wisps of light escape through the blinds ever so slightly, a vision of illumination in warmth on an otherwise freezing day, delicate fingers of the queen carefully cradled in 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒌 gloves, callouses from days in the military buried under the 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. she is not used to the attention, a princess turned into a queen, a girl born into royalty without so much as ever knowing, forgotten. cast aside. this plush velvet throne means nothing to her, golden silk hair tied up, body against the iron seat that solidifies her stature among them. colorfully clad in gold, pressed in paint that makes her feel like a stranger. [ is she not? there is no argument of the legitimacy of her rule, there is no uproar from the nobles that genevieve has expected … nothing more than a slight animosity. ]
but it is strange; frightening even, to look down at her friends. sitting atop a throne is as lonely as it is frightening, as terrifying as it is isolating. how many people have laid down their life for her? the picture of a farm girl, stealing bread to survive, turned into a rebellion fighter, alongside them all. [ petra. who looks at her with hope, anya. who expects her to know every answer. jonathan. who’s brother died to save her. alexander. long since forgotten, a memory of a friend. they’re counting on her, expecting her to know how to save them all. ] the pain in her wrist has dulled, the betrayal of the man she once called a dearest friend now growing further away, a distant memory when faced with the harshness of reality.
the empty seat stares back at her, a legion of guards missing one man, a once trusted friend … gone. grey eyes avoid the chair, avoid the heaviness, instead focusing in on the captain’s words.
@stellaite : ❝ by all accounts of the envoy, it seems we’ve lost the outer wall to the pythias armies. and the latest intelligence reports from the scout warn the eastern kingdom’s border is next. ❞
like clockwork, her breath hitches, everyone turning her for advice. if only the commander were here … out of everyone, elizabeth would know what to do. a longing need to be near her friend once again. eyes meet percy’s, grey, holding the emerald gaze for a moment. [ if she can squint, the two of them are laughing in the bunks, riding horses on the edge of the western kingdoms, carefree. at peace. reality settles back in. ] the friend fades, the captain emerging, expecting a condemnation, expecting a command. to which she has neither. the border is her home. the farmland now destroyed, the open fields where genevieve learned to run before she could walk are now nothing but a field of ash. the paintings of her mother — the queen’s chest tightens. all this because she has yet to answer the prince’s letter, a kingdom that thrives off fear has pushed her so deeply into a corner, the silence enough to build such a tension that each knight holds their breath. her eyes plead with percy to understand, to do something, but they stand in a deadlock. [ she will do what she must. all hail the queen of klein. ]
of course, she is the one who will break the silence.
❝ we know what has to be done then, there’s no use in delaying a meeting with the four kingdoms, if we ever wish to be rid of the curse—it’s time that i spoke directly to them. ❞ a look is thrown to percy, attempting to stifle his thoughts. ❝ once commander stratford returns i believe it is in our best interests to send forth our own envoy, one that i’m sure captain percival can lead. ❞ one hand placed carefully on the other, regality emphasizing her order, if she can look the part, maybe she will act it. ❝ the two of us will ride in the morning. to personally make our case. ❞
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