Fyra (First Draft)

Fourteen

As the song ended, and that finite forever came to a close, Fyra knew something was amiss. There was an underlying tension snaking through the room. She couldn't place what, but something felt off, out of balance.

Cirian grinned at her, and she smiled right back, ignoring the uneasiness that gnawed at the back of her mind.

Fyra noticed a woman in violet striding towards them. The queen. Fyra's heart pounded, and she struggled not to look at the floor. What Fyra had heard about the queen would have lead her to believe that her shallow nature would lead to blind hatred of foreigners and sorcerers, but the woman before her was anything but shallow or ignorant.

She wore her finery like weapons, her dark, focused eyes shining with intelligence. "Good evening, Cirian, would you like to introduce me to your friend?" Her voice was like silk, cultured without giving off arrogance or scorn.

Cirian muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "not really," but Fyra spoke up before he had a chance to say anything else.

"Fyra, Your Grace." She curtsied.

"Cirian has mentioned your...friendship, and I thought it would be nice to meet you."

Fyra's eyes widened and her face reddened in mortification, despite her frantic mind screaming that the queen had only meant friendship. They were only friends, after all.

But what had Cirian told her? The way the Queen had said "friendship" sounded almost as if she suspected there was something more.

Wishful thinking on your part, a voice hissed in her head.

Fyra banished her thoughts before wild assumptions could surface, or the snarky side of her could get another silent snap in.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness." Fyra said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"And you." The Queen replied.

Cirian stood by Fyra, shifting from one foot to another. The Queen smiled at him. "Cirian, do go dance with one of your many admirers," she said, inclining her head to some of the ladies glaring in their direction. "I would like to have a word with Fyra."

Fyra swallowed the frog that had just climbed into her throat. Cirian scowled, but did as Isabella asked.

"Come this way," The Queen said, nodding her head to one of the vacant corners.

Fyra followed, stomach still lurching at the thought of a conversation. What would it be about?

Her mind raced, playing numerous scenes in her head, all of which were ludicrous. Whenever Fyra grew nervous, her mind seemed to conjure up unlikely situations at an alarming rate.

When they reached the remote corner, Isabella smiled at her, and tension flowed off her shoulders.

"I'm sorry I had to send Cirian off. Sometimes he can be...difficult around me." The Queen looked tired, but her gaze was locked on Cirian, and the love in her eyes was unmistakable. How Cirian couldn't see that, Fyra didn't know. "He misses the memory of his real mother."

The queen spoke not with bitterness, as Fyra might expect, but with a sort of sadness, or regret that she couldn't be the mother Cirian wanted.

"I understand..." Fyra's voice trailed off, and she wondered if she should say what had come to mind. "I lost my mother...and from what I can tell...there isn't anything like your mother...but I can see you love him."

The queens eyes filled with gratitude that didn't need to be spoken aloud, but nonetheless, the queen spoke, her voice almost a whisper. "That's all I want. For him to know I only want to better him." In that moment, Isabella looked more fragile that Fyra ever imagined a queen could be.