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THE CRIMSON CURTAINS PARTED, and the smell of hyacinths rose from her chamber. Alayna stepped on the polished floor, whirling bare feet in the autumnal breeze and the moonlight ballet along her side. Yet, Katrakis never saw his daughter dance once before his eyes. "Dull days I presume." Alayna leaped in her place, and she quickly walked a little away from the window until she could take a clear look at who stood on the threshold.
"Oh, Your Majesty!" She curtsied. "I apologize. I wasn't aware of your presence."
The King took a few strides, wandering his eyes around. Everything was set neatly in its place. The curtains on the window, however, were separated too much. "Is that a lover of yours?" he asked peeking outside, mentioning a silhouette in the courtyard. Alayna followed his eyes and found her brother Achilles' dog trailing through the grasses, wiggling its tail. "Err!"
"Nevertheless," He sighed from an unnecessary sorrow, "I wouldn't understand children nowadays. Such as your matter of boredom here. When I was of your age, my creativity knew no bounds. My chamber was filled with sculptures and arts. Rode to the borders now and then, and joined battles as well. My children, however, solely know how to gossip and sip wine. Only Achilles and August may have a little artistry, a basis for manipulation of one and war for another. Sometimes, I don't know what is better." He sighed, "I am diverting from the topic, you see?. At least they have something. You wouldn't step out of the four walls, you have barely the skills to talk. Mostly I feel like I have created another statute when you stand in the hall. My father couldn't sit still in his place when I grew of your age—"
"When you were of my age, they said—no women were safe from your hands," Alayna said, tired of how his lovely talks turned to a long speech of a king. It took her an instant to regret it.
The speckles of blood faded from underneath his skin, and he shifted his head uncomfortably.
"Who said this?"
She shook her head horrified. A father shall never be a king. There is a very thin line between their positions of duties and charge. Often the father slips into the king and their children become the subjects. Far and far away from him.
If Elia had been Alayna's place, she'd have already spat at his much—'Of whom were the sculptures he filled his chamber? Naked maidens?' But she wouldn't think to strain Elia's relationship with him even more.
"Or h-haters perhaps?" She answered. Katrakis seemed at a little ease. Alayna felt herself relax as well. "How did you know I feel such way? You weren't here... I mean I'm barely with you."
"You write to your sister." Her brows quirked in confusion, "Isabella."
He read the letters.
"You use to love listening to tales from lady Adal. I guess she fails you know?"
"Her tales are old. Listened to them a lot of times, she doesn't read anymore. Something is wrong with her." "I might not be as good as her, but I may tell you a tale today." She gasped, "You... Father, you will tell a tale?" "Come." They faced the raven sky festooned with shimmering constellations.
