Cyrene
Remember this when you are king;
I moved the earth and the water for you.
—
“If he does not succumb to your charm, then he is not worth it.”
A shimmering smile touched upon Cyrene’s lips like dew as Florentine’s whispered tones reached her ears. She felt her queen’s gentle touch ghost over her skin like silk, drops of water dripping from her golden maw to glide softly along Cyrene’s crimson hide. With a sly glance towards the grim-faced soldier, the young emissary chuckled as she shot a rueful smirk towards the elven Florentine.
“Solterran men are as stubborn as they come,” she sighed dramatically, amber eyes flickering with amusement. Though, hidden amongst the lines of her smile was an edge of truth; for the soldier was not the first Solterran to withstand Cyrene’s unwavering efforts at conversation. The first one — he had softened. She was sure of it.
Yet each day, her confidence weathered like a stone against the tide.
With a firm shake of her head, the girl swept all thoughts of golden eyes and satin lips from her mind. She was not here for him. She was here for Terrastella as her newest emissary, and it was time to don the title as gracefully as Florentine wore hers.
As the two queens began to speak, Cyrene did her best to follow along. The names and events that hinted at a shared history between them, however brief, were reduced to a diluge of syllables that Cyrene pieced together as quickly as she could.
Maxence — the previous sovereign of Solterra, and according to Florentine (who had weathered her amber-eyed emissary’s barrage of questions most patiently) had been carried off by a monstrous creature called a Teryr. His bones had been found in the desert, pale and glinting amidst the sands. In the wake of such tragedy, the silver-haired emissary, Seraphina, had taken the throne.
Though, from the way the young queen spoke of the matter… it didn’t seem as if she’d had much say.
Avdotya — the Regent, yet apart from her occupation Cyrene knew little else. And she was not here to greet them either. The internal conflicts amongst the Day Court were not just rumors, then, if the relationship between the sovereign and her regent was so… lacking.
Amber eyes wandered to rest upon the noble countenance of Seraphina, skimming down to focus curiously on the silver band that wrapped tightly around her neck. The bloody history of the Day Court was not something that was easy to know of for anyone outside of its own walls; the atrocities of Viceroy, of Zolin, of the corrupt nobility — Cyrene was still painfully ignorant of just how much the citizens of Solterra had suffered.
“It is a pleasure, Cyrene. Neither of you need to be so formal; Seraphina is fine.”
“What a relief, then. I confess that I am not very suited to formalities anyways,” she replied with a light smile. Though, your guards do not look too happy at that, she thought, with a guarded glance towards the row of sentinels lined against the door.
It did not take much for Cyrene to see that Seraphina navigated alone through a court of treachery. Her admiration of the silver queen grew by the minute.
At Florentine’s teasing introduction, the emissary turned to laugh softly with a toss of auburn curls. “Ah, Flora, I assure you that I am not one to be easily traumatized," she said, with a brush of crimson shoulder against gold. "And in the presence of such noble queens, there can be little, if any, trouble that shall ensue,” she concluded with a nod, firm and knowing.
It was her attempt at assuring Seraphina that they had not come to add yet more antagonism to her already overflowing plate.
@Seraphina @Florentine | <3 such queens
Remember this when you are king;
I moved the earth and the water for you.
—
“If he does not succumb to your charm, then he is not worth it.”
A shimmering smile touched upon Cyrene’s lips like dew as Florentine’s whispered tones reached her ears. She felt her queen’s gentle touch ghost over her skin like silk, drops of water dripping from her golden maw to glide softly along Cyrene’s crimson hide. With a sly glance towards the grim-faced soldier, the young emissary chuckled as she shot a rueful smirk towards the elven Florentine.
“Solterran men are as stubborn as they come,” she sighed dramatically, amber eyes flickering with amusement. Though, hidden amongst the lines of her smile was an edge of truth; for the soldier was not the first Solterran to withstand Cyrene’s unwavering efforts at conversation. The first one — he had softened. She was sure of it.
Yet each day, her confidence weathered like a stone against the tide.
With a firm shake of her head, the girl swept all thoughts of golden eyes and satin lips from her mind. She was not here for him. She was here for Terrastella as her newest emissary, and it was time to don the title as gracefully as Florentine wore hers.
—
As the two queens began to speak, Cyrene did her best to follow along. The names and events that hinted at a shared history between them, however brief, were reduced to a diluge of syllables that Cyrene pieced together as quickly as she could.
Maxence — the previous sovereign of Solterra, and according to Florentine (who had weathered her amber-eyed emissary’s barrage of questions most patiently) had been carried off by a monstrous creature called a Teryr. His bones had been found in the desert, pale and glinting amidst the sands. In the wake of such tragedy, the silver-haired emissary, Seraphina, had taken the throne.
Though, from the way the young queen spoke of the matter… it didn’t seem as if she’d had much say.
Avdotya — the Regent, yet apart from her occupation Cyrene knew little else. And she was not here to greet them either. The internal conflicts amongst the Day Court were not just rumors, then, if the relationship between the sovereign and her regent was so… lacking.
Amber eyes wandered to rest upon the noble countenance of Seraphina, skimming down to focus curiously on the silver band that wrapped tightly around her neck. The bloody history of the Day Court was not something that was easy to know of for anyone outside of its own walls; the atrocities of Viceroy, of Zolin, of the corrupt nobility — Cyrene was still painfully ignorant of just how much the citizens of Solterra had suffered.
“It is a pleasure, Cyrene. Neither of you need to be so formal; Seraphina is fine.”
“What a relief, then. I confess that I am not very suited to formalities anyways,” she replied with a light smile. Though, your guards do not look too happy at that, she thought, with a guarded glance towards the row of sentinels lined against the door.
It did not take much for Cyrene to see that Seraphina navigated alone through a court of treachery. Her admiration of the silver queen grew by the minute.
At Florentine’s teasing introduction, the emissary turned to laugh softly with a toss of auburn curls. “Ah, Flora, I assure you that I am not one to be easily traumatized," she said, with a brush of crimson shoulder against gold. "And in the presence of such noble queens, there can be little, if any, trouble that shall ensue,” she concluded with a nod, firm and knowing.
It was her attempt at assuring Seraphina that they had not come to add yet more antagonism to her already overflowing plate.
@
