[ red on a brown rug, thick rivulets swirling on a stone floor, glassy eyes that s t a r e. ]
[ an execution and a sword clattering to the floor ]
their breath is hot in their lungs even as their face frosts over - premonition and memory settling h e a v y on their shoulders.
today, it was seladon, her face blank and fingers tight, wielding the sword to cut off someone’s head. yesterday it had been sayf, blood sprayed across their torso. (the day before, it had been the nameless man, it had been their family lying dead on the floor)
tomorrow, it would be sayf again.
already, watching, sayf’s fingers clenched in anticipation, in acknowledgement, in knowing that the sword would be in their hand again soon, that more innocents (were any of them innocent? free from the condemnation that would befall them?) would die from the swing of their sword, from their hand. (they knew it would pass, in the way virgil could read the stars, they could read the violence. there was something in the way her fingers clenched white knuckle on the hilt, something in the panic behind her eyes before something else overwhelmed it, something in the tenderness that sayf knew hobbled her that had disappeared, if only for a second.) today, it was a display of strength, but tomorrow that would strength in an order from the position of ruling.
authority displayed, authority that was supposed to have been shuttered off, threatened away, the broken crown meaning anyone could claim a throne, claim the throne of the high king, claim authority. but chaos hadn’t befallen the courts, not entirely, and something deep within sayf burned with frustration even as it warred with a touch of rejoicing at seeing the fae begin to cut each other d o w n.
(this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, seladon was supposed to hesitate, to struggle under the sudden change, the threat to her power. there was supposed to be a p a u s e, was supposed to be questioning, the other courts supposed to rise in revolt, a rebellion to blossom out from their small act, bloom out and choke.)
❛ you are either an ally of the throne or an enemy --- and now i have shown you what i plan on doing to my enemies ❜
the words resounded through the hall, through their head, as they watched the crowd begin to dissipate, face impassive as they scanned the room. (if there were any threats (the -T from the note, perhaps, and that was another mystery to unravel) that would be plans escalating faster than they thought, rebellion putting roots down, the eventual plan beginning to snowball)
they were the weapon, the sword, the plan used against ‘my enemies’, they were the ally to the throne and the enemy, they were both the rebellion and the scythe that would cut it down.
but seladon’s gaze, her face, was blank, blanker than even the nerves caused from the day previous. blank, hiding something, hiding the path of the future. would she be another cedric, optimistic at first but only to fail? would she be ruthless from the beginning, lead to a rule of blood and fire? would she be an actual challenge to topple, or would she be a puppet queen? ( a month ago, sayf had thought they had a plan, only for it to change, and change again. they were sick of these delays, additional things to account for)
the blood smeared across her face seemed to indicate one direction, seemed to imply an actual challenge, a declaration of w a r and an admittance to get her hands dirty. the blood of my enemies is my armour, was the incantation, was the promise, was the threat. and yet and yet and yet -
what was armour, what was blood what was any of it? if the blood was the threat then they lay unfazed, their body coated, hands long drenched and face painted since childhood. sure, she looked like a threat, enough of one for the fae who had nothing but frippery and glory to indulge in since birth to be taken aback, breath held still across the chamber, intake and hesitation at these proclamations.
but sayf held back a sneer at the spectacle-hungry fae, displeasure and vying for blood even as the premonition settled heavier on their shoulders, a promise of something more to come.
@xsafie /// soon after the coronation /// high court palace corridors
this was .... unexpected, to say the least. seladon’s reaction was severe, more bloodthirsty, more righteous (more like them) than they had expected. the day previous had been spent ‘hunting for clues’ in some vain attempt to identify the culprit, and today was spent watching blood drain from the floor.
for now, instead, they haunted the palace, treading steps they hadn’t truly needed to guard in two centuries, slow steps circling where seladon lay, her trying to relax from what she’d just done. circling, trying to put together the pieces, the only momentary delay, this sudden wrath, vengeance, the shake in her hand. circling, ‘protecting’ the throne. they could go in now, murder her, probably do it in a way that none would be the wiser.
still, they paced, out of sight from the guards, knowing their paths, their routines. they didn’t steal in, wouldn’t slit another throat, and not just because there was a possibility of her being something different, something more, something less. instead, it was for the same reason that they aimed at the guard, aimed for the crown to break, rather than for seladon as she had walked to the throne. it wasn’t just sel, it wasn’t just the crown, it was a plan for it all to break down, forever.
they walked, silent, through the shadows and corridors, before spotting a similar shadow, slipping with ease past the guards, despite the ever so slight dip in temperature she brought with her. sayf paused for a moment, watching her wander, before taking a short path to skip ahead of her, leaning against a wall around the corner, waiting for her to pass.
❛ what’s a pretty thing like you doing wandering the corridors alone? ❜ they said, stepping forwards as safie rounded the corner.
