Her siblings wait for her like a column of mismatched guards, all four of them forming a protective barrier between the base of the staircase and the shrinking wave of guests. Like the healthy crowds to a leper colony, the invited visitants all quarantine themselves away from the specters of death.
There were five in total beneath Empress Annia; current ascendant to the Silver Throne. An unusual number of heirs and heiresses in this day and age, especially for an empire of this size, power, and scope. A reasoning inferred through political means by foreign powers, the Elise line attempting to forcibly create the most ruthless of heirs through a controlled succession crisis: the end of their “Ceramic Era” paved through by an Emperor born from the spilled blood of their own kin. But the true reason for their existence, however, was better left unspoken and even more tragically, well understood by their plentiful children.
Three older and one younger, Sophia’s own immediate family dressing in accordance to their own well wishes in this most formal occasion. Organized by age in this moment, as well as probable allegiances in case of a battle-royale type civil war, they all simply crack equal parts concerned and prideful expressions at their sister.
Sophia looks each of them over, the seemingly once in a year kind of event bringing them all together to even do so.
Wait.
She remembers the traditions suddenly, some still functioning part of her exhausted psyche instinctively moving her body to the standard noble procedures of manners and greetings. Despite them being of the same blood and womb, in the public eye they still (and always will have to) act according to those damned ancient ticks and demands.
She’ll have to do it for each four of them, and already her shoes were literally (figuratively) murdering her.
Well, maybe she could cut it down a bit…
She gives a small curtsy as she combines the first two together, speaking out their names as she feels a prick at the base of her ankle. “Naomi, Natan…”
The two oldest came into the world together; a bad omen in the central belt of Ensolia. Natan and Naomi Elise were, if one was simply going by appearances, cut from the exact same rock. Each with their light brown amber eyes, blonde hair, and creepily similar facial structures; like a lazy sculptor attempting to force a pair of masterpieces through a working deadline.
Naomi, the first one to evict herself out of mother (their mother’s words, and no one else's), stood at a shorter height than her younger sister and wore short and well kept hair. Wearing a tight fitting cavalry command uniform in the First Legion colors of grassland green with polished silver pauldrons, tailored to exemplify her personal assets: specifically the eight medals and straight silver bar of campaign decoration. Six of the eight were decorated for exemplary service, one for bravery, and one more for rifle marksmanship; all derived from just one operation into the chaotic republics west across the Adranic Ocean. Sophia wondered, with some genuine curiosity, on how someone could actually be so productive as to process logistics paperwork, command an entire legion in pitched irregular combat, and play power politics through radio-carriers all at the exact same time. Still, she was the first born and there were specific demands made of her for it.
Natan preferred to stay close to home. Though, his appearance within the Palace was just as transient as Naomi’s (his own business kept him constantly traveling throughout the Imperium at the moment); the two oldest bunch always keeping themselves busy. A simple fashion statement of the exact same suit he wore from his own shared coming-of-age debut, Sophia noted he seemed to always wear it, was his constant comical demonstration of frugality. From his nearly worn out silver pocket watch (a gift from Father, seventeen years ago on his 10th birthday), to his constant travels through the still expanding rail network of the empire; there was little doubt in her mind that if given the chance he would very much so be eating gruel and living out of overnight economy class train carriages of his own volition.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Naomi carefully curtsies, pretending to raise a nonexistent skirt while Natan holds his right hand over his left breast and dips his head respectfully.
Two more and she’ll be done with this absurdity.
“Beatrice.” She curtsies again, this time to the third; trying not to toss a scowl from the pain now shooting up her leg.
She was beautiful, perhaps even more than Sophia depending on the personal preference of the surveyed. Long brown hair and bluish eyes, a body contoured like a comically perfect decorative statue of the Goddess. Her flowing dress of pale sky blue was dusted with crushed malachite crystals glittering in the light, like an ocean garden rich with life and mesmerizing depth.
Her voice was alive, Beatrice living in the rush of the crowd and the court. Like the sound of flowing water from a distant stream alongside the chirping of summer birds and rustling leaves; the words and compliment almost makes the young lady forget her own troubles at the moment. “My dear Sophia, you look so wonderful.”
Sophia quietly curses herself as she watches the older sister curtsy, wishing that she could have even the tiniest sliver of that extroversion Beatrice could somehow conjure out of thin air.
Maybe then she could actually enjoy herself in this mess.
At least this last one was a sight for sore eyes.
“Alice.” She greets, this time an actual smile somehow produced to the little girl.
Brown eyes wider than saucers in absolute joy, curly brown hair braided and topped with the tiny, gold studded silver tiara of final elevation (something that Sophia was once forced to wear before the surprise of the family). Barely twelve years old at this snapshot in time, nine years younger than the closest sibling; more adorable than beautiful at this point.
Hands animated like a jogger in the midst of a run, almost forgetting the polite response to the greeting. A quick curtsy, so adorable that Sophia even detects a quiet awww from Naomi’s usually cold facade. The girl follows up with a serrated dagger driven directly into Sophia’s chest cavity. “Wow sister, you're so beautiful! Maybe you can actually find a man tonight!”
She suppresses the urge to punch the youngster directly in the sternum.
“Alice is right.” Natan smugly takes her side, adjusting a slightly frayed button near his suit pocket. “Given your… habits this may be your only chance to actually have any say in choosing someone.”
“Just like you did?” Sophia bites back at the older brother.
There’s a slight pause before he replies with grace, the stupid smile remaining on his face. “Well, it at least gave me an idea of what I wanted in a woman~”
Sophia suppresses the images that start bubbling to the surface of her mind, the debut ball shared between the two twins something much better forgotten than remembered as a fond memory. More people packed into the ballroom than she could’ve ever imagined, and in equal distribution of suitors from both sides of the gender gap.
More “alliances” were probably made that night than could be admitted. Sophia grumbles to herself.
But still she couldn’t argue with the advice. After all he was, out of all of them at the current moment, perhaps the closest to betrothal if mother and father were to be believed.
Some big breasted, curvy princess (probably a brunette too) was about to have her wildest fantasies come true. Sophia’s inner monologue crassly assumes.
“Where is mother anyways?” Sophia innocently asks as she adjusts her footing.
“Mom’s busy with talks.” Natan informs. “She’ll be arriving later this evening.”
“We’ll keep you safe sis.” Beatrice shoots a wink towards her.
They all turn towards their elder, Naomi’s eyes scanning the guests; a falcon preparing to dive towards prey. Like commanding a fireteam of Imperial Marines she gives the order. “As rehearsed, keep any of the… undesirables out of her way. Remain vigilant.”