Krin's voice was nasally as ever, as if its deepening with manhood had skipped him entirely, when he whined, "But that just doesn't make sense, Volik!"
Alena sighed and rested her chin on one hand, twirling her pencil in the other. She sat at her desk, while Krin sat at his, arms crossed over his torso and brows furrowed. They had both heard this story plenty of times during their history lessons, but their tutor loved telling it anyway. And Krin loved objecting.
"But why would the old king and queen welcome the rest of the tribe into the city? They could've just ended them, right then and there!" He brought his fist down on the oak table for emphasis.
Alena rolled her eyes and said simply, "Because, Krin, that wasn't in their nature! The Saples all liked to make examples of the people they conquered. They took them into their city and made them slaves without the title. Then, when King Ragos came along, he definitely made an example of them!"
"It's pointless though! Right Volik? It's more efficient to be swift and decisive when you act. Making displays like that are too long and drawn out." Krin's eyes narrowed and flitted between his sister and Volik, determined to be right.
Their tutor leaned back against the wall and shrugged his shoulders in neutrality. "Who can say which is better? Acting with hard and immediate actions can be useful if you need to make your intentions known right away and let an opinion form as such, but making examples of people the way the Saples would is highly effective for carefully cultivating your image. You can spin a story so they brutally invaded and you had no choice to eliminate guilt, or paint yourself as the generous one for allowing them to live under your protection and benevolence." Volik spread his hands wide and mimicked an even scale. "It's all about scenarios and preference." As he finished speaking, a servant bustled in with a small card on a silver platter. The tutor lifted it and read it quickly. His words came out with a sigh, as though he regretted something out of his control. "Ah, it seems you are both excused. Your father has asked you both return to your rooms to get ready for your portrait paintings."
Alena and Krin rose and curtsied and bowed respectively, before hurrying out of the room. As soon as they were a safe distance from the open door, Alena sighed. "I still don't see why Volik insists on telling us the story of the Crown of the Night so often. Maybe when we were children, but by now, we get it!" She huffed in exasperation, pressing her lips together.
Krin at his sister as though she lacked a brain and snapped back at her quickly, "he tells us because it's an important story! The story of how our great-grandparents came to rule! And it is undeniably crucial in case one of us comes to make a grave mistake." He cut his eyes to her and cocked one eyebrow, making his meaning exceedingly clear.
Alena gritted her teeth and sped up, separating herself from her brother. Her floor-length gown swept the floor, and she couldn't help but hope the maids had gone over this area already; this was one of her favorite day dresses, and she didn't want it soiled. Krin stayed behind her as she led the way up the stairs, gathering her skirt so she wouldn't trip. When she reached the top, she turned right down the hall and collided with their father.
Alena let out a squeak of surprise as Krin came up short behind her, their father's strong hands catching her arms. "Sorry, father, I didn't see you around the corner. Krin and I were just going to get ready for the portraits."
King Dyre smiled down at his children and placed a palm against Alena's cheek. "Do not worry. Your mother is going to meet me in the parlor for our paired portrait. We'll do our family portraits after, then we will all do our individual portraits." He placed a hand gently on Alena's head and patted Krin briefly on the shoulder, then turned and descended the stairs, maids bustling out of the path his large frame cut.
Alena didn't hesitate to start walking after their father had left. Before her brother could antagonize her further, she slipped quickly into her room and shut the door with a large sigh of relief. Alena kicked off her heeled shoes and let the skirt of her dress drag along her white carpet. As she walked, she went about unfastening her necklace and the upper buttons on her dress. She would look nothing less than perfect for her portrait.
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As soon as she pulled open the doors of her great closet, Alena's hands flew straight to a long silk dress the color of red wine. All along the bodice shone little metal embellishments, shaped like miniature diamonds. Pulling a cord to call for her personal maids, she started removing her hair from the bun she had pinned it up in. By the time her three maids knocked and entered, the princess had already let her hair down and picked a pair of black heeled shoes.
Quickly shimmying out of her first dress, Alena held out her arms to allow her maids to dress her. They helped her step into the dress and pulled the smooth fabric up around her body, exceedingly careful with the smooth cream fabric. Once they had pulled it up over her bare chest, two maids held the strapless gown in place while the third went about pulling the laces taut enough to keep it up.
It took the better part of two hours for Alena to consider herself ready. Small gatherings littered the dress, like wine poured over rocks, and the dress's train dragged for about a foot behind her. Her hair had been braided carefully and wrapped around her head, framing exactly where she knew a crown would eventually sit.
"Oh, I love it!" Alena clasped her maids' hands in turn, then returned to admiring her reflection in the polished steel sheet. Her face was the spitting image of her mother's, dark skin and long inky hair with eyes like emeralds. Sensibly, she had her dresses designed to draw attention up; she was not a thin, figure-less thing, but she was built strong. Her arms and legs were hard muscle, her stomach flat and her hips and legs strong and well-built. Her jaw was square and hard, her knuckles scarred from fighting, and her shoulders strong. Vastly different from the princesses of the few empires she had been to, but deeply a Skelan princess.
Alena walked into the parlor last, her father and mother being painted together. They stood close together, the King with one hand around his wife's waist and the other holding a greataxe, while the Queen rested one hand on her husband's shoulder as the other gripped a bow. King Dyre was a large mountain of a man, broad shoulders and a tall frame that set him apart from even the tall warriors of Skela. The Queen, however, was much smaller; wiry and built more like a cat than a wall, Queen Cirala was thin and long-limbed, her dark bow an extension of her. Together, the two were all but unstoppable, and stood side by side in all things. In their individual portraits, they were shown as islands, alone and dominant in their own ways; but when painted like this, they were inseparable.
Alena dared a glance over the painter's shoulder. It was almost done and absolutely stunning, the colors and angles captured in minute details, from the shade of the curtains behind them to the waves in the Queen's dark hair, the gentle texturing in her father's thick brown beard. When the paintings were done, they would be displayed in the grand ballroom, a reminder to all who enter who is in charge.
Sitting down patiently, Alena noticed her own personal painter walking in with his shoulders hunched and his chin tucked. Alena waved the young man over to her and gestured for him to sit after he bowed to her. "Greetings, Ari. How are you?"
Ari fumbled with his supplies, trying to set them down silently but quickly, before taking a seat beside the princess. "Hello, Your Highness. I am well. I see you are still wearing the red gown you showed me. Excellent." He fussed with his shirt as he spoke, pulling at the hem or tugging at the sleeves. When he noticed his easel being set up a little further down the room, he excused himself, bowed, and hustled his supplies to his space.
Alena watched him go, smiling after him. Ari was not much older than the princess herself, but was a highly gifted painter. At her request and her mother's insistence, Ari had been allowed to visit the castle grounds whenever was suitable for both Ari and herself. This was particularly necessary, since it seemed every other week she had a new scar he would have to memorize.
It was not long before her parents' painting was finished. It would be set to dry in the shade of the room while the family portrait was done. Krin strode over to their parents before Alena could even rise, taking a spot at his father's side. By comparison, Krin was little more than their father's pale shadow; both wore black garb, their father's adorned with military medals. Krin was only half a foot shorter than King Dyre, making him still taller than most men, but much paler and thinner, built more like the Queen with thin arms and a bony face. However, the prince did have his father's darkest brown eyes and dark chestnut hair he kept cut short and pushed back. His eyebrows and lips were the thinnest of his family, making his face look more severe than any of them.
Alena came to stand beside her mother, picking up her greatsword from the rack on her way. She lifted its familiar weight a few times before carefully posing it point-down in front of her. She glanced over as her mother adjusted her bow so one tip rested on the floor, with her right hand wrapped around the other end. Past her, the King held his axe by the shaft between the two blades, chin held high; at the very end, Krin held one of his twin daggers in his left hand, one eyebrow raised. Quickly settling into place, the family stood ready for the long painting.