#warborn.event

the king was a fake.

perhaps it was too easy for him to notice, or the small circle really had gone lax with the excuse of the marriage trying to hide away whatever happened to that wreck of a sovereign their nation was stuck with still or even render him even more of a vulnerable target for any fool to hit in public and any veteran of the trade to hit far away where truly his tragic majesty was hidden --for his lord, that would be too many a chance to further his goals, and for himself to collect information and details that would ease such plans to fruition. it was expected of him, after all --a dutiful doll for such a cruel and conniving master to be proud of, he was--, and just as expectedly he’d store such an information in one of the many crevices of broken mind of his for later reports.

a false king exhibiting a false pride in an even falser ceremony only meant it was all a coverup to something much sinister. the familiar churn of deceit, how easy to catch and how easy it’d make his own jaw clench in tension, trailing along columns like a shadow.

he just wished for such event not to be as noisy --for his gift not to have limits so he could shut away every mouth and chatter in a blink ; but oh, he couldn’t. too many people despite the area being big enough for him to technically cover, and isolating his own sound would only make himself unhearable ( as if that wasn’t already done, what kind of trained blade would he be ! ) to those masses. and he had a princess to keep an eye on, whose face screamed of how she’d rather be hiding into necropolis rather than be there.

and to judge the startle he had given to nearby person ... “ apologies. it wasn’t my intention to startle. ” something he was oddly used to, by now. “ so many concerned faces for an event people love to define ‘happy’. ”

                             𝔞 𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔳𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰

‘   have   you   come   to   save   me   or   watch   me   crumble   at   the   teetering   feet   of   nobility   ?   ’   she   queries,   as   she   is   left   out   of   breath   from   the   last   dance.   even   though   her   stature   was   that   of   a   lowborn,   a   pretty   face   was   always   coveted   by   these   venerable   nobles.   it   reminded   them   of   the   youth   in   a   sense,   but   to   a   degree   an   unpalatable   habit.   brunette   tresses   now   falling   back,   resting   her   frame   against   one   of   the   pillars   of   the   hall.   easy,   she   would   remind   herself   occasionally.   feet   already   sore,   and   skin   flushed   from   the   ardor   of   those   dancing.   her   hand   passed   around   to   the   next   and   then   followed   by   another   ...   too   many   times   to   count   that   she   found   herself   reaching   for   freedom.   yet,   dare   she   spoil   the   nobles'   fun   ...   there   were   always   consequences   that   would   befall   her.   she   puts   on   a   beguiled   expression,   as   outstretched   digits   reach   out   for   the   goblet   filled   tray.   lips   eager   to   take   in   the   content   ...   but   reminded   of   her   aversion   for   the   liquid.   still,   it   is   refreshing   and   quenches   a   parched   throat.

It was clear no expense was spared, every single person was dressed to the nines, the room covered in the colours of the nobility. Amelira wore a gold and red doublet with matching pants, all custom made just for this occasion. She stood in the corner of the room, watching closely, smiling at others as they enjoyed the festive. 

“If they haven’t proven anything this week, it’s that the crown certainly knows how to throw a celebration” Amelira commented to the person next to her, not bothering to turn to see who they were. She took a sip of her drink and chuckled lightly. “A whole week with everyone here and not a single person died, I’ll drink to that miracle” 

“ suppose that I did, suppose that I did not. “ how uncomplicated was it for ofelia to slip away and like a pied piper lure a few non notable guests, she knew how to pluck them out with eye alone making sure not to cause too much of a fuss, outside with her towards the gardens’ maze upon the promise of vrajiit spectacle, of the show the woman could put on for them. an incentive to follow upon lips drizzled with confectionary nearly too strenuous to stomach, transient was a painted fingernail on the chin, trail behind me little ducks for I am the ignis fatuus followed by tilt of lips so ingénue. a sampling press upon the tongue although brief would stir the bud of fascination. 

ofelia abandoned them then, how unfortunate she could have sworn they were beside her, to the swathe of darkness and green. emerging from the entrance on her lonesome with the shouts and calls for aid lost to the sounds of the inside. 

nails digging into the hedge once realized the yard was not as empty as hoped.

there was nothing sincere in such event. just like in most unions involving blood of royals and nobles, truth be told, as scholar had long read of so many marriages merely existing just to facilitate records and descendances --and the princess’ face not even attempting at deceiving those surrounding her forlorn presence. it felt like watching a lamb being slaughtered, rather than a wedding.

only fools whose heads have dug too deep into pages of idealized romances could pretend so blissfully for any peace and reason to rejoice to exist within something already long rotten even before its birth ; somehow, zixuan envied them. he wished, sometimes, for such simplistic thinking --it would hurt the heart and the mind even less, render things much more enjoyable. 

to the companion by his side, he’d barely give a glance --just to make sure they knew he was going to speak to them, a distraction from the butcher that was the ceremony. “ having the wedding in such an emergency ... terrible organization. ” but truly, what was new. “ and the small circle really thinks whoever poisoned the king is going to fall for a shapeshifter’s trick ? they’re probably going to finish their job while we’re all sitting here doing nothing. ”

there   is   a   dark   ambience   about   the   ballroom,   as   smoke   clouds   permeate   the   air   around   her.   digits   digging   into   the   closest   pillar   in   support,   as   she   pins   her   hopes   on   the   idea   of   not   being   discovered   by   the   enemy.   yet,   fear   torments   her,   making   her   appear   as   a   graven   image.   umber   hues   dilated   and   glazed   with   tears   that   had   yet   to   fall,   as   death   is   most   haunting   when   the   smoke   clears   ...   the   lifeless   nature   of   those   close   caused   an   almost   aching   sensation   to   imbue   her.   digits   clasped   at   her   chest,   as   she   can’t   breathe   ...   panic   surges   through.   her   first   plea   for   help   muffled   by   the   lump   that   seemed   to   grow   every   second   ...   but,   the   next   was   more   of   a   cry.   ‘   help   !   ’   the   only   word   to   elude   her   lips,   but   only   gets   louder   as   it   is   said,   repetitively.   her   tone   is   raspy,   as   she   breathes   the   smoke   in.