"To find a true friend, one should overlook all the good one sees in them," Selene said as she paced through the Redstone Room, the golden sun's radiant rays bursting into the chamber from the mosaic windows. "Do you overlook all the good from your friends, Edmund?"
His name rang like a bell in his ears, startling him from a waking-sleep. "Excuse me, mother?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"You've been staring off into nothingness again," Selene said. Her bright red gown shone brighter than any archaic dragonfire could, the golden swirls on it's silk surface shimmering in the morning light.
Her blonde hair was the equivalent of that of the sun's golden rays, the waviness of it cascading down her shoulder, her brown mahogany eyes seemed to be on fire and yet a pit of nothingness at the same time.
But not to Edmund, no. He saw love in those eyes, not for anything else, but for him. For him and his siblings he thought he saw love. And perhaps it was.
"House Emberlyn is at it's peak, it's always been," Selene said, as she begun pacing once more. "We listen to our advisors, Edmund. Wisdom is not hereditary, it cannot be passed down from father to son or daughter, it is taught, earned through the trials that life stabs at you."
Edmund said nothing as he stared at his siblings beside him, their boredom evident on their faces. They all sat on wooden chairs on cobblestone floors.
Above every door dripple, infused in any artifact or piece of furniture, he saw it. The sigil of House Emberlyn. A fiery hawk in mid-dive, it's wings ablaze, set against a dark and orange field, or in this instance, nothing at all really, just a few swirls of metal.
The door off to their left stood wide open. Edmund saw outside, where there was nothing but stillness and the occasional running about of handmaidens or squires or guards strolling about.
He stared at the intricate detailing on the railings. Here everything seemed to be a balcony of sorts. And straight down there was nothing but a silent fountain, its waters still, as if frozen in time.
But Edmund knew it was running. He'd touched it before out of curiosity, and found that it made soft splashes against his smooth, pale hand when it came in contact with it.
And afterwards, he looked up and saw straight into the secrets of the sky. How the stars cowered and hid in the light of the day and behind clouds that weighed millions of tons because of their density, and when the rain finally came, Edmund sprinted outside to feel it softly pelting against his soft skin.
And when he got tired of that, he would run back inside and get all dried, then he would sit in his chambers, and stare out the window, where he could see the rain falling and watch them race down his window.
He would read and sleep, and feel happiest. He was the son of a fiery legacy, but he loved the rain the most of all. Not for the destruction it could cause to the farmer's crops, or the blessing it could also offer to those very crops, but just simply for it's being.
Edmund smiled softly at the memory. "...Edmund?" Edmund's head snapped back up, his eyes wide as he stared into his mother's disappointed face, and then that disappointment, turned to anger as Selene slowly stepped closer to him, her anger silent and dangerous.
"I have warned you," she said, her voice low and she bent down forward before him. "Listen to these lessons. I have told you, wisdom it taught, not given. You dream of what, while I stand here talking to myself?"
Edmund said nothing once more. He was a boy of seventeen, his eyes a deep shade of charcoal, his hair as bright as that of a stack of golden hay. His skin, as white as the frost in Frostholm, but tinted with the hint of a tan here in Elysia.
"You're father sits the Obsidian Throne, and one day, you will too," Selene said. "And I hope that day never comes, because you are clearly, too enveloped in the dreams of cheap whores in makeshift brothels to care about your future, or the future of the nine kingdoms."
Selene spoke in a breathy whisper, low and dangerous, her enraged softness frightening, not only to Edmund, but to his siblings beside him.
Alistair, the second oldest, seemed unphased by the situation, but his sympathy towards Edmund was clearly evident. Alistair was at a beautiful youth of sixteen, his skin a tad darker than the rest of his siblings, his eyes lighter than their onyx-brown or mahogany eyes, but instead had a cinnamon hue to them.
His blonde hair seemed almost silver, like mercury on sunflowers. His freckles were dotted across his face like the sparrows that dived and jetted through the afternoon sky.
Their sister, Beatrice, had a square face, with a strong jawline, but her features were soft and her beauty was no secret among the nine kingdoms. Her hair cascaded down her back like liquid sunlight, it's shade the darkest in her family.
But her skin, was paler than that of any silver dove. Her eyes seemed almost black in the light of the room, and in the sun it appeared as though it were slashed with streaks of grey.
Her lips, thin and pink complimented the subtilty of her beauty. Her deep velvet crimson gown flowed around her feet like solid mist. She sat with an unreadable expression, her hands clasped in her lap.
Selene stared at Edmund for a moment, hard and rageful. "You should be grateful," she all but spat in his face. "Every other child in the realm is praying to be in your position."
The staring contest went off between the two for a moment. Selene snapped her gaze away from Edmund's, huffing as she elegantly stomped out of the room.
The silence weighed heavy on the siblings after. All that could be heard is the clanging of metal from the guards armour, or the birds that perched themselves on the railings of the terraces.
"Well, that was intense," Alistair jested, shattering the silence, he pushed himself up from his chair and placed himself at the head of the table, the King's seat.
"Get up from there, you fool," Beatrice said, her expression a perfect depiction of the amalgamation of exhaustion and frustration. "You okay, Edmund?"
"He's fine," Alistair said in a teasing tone as he placed his feet on the cobblestone table. "Right?"
Edmund grimly nodded, his features carved from stone. He stood and paced over to the door.
"Where you going?" Beatrice questioned, her eyebrows drawn in concern.
"Bed," Edmund replied, his voice smooth and low.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Alistair wondered.
"Yeah... just, tired," Edmund replied, as he looked over his shoulder before stepping out of the room and down the hall.
"Well that was strange," Alistair remarked. "It's morning."
"Get your feet off there," Beatrice whisper hissed. "Before someone sees you."
"What are they going to do to the Prince of Elysia?" Alistair mocked, sipping wine from a cup left from the previous council meeting, and pulling a abhorred face afterwards.
"Serves you right," Beatrice laughed. "I can't with you right now. I'm going to go for a walk."
Alistair then removed his feet from the cobblestone table, his heart suddenly sore. "Very well. I'll see you guys later. Later... ," Alistair stared longingly after his sister as she exited.
He did not enjoy being alone, or rather, he did not enjoy being without his siblings. He placed his hands on his knees and stared off into the distance as he mumbled, "Later."
Edmund made his way down the hall, passing guards who bowed, and handmaidens who scurried out of his way. Where was he going? It was certainly too early for bed. The day had then just begun.
Edmund passed columns with intricate designs that upheld many floors above the one he was on. He placed his hands within the pockets of his tunic, it's design intricate, it's colour fiery.
He kept his gaze fixated on the tiling on the floor, or rather, the rhythm his boots moved in as he walked.
Edmund went down a flurry of steps into a darker corridor before rounding a sharp corner and into another corridor, this one dimly lit with half-melted candles, the smell of wax pungent.
Here there were no windows or openings in the walls of any sorts. And in the portion of the castle, velvet crimson carpets lined the tiled floors, the doors had intricate wooden murals carved into them, depicting stories of all kinds of gods.
Gods of love, gods of lust, gods of reproduction. It all bothered Edmund, gave him a feeling of unease or trepidation. Edmund paced to the door at the end of the hallway, pushed it open and was met with loud, pleasorous moans.
His father, King Benedict Emberlyn, looked up from under a mound of naked women. They all took one look at Edmund and squealed like pigs. His father lied bare with a woman above him, her skin smooth as silk, her hair dark brown.
His father, a man well past fifty, had mahogany hair that was streaked with grey hairs, his beard kept short and his features strong but ancient. His wide shocked eyes were hazel brown as they stared right at Edmund, who still stood stationed at the door, unphased.
Benedict quickly stood ushering the girl off him. They all sat in a corner of the crimson silk bed, giggling and squirming. The room itself was crimson hued, dim light entering through thick-laced silk curtains.
The room smelled of wine and cheese, and... other things. Clothes were everywhere, in heaps on the floor, flung over chairs, spread on small tables. It was as if King Benedict allowed no one other than himself into this room.
Although, he let his son in here. He used to say, "Edmund my boy, one day you will be King, and you will make use of this room just as much as I have, if not more." He gave Edmund a playful punch on the shoulder, a slap on the back and chuckled about it.
Edmund found it not to be amusing, but rather odd. He's never had urges like this. He just felt sorrow. He thought about his mother, no matter how poorly she treated him.
He thought about his siblings and the deceit the King, their father, inflicts upon the nine kingdoms. Now here Benedict was, shrouding himself in a velvet robe as he made his way to Edmund who still stood at the door.
"Come," he said, making his way past Edmund and into the dimly lit hallway outside, where the air seemed colder and cleaner. "What did I tell you?"
Benedict chuckled, his face drawn in amusement, as he tied the band of the robe around his waist.
"Why?" Edmund asked.
Benedict shot him a questioning look to which Edmund replied, "Why do you do this?"
"When you're King, Edmund, you have a lot to worry about. It's a lot of pressure. It's not like a man who has to work for his family to have food on the table, but rather to see to the well-being of an entire realm. The nine kingdoms will not fend for itself, I would never let it."
Edmund grimly nodded. "The nine kingdoms will never fend for itself."
"Exactly. But to do good work, one requires good rest. Take this as... my rest."
Benedict nervously chuckled.
"Mother is upset," Edmund remarked.
"Why?"
"I... don't know."
Silence burdened the two men as they stood in the desolate corridor. "I'll talk to her," Benedict replied in conclusion. "Don't worry about it."
Edmund simply nodded and made his way back down the corridor. All he wanted was to escape, to crawl from his skin, from his life, from the nine kingdoms. He would never do anything like this when he became King.
He would be a good King, a great King, a King loved by his people and worshipped by his followers. He would be good both before their eyes, and even when their eyes were averted.
His father was not a good King in Edmund's eyes. His father was a deceiver to him. "Edmund," Benedict called from down the corridor. "I hope you're doing okay. Also, let's keep this between us. From King to heir."
Benedict thought this game would work on Edmund. It used to, when he was a boy. But he was a boy no longer. He was almost a man, a King.
Edmund said nothing as he returned his gaze to the tiles on the floor before him and made his way forward, ignoring the old man. Once Edmund disappeared round a corner, Benedict rubbed his hands over his wrinkled face and groaned in frustration.
He then took a deep breath, and jumped back into the room, the wooden door shutting behind him, it's mural telling a story of tragic love. When lust enters a relationship, no matter of which status, it can either provide substantial growth or utter obliteration.