A Tale of Crowns and Stars

Plates & Arrows

      Cyra sat beneath the watchful eye Bilka in the Grand Hall, merely a statue as women bustled around her, obeying the barks of the Queen. Readying the palace for the impending party had been pushed to the back of Cyra's mind, her life now revolving around Halewijn's words after she revealed her secret to him:

     "I'm going to have to kill my own father."

      She had protested at the thought of more death and destruction, but Halewijn simply explained there was no other way for him to fulfill his duty. His father wouldn't let him live if he spared him anyways, and there would be no coming back from that. The easiest way to right the wrong was to kill the High King and restore balance to the scales. Cyra disagreed vehemently, pleading with him to find another way, and he agreed, saying he'd try. But he added that there were no guarantees of anything.

      So he spent his days in the vast palace library, looking for some way to right the wrong without killing his father and preventing the wrath of his gods. Their gods.

      As soon as the gods flitted into her mind, two manservants carried in a large marble statue of the Goddess of Love and Fertility, her buxom body and long flowing hair captured in stillness. Cyra focused her attention on the visual, observing every crevice and chip in the white statue.

      The goddess Ghiana observed the ceiling with open white eyes, her full lips turned up in a half-smile. She held various flowers at her enormous chest, her breasts barely covered by her flowing dress, the two carved pieces of fabric draping down into a 'V' that stopped right above her belly button. Below that, a long scrap of cloth dangled between her legs - supple and inviting - and her feet remained bare against the base, which was a patch of grass. Cyra didn't realize she was scowling at the image until she turned back to face the woman who shoved different plates in front of her.

      "Blue and silver, blue and gold, blue and white." A choice, Cyra realized, she had to make.

      "I don't like these." She stated simply, folding her hands back into her lap. Her mother huffed and muttered,

      "We can't have our guests eat off of the tables, Cyra."

      "Where are the other options?" The woman, flustered, pulled out two other plates from her picnic basket, laying them beside the others.

      "These were not recommended, but I brought them anyway..."

      "You were wise to do so." Cyra chimed in, peering at the selection. A golden plate with black accents gleamed back at her, polished so finely that she could see the sparkle in her amber eyes. The other one, a black plate with silver accents, caught her eye. The silver swirls reminded her of galaxies she had stared into while adventuring in the mountains of the Southern court. "This one." Cyra handed the woman the plate full of starshine and sat back in her seat. Her mother balked. The idea of anything black at a wedding party... The Queen shook her head at the thought.

      "It's what I want." Cyra rebutted, and Bilka retorted,

      "But is it what Halewijn wants?"

      "Why don't you ask him yourself?" The High Prince descended the staircase in front of the Great Hall, a green book in his hands. He wore a short, long-sleeved midnight black tunic, covered by a sash of navy blue fabric that went from his left shoulder to his right hip. This was paired with black trousers and black Persian boots, which seemed to be a staple in his closet.

      "Good idea." Bilka beckoned him over, hanging onto his arm as he approached the table of empty plates, smiling, and mentioning how his taste would be the deciding factor for the tableware for the engagement party. "Your bride says she wants this-" Bilka flung a hand at the silver and black plate. "-instead of considering the others here." Cyra looked up at Halewijn from beneath her brows with a gaze that seemed to say, "Please just pick one and go. I can't take this anymore." He gave her a swift nod.