'ᴡᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴᴛɪᴍᴇɴᴛ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ.'
Only one month has passed in Daliah Viper's life trying to reintegrate at court and follow the uneasy trails her eyes have caught.
One month filled with blood, tribulations, and l...
-to decide upon (the time or date for an event) usually from a position of authority
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I don't stop thinking about Maven's face and his gifted words the next day. It pesters me like the cramps. It's like I have been cracked in the jaw again. My neck hurts, my body is tense, but what is new. It means at least I feel my body. The unpleasant alternative would be falling through the cracks again and losing it.
My father doesn't even come down for breakfast. The study is mine this morning.
The papers have named me a while ago, and I may represent us all partially when I sit through meetings, but with my father on the backseat, I truly have to sink into leading. I lead on the field and I lead now, in this moment of taking a short, at least partial break, from leading outside in the pack of dogs. Until new orders arrive.
I demanded respect all my life. Now I finally get to have a taste of what the worst and the best parts of leading alone are.
The first time I sit down in the study, I take my time.
I am scared, scared someone will take this away. And the moment the fear hits my system in cold sweat, I want to slap myself.
I made it this far.
No.
I will not be replaced or disappear.
I breathe in the scents of the animals and the dust around me. The birds all have their own distinctive sound and smell, and the dogs patrolling around have left traces along with the fur shed on their pillows.
My fingers slowly trace the lines of the chair, the intricate details, the high back, the sigil. It's cold now, still, because no one has bothered to close the windows overnight.
My fingers find scratches in the polished, dark wood. It's smooth even in the imperfections and scars. It's like feeling the lines etched into my face. Familiar and still strange.
Reddish veins seem to creep through the dark, but the silver inlays overshadow the almost mahogany tint. As always, expensive over anything else.
I sink into the harsh cushion. Lean my head against the back.
The wood becomes a part of me. Figuratively, of course. And just for a moment, I recount the lines of people that have sat in it before me. The names rake beneath my closed eyelids. Unsurprisingly, many years of Vipers have brought up the best and the worst in our family, and rarely names are remembered if you haven't gone down in a blaze of glory or committed the worst crimes. Since Norta has no religion except power and silver blood, I make my predecessors my guides, just for a moment, trying to imagine that maybe one day, someone will think of my name the same way.
I take a deep breath and inhale a cloud of smoke and musk streaming from the backyard and the high chimneys into the morning air and the creaks into the cold room.
