The Dunehei Chronicles | Book One: A Roseless Thorn

Chapter 1 New Assignment

Nation of the elves, Capital City of Iysngrad. 500 years after the death of Emperor Cieus III, 50 years before the appearance of Marco the historian.

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The slap of her hurried footsteps against the hard wood floor echo up and down the corridor. Banners and curtains sway from the displacement of air she as she glides past. Servants duck out of her way and bow deeply, guards stiffen and stand at attention, fist clenched and pressed to their heart in a salute to their superior.

She did not have time for them, she did not have time for pleasantries or to scold the guards about their poorly shined armor. Which it wasn't, but she was sure she could have found something wrong with it.

She needed to hurry, and fast, so she quickened her pace, the soles of her long, leather boots clacking against the floor loudly. While her servants may have been able to wrangle her into a dress, something she still detests, she absolutely refused to wear heels! Those abominable excuses for shoes were just one part of court life she could not and would not heed to!

Then there was the hair! Oh, by the gods, the hours they spent just trying to do up her hair! She had grown so fed up with how long it was taking that she had ushered her servants away and did it herself. Not to say that her servants were bad, but the problem was that they wanted to create an artwork out of her white locks when all she needed was the ponytail she now wore.

As much as she hated dresses and all the finery a diplomat was expected to uphold, she could not deny that the dress she now wore was a perfect match for her. The servants had not gone overboard, settling on something simple and modest yet very nice looking.

The color was a nice soft white, the hem decorated in an intricate, black, lacey floral design. The back of the dress fell down to her ankles, curving up and ending just below her knees in the front. She had also settled on wearing a vest-like top that ended just below her bust, it too designed with a black, lacey floral pattern.

At least the dress complimented her azure eyes, said eyes being the source of many a failed outfit.

What stood out most about her appearance, however, was no doubt the tattoo on her chest, located above her bosom and right where her neck connected with her torso. The design was that of a set of scales, perfectly balanced with a heart on one scale and a skull on the other, encircled by a ring of fire.

Turning a corner, the sound of her footsteps die almost immediately, the dark wood flooring now covered in a long, red carpet. Paintings hung on the wall on either side of her, the faces contained within the frames nothing more than blurs as she rushes past them. She knew every single one by heart, having grown up here, the faces of past queens meaning nothing to her when her current majesty had summoned her.

Finally, she comes to a stop in front of a set of massive double doors, flanked by two royal guards who instantly snap to attention and salute her. Good, she hated it when people bowed, every royal guard knew that, and those who didn't were quickly taught.

The wooden throne room doors were gracefully carved with detailed scenes of nature, inlaid jewels such as emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds giving color and life to the serene nature settings.

The guards were dressed in finely crafted armor, lightweight and durable; she would know seeing as she use to be one. Sabers hung at their hips, no doubt enchanted with arcana, as well as standard issued military pistols, made of wood and metal with a curved design, a glowing blue gem embedded into the firearm right below the hammer.