#ftsf

The sound of laughter and song drifted in from behind the high, white walls. Rippling across teal ponds of the inner courtyard, the warm breeze nudged at the blossoming pastel heads of the bobbing waterlilies. The same flowers that floated lazily on Nelressa’s dresser, clipped and encased in crystal that very morning. Their watery, lemon scent filled her bedroom in an airy haze. Fresh, light. Her handmaid, Lotus, peeled oranges at her side, while Peony combed gently through Nelressa’s bed-tangled, bronze curls. 

“I wonder who they’re cheering for,” Peony spoke quietly, glancing out of the balcony to the lush, empty gardens below.

“Just think, Your Highness, your future husband or wife could be parading the city streets as we speak,” Lotus’ excitable whisper followed, leaning in carefully to place a supreme against Nelressa’s lips.

The sharp citrus flavour burst on her tongue, as Nelressa contemplated their comments with a contented hum. It was true, her betrothed could be out there, beyond the marble and bleached stone, prancing their royal entourage through Ospos, the shimmering Capitol of Sashos. Proudly flailing their banners up and down the gleaming promenades, in preparation for the grand tourney, welcoming in the Lord-Emperor’s reign.

To win the hand of their Crown-Princess.

Her hand.

“Perhaps.”

“Your Highness, are you not at all curious to know whom the kingdoms have sent?” Lotus continued, offering another zesty slice from the edge of the knife.

Nelressa sniffed. “I am not.”

She had no intentions of endorsing the tourney, nor any one of its eager, foreign competitors.

Not while her brother sat on her throne, desperate to be rid of her.

Horns blared in defiance from beyond, to a chorus of clapping. Birds erupting from the serpentine topiaries. A brightly-coloured, raucous flurry, rising up into the cloudless blue.

“[Curses], girl, why are you not already dressed?” came a hiss from the doorway as Reshel dipped gracefully into the room. In gliding strides, a pouring of her own, dour handmaids hurried in alongside her, holding the length of her dark, mourning train. Her sleek black hair was tucked behind the tips of jagged, pointed ears, revealing the true sharpness of her features and her thin, delicate neck. The Dowager-Consort was as youthful as the day she had arrived at the late Emperor’s court. Rouged lips pursed tightly, dark eyes raking the idle scene before her.

Nelressa bathed in the morning rays, her nightdress open, chest bared, her hair awry.

The comb snagged against Nelressa’s scalp in panic, Peony rushing for her clothes under the Consort’s deadly gaze.

“Forgive us, My Lady.”

Cutlery clanging, Lotus bowed low, the bundle of her raven hair held tight in an embellished net.

“I have yet to finish my forenoon meal,” Nelressa sighed, ignoring the rush of her handmaidens, waving to the spread of carved fruit, warmed bread and rich, veined cheeses displayed lovingly on slithers of crystal. “Would you care to join me?”

Reshel’s nostrils flared. Lingering on Nelressa’s half-naked form, she scoffed, “I say you have had quite enough already.” Spinning on her heel, she bared down on Peony next. “Do you want whipping, girl?”

Peony stumbled, the sheer dress draped over her forearm, glittering with soft-hued opals and gleaming beads, it shimmered like ripples on a turquoise pool. It must have been heavy, from the way the poor woman swayed beneath it, trembling, eyes patient - but pleading - for Nelressa to leave her perch by the balcony, where the sun blushed her pale skin and wafted in the sweet scent of water lily.

“Enough,” Nelressa huffed, finally lifting herself from the comfort of her seat. She nodded once to Lotus. “Do as she asks. Undress me.”

Lotus’ hands hovered at her side, the handmaid distractedly aware of the many pairs of eyes upon the Crown-Princess. Among the audience was the Dowager-Consort and her own array of lowly escorts. It mattered little to Nelressa. They could stare if they wished. Within Reshel’s own attendants she recognized pretty, flushed faces she had summoned to her own bedchambers on cool, calm nights.

A favourite here and there, on repeated occasions…

The view, for some, would not be anything new.

Nodding again, Nelressa assured the girl of her order and Lotus gingerly peeled the open nightdress from her shoulders, revealing what little was left to display, but thick, pale thighs and the light, curled fuzz between them.

“Really, girl?” Reshel snapped, smacking Nelressa’s searching hand away from a crust of loaf. “You bring shame to your father, behaving like some commoner whore.”

Knuckles stinging, Nelressa laughed, a harsh breath that crackled in her throat. “Father is dead, I very much doubt that it matters to him…” Her brow twitched. “Besides, was it not you, I recall, who called my mother a harlot whenever the opportunity arose to remind him?”

“That, she was.”

“Then, I suppose my breeding is to blame for it,” Nelressa shrugged.

“You have no argument there, girl.”

“Is that why your loving son - my delightful brother - sits on the throne in my stead? My breeding, is it?”

Reshel fell silent.

Nelressa could feel those deep, umber eyes boring into her bare back. She was the rightful heir of the Sashos Realm and both of them knew it. Before the Emperor’s death, all four Kingdoms had been promised to her, as his firstborn child. Yet, it was her brother instead, who had been rushed into their father’s position and crowned the new Lord-Emperor.

“Or, was that maneuver one of your own?”

Reshel’s companions shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. The lowborn women did not want to bear witness to this scandalous accusation, fearing they would face a great deal more than the whip for it. Even Peony quaked as she carefully pulled the sheer dress over Nelressa’s tangled mane, jaw strained, taut, the girl swallowed hard. She stayed her tongue, if only for her sake of her own servants.

The reason for the tourney was clear. The Dowager-Consort would ensure Nelressa dressed appropriately, so she could be presented like a prize to strange and distant rulers, having travelled from all corners of the Sashos Empire. They would fight until only one winner remained, then they would be free of her, once and for all.

The dress clung uncomfortably tight. Scratching. Choking. It took some force to fit, even with Lotus’ and Peony’s assistance. White snakes - each scale a singular iridescent bead - seemed to constrict the long, translucent sleeves, down her waist, curling at her hip and slithering all the way to the hem.

Reshel had gathered her thoughts with Nelressa almost clothed. “I feel nothing but pity for the poor fool who wins this tournament,” she uttered, clearing her throat with a shake of her head.

Safra

The first contender’s entourage drifted through the crowd with surprising ease. Wholly welcomed by the Capitol, having hailed from the neighboring lake-lands, dark-skinned men and women of all sizes and stature beat away at their shields with the hilt of their swords. A hollow, vibrational drumming, up and down the scales of hard crocodile skins, they hummed along wordlessly to the rhythm. Boots stomping the marble, in skips and stamps. Behind them marched an armored guard, the snapping, long-snouted maw of a gharial hammered into their gleaming chests. Guarding their chosen champion with a wall of firm bodies, arms bared and banded with rings. In the middle, was their chosen competitor, the shield-maiden herself. 

“[form of address here] From the western kingdom of Namwe, Lady Safra Sil’ Rani!”

Nelressa craned her head as the name blared above the rest. One she recognised all too well. Finding Safra’s familiar, green eyes in the river of peoples surrounding the Lord-Emperor’s court. Her hands twitched in her lap like they no longer belonged. The guttural hums of Safra’s soldiers thrummed in her ears, melting away. Leaning forward - only just - Nelressa held her breath as Safra drew closer, in powerful strides, her party halting at the bottom of the stairs. Chin high and proud, it was as though she’d stepped out of Nelressa’s memories, taller and broader now than the young girl Nelressa had known, and yet there came the same flash of the whitest, wide smile. 

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Safra spoke at last, the lyricless songs falling silent at the sound of her low, husky voice. She took to one knee, her woven hair falling in heavy black and silver braids at her shoulders. “This honour is mine.”

Rûs

A carnyx wailed. Echoing, eerie and lonesome through the throne room, it rattled the chandeliers, shocking the spectators into stunned, fearful silence. It was the cry of war, the howl of a terrible storm. The lords and ladies lurched from the hull of a longboat, dragged through the very center by fur-clad dwarfs. The sails bore the strange insignia of a giant black whale cresting a snow capped mountain, held taught by more dwarfs, they strained to keep the rope stretched and the sail wide open. The stench of seawater permeated the space as though they dragged the very ocean itself in the bowels of their boat. “[introductions here] From the northern Kingdom, Prince Rus of Sikuheim [other titles here]!”

A prince?