Eros

Crowned in Crimson - 45

As the sand shone red with twilight, Vanessa arrived at the mansion. It belonged to a distinguished noble that perished along with the rest of them when Julian usurped the throne. Built in an oasis in the midst of Veramor's desert, mere league away from Aurum, it was now used by the Overseers Julian assigned over the Warhawks.

Two men swathed in black clothes as a shield from the desert sun guarded the gate. The pikes in their hands rose ready as she approached. She flapped up a letter with Julian's red seal, and the two let her through without a second glance.

Palm trees towered at her sides, their tops sprouting green that was absent from her sight in the last couple of days. To her left was the unattended remains of a garden that once might've been a rival to the one in the palace. At the garden's center, saving its beauty and grace, was a large pool, glistening temptingly in the heat. She was surprised to find it empty. The Overseers should be praised for their discipline.

The road turned to the right, and she had to wave her letter before another pair of guards to be let into the mansion. Much like the palace, it was sandstone on the outside and marble on the inside.

"And who might you be?" A young man with the Veramorian bronzed skin, light hair, and sharp features approached her.

"Vanessa Warhawk." She flapped forth her letter. "A courier of his majesty."

The man furrowed his brow. "I doubt his highness gave such responsibility to a Warhawk girl."

"Yet here I am, carrying a letter with his sigil."

Anger flickered in his eyes. "I will have a look at that." He reached forth, and his fist closed on air as she withdrew.

"I need to see Evon Sandfist."

The ire washed off the young man's face as a smug smile smeared across it. "I am Evon Sandfist."

"Perfect." Vanessa smiled back at him, and flicked his shoulder with the letter. "Gather the Overseers for a briefing. The king's final orders are here."

-

Before her knee even touched the floor, the Bladeweaver gestured for her to rise.

"I offer my deepest condolences, Alora." He said. "And my sincerest apology. The Silverthorn tribe was an ally of Anerock. To my grief, we had no mean to foresee, or prepare for this sudden, unreasonable attack."

"Apologies aren't worth shit." The words hissed through Alora's lips before she could shut them. "The only reason Veramor had to attack us was the alliance made out of your desire to conquer. And our perishing was your failure at doing your part."

The silence to follow her outburst was thick with tension. Roxwell sat still in his throne and Alora glared daggers at him. James glanced between the two with tensed jaw.

"I have little to say in my defense." The Bladeweaver replied, grievous and composed. "You are correct in your accusation. I have failed to protect your tribe from a hostile realm. But what's done is done, the dead are dead. Neither my apologies, nor your anger, will bring them back."

"That's your answer, then?" Cold fury glinted like ice in the Alora's eyes. Her voice slit the air, quiet and sharp as a knife. "Our alliance was what brought the wrath of Veramor's maniac king upon us, you failed to live your part, and then you dismiss all responsibility with a half-a-copper worth an apology?"

"Alora!" James raised his voice. "Your anger is understandable, but you will speak to the King Unitor of Anerock with respect, or you won't speak at all."

"James," Roxwell raised his hand, waving away the matter. "I fear Miss' Silverthorn had simply misunderstood me. I apologized for my failure, because it was my duty to acknowledge it, not to dismiss the matter. Julian, or as you referred to him, the maniac king, will answer for this massacre. I will personally see it so."