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Hello everyone, only post if your name is in the title! Fell free to read along if you want. |
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Name: Sage Acker (same first name, make it easier for me lol) Age: 20 years Gender: Male Appearance: Long black hair that ends at around his waist, normally done in an elaborate style. His eyes are a golden amber color, and his skin is a dark tan. He has some scars on his back from various punishments from his time serving various people, as well as a scar on his right cheek from a dagger years ago. He has various tattoos as well (the most noticeable ones are a dragon behind his left ear and a tribal sort of tattoo sleeve on his right arm), along with plenty of piercings (mainly his ears, but he does have a lip ring in the center of his lower lip as well). His build is slim but athletic, and while he's fairly short (about 5’3”) he can hold his own in a fight. As for clothing, he's dressed up to the queens likings - rather skimpy robes which are little more than a type of split skirt connected with lots of little chains and jewelry bits. His outfit also had chains and jewelry, with small plates along his shoulders. He also wears a sort of veil, constructed from a chain resting on the bridge of his nose, with a sheer material hanging off it. Normally around the castle, he's barefoot. He normally also has other jewelry, including a small choker necklace that's metal and also is partly used as a collar. This definitely isn't what he'd prefer to be wearing, but the old queen didn't really give him a choice so that's what he has to wear as of this time. Personality: Sage is pretty cautious/untrusting, and outwardly he shows the traits drilled into him by his captors - he is quiet, and keeps his head down. He doesn't really fight back any more, since being submissive has normally gotten him better responses than otherwise. After years of forced servitude, he resembles a typical well trained servant, broken and willing to do as asked. Once he's free of those burdens, though, he does have a sense of humor and tends to be sarcastic. He's fairly quick to anger, though over the years he's learned to control his temper well and keep a good poker face. He is extremely loyal, so once someone earns his trust, he becomes quite attached. Backstory: Sage was sold into slavery by his father when he was quite young, about 13 or so. He was glad to rid of the man, since he was always drunk and angry, and some of the scars on his back come from his belt. Things weren't any better in the people he was sold to, however, as his new job wasn't exactly pleasant. And when he turned 16 or so, the queen picked him out for himself. Since then, he's only left her personal chambers to work, and this whole war thing has been nerve-wracking, especially since it kept the queen in a bad mood. She's gone now, leaving him wondering what happens next. If the new queen decides she doesn't want him, will he be killed? Sold again? Reassigned back to the harsh labour in the fields? There are no clear answers. |
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Name: Alorha Valehart (Ally)
Age: 20 years
Gender: Female Appearance: Ally has light brown, mousey hair that falls a little past her shoulders, soft and fine in texture. It rarely holds elaborate styles for long; wisps tend to escape their pins and frame her face no matter how carefully her maids arrange it. Most days she wears it half-up with a ribbon or simple clasp, practical but neat. In formal settings it’s styled into modest braids or low coiled buns, decorated with small pearls or delicate floral pins rather than grand jewels. Her eyes are a deep, steady blue — the most striking thing about her. They are clear and thoughtful, often reflecting quiet curiosity or gentle amusement. They give her face more presence than her otherwise plain features might suggest. Her skin is fair with a natural warmth, lightly freckled across her nose and cheeks from time spent outdoors. She is thin and somewhat narrow-shouldered, with a light, almost willowy frame, standing at about 5'6. She does not possess dramatic beauty or commanding elegance; in a crowded ballroom she is easy to overlook beside more dazzling nobles. Yet there is a soft prettiness to her. Balanced features, expressive eyes, and a smile that feels genuine rather than practiced. When she laughs, it transforms her entirely, making her far more memorable than at first glance. Her clothing reflects her gentle disposition. She favors flowing gowns in pale, flattering shades — powder blue, soft cream, muted rose, light sage green. The fabrics are fine but not ostentatious, often embroidered with subtle floral or vine motifs. She avoids heavy corsetry and excessive ornamentation when she can. Her jewelry is minimal: a small sapphire pendant at her throat, simple silver bracelets, and modest earrings. Around the castle she prefers soft slippers over heeled shoes, moving quietly through corridors and gardens alike. Personality: She's lighthearted and friendly, with a naturally warm disposition. She greets others with an easy smile and speaks in a gentle, even tone that rarely rises in anger. She enjoys small jokes and playful teasing, though her humor is mild and sweet rather than sharp. She is not a dimwitt, but neither is she remarkable for brilliance. She was educated properly in court etiquette, history, and diplomacy, and she retains the information well enough. While she may not offer groundbreaking insight in council chambers, she understands situations clearly and can follow political discussions without confusion. Her strength lies less in strategy and more in emotional awareness. Ally has a habit of remembering small details — a servant’s favorite pastry, a guard’s injured shoulder, a visiting lord’s anxious daughter. She makes people feel comfortable and seen. She dislikes confrontation and avoids harsh words when possible, though she will stand her ground quietly if pushed too far. At times she underestimates herself, assuming others are more capable or important. Still, when someone is upset or frightened, she becomes surprisingly steady, offering reassurance without hesitation. Backstory: The daughter of the queen’s younger sister although estranged at a young age to be raised in the country. Her upbringing was stable and structured, filled with tutors, etiquette lessons, and careful guidance on how to behave as a royal niece. She was never expected to rule, nor groomed for great political power, which allowed her a gentler childhood than many in her position. She spent her free hours in the palace gardens, reading beneath shaded trees or helping the groundskeepers tend flowers despite their protests that it was not fitting for a lady of her standing. As tensions rise within the kingdom and whispers of conflict drift through court, Ally finds herself quietly aware of how fragile peace can be. While she may not command armies or negotiate treaties, she does what she can — offering encouragement, organizing small gatherings to keep spirits lifted, and writing letters of comfort to worried families. She knows she is not extraordinary. She does not shine like a blazing star in court, so the death of the Queen has her panicking and leading her away from herself. She's attempting a brave face, one she doesn't have, leading to many misshaps and a harsh demeanor. |
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The palace was busy starting at dawn - or at least, busier than it normally was. Things had been rather hectic for the past few weeks, ever since the attack on the royal family. The queen had been killed, and since she had no heirs of her own, the kingdom was thrown into chaos. Sage found himself rushed into preparing things for the other royals, various noblewomen claiming him for themselves for the brief time where he wasn't assigned to one woman. Today, however, the new queen would be arriving. He knew nothing about her, only that she was related to his old master in some way. He found his stomach churning as he worked to clean the large bedroom to ready the space for her, not entirely sure what to expect. He was well aware of what might happen - either she would accept him and it would be much the same situation as before, or she wouldn't accept him and one of three things would happen. He'd be killed, since he knew palace secrets. He'd be reassigned to another woman living in the palace, or at the very least expected to serve whoever claimed him each night. Or he'd be sent back out to the fields, to do the manual labor outside. He wasn't entirely sure which option he would pick out of those. He let out a shaky breath though, shaking his head as he forced himself to keep moving, making the bed and clearing out space for this new woman's things. He'd been working at it for hours, and things were finally starting to come together. At least, he thought so. He had never been very good at cleaning, having grown up in a poor farming and fishing village by the cost, very far away. He wasn't sure how far from his homeland he'd been brought, but it was far enough they spoke a different language, their skin and hair generally of a lighter shade. He stood up with a sigh once he finished mopping the floor, a quick glance ag the clock telling him he didn't have much time to prepare himself. He hurried to gather the rags and buckets he'd been using, putting them away in a closet before hurrying to bathe quickly and then carefully apply his normal eyeliner and light makeup, and get dressed in the most formal outfit he'd been given. He was expected to look his best, he knew, for the new queen. Luckily, his hair was straight and dried quickly despite being so long, so it didn't take long to stayke after that. The last thing he did was clasp on the many jewelry bits onto his body, rushing to look out the window when he heard yelling. His heart climbed into his throat when he saw the carriage arriving....judging by the guards' reaction to it, this was the new queen. He took a deep breath, moving to clip the veil over his face as that was the last thing he needed to do, before walking quickly down to the great hall, where those who were assigned to greet the new queen were waiting. He took his place off to the side and slightly behind the noble there - he was the head council member, just one spot below the monarch herself. Sage kept his eyes trained downward, hands clasped nervously as he heard the footsteps approach the castle doors, heart lodging in his throat as they opened and the noble's booming voice greet their long awaited arrival. |
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The journey had stretched on for hours, long enough for the sky to fade from pale morning gray into full daylight, and still Alorha felt suspended in that quiet space between what had been and what was about to be. The carriage swayed gently as it passed beneath the outer gates of the capital, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against stone echoing up through the wooden frame and into her bones. She sat with her back straight and her hands folded carefully in her lap, fingers laced together so tightly the pressure left faint crescents in her gloves. Outside, she could hear the distant murmur of voices and the sharp, orderly calls of soldiers announcing their arrival. She had never been here before. The palace had existed for her only in descriptions and paintings — sweeping balconies captured in oil, sunlight caught perfectly on white stone. Those images had felt distant and romantic. This felt real. Immovable. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the small window across from her. Mouse-brown hair pinned into a careful twist at the back of her head, arranged to look refined but not ostentatious. Already, fine strands had begun slipping loose around her face. Her eyes — that deep, striking blue — looked far too open, far too revealing. She tried softening her expression, lowering her lashes slightly as she had practiced when attempting to appear composed. She looked like a girl trying very hard, she thought. Not like a queen. Her gown, a gentle powder blue with subtle silver embroidery tracing the cuffs and bodice, lay smoothly over her frame. It was elegant, yes, but modest. She had chosen it deliberately. Something dignified, something calm. Now she wondered if it simply made her blend into the sky. The carriage slowed. The shift in sound — wheels grinding more slowly over stone — made her stomach tighten sharply. She pressed her palms together harder, steadying her breath. She knew the lessons. She knew the history. She knew the responsibilities that awaited her inside those towering walls. She was not ignorant, nor incapable. But knowledge did not make her feel larger. The carriage came to a complete stop. For one suspended moment, there was only silence inside the small enclosed space. Then the door opened. Light flooded in — bright and exposing — and with it came sound. Boots shifting. Armor clinking. Voices lowering into respectful quiet. A gloved hand extended toward her, waiting. Ally placed her hand in it and stepped down carefully onto the courtyard stone, and immediately, she felt swallowed. The palace rose high above her, white stone stretching skyward in towering arches and sweeping columns that made her neck ache to look at them. Banners snapped sharply in the breeze overhead. The courtyard itself was vast, wide enough to hold entire battalions, and it was lined with exactly that — rows upon rows of soldiers standing at rigid attention. Beyond them stood servants and attendants, already moving with quiet efficiency. They were all looking at her. The realization hit like a physical force. A pair of servants hurried forward to open the carriage fully, already lifting her trunks and smaller traveling cases with practiced ease. Another attendant stepped close, murmuring a greeting and offering to escort her inside. Hands moved quickly, lifting, carrying, organizing her belongings as though she herself were only one more item to be transferred from carriage to palace. She had not expected it to feel so… overwhelming. Her slippers made barely a sound against the stone, and the silence between each faint step seemed enormous. She became acutely aware of the width of the courtyard, of how exposed she was standing at its center. The guards were tall — broad in their armor, unmoving, imposing. The nobles gathered near the grand entrance wore expressions carefully schooled into neutrality, but their eyes were sharp. Measuring. Assessing. Her shoulders felt suddenly narrow beneath the fine silk of her gown. The breeze tugged at her hair again, loosening another strand until it brushed lightly against her cheek. She resisted the urge to smooth it back. A queen would not fidget. The great doors stood open ahead of her, dark and cavernous. From where she stood, the interior looked endless, shadows stretching upward toward ceilings she could not even see from this distance. The head council members waited just inside, robes rich and severe, posture perfectly aligned. They did not bow yet. They waited. For her. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. She was not actually small — she knew that. She stood at an average height, carried herself well enough, had been taught how to walk and speak with composure. And yet beneath those towering walls, surrounded by armor and stone and expectation, she felt diminished. Like a single note swallowed by an orchestra. Would they be disappointed? Would they whisper later that she lacked presence? That she did not fill the space the way a monarch should? Her gaze drifted briefly to the servants lifting her luggage, already disappearing toward the interior halls. Her life reduced to trunks and fabric and small personal belongings carried by strangers who did not know her at all. This is yours now, she reminded herself. All of it. The palace did not bend to accommodate her hesitation. It did not shrink or soften. It stood vast and immovable, demanding she rise to meet it. Ally drew in a slow, steady breath, feeling it expand her chest despite the tightness there. If she could not be larger than the moment, she could at least walk into it without shrinking further. So she stepped forward. The sound of her slippers echoed faintly as she crossed the courtyard, attendants falling into place behind her, the doors looming closer with every quiet step. She felt small — unbearably so — but she did not falter. And as she approached the waiting figures at the entrance, heart hammering and thoughts racing far too loudly for comfort, she lifted her chin just enough to meet their eyes.Even if she felt small beneath the weight of stone and crown, she would not allow herself to disappear within it. She greeted them, calmly, although they didn't hand around. They got to work, the head maids wisking her belongings away, shouting to her, to others... god. She was stuck now. She froze, for a split second, quickly glancing around the area, looking for some sort of... direction. What was she to do now? she hadn't the foggiest. |
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Sage stood stock still as the doors opened, suddenly thankful the veil covered both most of his face and the way his pulse was pounding in his neck. Part of him knew no one would notice the latter part of that, but the way he was knowing at his lower lip would have definitely been noticed. That was an old habit he never had been able to shake. The lip ring helped, since he could chew on that rather than his actual lip - a sort of fidget, if you will. At the very least, it kept him from making himself bleed for the most part. He snuck a glance upwards, briefly, looking over the woman who had stepped into the palace. Her shoes didn't make the same loud click as his old masters had, so he was finding it harder to track her movements as she walked. That didn't help his nerves very much - in the past, the click of the old queens heels had always warned him when she was coming. It had given him a chance to compose himself, to prepare for whatever it was she would want from him. Evidently, he would need to pay more attention to where this girl was going to be. She looked to be about his age, at least - his old master had been old enough to be his mother, which was odd at first. He'd grown more used to it over the years, but something in him was glad to see he wasn't being matched with some old hag. This one looked ....gentler, in a way. He didn't trust her, of course, not yet, but she didn't look as though she'd have the same mannerisms as an older woman might. He jumped slightly when the nobleman's voice boomed through the hall, nerves getting the best of him before he quieted the flinch, forcing himself to remain still and lowering his eyes again. "Welcome to the Palace of the Traemore Dynasty," the nobleman had announced, offering the woman in front of him a bow. The rest of the people around him followed suit, along with Sage himself. The noble didn't spend much time doing that, however, as he quickly moved on. "I trust your journey was comfortable?" When the girl nodded, he quickly continued. "I trust you will find the palace just as wonderful. We have a large variety of accommodations and servants allowed for you here," he added, moving to take a few steps closer to the woman, gesturing to the group of maids off to one side. They all offered her a curtsey, a few offering smiles. Then he gestured to sage, finger seeming to stab him right through the chest despite the distance between them. "As you well know, this kingdom has no king, so this will be your consort during your reign," he informed the girl, even more dismissive of sage than the maids he had pointed out earlier. "If you do not desire it, we can arrange for another." Sage felt his shoulders stiffen slightly, hands tightening together at his words, however, he offered the woman a low bow, continuing to avery his gaze nervously. The nobleman was already continuing, gesturing to other servants and council members, that sort of thing. "Now, I won't keep you any longer, as I'm sure you are weary from your travels," he mentioned, placing a hand on the girls shoulder before snapping to get Sages attention. "Consort, bring her to her room and ensure all her luggage is placed where she desires," he snapped, to which sage gave a hurried bow, practically scrambling to move closer to the woman and murmur "please, follow me your majesty," to her before turning to show her the way through the large halls, pulse still hammering. He'd learned to keep his movements calm and graceful, his voice smooth, despite the panic slowly creeping upwards in his body long ago....though he'd nearly slipped there. He made no move to introduce himself - people just called him consort or other names. Honestly, consort was one of the nicer words he'd heard during his time here. It didn't take long for them to reach the room, and Sage moved to open the door for her, walking in after her and clasping his hands from where he stood off to the side. "You have your run of the space," he noted quietly. "Closet is large, bathroom is jointed into the room. I stay where you tell me." He was supposed to stay with her here, though that was ultimately up to her. Hopefully, she'd make this easy on both of them, though he didn't want to hope for anything. That normally led to disappointment. |
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The doors opened fully, and the great hall revealed itself in its entirety. The space was far grander than anything Alorha had imagined during the long ride to the capital. The ceiling arched high overhead, supported by pale stone columns carved with the history of a dynasty she now belonged to whether she felt worthy of it or not. Colored light spilled through stained-glass windows and stretched across the polished floor in fractured patterns that shimmered faintly as people shifted. The air was cool and faintly perfumed with wax and old stone, a scent that made the hall feel ancient and immovable. When she stepped forward, the soft sound of her slippers was swallowed almost instantly by the cavernous space.Rows of nobles and council members stood waiting at the center, their clothing rich in texture and color, though their expressions were carefully controlled. Along the sides, servants stood in orderly lines, hands folded and eyes lowered, while guards flanked the room in gleaming armor. When the nobleman at the front bowed, the motion rippled outward in perfect synchronization, and the sight of so many people lowering themselves before her made something in her chest constrict. It was not pride she felt but a deep awareness of how easily such a gesture could be misplaced. She inclined her head in return, careful to keep her posture composed, though her pulse beat hard enough she was certain it must be visible at her throat.The nobleman’s voice boomed in welcome, rich and practiced, filling the hall with rehearsed warmth. She answered as she had been trained to, her tone polite and measured, offering gratitude for the reception and confirming that her journey had been comfortable. She heard herself speaking clearly enough, though the words felt slightly distant, as though they had been pulled from memory rather than formed in the moment. When he gestured toward the line of maids to one side, they dipped into curtseys, some offering tentative smiles. Alorha returned the gesture with a small, genuine one of her own. The brief flicker of surprise in a few faces did not escape her notice.Then the nobleman’s hand shifted, and his finger extended toward someone standing slightly behind the others. She followed the line of the gesture and found herself looking at a man who stood perfectly still, hands clasped, gaze lowered. His appearance struck her at once. Long dark hair, styled intricately and adorned with delicate chains, fell down his back. Jewelry traced along his shoulders and torso, small plates catching the colored light from the windows. His clothing was ornate but revealing, far more than she would have expected for formal presentation, and a thin veil rested across the lower part of his face, secured by a chain at the bridge of his nose. Even from where she stood, she could sense the tension in the way he held himself, as though stillness had become second nature.“As you well know, this kingdom has no king,” the nobleman announced smoothly, “so this will be your consort during your reign. If you do not desire it, we can arrange for another.”The words landed heavily. Consort. The dismissal folded casually into the offer unsettled her more than the title itself. If you do not desire it. Another could be arranged. As though the man before her were interchangeable, an accessory to be selected or replaced at whim. She saw the slightest tightening of his shoulders, the faint shift of his clasped hands, though he bowed lower without hesitation. He did not look at her.For a brief moment, Alorha felt the weight of every gaze in the hall settle upon her again, this time sharper and more expectant. They were watching to see how she would respond. Whether she would dismiss him outright, whether she would accept him without thought, whether she would hesitate. She felt small under that scrutiny, not physically diminished but overshadowed by the enormity of the choice being presented so publicly. She had not been prepared for this moment to arrive with such bluntness. Still, she inclined her head gently in acknowledgment, neither rejecting nor affirming, allowing the formalities to continue without spectacle. The nobleman moved on swiftly, introducing council members and offering assurances about accommodations, though her thoughts lingered uneasily.When the time came to conclude the greeting, the nobleman snapped sharply for the consort’s attention and ordered him to escort her to her chambers. The sound of it made her flinch inwardly. The man responded immediately, bowing again before stepping closer. Up close, she could see more detail: the faint gleam of a lip ring when he moved, the careful smoothness of his posture, the way his voice remained low and controlled as he asked her to follow him. There was no introduction, no offering of a name. Only compliance. The door shut with a soft, final click once the last servant slipped out, and the quiet that followed felt different from the hush of the great hall. There, silence had been stretched thin beneath the weight of dozens of watchful eyes. Here, it settled fully, thick and private. The chamber seemed to exhale around her. Sunlight filtered through tall, arched windows draped in gauzy curtains, casting pale gold across the polished floor and the carved posts of the enormous bed. The faint scent of fresh linen and beeswax lingered in the air. Her trunks had already been placed neatly beside the wardrobe, their brass clasps gleaming, as though they had always belonged in this cavernous space. Alorha took a few slow steps forward, her slippers whispering against the marble. The room dwarfed her in a way the courtyard had, though this felt more intimate somehow — as if the walls themselves were observing her. The ceiling arched high overhead, painted in delicate patterns that told stories she did not yet know. The bed was vast, layered in fine fabrics that drifted faintly in the breeze. Even the hearth was large enough to swallow the modest fireplace she had grown up with. The scale of everything made her acutely aware of her own presence within it. Not that she was physically small — she knew she was not — but in comparison to the grandeur surrounding her, she felt reduced, like a single brushstroke on an enormous canvas. Behind her, he had not moved. His voice had been smooth, controlled, stripped of anything that might resemble personal inflection. The final sentence echoed faintly in the chamber, and something in her chest tightened at the phrasing. I stay where you tell me. It did not sound like choice. It sounded like structure. Like habit carved deep enough that it no longer required thought. She turned slowly to face him. He stood precisely where he had stopped, hands clasped at his front, shoulders aligned, chin slightly dipped. The chains draped across his shoulders caught the sunlight in small glints, and the delicate veil obscured part of his expression without softening the tension beneath it. Up close, she could see the careful detail in the way he had presented himself — the eyeliner, the jewelry placed with intention, the posture honed into something graceful and unobtrusive. He looked less like a partner and more like an offering. “You don’t have to stand like that,” she said gently, her voice quieter now that it did not have to compete with echoing stone. The words felt fragile in the vast room, but she let them settle. “At least not when we’re alone.” He did not shift. Not even a fraction. A flicker of uncertainty passed through her. Perhaps she was misunderstanding the rules already. Perhaps this was not something that could be undone with a simple sentence. Still, she drew a steady breath and continued. “I understand there are customs here,” she said, clasping her own hands briefly before releasing them again. “And I intend to respect them. I know I have much to learn.” Her gaze lingered on the veil for a moment before lifting toward where his eyes would be beneath it. “But I would prefer to know the name of the person I’m speaking to.” She felt faintly self-conscious as she added, “They introduced you as my consort, but that tells me nothing about you. I would rather not address you as though you’re only a title.” The sunlight shifted slightly, brightening the edge of his shoulder plate. The silence stretched, not hostile but taut. She moved a step closer, not enough to crowd him, just enough to make the distance feel less formal. “I’ve never been here before,” she admitted, her honesty slipping out more easily than she expected. “Everything feels… larger than I imagined. The hall. The courtyard. Even this room.” Her lips curved faintly, though it was more nervous than amused. “I feel as though I’m standing inside something built for someone far more impressive.” Her eyes softened slightly as they settled on him again. “I won’t make decisions about you in front of an audience,” she said, a quiet firmness threading through her tone now. “That didn’t seem fair.” She paused, letting the air steady between them. The faint rustle of curtains was the only sound. “So tell me your name,” she said at last, calm but sincere. “And then we can decide what comes next. I would prefer that we begin with that, at least.” She remained where she was, shoulders no longer rigid but still composed, aware of how much of this world she did not yet understand. She felt small in the vastness of the chamber, dwarfed by architecture and expectation alike. But choosing to speak — choosing to see him as a person rather than a role — made the space feel marginally less overwhelming. |
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Sage hadn't expected much from the woman standing in front of him once the doors closed behind them. The noise the made was an echoing boom that seemed all too final, like they were sealing his fate behind him, as if they were aware of the little power he held. He waited as the queen looked around, taking in the details of the room. His chest tightened at the sight, the silence almost overwhelming. Hopefully he'd formed it to her standards. Cleaned it well enough that she felt as though it was well cared for. Personally, he didn't see the need for so much random stuff, nor the grand size or expense of anything there. However, the bigger the bed the better - the further he could roll away from the woman who owned him the better. Of course, he knew there would be times where he'd be expected to perform, and he dreaded that moment whenever it came, but the rest of the time he preferred to linger in the corner. It was safer there. Her voice startled him when it first rose, and he had to force himself not to flinch away from the noise, even though she wasnt close enough to hit him or anything. It was habit, he supposed, formed from the many layers of his life. His father, the fields, and now this. Of course, once her comment landed, and he understood what she was saying, she didn't seem as harsh as the woman before her. Even so, the years of habits were engrained into his mind. His body. He didn't move - he knew better than to do that. She seemed insistent on the topic though, and as she spoke he felt his shoulders relax slightly. She didn't seem upset, but she did want this from him. Normally, it wouldn't have been proper to tell her his name, but then again it was a direct order, so he supposed it would do more harm to continue to ignore her. He shifted slightly, though only relaxed a margin, glancing nervously towards any possible exits before speaking up. "Sage, your Majesty," he noted quietly, looking back down at his hands, clearly nervous though he was hiding it well. He didn't offer a last name - he'd chosen to distance himself from his father's name long ago. Then, when he seemed happy to hear him speak, he decided to mention her other comments. "You grow used to the size of things," he noted. It was quiet, heasitant. A brief offer of something, though he wasn't quite sure what it was. "The rules come to make sense in their own way." He wasn't completely comfortable with her yet....this job would probably never be comfortable in its entirety....but she had earned a few margins of trust. At least, she was the only person in the castle who had ever asked for his name. He'd had to think about it, to remember it, but it was becoming real again as he'd spoken it. She'd given him some semblance of dignity back, just by doing that, so maybe this would be better than before. At least for a time. |
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Ally held his gaze for a moment longer after asking her question, then let the silence breathe instead of crowding it. The room felt less suffocating now, though the weight of it hadn’t disappeared. It simply pressed in more quietly, like a reminder rather than a threat. When he didn’t answer immediately, she found her thoughts drifting ahead of her — to tomorrow, to the next hour, to the thousand unseen expectations waiting beyond that door. There would be council meetings, she assumed. Formal addresses. Endless names and titles she would be expected to memorize without hesitation. She would be shown maps of lands she now ruled but had never walked, briefed on alliances she had not negotiated, and conflicts she had not started. Somewhere in the palace, black had likely already been replaced with her colors. The servants would begin adjusting routines around her preferences — preferences she hadn’t even decided on yet. And beneath all of that, there would be comparison. She had never met the former queen, only heard stories. Some painted her as commanding and brilliant. Others described her as sharp-tempered, meticulous, difficult to please. Powerful, unquestionably. A woman who filled rooms without needing to raise her voice. Ally tried to imagine stepping into a life that had belonged to someone like that. Sleeping in her bed. Sitting at her desk. Being judged against habits she didn’t know existed. Her eyes moved slowly around the chamber again. The bed was too imposing for her taste — grand to the point of intimidation. The curtains were heavy, almost theatrical. She preferred light. Air. Space that didn’t feel staged. “I think I’ll change some of this,” she murmured, almost to herself at first, then more clearly. “Not today. But soon.” She glanced at him. “The curtains, at least. They make the room feel darker than it needs to be.” It was a small thing to say, but it grounded her. This was hers now, technically. The realization still felt borrowed. She drew a slow breath. “Tomorrow,” she continued, more deliberately, “I assume I’ll be paraded through meetings. I’ll be expected to speak with certainty about matters I’ve only read about.” A faint, wry curve touched her mouth. “I imagine there will be many people waiting to see whether I falter.” God knew what was coming for her. She wasn't ready for this in the slightest - to be queen. She'd been left to frolic half of her life... now this? It was a hell of a lot. Her attention returned to him fully. “Were you close with her?” she asked, the question careful rather than probing. “The former queen.” She wasn’t asking for gossip. She wanted context. What kind of presence had shaped this space? What kind of ruler had shaped him? “And before you decide how to answer that,” she added gently, “I’m not looking for flattery. I’d rather know what she was truly like.” She shifted her weight slightly, stepping nearer to the tall window so the light fell more evenly across the room. It caught faintly in her hair, softened the sharpness of the gold fixtures around them. “I don’t know what kind of queen I’ll be yet,” she admitted. “I know what I don’t want to be. I don’t want fear to be the first thing people associate with me.” Her gaze flicked back to him meaningfully, though her tone remained even. She felt like she was talking to herself... but really that was okay. She'd talk the paint of a wall if she had to. “But I also know kindness without strength is dismissed quickly in places like this.” The balance would be delicate. She felt it already. Her fingers brushed lightly over the back of a chair, testing its steadiness as her hairs on the back of her neck stood. Majesty. She didn't like that. She'd done nothing to deserve it. “And for the record,” she said, turning back to him more fully, “my name is Alorha. Ally, if it suits.” She offered the clarification without ceremony. She paused, then added, softer, “I don’t expect you to trust me immediately. I wouldn’t, in your position. But I would like this room to feel less like a stage and more like somewhere we can both breathe.” The statement lingered between them — not an order, not a plea. Simply a hope, spoken aloud in a chamber that had likely heard very few of those. "Speaking of - you don't have to stay here. I have little need for a... god, what was that word... consort," she finished lightly. |
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As the young woman spoke, sage found himself relaxing more. She seemed more interested in making everything comfortable than intimidating. That was good. As she spoke about the room, the idea of changing the curtains, he found himself lifting his head slightly to peer about at the windows and curtains she was mentioning, mind working in a way it hadn't for a while. "If I may, Majesty....a midtoned green would work well with the rest of the room," he noted cautiously. He'd always enjoyed art, though he'd never had much of a chance to draw or paint. But the words has slipped out before he'd realized it, mind focusing on the task at hand. The old queen had never shown any interest in hobbies or things like that, but so far the new one seemed more inclined to appreciate that comment. He hoped so at least, the slipped comment would have earned him a slap and no dinner at the very least, and he'd rather not start off that way now. At her mention of being paraded around the next day, he gave her a small nod of agreement. "I believe the first meeting is at ten. I'll bring breakfast before that," he noted. He didn't know the exact schedule, but he did know he would be expected to be with her, if she decided to keep him. There was the normal getting to know the whole council, and the land she was taking over. Customs, rules, that sort of thing. But there was a meeting about the war scheduled as well, later in the day. That worried him the most. She didn't seem like the type to have studied battle plans or would handle war very well. Maybe he underestimated her, but something told him she'd never seen death. Never seen the kind of hardship that came from war. Her next question caught him off guard, and he threw her a surprised glance before frowning slightly, thinking of how to respond to that. He hadn't been close to her....he was a decoration, there for her amusement and pleasure. But he couldn't exactly trash the woman either. He knew better than that, even if she was dead. "Only physically," he noted softly after a moment. "She wasn't the type to see those beneath her as anything but game pieces used for her benefits," he added carefully. As she spoke about being judged for her kindness, he let his gaze look out the window as he took a few more steps into the room, following her slightly as she stood at the large glass planes. "Kindness is its own kind of strength. One a lot of us aren't used to yet. But it goes further than you'd expect, at least among those of us in the shadows." He was mostly talking about servants. Maids. Him. The old queen had set a harsh example, her fury heavy. He'd seen how the maids had reacted to her curtsy in the hall earlier, and he knew that among the servants, they already saw her as more than the old queen ever had been. At her last few comments though, his gut tightened again. He knew she was trying to be nice, but the fact that she didn't want him did spike his nerves again. Mostly because he wasn't sure what would happen to him. "You'll have to tell the council that," he noted quietly. "They'll decide what to do with me during the meeting," he explained. He took a deep breath then, though, adding, "you'll need someone eventually. Doesn't have to be me. But you will need an heir," he noted. It was just how things worked in a palace. She was queen, she'd need someone to carry on the throne. That meant she'd need a consort. Whether it was now or later, she'd need one. He wasn't entirely sure she knew what kind of job a consort was assigned with, so this was his best way of warning her what would be expected. Especially now, with a war going on. The council was likely to push for an heir sooner rather than later in the hopes of having the royal family survive. The last one had all but been blotted out already. This girl was their only hope. Now, he wouldn't necessarily be upset if the kingdom was captured, but he found himself wanting this woman, at least, to survive and be happy. She seemed like she deserved that. But really, he held no ties here. If they were attacked and he was killed in a battle there, that wasnt the worst way to go, he supposed. Of course, they could be attacked and he could be captured, forced to serve yet another queen but this time as just a slave. A prisoner of war there for her amusement. No fancy title that have him a slight margin of protection. He chose to stop thinking about all of that, though, before he made himself sick. So, he just stood there, waiting to see what the woman would do. What she'd say. If she wanted him to do anything or go anywhere. If she had any other questions. |
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Partly Cloudy with Afternoon Drizzle
