Of Comets and Crowns

From Riches to Dirt

Amber hated this tradition. He longed for his hair, once grown to his mid back and full of beautiful golden curls, now poorly hacked to his scalp and dying. He could almost feel it, his beauty slipping away, his charm. The only good thing about this arrangement was Bella.

Usually Heirs were not permitted their personal horses, but rather a stray, abandoned animal in general need of a good washing. But Amber had thrown such a fit over his steed that his father had practically foregone the rule all together.

Under him, Bella Rosa's thick muscles shifted heavily. Amber could tell by the force of her step that she was not happy like this. Her long, previously carefully maintained mane and tail were a mess, even with his frequent stops for brushing. And he had to brush it, otherwise it would tangle and collect dead leaves. It was especially bad in the mornings, when he woke and could tell she'd been nervously pawing a trench in the dirt for hours.

His cloak was another good thing. He'd had it made by his tailor before he left, and snuck it with him in place of the dirty brown one his father had tried to give him. That scrap he'd left in the yard, waiting to be trampled by the groundsmen.

His new cloak was thick and warm, a deep mahogany color that held a good amount of pockets. It was lined with sheepskin and wool, and the sleeves he'd had put in under the draping body had wool lined cuffs. It was an expensive coat, and very good. He wouldn't need it as much when summer came, but he had no intention of staying out here in the wilds of Erast for long.

When he was a child, the Game had seemed exciting. Carving his own path in the sand and finding his other half in the greater world. And then his mother died, and he had to look after his little sister, father so ensnared in grief. And then came Kethrine.

Kethrine was the eldest prince of Calta, and looked the part. Thin and small, with paper white skin, long obsidian hair, and expressive emerald green eyes. He went on his Game three years before Amber's now (Erast had always started their Games later than the other kingdoms), and had returned a year later, with a pretty Caltan woman who he cared nothing for. He and Amber had been friends since the latter's first Winter Ball in Calta's frozen kingdom. An event held once every five years for the solstice of the Ancient's calendar.

Kethrine's parents did not love each other, his mother had been an Heir. In her time it was his father who had set his life upon finding her once she left for her Game. It is unfortunately common for Heirs to find many people along their journey who want nothing but to exploit the Game and cheat their way into palace life, and so the rules were changed.

Few (if any) portraits were allowed to be made of young Heirs. After their 8th birthday it was forbidden altogether. The younglings are removed from social events, and when required to make an appearance they are to sit behind a partition, a curtain that is usually made of a silk that only they themselves are able to see though, on account of their being concealed by it. If the appearance is less formal and not in an audience, they are to hover farther from the people and dawn traditional Heir's garments. Long floor length concealing robes of fine cloth or silk, usually heavily embroidered or painted, and completed with a jeweled headdress with more concealing fabric. All of which effectively hides the Heirs true appearance and mannerisms from the public before the Game.

Furthermore, their personal servants are hand picked and sworn to secrecy, and never more than ten total. If need be they will be replaced, but those who have served will always remain in their respective palace for close watch, out of a worry they may divulge information.

When preparing to leave, the Heirs' animals will be traded out for poor ones, their hair would be cut, and scars were either hidden or recut to ensure secrecy. Amber had been lucky with his own. He had been mauled when he was younger, younger than when he had first met Kethrine, and no one but his staff had ever seen the injuries. It would not matter if they were made worse, the ragged edges maring his chest deep and risen, even now, many years later.