Yana's breath formed small clouds in the frigid air as she gazed at the unending icefields and tundra. The wagon creaked, navigating through the dense pine forest, its vivid design a stark contrast to the monotonous white landscape. "What is father like?" she asked, avoiding her mother's eyes.
Her mother, a tall, striking woman with delicate features framed by straight jet-black hair, sat rigidly in the swaying wagon. Her dark skin seemed to absorb the scant sunlight filtering through the pines. Finding a vertical slash scar on her forearm, she replied, "I've seen news that he is an important figure to the king."
Yana noticed her mother's slender fingers twisting nervously in her lap, betraying the fear she tried to hide behind a stoic expression. The sight made Yana's own anxiety spike, her green eyes cresting with small tears.
In the distance, a bull elk's bugle echoed, reminding Yana of the life she was leaving behind. Years of boarding school, wasted. The dreams she'd harbored - standing tall in Svetlan's government buildings, her voice echoing through chambers as she advocated for change. Now crumbled like ice beneath the wagon's heavy rubber tires.
"Mama... why can't we stay in Svetlan?" Yana's voice quavered. "The frost elections have finally lifted their restrictions on non-Svet contenders. Things were changing!"
"I tire of your voice, my love," her mother sighed in Svetish, reaching out to caress Yana's face. "We have a very long journey ahead. Soon, these cooling winds will give way to Buriti's searing heat."
As if on cue, a warm breeze snuck through the wagon's billowing covered entrance, carrying the promise of the scorching south. Their Tahuli slave, Granor, whipped the large ox into a better cadence.
Yana's mother turned her gaze to Granor, then back to her daughter. "If you have the chance to return... Take it. The world does not offer much to people like us in Buriti. Pray that you marry well and do not pair yourself with a monster."
Her mother's traditionally styled nails, tapering into sharp triangles, accidentally sliced Yana's cheek as she wiped away a tear. Small flecks of gold mixed with the crimson stain of blood.
Yana didn't flinch. Instead, she held her mother's hand against her facade, despite the sting. "I don't want to get married, Mama. I wanted to make change, to have a voice. But there..." She trailed off, thinking of the Vascan, Buritian, and Tahul cultures where women held little rights, where they were merely wedded gifts between clans.
The wagon bumped along, each jolt a reminder of the inexorable journey toward a future where Yana's ambitions would be crushed under the weight of Vascan traditions. The best she could hope for was an advantageous marriage, while the specter of becoming a powerless concubine loomed ominously in her mind.
The wagon pressed on, its wheels grinding through the receding ice of Svetlan's southern reaches. Weeks stretched into months as Yana watched the world transform around her. The dense, towering pines with their blue-tinged needles gave way to twisted, silver-barked trees with leaves that chimed like bells in the warming breeze. Herds of elk with jagged red antlers became rarer, replaced by lithe, scaled creatures that bounded across the increasingly barren landscape.
As they journeyed further south, the very air seemed to change. The crisp, mint-scented winds of Svetlan faded, replaced by gusts carrying the acrid tang of sand and ancient stone. The ground beneath them shifted from permafrost to rocky outcroppings streaked with veins of mud-brown minerals. Yana marveled at night-blooming flowers that pulsed with bioluminescence, their petals unfurling to reveal miniature galaxies within that rivaled the night sky.
Months bled into seasons as the wagon rolled inexorably towards Buriti-Vasca. The transition was gradual yet stark - verdant tundra withered into rust-colored wastelands. Dunes rose like colossal waves frozen in time, their surfaces rippling with patterns that seemed to move when Yana looked away. The sun, once a distant, pale disc, now dominated the sky - a searing orb of white-hot fury that bleached color from the world and baked the very air they breathed.
As they neared the capital, the first hints of civilization emerged from the shimmering heat haze. Colossal granite statues, half-buried in sand, loomed on the horizon. Ancient guardians with the bodies of bears and heads of wildebeest, their eyes glowing with an inner fire as twilight approached.
In the distance, the Mauve Palace rose like a fever dream, its spires twisting impossibly high, defying gravity. The palace walls shimmered with a peculiar iridescence as if built from the shells of enormous, otherworldly mollusks from lands beyond. With age, many of the sections were replaced with a cracked crimson paint that blended well with its makeup
Its domes were not mere gold but seemed to be crafted from solidified sunlight, alloys casting a perpetual amber glow over the city below. Beacons that allowed an easy view of the vast construction of oppressive decadence.
The wagon rolled past the sprawling slums, a labyrinth of structures that seemed to have grown organically from the desert itself. In the Tahul quarter, houses were built from sun-baked clay mixed with the pearlescent sand of the many glass merchants, their surfaces etched with glyphs that glowed faintly at night in the amber glow.
The Buritian sector revealed pyramid-like structures of black stone that absorbed light, creating patches of unnatural darkness even in the blinding desert sun. As they approached the Mauve Palace, Yana felt the weight of unseen eyes upon her. Children were the only members visible to her in the darkened alleyways.
The very air thrummed with power - whether magic or technology, she couldn't tell. While many in Svetlan saw them as two and the same, it seemed that the locals deemed these to be god's touch or the basic will of man.
The gates loomed before them, crafted from both titanium and Cactiwood. Yana took a deep breath of the spice-laden air, bracing herself for the alien world that awaited her within those impossible walls.
The throne room of the Mauve Palace stretched before Yana, a cavernous space filled with swirling mists that clung to her ankles. Pillars of opalescent stone rose to dizzying heights, their surfaces alive with shifting patterns. At the far end, upon a dais of smoldering obsidian, stood a solitary figure--Vadim Sankov, the king's only advisor and Yana's father.
As Yana and her mother approached, the mists parted, revealing Vadim in his entirety. He was a large man, his once-muscular frame now softened by years of excess. His blonde hair, thinning at the crown, was slicked back with oil, and his belly strained against the rich fabric of his robes. But it was his eyes that struck Yana the most - cold and calculating, filled with a greed that seemed to devour everything in sight.
Vadim's gaze cut through the ethereal mists, narrowing as it fell upon Yana and her mother. The moment of recognition was palpable, a sudden tension that crackled like lightning in the air. His face contorted, disgust etching deep lines around his mouth as he took in Yana's dark skin, so much like her mother's.
"What is this?" Vadim's voice boomed, echoing off the chamber walls. "You dare bring this... this abomination before me? The photos provided must have been tampered with--Black desert witch!"
Desperate to salvage the situation, Yana stepped forward. Her voice, carefully modulated from years of diplomatic training, rang clear in the vast chamber. "Father, I am Yana. I've studied extensively in Svetlan's finest institutions. I speak seven languages fluently and have a deep understanding of inter-realm politics and trade agreements. I believe I could be of great value to-"
Stolen novel; please report.
"Silence!" Vadim roared, cutting her off mid-sentence. He crossed the distance between them in long, aggressive strides, towering over Yana and her mother. "You think your pitiful education means anything here? You're nothing but a half-breed, a stain on my legacy. I only feared scandal once you became of age...Using my name for political clout, SICKENING."
Yana's mother reached out, her voice trembling. "Vadim, please. She's your daughter. She's brilliant, talented-"
Without warning, Vadim spat, the glob of saliva glistening obscenely on her cheek. "Begone from my sight," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Take 'our' half-breed spawn and leave. You're lucky I don't have you both thrown into the slums where you belong."
Yana stood frozen, shocked. Hurt warring on her face. "But father, I-"
"I am not your father!" Vadim bellowed, his face purpling with rage. "You are nothing to me. Nothing! Sentries! Escort these... mongrels to their quarters. And make sure they understand their place here."
As rough hands grabbed Yana and her mother, dragging them from the throne room, Vadim's voice followed them. "You'll stay here, out of sight. A reminder of my... sinful indiscretion. But make no mistake, you are not family. You are not even people in my eyes."
The guards shoved them into a lavish suite high in the Mauve Palace. The room was draped in rich fabrics that shimmered like oil on water, a gilded cage that mocked their newfound status.
Yana's mother sank onto a plush divan, her hand still on her cheek where Vadim had spat. "It could have been worse," she whispered, her voice hollow. "He's... kinder now. At least we have this." A light chuckle escaped her as she combed her hair with her hands.
But Yana barely heard her. She moved to the balcony, looking down at the sprawling slums below. The contrast between her luxurious prison and the poverty beneath was stark, a physical manifestation of the chasm between her dreams and her new reality.
As the last light of day painted the sky in bruised purples and angry reds, Yana climbed onto the balcony railing. The wind whipped at her hair as she sat perched on the edge, tears streaming down her face. Far below, the slums stretched out like a dark, festering wound on the land.
"All those years of study," she whispered to the uncaring wind. "All those dreams. For what? To be a dirty secret, hidden away in a golden cage?" Her hands gripped the railing tighter, knuckles white with the strain. The ground below seemed to beckon, promising an escape from the crushing weight of her shattered aspirations.
For a long moment, Yana sat suspended between her ruined past and an unthinkable future. The abyss yawned before her, offering a terrible freedom. But as the first stars began to prick the darkening sky, something deep within her sparked. A tiny flame of defiance, of determination. She may have lost everything she thought she wanted, but she was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.
Slowly, carefully, Yana climbed back onto the balcony. She wasn't done yet. Somehow, someway, she would forge a new path. But for now, she allowed herself this moment of grief, weeping silently for the life and ambitions she had left behind in the icy fields of Svetlan, and for the harsh realities of the world she now found herself in.
------
For years, Yana watched from the shadows, a silent observer in the opulent halls of the Mauve Palace. Her role as a lady-in-waiting granted her unprecedented access to the inner workings of the Vascan Royal Family, a world as cruel as it was beautiful.
King H. Vasca dominated every space he entered. His massive 6'8" frame, always encased in gleaming raven armor, seemed to suck the very air from the room. Yana learned quickly to avert her eyes from his permanent scowl, lest she draw his ire. His crimson dreadlocks, intricately adorned with gold and precious gems, cascaded past his shoulders, a stark contrast to his charcoal skin. The eyepatch he wore did nothing to diminish the intensity of his remaining eye, which gleamed with a mixture of cunning and barely contained violence.
Yana witnessed countless public beatings and executions, her stomach churning as the crowd cheered for their bloodthirsty monarch. On festival days, the King would enter the arena himself, his massive frame moving with surprising agility as he battled condemned native prisoners or ambitious Vascan and Vascarian nobles seeking glory. The sand always ran red on those days, and Yana would retreat to her quarters, trying to scrub the memory of screams from her mind.
Queen Aidaysha'Vascaria was a stark contrast to her fearsome husband. At 27, she was barely older than the king's eldest dead child herself, yet the weight of her position seemed to age her beyond her years. Her light brown skin bore the silvery traces of scars, remnants of the massacre that had nearly wiped out the royal family three years prior. Yana often caught the Queen staring off into space, her delicate features etched with a profound sadness.
Despite the horrors she had witnessed, Queen Aidaysha remained a beacon of kindness in the cutthroat world of the court. Her simple crown, resting atop small, elegant dreadlocks, seemed to represent her humble nature. Yana found herself drawn to the Queen, admiring her quiet strength and the gentle way she interacted with the palace staff.
Princess Kasiha Vasca was a force of nature contained in a ten-year-old's body. Her intelligence shone in her eyes, quick and assessing as she took in everything around her. Yana marveled at the young girl's determination, overhearing her passionate arguments for women's rights with her tutors and occasionally even her father. But for all her precociousness, Kasiha was still a child, and Yana's heart ached at the loneliness she sensed in the young princess.
Yana often found herself assigned to assist Kasiha, helping her dress for social events where the princess would shine, charming nobles and foreign dignitaries alike. In quiet moments, Kasiha would confide in Yana her dreams of changing their world, of creating a Buriti-Vasca where women could own property, speak in court, and shape their own destinies. Yana listened, offering encouragement while silently fearing for the bright young girl's future in this unforgiving realm.
Prince HuckleBerry Vasca was like a storm contained in human form, unpredictable and destructive. Though only two years Yana's senior, he seemed to carry the weight of centuries in his volatile moods. His medium-length dreadlocks, a rusty brown that set him apart from the crimson hair of pure Vascans, were often disheveled, matching his wild demeanor. The scar over his right eye, a jagged line that bisected his eyebrow, only added to his fierce appearance.
Yana rarely saw the prince, as he had been all but banished to the Summer Mansion fiefdom following a series of particularly violent outbursts. On the rare occasion he attended court functions, the atmosphere would shift, courtiers and servants alike giving him a wide berth. The scent of alcohol clung to him like a second skin, and his red eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, darted about the room as if searching for threats.
One evening, during a state dinner, Yana found herself cornered by the prince in a deserted corridor of the west wing. The stench of wine on his breath made her recoil, but she stood her ground, years of diplomatic training kicking in. "You," HuckleBerry slurred, leaning in closer than she would have liked. "You're that half-breed, aren't you? Vadim's little mistake?" He backed off while laughing loudly.
Yana's heart raced, but she kept her voice steady. "I am Lady Yana, Your Highness. I serve the royal family with honor...I am not a mistake."
HuckleBerry laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Honor? There's no honor here, only survival--The whole country is shit." His eyes, for a moment, seemed to clear, filled with pain so raw it took Yana's breath away. "We're all just dancing puppets for them, don't you see? My father, the nobles, even that bastard Vadim. They pull the strings, and we dance until they cut us loose. I am not even my mother's child--Being a mistake does not mean you are worthless."
Before Yana could respond, the prince staggered away, leaving her shaken and confused. It was a rare glimpse beneath the volatile exterior, a hint at the wounded soul beneath. One that he would not remember in years to come.
-------
As time passed, Yana found herself caught in a web of conflicting emotions. She was grateful for the relative safety and comfort her position afforded her, yet she chafed at the restrictions placed upon her as a woman and as a person of mixed heritage. She admired Queen Aidaysha's quiet strength and Princess Kasiha's fierce determination, even as she feared for their safety in this treacherous world.
And always, there was the undercurrent of danger. King H. Vasca's temper was legendary, and Yana had seen courtiers and servants alike disappear for the slightest perceived offense. She walked a constant tightrope, striving to be useful enough to keep but not so outstanding as to draw unwanted attention. There had been word he was looking for another wife--The news strangled horror into young Yana.
Late at night, Yana would often find herself on her balcony, looking out over the sprawling city below. The stark divide between the opulence of the palace and the squalor of the slums seemed to mirror the divide in her own heart. She was caught between two worlds, belonging fully to neither.
As she gazed at the distant horizon, where the desert met the sky, Yana allowed herself to dream of a different life. A life where she could use her intelligence and training to make a real difference, where the color of her skin and the circumstances of her birth didn't define her worth. But as the cool night air caressed her face, reality would settle back in. This was her world now, for better or worse. All she could do was watch, wait, and hope that someday, somehow, she might find a way to shape her own destiny in this gilded cage of a palace.
End, Maybe part 2 if liked!