Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 42.2 - Leavi

The next morning, I sit with a crowd of other servants high up in the tiers of the Auditorium Arbitrate. Several empty rows in front of us, Ladies and other important women dot the seating closest to the thrones. There's plenty of room for all of us to sit among them, but I don't begrudge the empty chairs. I'd rather be here, bunched elbow to elbow in the close community of the commoners. In their buzz of anticipation, voices overlay one another, but one resounding theme in every conversation is warm regard for 'the young prince.' Despite my worry, a grin slips onto my face as I survey the Auditorium.

The glow crystals in the chandelier are dim and candles line the long walk to the dais of thrones. The low lights and flames reflect off the marble floor and silver tree, so instead of being trapped inside a diamond, it's like we're embedded in fiery amber. The curve of the U-shaped table has been removed, leaving the High and Inner Ladies seated in two lines on either side of the blue rug.

Above them, Queen Selenia sits in the tree's hollow, a skirt of midnight stars draping onto the steps below her. The Captain sits to her right in a seat carved like a r'meur, and at the base of the dais stands a tall, long-haired man in wizard's robes. Three pedestals at his side hold a cloak, a circlet, and a scepter.

Selenia stands, and the hum of the courtiers and servants falls silent. I wonder how much makeup they had to use to give her that healthy glow. She's beautiful, lips plump and ruby red, but no amount of artistry can cover the thinned-out lines of her face.

Her voice rings clear in the cavernous room. "Tonight, we celebrate the first hour in a march toward a new dawn. No matter what darkness we have walked through, we will emerge victorious with the daylight. And to mark our new step toward victory, we crown this day a new leader over our country, my brother and your beloved prince—"

Below, Ladies murmur, and one scornful voice hisses, "I thought we crossed 'beloved' out of the script."

"—Aster Jacques S'Pierre S'Díane, Second Son of Morineaux."

The servants around me rustle with anticipation as the massive doors at the end of the hall swing open. I crane my neck around the peering crowd.

Alone in their entrance stands Aster. The frame dwarfs him, but he holds himself tall and straight, as though he's larger than he truly is. Slow, purposeful steps bring him down the rug. As he walks, his deep blue cape sweeps behind him, and his brass circlet catches the light.

Pride swells within me. He belongs here, in this grandiose world of power and strength. It's not just what he was born into; it's what he is.

As my eyes follow him down the room's length, I glimpse a strange group of courtiers on the front row of the other side. Three women, one of whom wears a veil over her mouth, sit guarded by five in armor. Their skin is darker, their clothes simpler, their faces sharper. The other courtiers leave them plenty of space. My heart pangs as I focus on the woman in the middle.