ALEXANDRIA
I'm sick. I'm sick to death of the courts, of the dancing and the parties, of the tight smiles and tighter corsets, and of the people who wear them. Of this castle, the echoing stone and suffocating air, the whispers that dog my footsteps. I had this moment of clarity while sitting very still, for once, amidst a cloud of feathers that used to be my bedcovers after a particularly frustrating conversation with my father's secretary, watching the destroyed tufts float down to collect in fluffy piles around me. I could see my future stretching out endlessly into a dark void before me, the cycles of mornings and nights and years that would pass and leave me behind. This was fine, I knew it was. But the bile rising in my throat said otherwise. The problem is, there's no medicine for my sickness. Only a prolonging, painful continuation of my existence for a purpose yet to be named.
In other words, I am making my way through the slums for a purpose, far from the palace grounds. I came in search of entertainment, brief though it may be, but so far my search has been fruitless. Through my curtains I watch shadows duck out of sight at the approach of my royal escort, melting into doorways and alleys like rats fleeing from the catcher, taking with them my hopes of distractions from my own thoughts. I sigh and lean back, closing my eyes for a brief rest from the sight of mucky streets and muckier people. My name is Alexandria of the Royal House of Verbania, a title that strikes respect into those who hear it. Well, perhaps not my name, specifically, but the kingdom that my father inherited carries it's own weight within the territory. I will not inherit the kingdom, though not for lacking the male equipment, but I still enjoy the perks from time to often time. I spot a shadow still creeping around an alley corner and smile. Now is a good time to exercise those rights.
"Guards! Seize that onlooker and bring him to me!" I call out my window, watching disinterestedly as a brief scuffle ensued before the shadow resolved itself to a young girl covered in dirt kneeling before me. Leaning out my window to get a better look, I saw she couldn't have been more than eight or nine, probably just curious to see what all of the fuss was about on the street. My heart twitched painfully as I took in her disheveled appearance: tangled locks, smeared mud, broken fingernails, and beautiful blue eyes that shone out of the whole mess. Well of course she was a mess. This was the slums, after all. But behind that dirt... I felt my lips press into a thin line as my heart sank at the unmistakable scent. It would appear I had a momentary purpose once again. I leaned back into my litter and motioned for the guards to take her with us. She cried out when the guards grabbed her, raising such a ruckus that I began to interrupt when I saw him. He was not looking at me, but instead dedicating his full focus to slitting the throats of the guards who were holding the arms of the young girl, sending their blood spraying vertically like twin scarlet fountains in a sea of dirt and speckling their shiny armor in a lovely red pattern. He was just as disheveled as she was, but somehow he made it look purposeful. Greasy dark hair, tanned skin dotted with fresh blood, torn clothes and a rusted knife made him seem almost roguish, rather than homeless. His rough but lithe movements when he swept across the ground, with his teeth bared in a feral grimace, almost made me think we had been attacked by a wolf. But one wolf cannot fight off an army. There was a chorus of shouting as the guards swarmed him, the hum of magic filling the air as the mages immediately acted. A smile curled my lips as I waved my hand to the guards carrying my litter.
A soft thump was the indication I had been set down, and opening my door to step out, I saw that the mages had already secured the man and the young girl with binding chains of light. A brief glance confirmed that one of the other mages had already taken to healing the guard's throats. They would live. Turning my gaze back to my captives, I saw that the girl was sniffling quietly, but the man was struggling fiercely against his bonds. I could see that the mages were putting forth extra effort to keep him in place. Good, I suppose. I could use a fighter. I didn't mind the mud and filth as I made my way to him, standing a few feet back to observe his futile fight. He ceased for a moment and made eye contact with me, and I must admit my breath was stolen away for a few bare moments. His eyes were a cold blue, dark and deep like the mountain lakes and just as clear. But these eyes were full of hatred, and it was directed at me. This was fine. I could deal with hatred. I could not bear boredom.
