CYRDEL SONASSON, heir apparent to the Alkaran Throne, is a budding inventor against the wishes of his father, the King. But when a friend from the Inventor's District needs help, he has to drop everything and come to their aid, even going as far as...
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2410 Crescin 02, Kindreth
Cyrdel slapped a hand to his thigh to prevent it from jiggling too much. He had been sitting on the farthest row in the throne hall for a long time now, watching and listening to people come and go in the single podium in the center of the room. Cold eyes from the Masters in the Court of Varis scanned each and every face, not once tuning out of the things being said. Discussions and arguments flitted in and out of Cyrdel's mind, his nerves too frayed to even think of starting to make sense of them.
Sleep made his eyelids heavy and ready to drop. Having spent all night drafting his speech and his petition to the Court, he didn't realize the darkness had come and gone, taking with it the rest of the time he had towards the appointment.
His collar dug against his neck, the formal coat seemingly throwing at his face that he's not fit to wear it. In fact, he felt the same way. It was far too stiff and too bright. He'd prefer it if it was in a more somber shade, like russet...or maroon. But no. Apparently, stark red was the color of the royal family so that no one could look more like a ripe ajilte than them.
How annoying.
That's also exactly why Cyrdel had avoided eating or even seeing the fleshy fruit in his lifetime. He couldn't stand to be reminded of all the things he's trying to forget anyway.
The man on the podium dawdled something about his neighbors stealing crops and seedlings during planting season. Philine Serace, the interim head of the Court, narrowed her eyes at every word he was saying, as if she needed to do that to absorb the statement. The other Masters either took notes on their sheets of parchment on their desks or they crossed their arms across their chests and stared passively at the issue being presented.
Cyrdel rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his stiff shoulders. He almost wanted to crack it just to get rid of the churns in his stomach but refrained. Uncharacteristic sounds while a session was ongoing was punishable by death. Or at least that's how Cyrdel remembered it when his tutors forced him to study law and the Alkaran code of rights.
He let his eyes wander into the central balcony where two thrones stood in their glory. On them sat the King and Queen, clad in red and glittering golden pins and crowns. His mother's hair had been styled more than usual. Her jewelry seemed to have gotten out of hand too. Was she...was she excited about Cyrdel's appeal? Holy Nira.
Light filtered from the square windows slotted high up in the ceiling, giving Cyrdel enough indication of how long he had to wait here. The brownie speaking on the podium was the last one of a queue of four on their way to lay their grievances to the Court who couldn't seem to see them as more than just a pile of parchment work and faceless issues needing to be solved.
"So, you're saying that your neighbor asked you to share your land and you didn't oblige," Master Nerira said, folding his hands atop his desk. From high up in the balcony to the monarch's right, his dark brown hair didn't look that impressive, despite what the servant rumors were. "Were you sharing your land before?"
