sic semper tyrannis

lupus in fabula

A year after Cyno's punishment, he was carted off from the Akademiya to Archons know where. To Alhaitham, it really just meant he was next. Whether by months or years, the other boys were younger and they'd likely go untouched until they were more experienced.

But he was next.

And so, when a Sage did come for him at eighteen, he wasn't surprised. He may have protested the shackles and cast a dark glare at anyone who dared look down on him as he left the Akademiya, but he wasn't surprised.

What did surprise him was where he ended up. After all, it didn't take a genius to know what the only place above the Akademiya was.

Alhaitham was dragged through the corridors of Sumeru Palace, chained at the wrists and by his ankles. He turned a fierce glare on anyone who dared look but otherwise did not protest, following silently after Sage Khajeh. When he was finally pulled through the throne room doors, he gaped at the beauty. Even now, he'd still probably call it beautiful.

It was a long room; red carpet filled the floor with golden tassels at the ends. It led up to two thrones, both wrapped in those same two red and gold motifs. Gold, gold, gold; the stuff was everywhere. It lined pictures on the wall, wrapped the displays of armor in the corners, and, most importantly, lay pretty on the heads of the two people sitting in those magnificent chairs.

That of the king was a long metallic band that wrapped over the expanse of his head and held a singular ruby in the center that must've been easily the size of Alhaitham's closed fist. Smaller emeralds lined the rest of the band, placed into the gold and delicately surrounded by small diamonds. It was worth more than anything he'd ever laid eyes on before; he swallowed the nervousness down, pretending it had never existed at all.

The king himself was heavyset, and as he shifted in his seat, narrowing eyes the same color as the emeralds in his crown toward Alhaitham's captor, his muscles shifted under his white dress shirt. Over it, a dark vest covered the expanse of his chest and the color red continued in the form of a cape that fell all the way to the edge of the chair, barely spilling over the bottom. His pants were white, straight and uniform, and he wore black boots that just reached the bend of his knees. Everything was adorned in gold. The vest had gold buttons, the boots had gold-plated details, and gold ran up the length of the side of his pants. It seemed the only thing that didn't align with gold, red, white, or black was the hair on his head, where long brown spiraling locks fell down his back.

Everything shined around him like he was God and anyone else but ants before him.

The queen, on the other hand, was a frail woman. She held her hands politely together in her lap, staring at him with a kind expression. It struck another dose of nervousness through his body for her to be looking at him, and not the man who held the chains. She had golden hair tied into a bun that sat in the middle of her crown, a simpler band of gold with another ruby adorned in the front surrounded by likely the same diamonds. Hers held no emeralds, but he supposed that ruby was enough for it matched her eyes perfectly. Lovely twin gemstones set into a pale face with matching kind red lips.

Her dress was the same color, yet less elegant than the drawings he'd seen during his classes. It was simple, adorned her frame in a way that disallowed any stray eyes yet still drew an onlooker to her in an indescribable way. She wasn't on display for the view of any man, but it was clear the power she held in that seat. She had her legs crossed over, the petticoat obscuring all but her ankles. On her feet, she had a pair of crimson heels that tied themselves together with a ribbon around her ankle. Her hands rested on the armrest, and she leaned away from her husband subtly enough to not create rumors of their relationship, but enough to make their situation apparent.