Golden Raven [ACOTAR]

Chapter Two

Hands shook her from her slumber. Lyra hazily gazed at the face of her twin sister, Demetria , the morning sunlight made her hair glisten like fresh snow. She was so beautiful, everyone thought so, a perfect copy of her mother.

"Wake up, we've been called for breakfast. How did you sleep?"

Lyra heaved her exhausted limbs from the bed and grasped at the nearest clothing she could find. She knew she would be late if it were not for her sister, she never had a handmaiden unlike Demetria, though she never knew why.

"Fine" she murmured. Lying was easier, how could she explain the haunting nights she endured to anyone, especially Demetria, as if she would understand.

                                ~*~

They headed down for breakfast, Demetria babbling about her plans for the day, completely unaware of the hushed whispers that followed in their direction.

"She's a bastard, there's no other explanation for it"

"She's nothing like Demetria, or their mother"

It had always been a talking point, the differences between them both.  Demetria, a beauty to behold, with her piercing blue eyes, skin as white as milk and perfectly plaited blonde hair, captured the attention of all and then there was Lyra. Her raven black hair hung messily over her shoulders, her skin that was permanently tan and her dark, hollow eyes made her but a shadow in her sisters presence. They weaved through the crowded halls of the palace, passing grand arching doorways, admiring the crystal chandeliers that cascaded from the high ceilings like icicles. Everything seemed to have a blue tint, a cold feeling, it didn't feel like a home. At least not to Lyra. Demetria's numerous paintings adorned the palace walls, visions of icy landscapes, put there by her court with pride for all to enjoy. Unlike her sister, there was not a trace of Lyra in the palace, she favoured training alone in the wooded gardens , practising using a blade she had found, not that she'd ever get to use it. Girls didn't fight. At least that's what their father had said. Girls painted, danced and knitted, just like Demetria.

They arrived in the vast dining hall, their parents and Lyra's betrothed already seated at a central table. She wanted to turn around and run, only Demetria's grip on her arm guided her over. Their father, General Olwen, tutted in disgust when he saw Lyra's unkept hair and stained dress. This marriage was his idea. A way to get rid of his problem child, and build relations. He smiled at Demetria, his pride in her radiating almost as bright as the candles that lit the room. She too was engaged, but made no fuss unlike Lyra. Taking a seat next to Aubin, Lyra's eyes flickered from man to man assessing Aubin's four man entourage who accompanied him everywhere. He looked over at her.

"Glad to see you made an effort for me ", his pale face sneering.

His companions laughed, shovelling fruits and bread onto their plates. Sarcastic prick, she thought to herself. He only agreed to marry her to access her fathers wealth and status. He didn't care about her, nor her for him. A loveless engagement. Silently, she turned over the food on her plate, any appetite she had was gone. This would be her life, trapped, like in a nightmare.

Being 80 years old, her life barely begun, she's only experienced life mainly during Amarantha's tyrannical reign. Lyra has never even left the Winter Court; spending her days reading about the world, dreaming of the day when the words on the page come alive. She dreamt of feeling the sand between her toes and the sting in her nose from the salty sea in The Summer Court; or the warm morning sun beaming down on her face with the sweet aroma of flowers in the air in The Spring Court. She dreamt of freedom, not these icicle chains.

With Winter Court shut off from the rest of Prythian, there wasn't much importance on marriage, there was no desire to bring children into the solitary walls of grief and despair. However, in those two dreadful years after Feyre The Cursebreaker saved Prythian Under The Mountain, Lyra found herself suddenly engaged to the arrogant son of High Lord Kallias's second in command, Aubin. Just like that, Lyra has never wanted to kill a man more.

Silently playing with her food, she blocks out the tedious conversations at the table.

"The peace settlement with The Night Court is a challenging process".

"I bet Eris will be High Lord of the Autumn Court by winter solstice".

Staring at her plate, the conversation quickly turns to white noise in Lyra's ears. She starts to think of a history book she read, in her lonely childhood, about The Night Court and the dark mysteries that surround it. For some reason she's always been drawn to it-

"Do you remember what he did to that whore in The Night Court? Deserved every second of it if you ask me".

This caught Lyra's attention. Morrigan the Truthteller, a legend amongst the Courts, was in the exact position that Lyra is in. Being suffocated by the bonds of marriage, tightening its hold everyday. Morrigan took her chance to escape and was brutally hurt as a consequence, left to die.

She looks up at Aubin, his potentially beautiful face ruined by his permanent sneer. He glances at Lyra, his slicked back hair greasy against the early morning sun, knowing he's hit a very personal nerve. Daring her to defy him. Balling her fists, she indulges him.

"You better be careful no one does that to you, my love. Wouldn't want to start a pattern of engagements ending that way", Lyra chimed innocently, her eyes blazing with promise.

She was terrified but willed herself not to show it. She would not let Aubin win, her nails pressed into her palms to stop her shaking. Her eyes piercing into his in defiance. After what felt hours passed, Aubin narrowed his feline eyes and scoffed at Lyra. As if she was nothing but a bad joke.

The rest of breakfast was very tense; Demetria changing the conversation about a painting commission and with Olwen holding his cutlery a bit too tight, moulding the innocent knife and fork to his fingers in red rage at the scene he just witnessed before him.

"Oh yes! I still can't decide between the silver gown or the forest green one for tonight" Demetria sighed, as we started to make our way to leave the table.

For fuck sake. Forgot about the bloody ball Lyra thought, her finger nails sinking even deeper into her poor palms, the pain steadying her thoughts.

The dreaded coronation ball this evening. Celebrating Viviane's newly appointed title as High Lady of The Winter Court, the second ever in the history of Prythian. Of course it is going to be the grandest ball The Winter Court has ever thrown, which is the exact reason why Lyra plans to not go. The idea of fun, to Lyra, doesn't really involve standing in a corner of a criminally sparkling ball room with pompous pricks, only having chilled wine and chunks of chocolate for company. A sea of white hair drowning her, Cauldron save her, they all looked the bloody same. All the while her beloved sister twirls around having a marvellous bloody time with her clique, who spend half the night mentally undressing Aubin's group of arrogant aristocrats. Oh how she'd love to show arsehole Aubin a night of his life, with him broken nosed, few teeth missing, maybe a couple of broken ribs for good luck.

Suddenly, she is ripped from her daydream.

"Lyra, get changed into something appropriate and come to my office. We need to have a talk", Olwen said in a low voice. His lips thinned, brow creased with tension and his eyes, so pale they looked translucent, burning with pure fury.

Lyra knew that tone all too well. She stalked back to her room, enjoying the seconds she had left to live.