A Tale of Crowns and Stars

Carriages & Towers

      As inviting as it seemed, the cushioned carriage now felt like a cage as Cyra and Mirabel stepped inside. The sinking feeling in her stomach wouldn't go away, growing worse with each passing second as the servants packed her luggage away.

      Waking up in Halewijn's arms had been peaceful, the images of the night before replaying in her mind as the warm High Prince held her close. The only thing that propelled her out of bed was the sound of Mirabel nearly kicking down the door, barging into the room with little formality.

      "High Prince! Have you seen--" Cyra sat up, still naked with her curly hair sticking out at all angles. "I knew it." Mirabel squinted her eyes at the two, placing her hands on her hips. "Too eager to wait, huh?" Halewijn cracked open an eye and rolled it, making Cyra laugh heartily. Then she departed his side to prepare for their trip to the High Court.

      Now Cyra sat in the seats, worried for herself and her fiance, who hugged Aethelwulf and Smyrna as he came out of the palace. Eres and Idria bid them goodbye earlier, departing in their own carriage with promises of attending the wedding in a few months. Her mother and father would remain at the Southern Court for a few days before traveling back home until the week of the wedding, joined by Eres and Idria.

      Halewijn jogged down the steps and approached the carriage, dressed in his most delicate gold silk tunic and coat. The High Prince wore black Persian boots with intricate golden laurels stitched into them, but the grandeur of his attire didn't strike Cyra as much as the expression of deep thought on his face. The Princess pushed open the window, and Hal smiled up at her, shaking off the thoughts in his head.

      "We will be ahead of you." He stated simply, nodding toward Wyndemere and Alorha. "Don't worry." The advice fell on deaf ears, though, as Cyra couldn't stop thinking about all of the horrible things that might befall them at the High Court. As if Hal could read her mind, he stretched a hand up to her face and whispered, "Don't fret, my love. I will never leave your side." Hal took Cyra's hand and kissed it firmly. "I love you."

      "I love you, too," Cyra replied, and Halewijn grinned again before stepping down and out of sight.

~~~~~~~

      Nine hours.

      That was how long Cyra had before she would meet Omar again.

      Nine hours to become acquainted with the thought of shoving the dagger into his chest if need be.

      Nine hours to plan her future should she commit High Treason.

      She stayed awake the entire time, ignoring the landscape passing by, ignoring the songs of the men riding horses up ahead, ignoring the laughter and chatter... Only thinking about Omar's face and his expression if she had to murder him. How would Halewijn react? The thought came to her suddenly, like a slap in the face from an unseen hand.

      How would he react if she swept his plan out from underneath him and committed a crime against his flesh and blood? Would Halewijn demand a divorce due to her secrecy? Or would he command that she pay the price for crimes with her own life upon receiving the crown? Cyra's thoughts swirled around in her head like tornados; she was so deep in her own mind that she didn't notice when the horses stopped; when Halewijn dismounted - tossing a playful insult to Alorha - or when he opened the door and called her name jovially and when Mirabel echoed him.

      It was only when Hal grabbed her wrist that she realized he had been standing there, speaking in an increasingly worried tone. When Cyra turned to look into his eyes, she noticed the worry and concern - and another emotion she couldn't quite identify - etched into the golden orbs. "Mirabel, step out." The lady hurried to follow the High Prince's commands, and he climbed into the carriage, shutting the metal door behind him. "Talk to me."