A Royal Tragedy

[Rafael Warrick]

96th Vhalar, 716

Excitment buzzed in the late afternoon air. Perhaps it was just the distant chatter of voices, or the soft glow of the lights near the theater, but there was something quite different about the sky today. The twin suns blazed their last rays of light over Andaris' rooftops as a thick crowd trickled into the ornate building.

Dressed in loose and comfortable dark grays and reds, worthy of a noble, but by no means extravagant, Rafael queued up and hoped there would still be a ticket available. Tristan's play was only half the reason he had come. Like everyone else in the city, he too had heard the rumour that King Cassander would be in attendance. If Labrae was to be believed, the King had been out to capture him, but as of late he had started to question the accusation. Not least because the war was over, and so there was no advantage to be gained in his capture.

So far he hadn't come across any trouble in Andaris while he hadn't made any particular efforts to hide his identity. And if there was any place or time he could catch a glimpse of the King with minimal risk of being spotted himself, this was it. In truth, he had grown quite curious about the supposed boy-king who, if memory served him right, wasn't much older or younger than himself.

What interested him even more was how the king would react to the play. While he hadn't yet seen any of it, the title clearly indicated it would be about royalty, and from the one time he'd met Tristan Venora, he had noticed that the noble had a knack for controversy.

By the time he could make his purchase, there were almost no tickets left. Somewhat begrudingly, Rafael paid ten full nels for a seat at the balcony. He would've preferred to avoid the other nobles who would no doubt judge him for his minimal efforts to dress up, but if ten nels could get him a good view, then perhaps it would be worth it. Just before he entered, he shot a glance over his shoulder at the mixture of squires and knights stationed outside. Poor sods. They'd have to entertain themselves most likely.

By the time he had made it onto the balcony, most visitors had already seated themselves. in order to avoid the cruel embarrassment of being last to sit down, he ignored the number on his ticket and simply plopped down in the nearest chair, next to a familiar looking brunette.

For a few trills he wasn't quite sure. She looked different than he remembered, but then again, it had been quite a while since he'd last seen her.

"Elyna?" he muttered almost accusingly. A myriad of thoughts raced through his head. So she was still alive then? Where in the blazes had she been? Why hadn't she contacted him? What was she doing here? If he hadn't been in the middle of a theather, he'd surely have expressed his agitation in more violent ways, but in the end, all that he managed was a snide remark.

"Glad to see you're still alive," he said in a voice that seemed to indicate the opposite, before he set his gaze dead ahead. In his mind, Elyna had commited a great crime by disappearing the previous season without a word. He'd been looking for her! He'd even warned Malcolm to try and find her back! At least an acknowledgement of his efforts would have been nice...But no. Not a word. Nothing. Nothing at all...

Gritting his teeth, he kept his eyes trained on the stage, though he doubted he'd be able to enjoy any of what was to come...

[Tristan Venora]

Tristan was just standing in front of a mirror and desperately trying to tame his hair when a servant approached him from behind. As the man cleared his throat, the young noble nearly jumped before he spun around and stared at him wild-eyed as if he were facing a most frightening beast. The man looked a little confused and uncomfortable. “Lord Venora, your cousin has arrived”, he informed him somewhat hesitantly. Tristan wondered what Zvezdana was doing in the theatre for a moment and whether he should just throw her out before the king noticed before he realized that the man had probably meant Andráska.

“Thank you”, he said, took the copy of his script – he didn’t go anywhere without it anymore, out of fear that somebody would steal it – and walked to where his cousin sat. He immediately noticed that Andráska was not high or drunk which was a huge relief, all in all, although he desperately wished that he had some of those magic powders for a moment. Maybe he’d stop being nervous then. Should he ask Andráska if he had hidden some in the theatre?

Better not, he decided, otherwise his cousin might be tempted to take some Heat or Fairysnuff himself and race out of the theatre because he thought he was being chased by a horde of bloodthirsty shadowbeasts. “Are you ready?” he wanted to know. “I’ll step in front of the curtain in a bit and welcome the audience, and then it will be your turn. If you need anything before your big moment, just let me know. Thank you by the way”, he added, realizing that Andráska could just have refused to come to Andaris and play for him and enjoyed the amenities of Sabaissant (and their grandmother’s wine cellar) instead.

And there was Faith! By now Tristan had become quite proficient at conducting several conversations at once (he was almost as multifunctional as his slave now!), so while he waited for his cousin to say something, he turned to his slave. His jaw nearly dropped when he saw her (which was a good thing, since he wouldn’t have been able to talk to the audience or the king if his jaw had actually dropped to the ground). She looked amazing! She probably looked better than most of the noble ladies that had come that evening! “In fact there is something you could do for me”, he admitted and held her hand for a moment. It helped to calm his nerves down. “Can you stay here, in case Andráska, Teddy, Daliane or my other actors need something while I visit the king in his box? I think I should welcome him personally.”

It was just then that Daliane finally arrived, and a huge weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. Up until that moment he hadn’t been sure whether he would actually show up. “You are here!” he exclaimed and nearly hugged him because he was just so relieved! “Quickly get into your costume now and join the other actors. Valeria is already there. There’s also a buffet in case you are hungry and thirsty. Do you know where on the stage you’ll have to be?” The play would start with a brief scene between the young king of Alamere and his wife right before the ball during which Alexander would meet the love of his life. Behind the curtain the servants were already hard at work transforming the stage into the royal palace of Alamere, complete with chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, paintings and statues, made by a certain Venora.

“Actually”, he said and turned back to Faith. “Could you get Daliane his crown? The king of Alamare needs his crown, and I’m not sure where it is. I hope we haven’t lost it.” He took another brief look at the other side of the curtain even though it was not a particularly professional thing to do. The theatre was quite full already. It was time to begin, and thus he stepped in front of the curtain to address the audience. Now that the moment had arrived, he felt much less nervous for some reason. He cleared his throat once and then he spoke, loudly and clearly so that his voice would be heard even at the back of the theatre,

“Your Royal Majesty, Empress, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to welcome you to the premiere of my new play. Before the first act Lord Andráska Venora will play a solo on his cello to put you in the right mood for the story that follows. Food and drinks have been prepared for you. I would ask you to wait until the break to get something from the buffet though. With that being said, enjoy this evening!”

He stepped back and gave a servant a sign to raise the curtain. All around the theatre the lights were dimmed so that the stage and the chair where Andráska was sitting would be the most brightly lit place in the entire building and all eyes would be on him. This would be the moment that would make him or break him.

---

Once Andráska had hopefully started playing, Tristan quietly made his way to the balcony where King Cassander, Emerson and their guards were sitting. Some of his previous nervousness had returned. Pretending to be the king in front of a couple of drunkards and actually meeting the king and quite possibly talking to him were two completely different things, he realized. If only Faith were with him now. His slave had even held Cassander’s hand once! Seven, he should have paid more attention to his grandmother’s etiquette lessons!

“Lord Tristan Venora”, he introduced himself to the guards, hoping that they would recognize him and let him through. “I would like to personally welcome His Royal Majesty and the Empress.” Her title was just ‘Empress’, right? Not ‘Your Excellency’ or something like that?

By the Seven! The Empress. He had heard so much about Emerson Sands. Was it really true that any man that looked her in the eye would be cursed? And what about women? What about lesbians? He pondered the question for a moment before he shook his head. This was not the right time to think such silly thoughts. He was about to meet the king. He needed to concentrate on that – and on the play!

Off Topic

OOC: I would like Andráska to post after me so that everybody has the chance to react to his solo. Apart from that there is no posting order.

Ideally, I would like to make a post approximately once every four days so that the thread doesn’t last forever. If you miss a round, it’s not a problem. Just post when you have time. This should be fun and not a chore.

Daliane, feel free to describe your costume yourself. Just make sure that it is worthy of a king! Lady Jane Andaris will be playing your queen, in case you’d like to incorporate her into your post.

The others – enjoy and feel free to interact with each other!

[Andráska Venora]

"My two natures had memory in common."

• 96th of Vhalar, 716 Arc

The cello in his hands sang, and with each completed string, Andras could feel his heart getting heavier, the thrum of people building behind the curtain getting harder to ignore. Each note that flowed from his fingers felt that it was taking his own ability to talk away from him, so when Tristan approached, he barely had the energy to look into his cousin’s eyes. Nadia was ready.

Was he? Tristan wanted to know. The noble hesitated, running his thumb up and down along Nadia’s neck for reassurance. He scooted to the edge of his seat, double checked his instrument was where he wanted her to be, and gave a solemn nod, weighing the bow in his hand.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his body feeling feint. His cousin thanked him, which almost pulled a sharp, nervous laugh from his lips. Don’t thank me yet,, he wanted to say, but was unable to speak. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so… serious. Andras mentally promised himself a reward after all of this was over and watched the back of his cousin disappear as Tristan walked away. Reaching forward, he turned the page of the folder, drew out sheets of paper and organized them carefully on stand.

On them was the product of his insomnia. Of his pain, captured, scribbled down in madness and frustrations. Of the memories of war and wasted potential. Of himself. Of the people of Rynmere. Ink had dashed quickly on the page, some of his even dribbling and smearing. He had felt this piece, restrained it before it took more than just a part of him. Was it even readable?

His cousin voice lifted across the theater and his eyes widened and focused on the red curtain, obsessing over it, as he heard his name brought to attention. Then, with dramatic slowness, it was lifted and the lights manipulated upon him, and there he was. Put on display, brought to the spotlight – the one place he had wanted and then ran away from his entire life. Andras blinked, unable to see past the illumination and into the crowd. Their silhouette’s shifted, but their faces were shadows of darkness. Was his family out there? Were his friends?

No. Andras didn’t have any friends. The realization made him slump against Nadia, who held him up faithfully, and he took shaky, desperate breaths, lightening the touch of his fingers and his eyes – like two spring leaves – they refocused on the music score and the silence of the theater suffocated him. So many people and always still lonely.

Fingers poised over the strings, he suddenly began to play, knowing and needing Nadia to save him, as if his life depended on it – each note ringing so soundly, it was like all of his troubles, his sorrows, were birthed into the air and given as a gift to the strangers before him. His foot tapped, keeping time with the music, and his mind began to wander.

Like a gruesome movie, images of the season slipped into his troubled mind. The war. The lamentations of women begging for their children to come home. Fires burning down homes, and people starving from having lost everything. He played louder. He had seen it all, never sleeping soundly among down pillows and lush blankets like others in his family. Andras had walked among the disheartened, the heartbroken, and offered what he could do to help. Nothing.

Nothing would fix it. Doors could be replaced, crops could be grown – but death was final. Unless you were Alistair... The song dropped to a mournful transition, the vibrato shaking his resolve. Alistair could cheat death. Could bring back those he found worthy. He could play immortal with the lives and emotions of others.

After all, how nice it must be to never feel anything unless it was convenient. Anger began to seep into his sound, exhausting him as he played. A battlefield. Did Alistair even feel regret for raping their sister? A pause in the music, images of Alistair dancing in his tormented mind and he stared at the notes before him. His sound returned softer, lilting for hope in the desolation. Zvezdana’s hallowed voice had brushed past it when she had told him, but he couldn’t. He had held her while she clung to him, desperately needing solace in her pain. She had taken everything for love, and also lost it all.

All these secrets haunted him, just like the war. How him and the other knights had piled bodies to be burned, the smell of rotting flesh, the tears of lovers never to be reunited. The crumpled and mangled figures of children he had known, clutching to their mother’s bodies in their final moments. It felt as if someone had gripped his heart and squeezed, and tears threatened to pour from his eyes.

Andras threw back his head, no longer reading the sheets. He played from memory; from loss. He mourned for those who couldn’t afford to – for his own life that never turned out how he wanted it. It was all the same, and as his fingers played from instinct, when they finished, the sudden silence of the room shocked him, like a mighty blow from his wicked father.

His head jerked forward, as if waking from a dream, and he was reminded of where he sat, and in front of whom. Once the music died, he couldn’t think of whether his performance had been perfect, or even good. A rush of shyness flooded him, and he felt naked – emotionally exposed and he suddenly wished to be burying himself in a bottle and with a smile plastered on his face. Instead, his lovely features were devoid of emotion, having spent it all, and he stood quickly, bowing. The lights died, and he couldn’t hand off Nadia fast enough.

He thought he was going to throw up.

[Faith Augustin]

96th Vhalar, 716

Everything was done and she smiled an encouraging smile to Tristan and nodded her head. She kept ahold of his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, trying to reassure him that everything would be well. He had been so very worried about this play and she gave a prayer to Famula that it all go well for him this evening. He deserved it for his kindness, as much as for his talent. "Of course, Master. It is all fine, I will stay here as you need", she said and she tried to make sure that he was not too flustered or worried. It was all going to be fine. It must be said, she was relieved beyond the telling of it when the leading actor arrived. Faith knew that Master had been worried about that, to the point that he had arranged an understudy, so she was pleased that he had met his commitment and that Master got his first choice of king. But then he had a job for her and Faith dropped an immediate curtsy and started to move "Of course, Master", she replied.

She made her way to where the props were and she retrieved the crown. Holding it in her hand she was hurrying back when some of the kings guards stopped her and Faith raised an eyebrow nervously. The largest of them spoke and asked her if she was the chef. "Yes, that is me", she replied. He instructed her then that the King and the Empress wished to see her now and Faith's spleen leapt into her throat whilst her heart plummeted to her knees and her stomach tied into a knot.

"Oh. Me? But..." She said and the guard took the crown from her hand with a slight, ever such a slight, smile, handed it to one of the theatre staff who was walking past. Faith turned and told them where it was to go and then she was escorted, by said guard, to the carefully guarded place where the King and the Empress were. Shown through, the young slave felt her knees trembling as she remembered the last time that she had seen the two of them, in such different circumstances. She wondered if the King remembered anything about the slave who had knelt next to him. She imagined not, but it was strange, she thought. Peeking through the curtains earlier, she was sure that she had seen Lady Elyna entering, which would be wonderful as she had hoped to see her. But what a strange reuinion, she considered.

Determining that the King wouldn't remember someone so insignificant, the young slave stepped forward when the guard introduced her as 'the chef' and she bowed her head and dropped into a deep curtsy. "Your Royal Majesty. Your Imperial Majesty", she said and stayed low in the curtsy head bowed until she was bidden to rise. Such was appropriate after all, for anyone but most certainly for a slave who was summoned before the King and the Empress.

► Show Spoiler

OOC: I haven't reacted to the solo yet because of the being in front of the King and all. Hope that's ok!

[Quio]

“Your Royal Majesty, Empress, ladies and gentlemen..."

"Your Royal Majesty?" Quio murmured, and beside him Hart breathed out and twisted his fingers into a tight, nervous fist.

"Wow," the seaborn said, brilliant blue eyes upon Tristan as he made introductions for the evening, seeming quite at ease up on the stage. "The king is here. Tristan is--" he paused, almost astounded, and then breathed out again, "Tristan, good luck!"

"He doesn't need luck," Quio said. "He has talent."

"And Faith," Hart added, and Quio nodded grimly. "And Faith," he echoed.

"And Andráska," Hart said, leaning forward like a child in his seat as if to see better, and Quio looked once more up to the stage. A lone man sat on a chair in the center, all lights on him, all eyes. Holding some sort of instrument-- Tristan had said it was a cello?

"Who's Andráska?" the Yludih asked, and Hart whispered back, just as the other started to play, "Tristan's cousin. Now hush."

The music... was not at all what Quio was expecting. He didn't know if he had ever heard sound like this-- played from a beautiful instrument in a room meant to capture such a moment, not just a little tune hummed or sung by a sailor during his work.
This-- this was something entirely different.

Magical. Strong. Yes, as the man --Andráska-- began suddenly to play, there was strength there, in the pull of bow and touch of strings, that was Quio's first impression.

And then came the sorrow.

Beside him Hart was gripping the Yludih's hand very tight, enraptured, still sitting forward as if the one on stage might know his support, and Quio was having trouble feeling his fingers in the other's grip, but regardless he didn't dare let go. Bidden by the melody, his free hand went up to his neck, to one necklace in particular: a plain seashell that hung on a chain. Given to him by the immortal U'frek for protection. During-- during the war.

And suddenly he understood. That was what this reminded him of. Loss. Anger.

Regret.

Quio felt his mouth twist, and Hart beside him made some small noise, maybe a word, beautiful. Yes, the music was beautiful... but painful, too. Raw. He hadn't known music to be like this. Meaningful.

Up on stage, Andráska had thrown back his head.

The last notes fell, and the room remained deadly quiet. The man on the stage looked out into the crowd.

Then the silence passed, and the theater burst into applause.

"Go, Andráska!" Hart called out, raising to his feet, and the person on Quio's other side, a well-dressed older woman who seemed to be sitting by herself, had a handkerchief in hand and was dabbing at her eyes. She slowly began to stand as well, wobbly, and without thinking the Yludih offered an arm. She gave him a watery smile and took it.

Eventually the applause died down and they all returned to their seats. The theater was now buzzing with soft conversation.

"If that's the opening act, I wonder what the play will be like?" Hart wondered from Quio's right side.

"It was lovely, absolutely lovely," the older woman said from Quio's left, still drying her eyes.

"A Royal Tragedy," the Yludih said, "Do you think it's about the war?" He had assumed it would be a comedy, based on what he knew of Tristan. Now he wasn't so certain.

"War?" Hart asked, looking over, "Is that what you got from that?"

"It reminded me of my late husband," the woman said. She was twisting a ring around her finger. "My sons."

"I heard loneliness," Hart added, and the woman nodded, agreeing. She still had one hand on Quio's arm, resting there as if for comfort. Now Hart glanced back up at the stage, perhaps thinking of calling out again, but the cellist had already gone.

"Regret," Quio said quietly, and the seaborn squeezed his hand.

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"

[Kingdom]

The king was just tidying up the last of his dessert when one of the guards gave a rumbled, clearing his throat. “Your majesty,” the man interrupted, “Lady Odessa Andaris wishes to speak with you.”
One of the servers took away the plates and Cassander cleaned his lips with a napkin before raising his hand up from the arm of his chair to give the okay for the young woman to be sent in. “Lady Odessa,” he greeted the noble with a warm smile and reached out to take her hand, “what an honour it is to meet one of the lovely ladies of House Andaris.”
Emerson Sands twisted in her chair to look at the woman, smoky eyes fixed for but a moment before they were turned on the crowd again. Cassander held only the very tips Odessa’s fingers, releasing them once she had introduced herself. He let her speak and apologised for remaining in his chair, his cane having been set just out of reach by one of the guards. “I do hope you enjoy the show,” Cassander smiled again, the guard having caught his eye, someone else was here to see him. “Thank you for stopping by.”
The guard escorted Odessa into the hallway again and waved Faith through, announcing her only as the chef to King Cassander.
“Oh,” the empress sounded surprised, brows lifted as she pointed her attention in Faith’s direction.
Cassander looked up and did a double-take. “It's you,” he smiled.
“That meal was delectable,” Emerson told Faith.
Cassander leaned back in his chair. “We have a big event coming up next Saun that could do with a chef of your expertise, if something like that would interest you.”
Emerson interrupted, “I'm sorry I didn't catch your name?”
The pair sat in silence as Faith introduced herself. “Faith,” Cassander said then, “you must promise me you'll leave an address with the guard, we would love to pay you a visit some time in Ashan when the weather warms up, and I've returned from my travels.”
It was then Tristan took to the stage and announce that the play was due to begin following a solo by Andraska Venora. “Such a talented family,” Emerson commented.
“Faith, please,” Cassander gestured, “won't you sit down?”
A few minutes later and they were graced by the presence by none other than the man who had written the play and organised the whole event. “Lord Venora,” Cassander greeted the man, “my sincerest apologies for not seeking you out myself, thank you for joining us. The meal was exquisite, and you have to introduce us to your cello player when the play is done, he is quite the musician.”
Emerson held her hand over her heart, not daring to glance away from Andraska, even for a second until his solo was complete. “Truly, he is remarkable,” the empress agreed. “What an inspiring performance.”
“Will you be joining us for the evening?” Cassander inquired, not realising he was a guard short.

[Odessa Andaris]

Odessa beamed as the guard returned to bring her to the King, and she folded her hands in front of her stomach, following demurely as she entered the balcony area. As soon as she spotted the King the young woman sank into a curtsy, her eye's respectfully lowered. "Your Royal Majesty." She greeted sweetly, glancing up at the young King from under her lashes, before turning to Emerson. "And Empress Sands. Seven guide you both." She rose from her curtsy to move forward, promptly forgetting about the Empress as she smiled at the King. "It's my honor, Your Majesty. Please, let me extend the good wishes of my family, and our thanks for your valiant service of out great nation."

A guard stepped forward, and Odessa suppressed an irritated frown, disappointed that she hadn't had more time to speak, or time to so much as endear herself to the King. "Ah, I should let you enjoy the show. Enjoy, Majesty, and please, should you ever need anything of me or of my family, do let us know." With that Odessa stood, curtsied to both the King and the Empress, and allowed a guard to escort her out and back to the hall. She frowned as another woman was lead past her, her furrowed brows and sharp eye's following in disbelief until the other disappeared from sight, the jealousy clear of her face. Huffing, the noblewoman jutted her nose up in the air and without even glancing at the guards she sashayed away.

At least I got the chance to talk to him, make myself known. She told herself, taking the moment to imagine herself as the next Queen of Rynmere. It would be a good catch, second only to seducing the Immortals themselves which might well be easier. She didn't make he way back to her family just yet, and instead did what she had told them she was going to do in the first place. The young noble made her way down the narrow halls that lead to the back portion of the theatre, entering into the 'behind the scenes' of the stage. As she nosed around, the enthralling music of a cello started up, and Odessa drifted closer to the stage, watching from the wings as Andraska poured his soul into his music.

[Faith Augustin]

She could not help it, in truth. When the King recognised her, Faith's face changed from her careful expression and she smiled to him, a genuine smile which told of how very pleased she was to see him and how delighted she was that he had made the connection "Yes, Your Majesty", she spok in her usual earnest and quiet tones "I trust that you are well?" When the Empress told her that the meal was delectable, the young slave smiled and a slight blush tinged her cheeks "Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty, I am glad you liked it."

The King asked if she would consider cooking for him and Faith immediately bowed her head "Of course, Your Majesty, it would be my pleasure. My owner will be delighted, I am sure", she did not hesitate in that for, she was quite sure that Tristan would bite his hand off. But then she realised something and she looked up with, for a brief moment, delight on her face which was not carefully controlled or in the schooled expressions she normally wore; no, this was just pure delight and she looked between the two of them. He had not asked if she would cook for him, no. It had been for them. "Saun is a very wonderful time and I would hope that this is a celebration. It would be my honour, most genuinely, and my delight." She could not hide her expression and the thought that this young man, the ragged and, frankly, smelly slave who had knelt next to her and winced as Velijorn had thrown a goblet at him, the one she had tried to protect, had tried to teach how to be a slave (and yes, that caused an inner wince on her part) might be getting married. She prayed to Famula that, if her hunch was right, then in doing so he would find the peace and happiness which she firmly believed that he deserved.

"Of course, Your Majesty", she replied to his request and she would, indeed, leave the address where she lived at Tristan's house and the two places where she worked, with one of the guards."It would be an honour for you to visit, of course. More than that, a pleasure." She replied and she was just about to drop another curtsy as she judged the audience to be over, but just as she started to make the movement, the King asked her to sit and she moved to do so. "You do me a great honour. Both of you. Thank you", she replied and then she sat, hands in her lap and she watched.

More than that, she listened.

When the solo had finished, the young slave sat in the most beautiful dress she had ever worn, hair done in the most intricate style and her make up as good as she could make it, and a tear fell, unashamed, down her cheek. The beauty of the solo completely entranced her and she was lost in it. When she had met him, Lord Venora had proven himself to be a passionate man, a man who sought pleasure and who felt each thing deeply, but when he played that instrument, it came alive in his hands. She had never heard such before and she was transported. Her hands held together, fingers entwined as she sat and she felt them tighten around each other almost without her permission.

When she realised that her owner was there, Faith had a moment of panic. What should she do? Should she stand for Master being here? But the King himself had ordered her to sit and she realised that this took precedent, in terms of etiquette. So she looked at her Master and smiled at him, her eyes seeking his as she watched and she said no more than that as she waited until, and if, she was spoken to again. She could ask no more than this, she knew, in terms of the people here and Faith sent a most heartfelt prayer to Famula, thanking Her for the many and varied experiences She allowed Her humble servant to have.

[Elyna]

Curiosity had always been her curse. Elyna found her gaze fixed on the royal box and the smile spreading over her features. With excellent vision she could make out familiar faces. The King, obviously. He was flanked by the glorious creature Emerson Sands again, curious. Elyna couldn’t remember a time when King and Empress had spent so much time together. However she wasn’t really one to follow news or politics so maybe it wasn’t strange at all. Inevitably she found herself searching for a sign of serpents until she forced herself to look away.

Instead she saw Faith and grinned, lifting a hand in a small wave incase the slave happened to look across at her. The same frantic gesture was repeated when Tristan came into view. When the music began however, the woman forgot all about the Royal entourage and her imagination was captured.

The sounds that rose were beautiful, an inspiration lift of melody with an undertone of such deep sorrow that it pulled at the strings of her heart. Her hand curled tight around the railing and she gripped the metal until her fingers turned white. She was sure that the woman to her right was sniffling into a handkerchief and ducked back into the shadows herself. Tears were silent in their tracks down their cheeks. Ungracious she wiped her nose on her sleeve, forgetting that tonight was pretending to be a lady. The action bought her a glare from her nearest companions which she returned with a flashing smile.

Eager not to miss a note however, her gaze returned to the stage. Had she met the young noble upon it before? Possibly not. As the music reached is close Elyna stood to applaud along with at least half her row of seats. Settling down once more she waited. With such an incredible introduction she was excited to watch the play. The curtains on stage twitched. Was it time?

[Rafael Warrick]

96th Vhalar, 716

This was rapidly becoming the worst day ever. Worse than that one time he’d got lost out in the wilds near Warrick, many arcs ago, and not made it back home until the sky was as dark as his hair. Worse even than the defeat he’d suffered in the Warrick tournament over a season ago. While many guests were swept up by the cellist’ heartfelt playing, Rafael detested every moment of it. The deep, dark tones of the cello did little to douse the fiery monster that stirred inside, and he wished for the whole charade to be over soon so he could have a word or two with Elyna.

While the music droned on, Rafael let his eyes wander over the powdered faces. A small army of noblemen and women had come out, no doubt to throw themselves at the King’s feet and gain favors. More infuriating than their feigned interest in the music were the black bands many of the guests wore, in remembrance of the fallen. A pathetic display of supposed sympathy for he doubted any of the nobility had suffered anything else beyond some financial setbacks.

When the piece was finally over, he clapped as loud as any other, glad the relentless torture had reached its end. Now he just had to survive the remainder of the program. Basking in his own cynicism, he slumped back in his seat and steeled himself for the tragedy to come.