A Tale Of Queens

Her

Beautiful.

This was the only way Jyaret could describe Sa-Alti.

Her face was beautiful. Her voice was beautiful. Her mind was beautiful.

He did not know when he had started to feel this way, when he had started to notice the smallest things about her. Maybe from the very first time he caught her gawking at him. Or when they were stuck together in that carriage, sharing the same air. Or when they snuck out of the palace that night, and she took his hand and forgot to let go long after they'd reached their destination.

He did not know.

All he knew was that when she looked up at him with those gorgeous eyes of hers, his heart would not stop pounding. And when she spoke, he could not help but pay attention because the sound of her voice alone was hypnotizing.

All of a sudden, he found himself wanting to kiss her and hold her and be hers.

He wondered what she would think if he went to her room this moment and poured out all these feelings to her.

She'd probably be scared, he wryly concluded.

He knew she did not have the best impression of him. And it was all his fault. He tended to have that effect on people. He could not blame them because he did come off as rude and arrogant half the time. And this had never bothered him. However, for the first time in his life, he desperately wanted someone to not see him in that light.

He sighed.

And even if by miracle, she felt the same way, how would they make it work? She was a Queen. And although he was from a royal family, their statuses did not quite match. Were royals even allowed to have relationships with foreigners? Then there was that mother of hers, who he could tell, detested him. Well, it no skin off his nose. He detested her  too. Sa-Alti had told him all about Vileytna and her husband and he found her to be a despicable person. She'd seemed partly disappointed in and partly defensive of her mother.

He wondered what the people of Khelet would say if they knew what their precious Alti had done to her own daughter.

He sighed again.

Lalena, help me.

If someone had told him that oneday, he would be praying to Lalena, the Yrsan goddess of love, he would have laughed in their face. He'd never considered her to be his goddess. The idea of love had never fascinated him.

Asenuo was his chosen god; the god of song and poetry. Many people did not know this about him. They often associated him with the god of battle because of his prowess with the sword. However, he loved to sing when he was alone, far from the ears of others. He found it calming. And it was the best way for him to express himself. He'd found solace in doing it as a child, when his parents would travel, leaving him unattended for lengthy periods of time with servants and tutors. With his grandparents having no choice but to take him in. They had practically raised him.

He had been a very angry and moody child. With the help of singing and swordfighting to release all that rage, he was now just a very moody man.

Lalena, is this you punishing me for all the years I ignored you? Please forgive this fool. I will worship at your temple forever. I will sing your praises. Just remove what I am beginning to feel for this girl from my heart. I cannot handle it. Nothing can ever come from this.

Please...