There’s something wrong with the face Lord Alijah makes in that moment. Something off about it. Trivask doesn’t know if it’s the furrow between his brows or the curve of his lips, but something is truly off about this picture. The man rolls his hand down the front of his vest before finally sitting at his desk.
He sighs heavily as he motions for the others to sit as well. Trivask can tell that this room will be filled for the next few days. “How much do you remember of your lessons on the ruling family?” Alijah asks her as he digs into the lowest drawer of his desk.
The Lord pulls out glass of golden liquid, taking the crystal stopper out and drinking straight from the bottle. “Truthfully, I remember the bare minimum, which is their names and how long they’ve been ruling.” He nods, placing the bottle on the table.
“Help yourselves to the bar, some might require the extra help to get through today.” He turns back to her. “The current king and queen have been ruling for 567 years. They were only supposed to rule for 400, but as many here know, it is terribly hard for Faeries to produce offspring with one another. Then there are also the typical rules to follow, like the King having to be at least a hundred years old and having to have served in the royal army for at least thirty years.”
“They were due to answer the calling of eternal sleep right after the Prince’s coronation this spring. But as law dictates, they cannot rest until their son’s murder is avenged. And thus, I feel that we will be preparing for war by the time spring rolls around.” There are murmurs of agreement throughout the room.
“We will to go war with the Kingdom of Merablyn.” He takes another long sip from his bottle. “ And that is when I will strike.” Trivask looks around the room, surprised and concerned about the change of topic.
Lord Alijah is speaking about attacking the kingdom. He’s speaking of treason, and no one here is blinking an eye. Sure, he’s had some radical ideas in the past, most of which are oppositional to those of the crown, but never has he brought up his feelings around other people. Especially not like this.
He peeks at her from behind the glass of his bottle. “Oh yes, I forgot to inform you that I am not alone in my opinions of the ruling family. Many others feel the same as I do, they are just… less vocal. These are some of those people.” Of course he would surround himself with like-minded people. Alijah isn’t someone that likes to be opposed after all.
Trivask braces herself against the door, her arms folded and her face void of emotion. While she can say that she is surprised by this development, she can’t say that she cares too much about the future of this kingdom, or any kingdom for that matter. She knows it is best to leave politics to the mortals. It is not a game that ends well when she becomes a player.
Some of the people in the room shift uncomfortably, probably not aware of how close the pair truly are. If she were anyone else, she obviously would not be privy to this information. Growing annoyed with their looks, she dips her head. “I wish you luck my Lord. I must retire for the night.” She had almost forgotten about the blood coating her hands and likely her mouth.
She wishes that she had been stopped by her reflection before coming here.
The Lord dips his head back, his eyes promising a conversation that Trivask would rather avoid. She nods to those present before pulling the heavy doors open and leaving. Those in the foyer crane their necks in an attempt to get a look at what’s going on, but the woman slams the doors closed as soon as she slips between them.
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
Sighing, she begins her walk to her private chambers.
Trivask takes a step back upon entry, her senses immediately being attacked. A ball of striking energy rushes her, its power wrapping around her waist and tickling her nose. She grunts, not sure what her next actions should be. Startling blue eyes peak up at her. She had forgotten about the child entirely. “Hai! I’ve been waiting for a while. That man told me that you would be back hours ago!”
The child is dressed in a light pink sleeping gown with puffy white sleeves, her hair wrapped tightly around scraps of fabric, most likely to form her bouncy curls. Her things must have arrived before Trivask had. Trivask places the palm of her hand on the child’s forehead and lightly peels her off. She then pats the girl's head. “Yes, I’m sure you’ve been quite bored.”
She looks around her room and notices a few of her drawers are not closed properly. She frowns as she looks back down at the girl. “You must have found something to occupy your time with.” Her crystal blue eyes go wide as she looks around, likely trying to see if she left anything that she had been playing with out.
When her eyes find nothing out of the ordinary, she shakes her head. “No ma’am. I just stared out of the window for hours. I like trying to count the stars.” This is, quite obviously, a lie. Trivask blinks at her, surprised. No one has ever tried to outright lie to her before. Though, she has never had to deal with a mortal child.
She looks into the little girl’s eyes, crouching. “Do you see my eyes, girl?” The child’s face scrunches up as she nods. “These eyes can detect lies. So you will not lie to me again. Is that clear?” The child’s eyes get wet as she nods again, little wisps of her fair hair flying about.
Trivask takes a moment to just look at the girl.
She is as beautiful as her mother. Strangely enough, she finds herself hoping that the girl will not turn out like her sires. Vain and faithless. Beauty has a habit of tainting everything pure in the world. She hopes that this little girl is the exception.
Sighing, she returns to her full height. Trivask slides her slippers off of her feet, flexing her toes. As she walks to her vanity, she asks the child, “What is your name, girl?” Trivask watches her through the mirror. The girl’s tears vanish as soon as Trivask leaves her.
Interesting.
She skips over to the four poster bed and jumps onto the plush mattress. “My mum named me Liontha. Daddy calls me Lily.”
“Little Lion,” Trivask whispers. “How… fitting.” Trivask removes her facial chains before walking to the bathing chambers. She starts to fill the large tub with water, with a simple pull of a lever, then goes about searching for her matches so that she might light the coals under the tub.
Nothing sucks more than accidentally allowing the tub to fill all the way before the coals are lit. The water takes ages to warm. She finds the matches and lights the coals, then returns to Liontha. “Have you eaten, Little Lion?”
“I ate lunch before the trip here.”
Trivask’s lips purse. She didn’t figure Jona to be the neglectful type, though it does seem there are other things that might be occupying his mind. The death of the eldest prince does seem quite… important. “You see that door over there?” She points to the one next to the bedside table. “Check the leftmost pillow and you’ll find the key to that door. There should be some things for you to eat in there. I’m to bathe. I want you in bed before I’m back. If you are, I’ll take you to one of our dance instructors tomorrow morning.”
Excitement lights up Liontha’s eyes as she scrambles across the bed and snatches up the pillow in question. After going through her vanity drawers in search of her favorite bathing salts, Trivask enter the bathing room and tests the water.
She’s happy to find it's the perfect temperature. Taking a bit of the water in her hand, she smothers the flames before undressing. She avoids the large mirror as she lowers herself into the scalding water, her skin instantly reddening in response to the temperature.
Trivask sits, the hot water lapping against her neck. Her eyes close and a soft, content, sigh escapes her. It’s times like this where she misses home the most. She misses warm water and loose flowing hair. She misses the mist and the fog and the heat. She misses the brush of aquatic plants against her legs and the water in her ears.
Trivask sinks further into the water until her head is submerged. Her body feels light as she twirls her hands underwater. She wishes to dance, but instead will settle for creating small waves in the water and moving with them.
Eventually, the water turns cold and her hands grow still. She wishes for more time, but knows that she will have plenty to do later in the day. So she grabs her salts and scrubs her body down, watching as the water turns brown with dirt, dead skin, and blood. Then she stands and dries herself off. She slips on a thin silk robe before draining the tub and leaving the bathing chambers.
Trivask is happy and surprised to find Liontha softly snoozing, curled around the leftmost pillow with half an uneaten pickle falling slowly from her hand. She can’t stop the laugh that bubbles to the surface, but she thankfully quiets it.
After tossing the uneaten food, Trivask goes to her linen closet and unfolds a few duvets. She shoves them haphazardly onto the beautiful, yet uncomfortable window couch, then settles into her makeshift bed for the night.
The sun has unfortunately made its presence known by the time Trivask wakes. Groaning, the woman pulls into a long stretch, one of her hands going to cover her mouth as a yawn falls from her.
Standing, she doesn’t notice something at her feet until it’s too late. The woman trips, her right foot catching on a bundle of blankets. She manages to catch onto the edge of the bed, preventing her from landing face first onto the cold stone ground.
Muttering, she looks down and finds the golden haired child staring up at her, her wide eyes glossy with sleep, and her rolled hair covered in a layer of frizz. “What are you doing on the floor, child?”
Trivask pulls herself up, rubbing her hands along the length of her robe, which had thankfully stayed closed. The girl blinks up at her before rubbing her eyes. “You talk in your sleep,” She states frankly. Trivask’s brows furrow.
No she doesn’t.
At least, no one has ever told her as much. Clearing her throat, she turns as she responds, “That doesn’t explain why you’re sleeping on the hard floor.” She hears a little yawn thrown over her shoulder as she rummages through her wardrobe in search of the day's attire.
“You sounded scared. When I get scared at night, Nanny Mildred sits next to me. She holds my hand until I don’t feel scared anymore. I held your hand.” Trivask doesn’t know how to feel about this.
She swallows and gathers her clothes in her arms. “Get changed,” Is all she says to the little girl. Then she walks to the bathing chambers and prepares herself for the day ahead of her.
Soon, she will be summoned by the Lord of the house. He will require her report on the activity she was assigned the previous day, then he will delegate more. There will likely be another council meeting, filled with secret whispers and sweating brows. Trivask will be immensely bored, but she will stand by her Lord and pretend to be wholeheartedly invested in his every word.
After, he will request that she stay while the others disperse to peruse the grounds, and she will see to his needs. Then there will be talk of the upcoming formal. He will likely ask that she perform.
No.
He will insist that she perform. Trivask will then give him a close lipped smile and she will nod her head like a good little girl. But after that, she will have her own time.
And she will enjoy it.
She stares into her own eyes as she fastens her chains in place, but she can’t hold her gaze for long. “Come along, Little Lion,” She calls as she exits the bathing room. She slips the tips of her fingers into a pair of silk slippers near the door as she exits her chambers, listening to the light and rushed steps of the child trailing behind her.
While walking, she steps into her shoes. “We’ll grab you something quick to eat before heading to the ballroom. The dance instructors should be huddling in there somewhere.
A giddy little squeal is released behind her.
She stops her eyes from rolling as she continues her trip down the hall, turning once she reaches the end, then sliding a rather tall kitchen door open. “Stay right here.” Trivask calls out.
The kitchens are rather full today. It seems that the death of their prince has not taken the urgency out of preparation for the formal. Cooks dash to and fro, silver platters, pots, pans, and ingredients dangling from their hands.
People shout across the massive space, demanding attention for this and that. Trivask continues to the pantry and snatches two freshly made croissants off of a cooling rack. The woman’s eyes light up when she sees a particular fruit sitting happily in a fruit basket not two feet away from her.
She snags two of the brightly colored fruits then walks happily out of the bustling kitchen. “Here.” She hands the little girl half of what she has. “Eat the croissant first.” Liontha nods, tossing her ringlets over her shoulder.
They continue on their way. Trivask thinks that Siona would be the best instructor for the little girl. She’s patient, her aura is calming, and she is an adequate enough dancer herself. Though she's likely a better instructor when it comes to the basics.
She definitely doesn’t want Lance anywhere near the girl. He’s too tactile, and much too clumsy to be teaching a child. He’s a man of passion, and those are always the ones to watch out for.
As they make it to the ballroom, Trivask takes her first bite of her peach and nearly moans. The first bite is always the best. The sound of the fruit’s skin breaking and the resulting flood of juice always brings a smile to her face.
She savors that first bite, licking the sticky juice that runs down her hand before chewing. Trivask walks through the towering arches of the ballroom, surprised that their curtains are pulled open and secured to the frame.
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They don’t usually open the ballroom until the night before it’s to be used. She peaks inside, noticing the lit candles and the banquet tables all pushed to the edges of the grand room. Not far from her, she hears whispering. Then giggling follows.
She motions for the girl to stay where she is, then begins to stalk forward. “Oh!” She hears. “Yes .” The word is purred . Trivask almost shivers at the implication. She peaks around the width of a column, only to see a bright red dress being parted by a long leg. “Oh, Jona.”
A giggle escapes her.
Both heads turn as her giggle turns into a full blown laughing fit. “You have to be kidding me,” She speaks between her laughter. Standing to her full height, she stares the pair down, her brows raised humorously. “So this is what you do when you’re supposed to be on duty?”
Trivask’s lips quirk up at one corner as she leans against a table. She crosses her legs at the ankle, her eyes scanning the cute little couple as she takes another bite of her peach.
Siona is just that, cute. She has wide green eyes, and shoulder length black hair. Her cheeks and nose are always pink with life, and the sleeves of her modest floor length dresses are always puffed and hemmed with ruffles. She looks like a child standing next to a grown man.
Trivask licks her bottom lip, as the girl quickly pulls herself from the adviser. He has yet to meet the mocking woman's gaze. That’s likely a good choice on his end.
Trivask has a lot of questions for him, and he knows he won’t be able to escape them. She wonders how this little friendship started. Sure, Siona is cute, but Trivask finds it hard to understand how anyone could want to be intimate with a girl that is barely of marrying age and squeaks like a pup when she’s startled.
Smoothing out her dress, Siona dips her head. “Lionel, it’s so nice to see you. It’s been a while.” She doesn’t raise her head, and Trivask doesn’t tell her to. Her eyes travel to Jona instead.
“Yes, it has been a while my Little Susie. The last time I saw you, you were bawling your eyes out because you had failed your interview for the Dancing Stars. You never visited me when you returned. Though I shouldn’t be surprised since you also didn't say your goodbyes when you left.”
Trivask doesn’t mention that the young girl had taken with her, a dance routine that Trivask had taught her. It was a piece that was close to her heart as well. Siona is an adequate dancer, but not even Trivask’s routines nor instructions can make her what she wants to be. That kind of talent is given to someone upon birth. It cannot be taught.
Siona’s head seems to sink lower, and Jona finally shakes off his shackles. “That’s enough Trivask. Why are you here?” Enough? She hasn't even said anything harsh.
Still, Trivask waves her flag first. Content with the meager amount of discomfort she’s caused already. “I’ve brought you a new student, Siona. Come, little lion.” She directs the last sentence over she shoulder with an amplified voice.
Moments later, an excited Liontha comes prancing through the arches. Siona looks up, confused. “I want you to teach her all of the basic dances that a girl should know. Send her to my rooms no later than six in the afternoon.”
Trivask turns to the girl. “If anyone stops you in the halls, tell them you’re a friend of the Loinel, understand.” The child gives a toothy smile and an exaggerated nod before turning back to the instructor. She drops into an unstable curtsy.
“I’m Liontha, miss. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Make sure she eats lunch and dinner.” Trivask turns.
“Bu-” She leaves before she can hear the rest of the statement. Trivask doesn’t care if Siona has plans or responsibilities to keep up with. That girl owes her more than she knows, and it’s about time Trivask starts collecting her debts.
The summons didn’t take long to come. She feels a tug, like someone cupping the back of her neck. Soon after, Alijah’s voice follows. ‘I need you,’ He whispers to her. The words twist around her head and her heart. He needs me. She takes a heavy step forward.
“Trivask.” A hand goes to her shoulder, nearly startling her out of her skin. Jona’s fingers wrap around the curve of her shoulder, his skin warming hers. She blinks a few times.
Then she turns to him. “Yes?”
He drops his hand from her, his stance stiff. Almost as if he’s readying himself for a fight. Her eyes meet his. “What time.”
“Pardon me?” Trivask asks, her confusion palpable.
He clears his throat. “What time would you like to meet me. We’re to start Regon Trivals’ training today.” She had completely forgotten about that man.
Trivask’s neck warms as she answers. “I will speak with my Lord about my schedule today. I will come looking for you, possibly some time around noon.” She then turns, her eyes blurring. ‘I need you.’ Her eyes cross, yet she still puts one foot solidly in front of the other.
Eventually, she makes it to Lord Alijah’s chambers. Slamming the door open, she’s met with the nude back of her Lord. Her temper fizzes out, just the tiniest bit. She still slams the door closed behind her. “Did you have to pull so hard?”
Turning from his position hunched over his desk, Alijah shoots her a cheeky smile. “Good morning,” Is his response. When she doesn’t respond, the Lord rolls his eyes. “I suppose I didn’t need to pull so hard.” His eyes cast down to his desk again. “There’s to be another council meeting in an hour. I want you there.”
Of course he does.
As much as Lord Alijah likes to pretend otherwise when the two are alone, Trivask is a symbol of power for him, and that’s all she’ll ever be. All her Lord has to do is whisper a few words, and his wishes are hers to grant. He's likes to parade that power around.
She is his in every sense of the word, and there is nothing anyone could ever say to make her forget that. So she nods. “Is there anything else you need, my Lord?”
He doesn’t look back up from his desk, which is covered in manuscripts, rolls of parchment, and writing utensils. “Yes. We didn’t get to discuss it last night. Have you ensured Lord Helon’s attendance?”
Trivask leans against the frame of the door, her arms crossing and her lashes lowering. There’s a feeling at the back of her throat that makes her stomach roll. “Yes, my Lord.” She tries to suppress the feeling by contracting her muscles.
“That’s good. I have nothing else for you today. You may leave, I have to finish these letters before the meeting.” She hesitates, her initial thoughts pushing her to ask if it’s okay for her to meet with Jona.
But she doesn’t need his permission. She’s been dismissed.
She leaves, going to the one place Jona is guaranteed to be. As soon as she enters the training grounds, her heart begins to flutter. The smell of sweat, fear, and stupid determination makes her toes curl. The sound of wood smacking harshly against skin and grating voices yelling commands puts a smile on her face.
Men and women dance around each other, their faces pulled into sneers, their hands and thighs aching. This has to be one of her favorite places in the Maelegori Manor. “Toni, how many times do I have to tell you to widen your stance.” A nasty smacking sound follows the howler, accompanied by a grunt and a thud.
Toni has fallen, and the impact has made the woman all the more angry. Trivask’s smile grows wider as she walks further into the training grounds. Her head turns from left to right, inspecting each pair of fighters. She points out weaknesses in their techniques and soft spots in their stances.
She envisions the ways that she would take them down, had she been the one sparring, each picture progressing in brutality. A man to her right gets struck. His head snaps to the side, his arms pin wheeling as his weapon is dropped.
Blood gushes from his nose, and the tiniest of droplets finds itself speckling Trivask’s cheek. She watches as the man falls and rolls, stopping right at her feet. His eyes are unfocused as they roll around in his head.
The woman lowers herself to the ground, her own eyes going glossy. Her finger dips into the steady stream of blood flowing from the guard’s nose. Inhaling, she smells nothing out of the ordinary.
Not able to control herself anymore, she licks her finger, her eyes closing. In doing this, she learns that this man is absolutely average. He comes from an average income family. He’s had average bedroom partners. He’s done average activities to keep himself entertained. And he’s joined the Lord’s guard force because he’s average at everything else that he does.
What an utter disappointment.
Her eyes open. “I’ve never known a man to be as dull as you are.” Her brows are furrowed, and her face is the perfect picture of puzzlement. How someone can be this lackluster is an absolute mystery to her.
She rises, and finds a good deal of people have stopped practicing in order to stare at her. Including the man she came to see. “Jona,” Trivask calls out, as she steps over the man at her feet. “Have you been introduced to Regon yet?” She clasps her hands behind her back, as the adviser steps down from his stool.
She watches as the man’s eyes dart this way and that way, surveying how many people are now watching the interaction instead of doing their jobs. She's sure that he's memorizing their faces so that he may dole out punishments later. “Yes. He is here now.” Her brows raise.
“You went to see him without me?” Jona continues until he stands before her. His form completely dwarfs her own, but Trivask’s aura is larger than life. Though she stands at least a foot lower than him, anyone would say that she is indeed taller.
Dipping his head, Jona turns to stare at a particular sparing pair. Trivask follows his lead. “No, he came here on his own. I don’t know what it is that drives him, but it is fierce. I’ve never seen someone with such a lack of training fight the way he does.” Her head tilts, for she knows what drives him.
Revenge can be a powerful motivator.
It can also be the spark that leads to burnout. He needs to pace himself. She starts for him, shoving through guards that step into her path at the wrong moment. “Regon.” He grunts, raising his practice sword up to parry his opponent’s. Trivask looks to his opposition, her lip curling up.
He tries to go slack, but Regon begins to bombard him once his guard is lowered. “Regon,” Trivask draws out. Irritation creeps up. No one ignores her. No one.
Yet the man continues fighting, one leg solidly planted as he spins and slices at the legs of his opponent. Growing tired of the man’s attitude, Trivask waits for him to plant his second foot down.
He lunges, his wooden sword grasped tightly in one hand, and that’s when Trivask strikes. She kicks the back of his knee, smiling as a yelp falls from Regon’s lips.
His legs buckle, and his descent into the ground is fast and painful. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you clearly have yet to learn Mr. Trivals.” Trivask fists his hair, pulling the man closer to her. “There is an hierarchy here, and you are at the very bottom. When I call, you answer.” He clutches at her wrist, his eyes not meeting her own. “You are dismissed from morning training. When you are ready to listen, come see me. Until then-” She turns to Jona.
“He is not to return to training until I say otherwise.” Trivask releases him, putting an extra bit of force behind her shove. She turns to leave, but stops to think for a moment. Then she turns back to Jona, having made her decision. “He is mine,” She says.
Jona is right. Regon is fierce and powerful. With time and discipline, he will make a fine warrior. Being trained by guards will stifle his potential. He needs more.
And she will be the one to give him that.
“Thank you all for being willing to attend this meeting today. I know that heartbreak is in the air, at the loss of our most enviable prince.” While most here might not agree with the way the nation is being ruled, she believes that none actually wish harm on the rulers or their heirs. The Lord pauses as he surveys the room. If Trivask didn’t know any better, she would think that her Lord actually meant the words he just spoke.
But through the connection the two share, she can feel that they are as empty as a dried up well. Her Lord cares nothing for the ruling family. Though that feeling is often apparent when talking to anyone higher up the familial blood lines.
Across the room, one more patron has been added to the meeting. The Lord’s son, Aldon, sits on a love seat, his right leg resting across his left. Aldon doesn’t have nearly as much otherworldly beauty as his father. Trivask thinks that this might be attributed to his mother’s genetics.
Lord Alijah has never said so, but Trivask suspects that the boy’s mother was a human. Maybe that is why he treats his son so coldly. After all, the Lord values power above everything, and the human blood in his son must sully some of the Maekravri power he had passed down.
“While I know there are laws governing the mourning period, I can’t help but feel that letting our guard down during this time will only lead to bordering nations thinking we are vulnerable. And I believe we all recall what happens when nations believe the Khunese Empire is weak.”
Several nod their heads, but Trivask is left confused. She doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but that’s not surprising. She rarely paid attention during her lessons, and she doesn’t go out of her way to learn about the nation she serves.
There is no point in it, when she won’t be here for long. “That is why I have called you all here today. I have given so much of myself to this cause, and I expect the same from you all.” What has he given? His home? A bit of his coin?
Trivask doesn’t recall ever seeing her Lord lift a hand in opposition to any of the more unsavory laws and mandates that the ruling family had put into place. She doesn’t recall seeing him lend his men for protests in the capitol. He has never given his coin to help the families struggling to pay their taxes now that it has been raised disproportionately.
Alijah doesn’t care about the welfare of the nation, he cares about the power he would gain if he were to move up the line of succession.
A wicked little smile takes a hold of her features, as she’s finally figures out her Lord’s endgame. She looks around, noticing that there is at least one person from each of the founding families, not including Toanc, in his inner circle. Alijah didn’t create the council to discuss the state of each of their domains.
He’s brought them together over the year to assess them. To poke and prod. To gain their trust and discover their weaknesses and power.
Lord Alijah isn’t planing a coup. No, he’s planning to slowly work his way up to the favor of the Toanc’s.
The man takes a sip from his crystal cup, his smile just barely hidden behind the refracting pieces of glass.
A warm sensation heats up her neck, just below the thin band of velvet that she never takes off. The Lord’s eyes meet her own, and they say everything that he hasn’t. His goals are personal.
After he moves up the line of succession, he will go for the King and Queen, and he will tear them down from the inside.