It was built according to her fancies, in the general's manor built on the finest Levon streets of the Capital. It was modest-sized, unlike the stupidly large one she'd use when she remained in the castle. But she supposed when you had an entire empire's worth of blood money to spend, a bath that large was completely reasonable. Not that she was envious—then she would be ungrateful. The General had taken her in, an abandoned infant, and provided her all that he could. He was, in fact, amongst the aristocrats of Orlon. He was a war hero after all. A war which Abraham Reaper fought was a war that was never lost.
She still had dreams of her own, ambitions of her own. A large serene manor of her own, away from the city. Somewhere far, very far where no one could reach her. Peace was never an option under Eltarin's rule, and once she would've fought against it. But now, she was too selfish to care about anyone but her.
The general wanted to raise her to be a warrior, who could bring Eltarin prosperity. Well, how ironic, she had skewered more heads than she'd saved. But she was obliged to owe her allegiance to the general, and to the Crown. If she rebelled against the Crown, they would hunt her down. They would not stop until she was dead.
"My lady," Her waiting servant broke her trail of thoughts, "we are getting late I'm afraid." The Grand Feast was in an hour or so, and by the time she was dressed and out, she was bound to be late.
She rose, the water and flower petals falling off her.
Wrapped in her silk robes she was now brought in front of the mirror of her vanity where an array of cosmetics had been laid out before her. Three of her maids rushed in.
Fadia and Helia—she made it a point to remember all of the staff's names— worked on her long hair. It was impractical of her to have her hair so long, but how she loved it! She disliked putting her hair up, but had to. Tonight, she emphasized on her luscious dark hair being let loose. When her hair wasn't tied in a braid and pinned to her scalp, it would reach just below her hips. They brushed down her hair and emphasized upon her waves. The strands of her hair were decorated with the compact and sparkling pearls. A final headpiece of begonia was slid into place on the left of her head. The begonia petals were made of precious crystals. How they shined and glistened so beautifully!
Only Zaria worked on her face, but efficiently. Her face was powdered and the area under her eyes were seamlessly covered, hiding her otherwise sleepless eyes. A color that complimented her face was dabbled along her cheekbones, bringing life to her face.
When it came to her eyes, she nearly shoved the maid's hand away.
Oh, your eyes my lady.
They're beautiful.
She cringed.
"Is something not to your liking, my lady?" The maid questioned. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was breathtaking to look at, really, even without the cosmetics. Her eyes would garner anyone's attention, even without the extra hint of glitter. It was also the shape of them—wide and doe-like. And her long lashes really just did add the final touch.
"Keep it light around the eyes." She replied, still unable to shake away the Doctor's words.
Faith, you were dead the moment you were born.
When all that was done, she slipped into her dress. She almost gasped looking at her reflection. The dress was heavenly to look at with just the right amount of glamor. It was the right shade of soft pink, decorated with vines and peonies of varied origins. The skirt spilled into soft layers of waves, and when she moved they resembled the ocean. The dress cinched her waist—it almost looked fictional. The sleeves however, were her favorite. They were bell-shaped and made of beautiful net material. They moved in sync with her skirts.
"You have grown quite frail, my lady." She froze. "Have you been eating well?"
She hesitated, "Yes." She continued, "A fortnight of battle does that to you."
Her maids seemed to sigh in unison, as if they weren't entirely satisfied with her answer.
Nonetheless, a box of perfumes were presented before her. There were many prettily shaped bottles filled almost to the rim with sweet smelling chemicals. This was what Eltarin specialized in—perfumes. The market offered a large range, for both men and women alike. And she had a well-refined taste. She'd pick nothing but the best. Sometimes she'd get her hands on a few before they were even available in the market.
She picked a whimsical floral fragrance, incorporating the scents of sandalwood and jasmine.
It really did strike her at that moment that she had cut off a man's fingers during the day, and was now preparing for a ball during the night.
"You look stunning, miss." Fadia said.
"Yes, like a lily in bloom." Zaria added, her accent heavy. She gave herself one final glance in the mirror. She supposed, she did.
She was joined by Abraham in the sitting room, who walked her to their carriage—arm in arm. She helped herself to the cakes and pastries arranged for them inside the carriage, as it rode up the castle hills. She was prepared to stuff herself tonight, especially after what her maids had mentioned. Abraham had his own cup of tea steaming in his hands. He was looking outside at the dense forested lands. His caramel hair had been slicked back crisp. Tonight, he was clad in an emerald green suit—decorated with jewels. A gray vest, and white dress-shirt. He was fairly handsome.
Looking at him, she was often reminded of how difficult it must have been for a twenty year old man to raise a child. He had still been a high-ranking soldier then, climbing up the ranks of Eltarin's army.
"Faith?" He said, drawing her full attention to him."You look lost, my dear."
"I'm alright." She responded, and meant it.
A glowing ball of green light approached her window, and flew away just before she could see it clearly. A forest spirit. They were the most tricksy little creatures. The Western Continent may have banished magic centuries ago, but not the essence of it.
But magic, she believed, was indeed harmful. Oriph—more famously known as the Emperor of the Lost Lands—had held the world at the tip of his fingers six hundred years ago. This misuse of such powerful forces had provoked a banishment by a mutual agreement between the seven kingdoms of the West.
It was fascinating however, to observe the remnants of magic. Or perhaps, these creatures were magic itself.
"You look beautiful." He said then and she realized he hadn't specified tonight.
"Thank you, father." The corner of his lips tugged into a smile. She knew he'd once joke about how she had truly gone after him, but now that joke was overused and discarded.
In a moment, their carriage was going over the long bridge. The next moment, the carriage went through the castle gates. For all the Emperor's inhumanity, this castle was built tastefully. All credits to the late Empress. Not Arechin's mother—she was a concubine.
Soldiers drew the carriage door open. Abraham set aside his empty cup, getting off first. He offered his gloved hand to his daughter. "Shall we?"
She gladfully accepted, stepping on the snow covered cobblestones. The slow night breeze hit her, taking her floating over to the Great Hall.
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He was seated legs crossed amongst the soft cushions of one of the divans arranged behind the pillars of the Great Hall. He saw Faith enter. She was perhaps the last guest, escorted by the general. He averted his eyes almost immediately.
Not that he made it a point to look better than everyone else, but he was always fitted by the most renowned designers of the Capital. They'd never see him wearing the same suit twice. Tonight he was fitted by Madam Ozza Sylvanna, perhaps the most famous designer of Orlon. He'd been dressed in gold and white—as opposed to his usual darker colors. His vest especially, had intricate patterns of gold that had drawn several admiring glances. His long coat had been lined with fur to keep him warm in the cold winter nights of Eltarin. A circlet of gold band had been placed on his head, but it refused to stay in place. Now it was tilted slightly to his right. No one had to look twice in his direction to know he was the Prince of Eltarin.
Besides, his entire guard was stationed around him.
A woman clad in a daring black ball gown curtseyed before him, her dark hair spilling all around her—almost like the silk sold in the markets of Sylhar.
"Saher." He acknowledged her, "Have you brought what I've asked for?"
"Yes, my lord." She said, straightening. She fished out a glass vial from one of the hidden pockets stitched into her skirts. She handed him the vial of clear liquid.
He toyed with it in his left hand, observing. This was Mire, fatal in large doses but in smaller doses would cause dizziness and a temporary black out. What made it easy for anyone to administer Mire was its lack of any odor. It was found only on the black market and for a few silver coins, therefore making it out of the reach of common man. This much would be sufficient to take someone out for a few hours.
He flicked the stopper, pouring the liquid over the thorny rose he held in his right hand. He held it carefully, making a note not to sniff. After allowing the liquid to set in, he entrusted the rose with Saher. He tossed the vial aside.
She knew what to do. He watched her make her way through the crowd, to Prince Kaien and his friends where she made a great deal of fanning over him. He took her by her gloved hand, kissing it lightly. What a fool he was.
And when she offered him the rose, he was almost too surprised. Arechin smiled, devil incarnate, when his brother gave the rose petals a delighted whiff. It would not take him out immediately, but in a few minutes perhaps.
"Scheming, prince?" The smile from his face was erased in an instant.
"Always, Verena." Queen Verena and the winter court stood before him. Her two guard elves were both nearly a foot taller than him, and he was quite tall himself. The winter court, ruled over by Verena, was known for its treachery and icy deceptions. They were beautiful creatures however, characterized with long limbs, noses and pointed eyes. Their ears, as those of any other elves, were remarkable.
He took in the high-elves, sylphs, pixies and dwarfs. His eyes remained fixated upon the gargantuan serpent, towering above all of them. Her scales gave out an impression as if they were made of crystals of ice itself. She hissed at him, displaying its set of carnivorous fangs. She was held by two soldiers, pulling tightly at its barbed collar. The serpent would not attack, there was some sort of elven enchantment that bound its senses to the Queen. Only on her command did the serpent strike.
She had a name: Delmira, the one who protects.
He angled his head towards the space empty beside him on the divan, "Have a seat, Verena." She was perhaps more ancient than the Western Continent itself.
Nonetheless, she did not decline. She arranged her long skirts, gracefully.
Seated beside him she said, "The arrogance never leaves you." Her words were worth a king's ransom.
"It never leaves a Ravenswood." He replied. She swirled the bubbling liquid inside the goblet she held. He hadn't noticed when it had magically appeared, but now she sipped from it. She stared at him, he didn't blink.
"I never fail to notice that you look nothing like Thaddeus." She was perhaps the only woman who referred to his father by his name. Even the late Empress hadn't dared. "You must take after your mother."
"I am often told so." He admitted.
"She must've been a ravishing woman." She continued, "A pity that I will never be able to see her." There was no pity in her voice at all.
"I heard she was enchanting to look at." He clenched his jaw.
"Do you have no memory of her at all?" The corner of her red lips turned up, hinting at a devilish smile.
"The Emperor kept her hidden." From him, from everyone. The gossip told him that her beauty was so immaculate that she had to be kept away from the world. That the Emperor spent most of his time with only her.
"That is truly astonishing, prince." She didn't stop. Her words were slow poison. "Considering, you were, in fact, her beloved slaughterer." He froze.
But she waved her hands, as if this piece of information was of little use to her. Her gray eyes disappeared into two half moons as she smiled. "Nevermind that."
But now, he was standing at the site of his mother's burial as her coffin was lowered below the earth. Or what was left of it. Rain was lashing down on him—a symbol of the loss of his humanity. It was a miserable burial. The Emperor had forbidden him from being present at the burial. But he had watched from behind the pavilion, as his mother went under and beyond his reach forever. He was frightened at how little he felt then, how little shame or sorrow or—
He snapped out of it.
Verena was playing a trick on him.
He was gasping for air, cold sweat trickling down his back. His guard had their swords pointed at Verena's neck. He wanted to pounce on her, and strangle her neck. But he knew nothing good came out of harming an Elven Queen. It was his fault for lowering his guard around Verena.
He waved off his guard. Even they withdrew reluctantly.
He took a moment to regain his composure.
"Upset, prince?" She laughed. He hardly had a chance to reply before she snapped her fingers, and her lady-in-waiting was walking towards him, a wooden box in hand. "A present." She said.
He remembered Saher's warning about a gift. But he was in no position to provoke her wrath by declining. Instead he opted for a diversion.
"My lady, the dance is about to begin." He said, standing. A displeased frown had begun to form across her eyebrows. "I will have the present sent to my chambers." He assured her. Yes, and then he would burn it.
"Will you do me the honor of being my first dance?"