In another place, in another room, unknown to me.
The room was lavish and somehow disturbed, a work of splendor shot through with jarring dissonance. Gilded vines clambered along the black marble walls, their leaves pulsating like veins under some malign illumination, casting writhing shadows that slid about the space. Where windows should have been, narrow slits of mirrored glass distorted reflections as if reality itself were being warped within the room. Above hung, suspended from the ceiling in an odd configuration, mismatched chandeliers hosting a single floating orb on each. The light was alternate crimson and indigo and flickered in irregular fashion.
Incense swelled through the air—both a sweet and a bitter invitation and repulsion.
Upon a sleek, dark stone bench etched with ancient runes sat two figures seated in the center of the room. He was a young man, with skin so pale that it looked almost translucent. It seemed as if moonlight reflected off the white of ice under the light, and his hair was like the moon itself-white hair that brushed against his shoulders. Blood-red eyes starkly stood out amidst the soft waves of his long hair, which framed his face. A thin red stroke of paint around the eyelids gave his gaze an unnatural sharpness, making it seem as if he could see right through the person. His gloved hands lay upon his thighs. Though relaxed, he's tense; his eyes shoot glances toward the mirror slits, which warp the images that darted through, like brief and breathing apparitions.
Beside him sat a figure in dark, midnight-blue robes embroidered with twisting silver symbols. A fantastic mask covered their face-molded into a serene expression, its intricate markings glimmering like liquid mercury in the flickering light. Behind the mask, their eyes were hidden, though every so often a glint of gold caught the light, as if watching him with unblinking scrutiny.
The young man was Prince Kaelen of Lumoria. He tapped gloved fingers on the cold stone bench. It was the only sound that had breached the oppressive silence within the room. He barely seemed to be paying any mind to his companion because lost in thought as he was, he looked not at him. "Do you think," he started slowly, almost whispering, "that the other contestants suspect something?" He did not seem to try for much of a measured sound as he spoke, for underneath it lay a blade keenly hidden just beyond a person's sight.
It leaned its head to one side, the movement almost animal in its deliberation. "Not yet," came the reply, smooth as silk and tinged with amusement. "The other royals have their own ambitions and schemes to tend to. They're blind to the strings you're pulling."
Kaelen's lips curved in a faint smile, though his eyes remained cold. "Perhaps. But I think trust is growing thin even among my own ranks.". And the instant it's finally lost. All for a scrawny chance. Kaelen leaned forward a little, his eyes taking on the look of dark water about to boil over: they seemed blood red to Vane. "It's the outsider, but what better way to place my wager than hiding this chance in that wild forest? The outsider's designed for distraction and troublemaking. He was placed for my benefit and designed not to draw eyes; then there is…".
The masked figure shifted, and stepped forward. "Do you think he will stick to the plan? Or do you think someone will see through your little scam?
A flicker of irritation crossed Kaelen's face, and he narrowed his gaze. "I do not fear discovery," he replied sharply. "I fear his independence. That outsider is bound by no custom, no unspoken rule of Lumoria. He's a volatile force, a flame that burns wherever it wishes.".
The masked figure laughed, and that laugh was at once terrifying and knowing. "And now you bring him here into this game, Kaelen? Why tempt everything on the vagary of a loose end?"
"Because," Kaelen said softly, "in this Contest of Sovereign Court, tradition counts less than it used to be. For the seat of Lumoria's throne and for ruthless competitors.". My brother has the favor of the council, my sister the adoration of the people, and I… I have only cunning. And cunning, as you know, has raised empires and toppled kings. The others are busy with the official rituals of the contest, but when they get to know him, they will be as hungry as dogs who haven't eaten for weeks.
An apt metaphor," she said, amusement running through her words. "Still, you must see, Kaelen, using an unpredictable element is a matter of art. Flames are mesmerizing, and one can lose one's attention to things they may not notice in all that beauty. Fire blazes, though -it burns out of control - more than you expect to.
Kaelen's fingers went still. Red eyes narrowed. "I know the risk," he said, his voice steady. "I had no doubt this stranger may blaze his own path. But that is precisely why I picked him. He will burn distractions in my wake, and may even take down a few of my competitors. Let him test their strength, expose their plans. Let him force them to show their hand."
A wildfire to clear the forest, the masked figure thought, a gleam in their voice. "Dangerous, but I see the appeal".
A moment of silence dropped in the room, thick as incense, cladding the air with it. In the slits that served as mirrors, dark shapes stirred and curled to form vague, hint-like faces and bodies: probably reflections of the unseen foes Kaelen knew they had. He stared, as if to discern through them what it was his enemies might plot against him.
"The outsider's journey through Lumoria will be treacherous," Kaelen whispered, breaking the silence. "The forests, with their twisted wildlife and ancient dangers, are a tool I intend to exploit. If he survives, he'll emerge cautious, wary of whom he can trust, just as my enemies will be wary of him."
The masked figure sat back, hands clasped together as they watched Kaelen with a curiosity almost detached. "And your allies? How long can they stand the strain of all your plots before their loyalty begins to fray?
A fleeting shadow of doubt crossed Kaelen's face, but he covered it up quickly. "They know what's at stake," he said, though the edge in his voice belied a small measure of uncertainty. "They'll stay loyal… at least until they realize the scope of my ambition."
The figure laughed, a knowing sound. "Ambition is a dangerous gift, Kaelen. Beautiful, yes, like the glint of a blade, but blades can cut."
Kaelen stood upright, his jaw barked forward, against the assault of their glance. "Sometimes, that's all you have left," he replied slowly, his voice ice-like stone.
A slow nod came from the masked figure. "Very good. Carry on then, but be careful of your step Kaelen. This is one very peculiar forest this "Trump card" has entered with its own tales of life and death-who will yield more before giving the needed.
Kaelen's smirk returned, his eyes shining. "Then let it. Whatever price it may claim, I will pay to the throne.".