Cyrene
Remember this when you are king;
I moved the earth and the water for you.
—
Relief welled within Cyrene's amber eyes as Dusk’s procession marched through the sun-soaked streets of Solterra. Days and nights of endless travel, and she was about to drop upon the nearest flat surface and sleep for a lifetime.
But they were close now. Just an hour ago, a troupe of mail-clad guards had awaited them like statues as they’d emerged, parched and exhausted, from the dunes of the Mors. No doubt sent by Seraphina, the newly crowned queen, to escort the travel-worn Terrastellans to the castle. Aside from the few words of thanks exchanged when they were handed skins full of sweet, sweet water, a suffocating silence had blanketed the group ever since as the stiff Solterran guards kept their replies to nods and single syllables.
Not that it had kept Cyrene from trying. She had pitched question after question to the disgruntled guard at her left as they walked, eliciting the chuckles of Florentine’s own soldiers. Yet to the young Emissary’s immense disappointment, the Solterran warrior had remained stubbornly silent as a thin smile stretched ever tighter across his lips. Eventually, she had left him alone with a sullen pout.
Even Florentine is too far ahead for me to talk to. Sighing, the girl settled for gazing solemnly at the shimmering horizon beyond. An expanse of white marble rippled upon golden sand like a mirage, its shifting form as hazy as a dream. It disoriented her, how everything seemed to shimmer with an unearthly quality. From the heat, from her thirst. The desert was a smoking dragon with Solterra as its beating heart, thought Cyrene, as she brushed the sand from her stinging eyes.
Yet what bothered her the most, were the hooded eyes that trailed them like shadows as they passed. It had been too long since Terrastellans had walked alongside Solis’ children, too long since an effort at diplomacy had been attempted. Dusk and Day had never been completely amicable, Cyrene knew – but she also suspected that amicable was a word the hot-blooded Solterrans knew little of.
A cool rush of air kissed her scorched skin like a blessing as the guards led them under a dome of sparkling ivory. The very same ivory as the castle – for at last, they'd arrived. She gazed wide-eyed at a courtyard of green grass (she tried to linger there, until the very same guard fixed a pointed glare at her dawdling), a fountain of crystalline blue. The citadel was far more opulent than she'd expected, perhaps more than Terrastella’s own ivy-strewn towers.
Somewhere, the procession had separated into two. Cyrene had been too absorbed in examining the finery that coated each room from floor to ceiling to notice. Now, only two of their own soldiers remained alongside Florentine and her. And instead of foot soldiers, men in much finer armor marched besides them, emblems of their respective houses emblazoned upon their gilded chests.
Deeper and deeper into the opulent halls they were ushered, until – a flash of silver hair – they were greeted by none other than the pale-eyed Sovereign herself.
“Queen Seraphina,” Cyrene murmured, dropping into a bow she had practiced for three sleepless nights. “A pleasure to meet you.” As she greeted the equally young Sovereign with a soft smile, eyes of tawny amber glanced towards Florentine’s golden curls as she stepped nimbly to the side.
This was a meeting between queens, after all.
@Seraphina @Florentine | let the storm come >)
Remember this when you are king;
I moved the earth and the water for you.
—
Relief welled within Cyrene's amber eyes as Dusk’s procession marched through the sun-soaked streets of Solterra. Days and nights of endless travel, and she was about to drop upon the nearest flat surface and sleep for a lifetime.
But they were close now. Just an hour ago, a troupe of mail-clad guards had awaited them like statues as they’d emerged, parched and exhausted, from the dunes of the Mors. No doubt sent by Seraphina, the newly crowned queen, to escort the travel-worn Terrastellans to the castle. Aside from the few words of thanks exchanged when they were handed skins full of sweet, sweet water, a suffocating silence had blanketed the group ever since as the stiff Solterran guards kept their replies to nods and single syllables.
Not that it had kept Cyrene from trying. She had pitched question after question to the disgruntled guard at her left as they walked, eliciting the chuckles of Florentine’s own soldiers. Yet to the young Emissary’s immense disappointment, the Solterran warrior had remained stubbornly silent as a thin smile stretched ever tighter across his lips. Eventually, she had left him alone with a sullen pout.
Even Florentine is too far ahead for me to talk to. Sighing, the girl settled for gazing solemnly at the shimmering horizon beyond. An expanse of white marble rippled upon golden sand like a mirage, its shifting form as hazy as a dream. It disoriented her, how everything seemed to shimmer with an unearthly quality. From the heat, from her thirst. The desert was a smoking dragon with Solterra as its beating heart, thought Cyrene, as she brushed the sand from her stinging eyes.
Yet what bothered her the most, were the hooded eyes that trailed them like shadows as they passed. It had been too long since Terrastellans had walked alongside Solis’ children, too long since an effort at diplomacy had been attempted. Dusk and Day had never been completely amicable, Cyrene knew – but she also suspected that amicable was a word the hot-blooded Solterrans knew little of.
A cool rush of air kissed her scorched skin like a blessing as the guards led them under a dome of sparkling ivory. The very same ivory as the castle – for at last, they'd arrived. She gazed wide-eyed at a courtyard of green grass (she tried to linger there, until the very same guard fixed a pointed glare at her dawdling), a fountain of crystalline blue. The citadel was far more opulent than she'd expected, perhaps more than Terrastella’s own ivy-strewn towers.
Somewhere, the procession had separated into two. Cyrene had been too absorbed in examining the finery that coated each room from floor to ceiling to notice. Now, only two of their own soldiers remained alongside Florentine and her. And instead of foot soldiers, men in much finer armor marched besides them, emblems of their respective houses emblazoned upon their gilded chests.
Deeper and deeper into the opulent halls they were ushered, until – a flash of silver hair – they were greeted by none other than the pale-eyed Sovereign herself.
“Queen Seraphina,” Cyrene murmured, dropping into a bow she had practiced for three sleepless nights. “A pleasure to meet you.” As she greeted the equally young Sovereign with a soft smile, eyes of tawny amber glanced towards Florentine’s golden curls as she stepped nimbly to the side.
This was a meeting between queens, after all.
@
