The Dying Light: Latveria

The Odd Life Of Latverian Royalty

"Has Bazz started his work alongside the cooks yet?" King Brennus's sharp green eyes glittered underneath a thick red brow, scanning to his right side. A small, ordinary looking brown and black songbird sat on the King's left shoulder, giving an odd contrast to the King's sleek violet caped finery. His hand, Lord Malkiel, was a tall, gangly man in his mid forties with dark eyes and hair.

"Yes, your Highness, the three children were each woken up and taken to their trainings of the day." Lord Malkiel's high tone was saturated in quiet annoyance. King Brennus either pretended to not notice or simply chose not to, for the King's own polite but commanding tone did not change.

"And Eowyn?" From the King's gaze, King Brennus already knew.

Lord Malkiel groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Your eldest daughter informed her handmaidens she was going to serve the fellow folk again by hunting them a large elk on horseback."

The King's eyebrows knit together, "But I had all her riding clothes removed from her room yesterday evening." He had also sat down with his daughter and had re-iterated the point that Latverian history and traditional teachings could not be so regularly ignored, despite the pre-teen's glares and whining.

"Her handmaidens reported she went in a corsetted dress and her indoor slippers, your Highness."

The armored guards at the doorway to the study both coughed in a way that suspiciously sounded like laughter. The King sighed. "You may as well let it out, boys."

Laughter sounded, followed immediately by hurried apologies to the King.

King Brennus looked to the little bird on his shoulder. "Titus, please."

Eyes more intelligent than a common bird should have been looked up to King Brennus. One brown feathered wing spread partially out in front of the bird's body in what could only be described as an attempted bow, and with a piercing chirp and a pop of air, Titus the song bird vanished into thin air.

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Princess Eowyn grinned, feeling quite clever as she galloped the speedy little brown mare through the tall golden grass and fastly becoming firmer ground towards the snow peaked indigo hued mountain range. The stablehand and hunting aid she had roused in the early morning had been Marv, the youth in the stables that was "favored" towards her, and Sir Grislin-or as she nicknamed him, the fat, old, and slow.

When she had roused both of them before even the sun was up, her bag packed with enough essentials for the day for all three of them, Sir Grislin had been the one to look at her suspiciously. He had been particularly hesitant when she showed the long cuts in the skirts she had made to accommodate horse riding, and the loosened ribbons in the back to allow for her breathing, but had given in when she had pretended all her riding gear had been too dirty and was in the washing. With the sun not even being up, one would have to rouse the King or Queen to confirm what the Princess was insisting...and that simply wasn't appropriate. Princess Eowyn knew this-it was exactly why she had decided on the early hour. Stablehand Marv had simply been delighted she had picked him to go with, and the mousey boy's freckled cheeks had turned bright pink all the way to his ears.

Sir Grislin had at first insisted she ride the slowest mount of the bunch. She had nothing against the cute old black pony, but the princess also wanted BIG game to impress Father with. Big game was fast, so she would need a faster mount. Which is why when the three stopped for breakfast, quick as a bolt when Sir Grislin was cooking the eggs brought along Eowyn had bolted to the steed Marv had brought with-a speedy brown mare with a black mane and tail- and had urged the mare into a run. By the time the others had gotten onto their steeds, Eowyn was over a quarter of a mile away and heading straight into the "absolutely not" labeled hunting zone-the Beor Mountains, her trusty custom made cross bow in one hand, the reins in the other. She just wanted to go in a little bit, not far.