A Tale of Crowns and Stars

The Golden Tower

Cyra sat alone in the guest room, holding her knees to her chest. Halewijn had not spoken to her since storming out that afternoon, and Wyndemere claimed he was "much too busy" to visit with her. Mirabel sat in the corner of the room, composing a letter to the Lord she wooed during her time at Yul, but other than her lady-in-waiting, it seemed no one wanted to be bothered with her.

"And rightfully so." She thought to herself, staring at the golden dagger on her nightstand. Why hadn't the blade done its magic and protected her when she needed it most? What prevented it from keeping her safe in her hour of need? Cyra scowled when she thought of Armantha stumbling upon her predicament and unleashing the arrow that killed the assailant. But then again... if Armantha hadn't been nosey enough to stalk after her hooded assaulter, what would've happened? She could've ended up dead, or worse.

Mirabel stood from the writing desk and slid the letter into an envelope.

"That Lord is lucky to have such a dedicated writer." Cyra teased, and Mirabel looked over her shoulder with a wide smile.

"I know. Lord Baylar told me in our last letter that he wants me to meet his wife. Isn't that incredible?" Cyra frowned briefly, then a wave of understanding smoothed out over her face.

"I think that's great. So... you'll be the third in the little group?"

"Well, that's if I like the wi-" The door to Cyra's room opened, and Mirabel dropped the letter onto the desk, staring at the person who entered. "What do you want?"

Armantha strode sultrily into the room, wearing a black gown and holding a fur blanket under her right arm. She looked at her lady-in-waiting with amusement, red lips lifting up in a half-smile, before turning to Cyra without a word.

"I came to see how you were getting along. I heard that you and the High Prince got into it."

"If you're wondering if our secret is still safe, then yes, Armantha. I haven't told Halewijn a thing about what happened." Cyra huffed, pulling the sleeves of her robe down to her wrists to fight off the sudden chill that came over her.

"Not my main concern, but alright. Fair enough." Armantha spared another glance at Mirabel, this time letting her eyes rove over the lady-in-waiting's figure before chuckling. "I'm off to go to the theatre with Omar; maybe I'll glean some information about the inner workings of the High Council while there. Do make sure you put your leg in a raised position while you sleep." Cyra rolled her eyes at the woman, who turned about. "Oh, and Mirabel, was it?" The red-head curiously looked up at the luxurious auburn-haired female. "Lady Baylar doesn't really approve of the extramarital affairs her husband carries on with other women. But I'm sure if you had the composition of a man around your age, she'd be less inclined to protest." Mirabel turned to Cyra with an open mouth and wide eyes, shocked at the level of insight and callousness Armantha showed.

"Armantha!" Cyra called after her, but the woman shrugged and swept out of the room, laughing devilishly. 

~~~~~

 A damp cave, a flicker of light.

Emptiness and hollow sounds echoed around Cyra as she scrambled up to a seated position. A drumbeat began, not too far off.

"A sacrifice!" A voice called into the cave, and the noise echoed in her ears, rattling her eardrums. Shackles appeared on her wrists without warning. It didn't take long for her to figure out that she was the sacrifice; she was the live offering to the gods. Cold hands grabbed her shoulders, her ankles and dragged her out of the cave. A feeling of regret haunted her, settling into her belly with a thickness. There was no going back now.