The mid-afternoon sun sat beaming on the Prince as he stood before the marble steps of the palace, awaiting the coach that was soon to arrive with the new slave-servants he had bought the day previous. His Advisor stands beside him, his expression unreadable. The hunt for the servants had proven more challenging than Tristan originally thought it would. They had spent countless hours scanning the ranks, making sure that the owners of the Crag Mines and House of Treasures had brought each and every slave out before them.
Only when Tristan was completely satisfied with the ones he had chosen had they gone back to the palace. Dusk had fallen by the time he had reached the comfort of his chambers.
Finally, he heard the clip-clopping of multiple hooves in the distance and straightens himself, plastering a warm smile as the white coach with its midnight-black horses drew to a halt. The Prince made to step forward, but Lord Farrow stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.
"Take care, Prince. These people do not know what to expect and they may lash out. I shall greet them for you." His Advisor states calmly, but Tristan only shakes his blond head in response.
"No. What kind of Prince would I be if I let fear prevent me from greeting those who would serve me?" He wrenches himself out of the older man's grasp, emerald gaze settling on the door to the coach as it opens. Emerging first is a male with pale blue skin and shiny black hair, his golden eyes looking about his surroundings warily before landing upon Tristan. He lowers his upper body in respect, but the Prince gestures for him to rise.
"It is an honor to be in your service," The man states in a thick, curling accent.
"Go wait near my Advisor, he will make sure you and the rest have everything you need."
The man nods in response, moving with uncertainty to stand beside Lord Farrow. The Prince noticed that he seemed better fed than the rest, he as well as the other three that were chosen from the House of Treasures. Instead of collars, silver ankle bracelets had been placed around their feet. A more conspicuous way of hiding what they truly were. The Prince would be sure to have Lord Farrow take those wretched things off.
A female appears next, the shortest one of them all. Her bronze hair cascades in waves down her chest, pointed horns protruding from her forehead. The Prince notes her pretty face and calming blue eyes as she glanced briefly at him, before hurrying to stand behind the blue-skinned man. The others line up quickly behind the two, people of all shapes and sizes. The only one of them that met his gaze was a woman from the crag mines, her brown eyes regarding him coolly.
Truthfully, he had a feeling that none of the females lined up before him would be chosen. Even as he looked at them, he could not shake that royal blue hair and those deep, expressive navy eyes from his mind. Still, he would give them their three weeks to prove themselves. Enough time to decide before his coronation.
Tristan turns to Farrow, giving his Advisor a nod. The old man inclines his head in return, gesturing for the line of new servants to follow him inside the Castle and to the Servants' Quarters. He gives them a moment before venturing back up the marble steps himself, raising his hand in greeting at the guards as he slips through the wide double doors.
He starts heading down the passage that would lead him to his chambers when the sound of a clearing throat as him halting his steps. With a great sigh, Tristan turns, bracing himself for the look his sister would be sending him. Sure enough, his sibling's arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her foot tapping against the polished floor.
"I see you were not planning to tell me when the rest of the suitors were arriving. What, afraid I might scare them off, brother?" Clara questions, her voice radiating venom. Tristan glances around, closing the distance to clamp a hand around her wrist. She bristles, but begrudgingly allows him to tug her to an alcove further down the hall. This was not a discussion he wished to have out in the open. Though the Princess didn't seem the least bit worried about being overheard.
"What do you mean, the rest? Have you met the others already?" Tristan questions, panic beginning to take hold. What did his sister tell the other women?
"Oh no, just the one. The blue-haired girl." Clara answers, her tone softening a fraction. "Zerena."
"What. Did. You. Say?" The Prince grits out, jaw clenching in irritation. His sister gives a laugh, waving her hand in the way she knows he hates.
"Oh, stop worrying. I didn't tell her anything about your dumb plot. But she seems nice, I think I'll keep her around." Clara's lips turn up into a smile resembling that of a feline.
"Clarisse-" Tristan's tone is full of warning. It only has her rolling her eyes at him. Then her expression falls as she turns her head away from him.
"I just don't know why you have to include me in all of this." She murmurs, finally twisting her wrist away from his grasp.
"Because if both of us wed a half-human, then the People of Loria will see that we can all live together peacefully." Tristan says patiently, even though he's explained this to her countless times. His sister looks at him again, her emerald hues turning into dark pine with agitation.
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"Or," She begins, crossing her arms once again. "When you become King, you can simply just get rid of Uncle's foolish law. Put a ban on slavery, then the People will see-"
"The People will throw riots if I do that, sister. Our Uncle has fed them lies for numerous years, lies that they willingly believe in. If I just erase all of his laws the moment I'm Crowned, they'll overthrow me, and we'll be right back to where we started. We have to do this slow, and-" He adds when she opens her mouth to argue, "Our Uncle needs to see that his fear is unwarranted. We start by having them as servants right here in the palace. And after three weeks, we'll pick from whomever is left."
Clara simply stares at him, her lips pursed, before she murmurs. "And what of the ones we don't pick? Whom we let go? Will they go back to their rotten lives of slavery?"
At his silence, she lets out a shrewd laugh.
"And what if those we pick do not agree with our plan? What if they do not wish to be our betrothed? What will you do then, brother?"
Clara leaves him no time to answer her question. She turns on her heel, her back to him as she strides down the hall and up the spiral stairs leading to her chambers, her golden curls bouncing with each step. Tristan shakes his head, his hand brushing back his own golden hair as he too steps out of the alcove. Speaking with his sister always left him feeling agitated.
But the part that bothered him most? Was that he knew she was right. He knew there were holes in his plans, holes he thought to fill in when the time came.
A feeling of dread began to fill his chest as he continues his way towards his own chambers, climbing the marble steps two at a time. He shakes the negative thoughts away, however. It would do no good for him to start regretting his decisions. No matter what Clara thinks, Tristan would move forward with his plan.
The Prince decides that he would worry about these matters tomorrow. For the moment, he was in need of a hot bath, cold wine, and fresh food. In that order.
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"Just where have you been?" Rosale's voice permeates the room once Zerena turns, effectively startling the half-elf. She gives the woman a puzzled look, blinking rapidly.
"How long have you been in here?" She questions, eyebrows furrowing.
"Long enough. Answer my question."
With a sigh and a shake of her head, Zerena moves closer, taking a good look at the woman before her. Her auburn hair fell in voluminous waves down to her shoulders now that it had been properly washed, a streak of silver framing the right side of her face the only sign of her age. The shadows beneath Rosale's eyes seemed to be diminishing, as well as the prominent bags that had been there only yesterday.
She wore a creamy white, puffy tunic and black breeches with material Zerena didn't know the name of, but wondered if they were as soft as they looked. Black leather boots came up to her calves, bringing a smirk to the blue-haired woman's lips. For someone who was so against having anything to do with these royals, she sure did seem suited for it.
"Well?" Rosale huffs, her arms crossed as she waits for an answer.
"I went down to breakfast." She answers simply, brushing past the red-head to open the curtains to her windows, allowing the sunlight to stream through.
"Your maid said you weren't here when she came to escort you." Zerena isn't sure why, but the suspicion in Rosale's tone was beginning to irritate her.
"That's because I wasn't escorted by Colette. The Princess took me there herself." Zerena meets Rosale's eyes at her last sentence, a hint of satisfaction hitting her at the baffled look she receives. Her mouth is open, looking very much like a trout. "Oh, close your mouth before something flies in."
"I'm sorry. Did you just say The Princess escorted you to breakfast?" She repeats, her brown eyes wide. "How can you say something like that so casually?"
"I did. She even dined with me, claimed she wanted to be my friend." Zerena didn't see what the harm was in that, really.
"How did this even happen?" Rosale questions, her thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose. Zerena sits in one of the chairs at the table she dined at yesterday evening, gesturing for her friend to take a seat in the one next to her. Reluctantly, she does, resting her elbows atop the surface of the table with her chin placed against the clasped fingers of her hands.
So Zerena tells of how she had been awoken by Princess Clara's dog barking in the passage way and how she had assisted the blonde in retrieving her stolen boot. She then explains that the Princess had chosen her dress, gesturing to the lovely blue gown Zerena currently wore, and offered to do her hair.
She was about to tell Rosale of the strange conversation she had with Clara, when suddenly there was a strange, melodic voice in her ear.
No. Do not speak of what the Princess told you.
Zerena straightens, unable to quell her look of surprise. Rosale gives her a curious look, her dark eyebrows raising upwards. Before she can ask, the half-elf lets out a false laughter that she hopes sounded real enough to the other woman.
"Now that I say it out loud, it is strange that Cla-the Princess, wished to dine with me. She even showed me the palace garden." Zerena says quickly, wanting to distract Rosale. What was that voice?
"Zerena," The other begins, her voice taking that lecturing tone she was becoming way too familiar with. "You need to be careful. I doubt the Princess wanted to befriend you just because she's lonely. There has to be a motive."
Zerena couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit insulted. "Am I such bad company to keep?" She snaps out, though instantly regrets it by the look she was given.
"She's a princess, girl. Despite what she might tell you and how down-to-earth she might seem, I'm certain she has plotting of her own. Obviously she must know the true reason the Prince hired us." Rosale brushes a hand through her hair as Zerena gives a hum in response.
"So you don't think it's out of the kindness of His Highness's heart?"
"Whatever the reason, I'm certain we'll find out once the others arrive." Rosale tilts her head, glancing towards the door. Judging by the sounds of multiple, muffled footsteps that can be heard beyond the wall, Zerena guesses that they already have. She looks back towards the younger woman, her hands gentle as she cups Zerena's fingers between her palms. "Do not trust these people. No matter how kind and trustworthy they may seem, they will not hesitate to hurt you in order to benefit themselves."
Rosale pushes to a stand, but shakes her head at Zerena's look of alarm. "I'm only going to ask for some tea. We both could use something to calm our minds, I think."
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Moments later, once their tea has arrived in a delicate tea white tea pot with matching tea cups, they decide to consume their drinks out on the balcony. Zerena discovers that from there, they can see the glittering blue expanse of the ocean, stretching on and on for what seems like forever. She stares at the water, wondering what it would be like to set sail and explore it like the pirate stories her mother had told her of as a child. To find out for herself if the merfolk that live beneath the waves were truly as beautiful as the legends themselves dictate. The thought has a small smile playing at her lips.
"What are you thinking of?" Rosale asks from beside her, pulling Zerena out of her thoughts.
"Easier times." She murmurs, bringing the tea cup to her lips, savoring the taste of earl grey and sweet honey as it lands on her tongue and travels down her throat.
"Those times will come again." The woman next to her promises, but Zerena simply continues to gaze at the sparkling sea, not allowing herself to give in to the foolish temptation of hope in Rosale's voice. For once, she found herself doubting the other.
Easier times will not come for a long, long while yet.