Fyra (First Draft)

Twelve

The thief in a ballgown held her head high. Music echoed through the halls and through her heart. It weaved its way into the deepest cracks of her soul, filling them with gentle notes. Hands steady and eyes forward, Fyra gathered her resolve.

She stepped under the golden arch marking the entrance to the ballroom, not daring to scan the crown for anyone she may recognize.

The eyes of society pierced her like knives, making her feel clumsy and fake. The golden pins in her hair dug into her scalp, and suddenly her dress felt as heavy as a horse. Yet she did not falter.

Tonight, she would startle the gods themselves with her act.

•••

Whispers filled the grandiose halls as a woman in gold descended the marble staircase at the center of the room. Continuing their dancing and twittering about, the nobles of Aceria pondered the identity of the person who was not known in court, but held herself in such a regal manner.

Her freckled skin and fiery hair marked her as a foreigner. A Malorian foreigner. Scattered people around the room scowled and wrinkled their noses in distaste.

Maloria, the once prosperous kingdom that lay to the west of Aceria, was looked down upon in the upper circles of Aceria. Acerians scorned the magic that was once so common in the Malorian court.

Before Maloria's downfall, many noble women married into Acerian families. This mysterious girl was probably only half Malorian.

The nobles who had scowled in distain smirked as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Her dignified calm would surely crack under the pressure of court.

•••

Athan scowled as she entered the room. The girl who thought she knew him. The girl he wished knew him.

She moved with a feline grace, both deadly and intoxicating. Though it hadn't been long since he had last spoken to her, she looked older, more weary. The weight he knew she bore was pressing on her harder than ever.

Her facade was impressive, but to anyone who knew her as he did, it was easy to see that the ever present fire in her eyes flickered with a mild discontentment. He swallowed the guilt that consumed him every time he thought of her face.

He would not feel guilty for things beyond his control.

•••

The prince allowed himself a small smile as she entered the room. She did not meet his eyes, but his heart swelled. She was here.

Even though her conversations with him during the past week had been strained, even though she seemed distressed about something she wouldn't name. Even after he had made a complete and utter fool of himself in front of her. She still came.

She was beautiful, though somehow this polished beauty couldn't compare to her usual wildness. The hair that he was used to seeing unbound and untamed was sleek and pulled back, making her look older, more mature.

Her eyes were calm and collected, but there was something he couldn't discern beneath the surface.

•••

A shadow flickered across Lily's elegant features. While the the red-haired sorceress looked drastically different in somewhat socially acceptable clothes, she would recognize the twit anywhere.

Her calm demeanor was absolutely infuriating. Lily tensed as she realized that could feel the faint tug of magic from her direction. Disgusting, pure, light magic.

They were connected.

Every being, magical or non, left behind echoes of themselves on things or people that they interacted with in an emotional way. The connection appears in the form of a very very faint line of energy. When one uses their gifts on or with another person who also has any magical affinity, their stings of power intertwine ever so slightly.

Few could see the lines, but those with even a touch of magic could feel their pull. Every line was activated from the energy produced by brain activity caused by strong emotion. Even non-gifted connected with things of sentimental value, or with people they loved.

If Lily could feel the tug from Fyra, Fyra may be able to feel her tug.

And that was a major problem.

•••

Queen Isabella set her cool gaze on the "special guest" her stepson had brought to court. Cirian spoke fondly of her, though insisted they were only friends.

Perhaps it was because they had known each other for such little time, but both Cirian and the girl called Fyra had both been too stubborn to acknowledge the bond between them so far. But Isabella had seen the look in his eyes when he spoke of her, and the way the tips of his ears reddened at the thought of them having more than friendship.

It warmed her heart to think that the boy who may as well been her own son finding love. Love was so overlooked in court, and no one realized just how important it could be, especially to young leaders. Love made each person better for having met each other, and lightened the weight that crushed every person born with responsibility.

She had been in love once.

•••

A/N: This chapter killed me! I had to add a bunch of atrocities to my Reject Chapter. When I write something I hate, sounds awkward, changed, or just chopped out, I save it and add it to my "Reject Chapter". I may publish that just for fun when the book is finished. :)

Did you like the way this chapter was laid out? Should I do Fyra's entrance from one perspective? Was it confusing?

Thanks for all of your votes and comments, they are super uplifting and amazing!

Please leave any thoughts, questions, or corrections! Love you all! <3

Ps: I drew that picture. What do you think? :)