Fyra (First Draft)

Four

Cirian couldn't stop thinking about her. The thief. He hadn't even asked her name. Her beautiful face haunted his living and waking hours, and returned at night to plague his dreams. It had been two days since he had found out that her being in the dungeon was no mistake. Or maybe it was.

His father, King Henry, was a tyrant, and nearly everyone knew it. He executed for the slightest infraction, even those out of the prisoners control. He provided leniency only when it suited his needs.

When his father ascended to the throne, his first degree was to banish all forms of sorcery and magic. Runes were forbidden, and the ancient marking tools destroyed. He burned every person he could hunt down who had possessed even the slightest magical potential. Cirian believed that even he would burn if he had a drop of ability.

It was honestly no surprise that the king hated magic so. His parents, the previous sovereigns of Aceria, had been killed in front of his own eyes by a rouge witch.

But the real reason the king killed was greed. With the magical guilds standing in the way of limitless power and wealth, Henry decided that they had to be destroyed. Even now, babies that may have an affinity for any magical branch were snatched from their parents' arms and drowned.

Thievery aside, the girl had seemed so sincere. She perplexed him. One minute she was yelling, the next her face was gleaming with tears. He wondered how she would explain the crimes she committed. She had been bedridden the past days, and for a few moments he felt guilty that he had triggered her memories, then irritated because it was her fault.

In the morning, a heavyset maid told him that she wished to see him should he be available. He would visit after his afternoon tea with his stepmother and another eligible bachelorette.

His stepmother, the queen, was constantly pressing him to marry, saying that he was of age and would soon take his father's throne. Cirian highly doubted that. King Henry would hold on to the throne for as long as he could, and would tug at strings before he died to ensure that his son was, in his eyes, suitable to direct the kingdom how he wanted it run. But his stepmother was ignorant to the devious side of his father, and insisted that he come anyways. After tea with the vain and boring Lady Andreica, Cirian was relieved to leave. He set a brisk pace to Fyra's room before his stepmother could ask him to spend the afternoon meeting Ladies.

She was staring out the window, and when he knocked, she bid him to come in. A shadow was present in her eyes, and they were glassy. She looked lost in a haunting memory. It seemed she would float away with her thoughts.

Before he could greet her, she said, "I'm so sorry. For my behavior the other day. I spoke the truth, but I didn't need to shout. The only reason I don't like addressing you...or...to be honest, anyone, with terms of respect is because I...well I don't know you at all. I judge people based on their actions and words, not the rank they were born into. I didn't want to imply that I revered you when I had no idea who you were. I believe a person is measured by the good they try to do, not the money and power they have. So I wouldn't call you 'Your Majesty' if I didn't think you were worthy." She smiled shyly, the light retuning to her eyes. "So if you really care what I think, You should earn, not expect my respect. My name is Fyra, if you were wondering." Pausing for a moment, she then added, "Or you could just execute me, if you don't want to deal with the trouble." She smiled broader.

He choked on a laugh. There was no way this girl, who was so genuinely good could have commited any crime without good reason. "That makes a good deal of sense, Lady Fyra--"

She stopped smiling. "I'm not a lady," she reminded him, "I'm a thief and a runaway."

"But alas, My Lady, you have earned my respect." He told her. A ghost of a smile touched her face. It was perplexing. It looked almost as if she were reaching for a distant memory, one of a different life.