The leaves of the oak tree waved in the rough winds, brushing against each other as they always did. The slightly yellowed grass beneath her bent and broke as she shifted her weight, stabbing her uncomfortably. She sat there for a while. The breeze played through her hair, whipping dark locks into her face until she loosely secured them with the crumpled ribbon she had earlier pocketed. Menacing gray cumulonimbus clouds bore down above, and fat droplets of rain fell from the darkening sky. The popping of renewed life in the plants beneath came to her ears, and she shivered at the chill when a leaf far above her overfilled, slumped, and dumped its cold burden onto her head. It was not a warm day, and it hadn’t been for a while. Full of the desire to do absolutely nothing, she made herself comfortable against the gnarled trunk of the oak and watched the sky lay down it’s sorrow against the helpless earth.
It had not been long when footsteps crunched through the newly-perked grass. Without looking at the visitor, she waved them away, disinterested. “Go.” The girl reckoned that her utterance should have been enough to deter any would-be botherers, but it had not. The footsteps grew closer, until she was forced to look up and see who had bothered to pay her a visit. Her eyes traced their form up and down, ascertaining the disturber’s identity carefully and seeking, but failing, to discover their reason for being in the area.
Wet-haired and mud-dotted, Wolfe had arrived. He’d clearly been looking for her for a long time, judging by the way his hair actually looked clean for once, free of the greasy gel he used daily. His pristine leather boots were most likely ruined by now, as they looked to be soaked through with mud. She was cut out of her observant reverie by Wolfe’s voice most unpleasantly, as he delivered rather unfortunate news. “Sera? You need to come back.” She ignored him. Haven’t I told you thousands of times that I don’t want you to call me Sera? Ugh. I don’t like you, don’t give me a nickname. Hopefully, he’d get the clue eventually. For now, she only responded to him when she was called by the name she preferred.
“Seraphina, fine. If you have to be so dramatic. It’s time for you to come back. Now.” Following the command of the noble boy before he did something stupid, she stood. The ribbon in her hair slid to the ground, and she bent down. She could feel Wolfe’s eyes tracking her as she picked up the ribbon, and sighed, tucking it into her pocket. “We both know I wouldn’t get far enough for my escape attempt to be worth it. Calm down.”
Wolfe still watched her. Once she had straightened, he took her arm and began to try and yank her along, while she only followed to hopefully have him stop. He did not, irritatingly. The walk wasn’t short, but they came into view of the castle soon enough. The duo went around the gate and through one of the many servant’s entrances, as neither Seraphina nor the Wolfe heir was presentable for what would soon occur.
Seraphina was quickly, and thankfully, separated from Wolfe as soon as they entered. Whisked away by various servants, the girl soon found herself being primped and preened before a mirror. The ceremonial armor she had designed was hung on her frame, furred hides from powerful beasts with a wooden lupine mask to fit. The suit was designed to look like part of the wearer’s body, and had been painted black to match her mask. In dim light, she’d look like a beast from the depths of whatever hell Wolfe and his clan believed in. Her boots were not shoes, but paws that had been cleverly altered for the girl’s feet to fit in. They would make no sound on the cobbles, but the chill of the castle underneath would keep her unfortunately awake for the whole night. Her helm was the most stunning part of the outfit as a whole, as the black wolf of the Iskudai was well-known, and well-feared. It was wooden and grimacing, fangs taken from the mouth of a real creature and studded into the wood. The suit was bulky, enhancing her frame and making her feel that she was covered by a shag carpet. Seraphina’s wolf helm felt more like she was wearing a box on her head, because the honored ancestors of the Iskudai apparently didn’t think the comfort of their heirs was a priority. Dark eyes looking out through the mask, the heir to the Iskudai branch clan of Eskurin was dressed. Hopefully I don’t get humiliated for walking around in this stupid suit of fur. I hate tradition sometimes. She stepped out into the hallway after waving off everyone who kept trying to escort her, not wanting to be seen as above her station by the other heirs. Arriving alone would make her look weak, but it would also keep her alive.
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This was only a meeting of heirs, but it was still an important event. After all, each of them, without any major setbacks or death, would lead their respective realms someday. She stepped into the room, pleased that nothing immediately happened to end her political career. The Thorne twins, Jalan and Tarak, framed either side of the doorway, and nodded to her when she came in. Wolfe, pretentious and heir to the home court, sat at the head of the table. She couldn’t remember his first name, but it didn’t matter. She would be done with this snobbery soon enough, and the actual heir to the Eskurin would be back. Seraphina was only heir to a branch clan, after all, and was the lowest-ranking person in the room. Which was why she was surprised when the illustrious heir to the Wolfe Empire fetched her personally.
Maybe it’s because we’re both wolves, technically. Well, in terms of rank I’m his little puppy dog. She had to suppress a surreptitious chuckle, as that would be terribly rude and most likely cause a major diplomatic issue.
Sitting down at the plain oak table as far away from the Wolfe heir as she could be, Seraphina waited for the others. She was the fourth out of fifth to arrive, thereby securing her the dignity of not being late. In this setting, you had to be early if you were ranked like the Iskudai heir. Or, they’d simply laugh you out. In a best-case scenario, at least. She’d heard horror stories.
With a bit of obvious embarrassment, the last heir arrived. Magnus Eriksson, a typical son of the mountain. Big, brawny, and burly, he was definitely overheating in his furs and armor.
The heirs sat down at the table, and Seraphina got a chance to look over the motley crew. The Thornes were garbed in traditional jungle-hunting regalia, while Wolfe looked the picture of a young noble, epaulets and all. Caspian was the son of the Fisher King, and had too much of a reputation for brutality for the Iskudai heir to be comfortable around. Apparently, his trident had gutted more than she could count. The heirs sat, and Wolfe began the gathering.