A plethora of handmaidens scampered past a door leaking with vapor, damp washcloths, cleansing products, and buckets brimmed with cool, “itchy” water amidst their grasps. Steam dampened Idara’s cheeks, slicking her feathery bangs against her forehead as if a second skin, and warm dew slid down the valley of her thighs, forming a puddle at her feet. A breathy laugh disrupted the stony silence that was her ladyship and servants, and it was then that Idara would tighten her robe, reeling her head in the other direction.

“Ah . . My Lady.”

A young woman cupped her stomach with her arms, tipping over at the conflicting gaze of coals that was Idara, room steeled with her shriveled breaths. Idara smiled, concealing her temper of petulance behind the peculiar glow of her eyes. Upon examination, she could see the rouge dusting the maids cheeks, and her crowd gladly retreating from her sides in avoidance of their master. “It-it was a mistake, forgive me.” The woman entreated softly, her gaze “inspecting” the floorboards and her physique as rigid as the disk of hair atop her head. The doors groaned with life, enough of a distraction should Idara rip her eyes away from such behavior. In traipsed a tailoress, rolling in her acquired clothing for the day, slicking Idara’s locs back against her head and chirping a greeting fitting for a princess. “You forget yourself..” Idara would start, her head tilting along with the hand which handled her tresses. “But there's no need for you to beg like a dog, is there?”

Gloating snickers flooded the bathing room, her posse of maids retching up sheer and utter loyalty to Idara despite their co-worker’s humiliation. Drowned out were her whimpers of embarrassment, and as if it were all forgotten, Idara rose, shrugging off her doused robe and allowing herself to be garbed in her dress, her locs dancing across her back in damp, temporary ringlets. “Has the perfume I purchased arrived?” Her voice lifted in a chirp, and her hands caressed her waistline thoughtfully, drinking in the pastel silk beneath her fingers. It felt quite nice. As if requested, her package had been torn and delivered to her on a platter, the scent of vanilla bean and an intoxicating dose of hyacinth poured onto her in shattered droplets. That singular spritz would be enough to get her through the day.

“Your Highness, His Majesty has requested your presence in the study.”

She turned, threading her fingers through her locs moments before the tailoress swiped her hair into a crested bun, and it trickled past her shoulder blades in a concealed, half ponytail. She could only wonder what her father wanted, he rarely summoned her if not for joining her family's banquets or attending her in-laws' dinner parties. “Very well.” She attested, lifting the hem of her skirt as she strode from the room. Her favorite handmaid kept at her back, and it wasn’t until she felt a breath-stealing squeeze at her abdomen that Idara realized she had walked out before her corset had been tied. Dutifully, even as she strolled, her servant wove the pale cords expertly against her bare back. Idara preferred more “showy” gowns. Despite Jagerha’s culture of intricate layering, the woman wore a thin, but not papery dress with a skirt hovering just above her ankles, which were also encased in close-fitting, nearly translucent stockings the color of snowfall befitting of her mountainous home.

“Leave us” Idara hummed, pushing past the broad, heavy gateway that was her fathers study. “Papa.” She squeaked, more or less skipping towards her father’s side like a needy child. The light of morn poured through his window, and it was obvious that he had peeled the drapes back in desire for the view. The room overlooked a gorgeous section of Dakyn city, the capital of Jagerha. There was an awning of tangerine in the sky, spotlighting the city like a blaze. “..Idara.” He turned to face his daughter, dusting off her shoulders and stifling his disapproval of her attire. That could wait.”Come sit.”

She could smell the liquor foxing his breath and couldn’t help but pinch her nostrils in distaste. “Could you have not waited till lunch to. . . indulge yourself, papa?” The King’s green eyes met hers, and in one fell swoop, he had sunken down into the comfort of his forearms, cold laughter spilling from his lips and bouncing off his desk in bitter waves. “..Papa?” Idara cocked a brow, examining the stress of indents on his face as he raised his head. A breath of anticipation shook his chest and his forehead wrinkled as he pushed his brows up.

“You have a suitor.”

“Don’t I always?” She gasped almost mockingly, resting her elbow on the arm of her chair.

“No.-”

“No?” Idara challenged, clearly offended.

“No, as in this one is different.” He straightened himself, scraping his flask into the desk drawer and rising, unhooking his furred cape from the back of his seat and tightening it around his shoulders. “The Kingdom of Rhen, they have a suitor, no, a knight of the first order, on his way now. In this instant.” He must be joking. As if. “There's been a treaty. When your mother and I had a meeting with congress in the throne room, it was to discuss the matters of. . arranged marriage. And as you know, it only leaves you, the only unwed daughter of the imperial palace.”

Idara chuckled dryly, leaning a cheek into her hand. “So you’re telling me that you’ve sold off your daughter, a princess, for a marriage under Rhens demand?”

“It is a treaty. The Rhen Kingdom requested it in hopes of saving face for their failures of war. We’ve exhausted them, and their only hope of salvaging their system of trade would be this exact proposition. Marriage.” She could sense the arrogance in his tone.

“...To a knight?”

“Of the first order.”

“Papa!!” Idara screamed, leaping from her seat. “Im to be the bride of a knight!? Of all beings, a lowly, dirty knight!” She cried out, holding her head in her hands. “And you tell me now? How am I supposed to face him when I already hate him?” The King took a slow, warranted sip of wine from his chalice amidst his daughter's shrieks, flicking a finger in her direction. “You can hate him, love. But please, for the love of Ulycta, stop your crying and head over to the east annex if you will, take a look at your new bed chambers, familiarize yourself, have some fun. Perhaps Terissa can help you.”

“You are truly the. worst!” She stormed from the day flitting study, tears striping her cheeks.

“Yes dear.”

The doors closed behind her with a thud, and so did her heart; thrumming against her ribcage ferociously, knocking the lumps from her throat and inducing a fit of coughs that naturally seemed to beckon every servant within the vicinity, to her side. “Take me to Princess Terissa.” Idara croaked, detaching herself from the uplifting builds of handmaidens and dusting her skirt as if she had collected her bearings. Perhaps she had, or perhaps she’s on the verge of fainting from shock. . . either way, Idara sauntered quickly after the eldest maid, her heels clicking furiously from archway to archway as she made her way towards the east annex.

“Does it give you a sense of thrill, Your Majesty? Conspiring against a pitiful enemy?” Were the first words to have fallen out of the upturned lips belonging to Hendrix after another round of discussion took place about his duty. The plot of assassination on the royals of Jagerha had been a topic between both the King and Hendrix for some time, it all being mostly orchestrated by the knight himself. After all, royals were not bred to have pure, genuine malice. A King can only conjure so much before a truly cynical and calculated being steps in to gently guide a royal's heinous vision. ‘His Majesty’s righteous hand’, is a term having been bestowed upon the knight. His murderous labor will only make the term more fitting in Hendrix’s eyes.

The practice and devotion of knighthood was insisted upon by his father, greatly supported by his mother. The Duke and Duchess of Sinettra, the noble couple appointed to oversee one of the five major cities of Rhen, had sent their 10-year-old son to the capital to apprentice under a knight of the first order. There Hendrix easily flourished in the atmosphere of fierce servitude, swearing himself to the Rhen code of chivalry, and ascending to the top tier among his fellow knights. It was there he too closely befriended the princes of Rhen, and soon found himself in the good graces of the entire royal family. In such, over time, a sea of distance divided the Ames family in terms of familial bond as Hendrix grew closer to the royals. Politically, of course, the family remains close. The entirety of the Ames family has much pull in the kingdom in terms of influence, status, and suggestion overall. So it’s in the families best interest to remain in close contact for the sake of the kingdom's function. The news of the arrangement had delighted the Duke and Duchess, although Hendrix omitted the shadowed pretenses behind the marriage.

“In some sense,” The King replied with a faint smile, his dull blue orbs turning to the garden scene below his chambers balcony the two stood on. “The arrangement of marriage is not a burden of insult I’m placing upon you, Hendrix. Don’t think your bitter remarks the past few days have escaped my ears.” A brief pause in speaking was taken as Hendrix’s chuckle rang out lightly. “There is no better man to complete the task at hand than you. I trust with unwavering faith that you’ll see it through as carefully as every prior job of yours. This is something that I know is unnecessary to say, knowing you of course, but do be careful. A slip up is not something we can afford. An assassin caught, is an assassin dead.” King Whitaker finished with a sterner tone, though it possessed a fatherly ring.

“I’m aware of what this kingdom can, and cannot afford. It pays to know what Jagerha can, and cannot afford as well. They cannot afford a trifle with us, thus I expect kindly obligated hospitality on their end. If there’s anyone you should worry about, Your Majesty, it is the royals of that Godforsaken place. Or excuse me, Godsforsaken, plural. Whatever term they prefer, know they won’t likely exist long enough to correct my terminology.” Hendrix’s piercing silver eyes swept thoughtfully over the plants below. Only a handful are aware of Hendrix’s unpopular atheistic views. Although, he would adapt to the religious fawning of that in Jagerha as to avoid eyes of sheer scrutiny. An adaptive assassin is a successful assassin. “The marriage is nothing more than a transaction to me, but I’ll consider this my extended holiday from the Kingdom to humor myself. Indulging in mass murder and whatnot; so relaxing.” Hendrix finished causally as he tore himself away from the views from the balcony to retreat into His Majesty’s chambers. “Long live the King, of Rhen, that is.” Hendrix smirked to himself.

~

The brief conversation that took place prior to Hendrix’s departure vividly replayed in the recesses of his mind. A sturdy echo of hooves briskly beating along the ground recaptured his attention. Traveling by horseback rather than being seated prissily in a carriage is how Hendrix chose to embark to Jagerha. Accompanied by three other knights of course. Entering a neighboring kingdom is best to do with company. Never can be too careful. That thought alone beckoned a phantom of a smile to grace Hendrix’s lips. Here I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing, yet I flatter myself with the thought of betrayal. The likelihood of Jagerha having their own agenda with the arrangement, other than avoiding being crippled economically by Rhen, is low. There’s nothing to gain by assassinating a knight, other than a declaration of war, after all.

“We’re approaching the capitol, Sir.”

A simple hum to acknowledge the knight is all Hendrix paid him. There’s a frigid air to Jagerha as he has come to carefully note. Not only temperature wise, but a cold hostility from the commoners he passed. Here I believed Jagerha was so lavish. It’s the first time he’s ever set foot in this kingdom, and already there were so many contrasting elements compared to his homeland. There was almost an air of resentment, if he was reading the people right, that blanketed the place. If such resentment existed, perhaps it would make his scheme just a little more interesting. A foundation of rebel rousers amidst Jagerha wouldn’t be so torn up at the passing of their rulers. In fact, they would make the transition after the royal downfall much easier. Thoughts of this fashion come too easily to him. Deception, betrayal, lies, manipulation… all tools of his craft. The craft of weaving intricate scheming webs that is.

“I was expecting a parade. Cheers and fawning. . . what a disappointment.” Hendrix chuckled, more so to himself. However the people of Jagerha view the royals rule, it still seemed inhabitants of Rhen weren’t exactly welcomed with adoringly open arms. It more than likely didn’t help that Hendrix alone was dressed to proudly show which kingdom it is he truly belonged to. It wasn’t customary for him to bore his armor, so instead he settled with a neatly black frock coat with the emblem of his kingdom’s sacred symbol boldly embroidered on the back. A simple black vest and white undershirt resided under the coat, leaving only his black trousers and boots to complete his midnight themed attire. It at least provided an illusion of luminescence with his bright silver orbs contrasting against the clothing.

The capital of Jagerha redeemed the gush he’s heard of the kingdom’s wealth. As enthralling as the lush riches evidently flaunted by the people and architecture of the capital are, it did little to truly move Hendrix. The sight of the palace itself was marvel worthy, but no such expression was to be seen on the knight’s face. For someone so drunk on ego, it comes as a surprise that he has typically simpler tastes. In certain aspects, that is. The beastly sized stallion he rode upon was ushered to slow its brisk trot, and as it complied, Hendrix rewarded the creature with a gentle stroke along its neck. The flossy black coat had a velvety touch despite its rougher appearance, though only a moment later did his hand recede to grip the reins once more as he came upon the palace. “Gentleman,” Hendrix spoke as he brought his steed to a halt, “it’s been horrid traveling with you all.” Hendrix flashed a grin before dismounting. The knight really did despise lengthy travel though.

“Go in grace, Sir.” One of the knights offered with a respectful tip of their head, to which Hendrix waved a hand of dismissal. “Don’t I always?” He retorted. It was really only in that moment the gravity of marrying a princess fell upon him. Lucky me, his thoughts sarcastically mused. Most other men could dare be said to be overjoyed at such an arrangement. Hendrix? The minor irritation is something he could live with for the sole reason of knowing what was to come.

“Have you forgotten?” A gentle, airy voice cooed. “I’m a snake, I can’t be trusted.” Her voice shifted into that of condescension. “It’d be best if you get your advice elsewhere.” Inky black locks framed the cusp of her face, and her lips curved up into an unfeeling smirk.

Terissa had this unfortunate habit of accusing Idara. A habit which usually never fell short of infuriating, an emotion which creeped its way upon her face. Idara felt enraged, eyes slanted, cheeks distending with furious pokes from the tongue. Had her distraught not sucked the breath from her lungs, she’d have unleashed her temper in wrathful parting of her lips. A begotten silence stilled the room, which, by the way, had been husked with various pillars, marble, and design. Authoritatively, she sunk into the feathered embrace of Terissa’s throne, perching her elbows atop the milky white vanity before her. Had Terissa not threatened to disperse from her chambers, Idara would have remained chilled.

“I’ll give you this week's allowance. Just tell me how to please the court.”

Her sister paused, trilling softly with amusement. “Now Idara, you know that is not what father meant when he sent you to me.” Tapping her chin, Terissa, in her dark, lustrous mauveine gown shelled in frilly hems and dangling jewels, pranced to her siblings side. Her hands prowled up the back of the chair, caging either side of Idara’s shoulders. She could feel Terissa’s radiance at her right, so close that they could’ve been mistaken as conjoined. “You wish to please the court? To escape your arrangement just as I, correct?” Idara, gazing into the mirror with reddened eyes, bobbed her head, unphased by the entrancing smile her sibling wore in her reflection. “Give me two sapphire bits and I’ll tell you.”

Terissa, while married now, had, in the past, avoided an arranged marriage that the King and Queen themselves had conceived. Duchess Rychester of Dukedom Rychester had borne a child many years ago. Had they not kept their son secret, the royal family would have requested his hand long ago. Alas, an imperial entourage of sentries on their way back from an outing, had spotted the heir outside Rychester gates, coming home from academy. The boy, at the ripe age of 18, immediately after word had spread of. . well, his existence, had been summoned to the castle alongside his parents. The King and Queen were not bothered by his birth, but by the boy's private, foolish parents who kept their offspring, what seemed a secret, from high society. It was seen as disrespectful. Perhaps not truly, but rumors would spread. “Are the imperials not worthy of gracing the heir of Rychester?” Nonetheless, the King and Queen bestowed “mercy”, insisting the Duke and Duchess not be punished should they request their son be wed to third eldest Princess Terissa.

Any other Dukedom and His and Her Majesty would have left it alone, but Rychester was a weak and new Duke. He owned his own manor and mansion, but beyond that, his property claim and influence was. . . well, terrible. So Rychester and his wife had no choice but to accept. Terissa, back then the age of 21, was horrified at the news. And one knows that when a marriage is approved by the court and Imperials, it is nearly impossible to reverse it. But Terissa did the remarkable. Idara only wished she had paid more attention other than giggling snarkily in the halls.

“Two Sapphire bits?” She clenched her jaw, slowly rising from her seat with her arms hugged tightly across her chest. Her hands, as if she were in a trance, landed rigidly onto the levers leading to the balcony, and with one, powerful swing, the window sheeted door flew open. And immediately, the cool, tame air pooled along her skin, attacking her neck and shoulders. Yards over, she could see the royal reception at the gates, massive and far from pitiful, unlike the unattended dwellings that lie further past the wealthier cities. The frost of the mountains teethed at her lips and eyes, her gaze cold and unmoving. “I’ll get the bits.” Idara ground her teeth, uncomfortable at the feeling of being vulnerable, of being reliant. Her entire future relied on whether or not Terissa would honor their agreement, which she. . .didn’t like. Who would?

“Now then.” Her sister creeped back up behind her. “Is he handsome?”

Idara rolled her eyes, rocketing away from the railing should she keel over with embarrassment. “Gods, Terissa. Have you no shame?” She hissed, a lick of red rousing her cheeks. Her sister shrugged, putting a finger beneath her chin. “What? Is he not?” The doors clacked shut behind Idara, her features, it seemed, deflated.

“My life is ruined.”

<|||||>

“Is today a special occasion My Lady?” A maid hummed warily, fluffing her locs down her back and placing flashy, golden hair clips at the forefront sides of her head. “Be quick with it now.” Idara snapped, toying with her fingers. “...I wouldn’t say special, maid. But it is..important.” They had quickly finished her shift in garments, dappering up her makeup and concealing the swelling in her eyes before departing from her chambers.

She had a deep, rounded neckline, exposing about an inch of the incurve of her breasts. Her sleeves were floaty and plumose, an almost ethereal translucence to the ruffled, loose layering. The skirt of her gown slightly protruded from her hips, but maintained the fluffy threading as her sleeves. The bordering of her dress and many hems had pale, excessive embroideries at every layer, and her bodice was lined with short, silky frills, intertwined with crossed, beaded wires jutting out from the varnishing. A large ribbon budded around her waistline, sagging at her abdomen. And a smooth, frosty violet tamed it all, even thick, small-beaded gloves of the same color. She wore open toed heels of the same fashion, only a darker pigment of lilac.

“Rietta.” Idara called, outstretching her hand. Her personal handmaid drifted to her side, taking her lady’s hand as they climbed their way daintily down the platform of stairs. A thick sheet of rug hugged every crevice and descent of the stairs, and it was sliced in a way that appeared a pattern, half circles on each step, facing the opposite way should one tire of its repetitiveness. Idara, after having made it down the massive stairway, sauntered cautiously out only one of the courtyard gates. For a moment she paused behind a column, but progressed forward, making her way towards the stables.

“Um…that one. Take it out.” She flicked her finger at a gorgeous bay equine with coal black hair. Obediently the stablehand dropped his bags of feed, untethering the stallion but keeping a hold of his lead. “Uh, My Lady, do you know how to ride..?” Idara gazed at him, puffing a wisp of cold from her lips before guiding a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well no, but-” The loud, “celebratory” reception rang in her ears, and she knew that they were nearing the castle. “-You can teach me, right?” She breathed, simply blinking as the man’s gaze finally dispersed past the neck of her dress. He gulped. “Perhaps..hop on.” He grabbed her waist gingerly, hoisting her up onto the calm steed until her legs had hooked on either side of the roan blue saddle, but something hitched in his throat. “Heels? Your Highness, this might be unsafe..should we rethink-”

“Wh-whoa..!” The stallion had launched forward, and she clenched the bridle. Having had little to no lessons on horse riding in her youth, Idara snapped at the reins, feeling her soul leave her with just a breath. The horse, having seemed to calm, began a slow trot from the yard gates, giving Idara a chance to swallow her nerves. “Your Highness! Your Highness!” She could hear the stablehand shouting behind her, but shrugged his voice to the recesses of her mind. “Er…go.” She commanded the horse, to which he surprisingly responded, striding forward. They crawled forward, nearing the marveling guests of Rhen, and she couldn’t help but scoff in distaste. Did these people truly deserve an imperial reception? She could see her mother stationed just outside the palace gates, waiting to greet the party with a simple, royal smile. Idara smirked, advancing forward. Just as the reception had reached the gates, she jostled forth pausing what was supposed to be beautifully, before their eyes, atop her steed.

The Queen turned once she felt the daylight on her neck rescind, and there, saddling a horse was her daughter, the massive stallion seeming to shadow the royal and then some. “Rietta.” Idara beckoned, extending her hand for aid. She felt her saddle sliding, and it had begun to embarrass her. Should it really be beneath just one leg and not the other?

Suddenly, it wasn’t. The saddle fell to the ground with a thud, and Idara, obviously alarmed, launched her hands, not onto the reins, but back onto the bridle. The stallion huffed and shook his head rapidly, annoyed.

“Get-get me d-down. Get me down! Get me down!” Idara shrieked, holding onto the bridle for dear life.

A surflux of soldiers fled to her side, allowing her into their embrace as the steed relented. Amidst collecting herself, Idara huffed, tilting her head to the ground as if she had dropped something, attempting to veil the humiliation staining her cheeks. She saw a pair of shoes, royal shoes. “Papa-” The King continued on, clasping his hands before him. “Greetings, travelers. Let us receive you. We’ve prepared a chamber in the east annex where your servants will wait on you, foot and hand. And where we hope you find comfortability. This is foreign land to you, but consider Jagerha your new home.” He paused, gesturing to the suitor’s company. “These men can head to the imperial barracks. Now,” He clapped his hands “Shall we relinquish ourselves of this blasted cold and make our way inside? Sir, I’d like to request an audience with you after you’ve settled.” From then on the King only ever mentioned the knight, disregarding his companions, and disregarding her.

Idara didn’t even watch, but it was obvious how they had all made their way inside, for the steely silence that enshrouded her was too much of a burden to bear. She couldn’t even catch a look at her suitor. “Idara.” The Queen hissed, not a shred of concern in her voice, or, at least not displayed in a loving way. “I-I want that horse taken away! You saw what it did to me, mother.” She turned to face her, brows knitted in salvation.

“Nonsense!” The Queen slapped her arm, yanking her back towards the palace with a look that’d make a person cough blood. “You’re grounded.”

The sight before him at the gates beckoned Hendrix to at least give a respectful marvel at the reception. Not that he wasn’t necessarily unimpressed by the scene though. There is just nothing so far about Jagerha that actually called to Hendrix. A lack of familiarity paired with the distaste of the royals here engraved into his mindset made for a less than joyous internal mood. Usually expressing his unsavory moods through smart remarks was acceptable, at home. This, however, is not home.

Hendrix’s eyes lazily carried over to the sound of approaching hooves, and the knight could not help but arch a brow in the direction of the rider. His eyes briefly studied the female figure atop the steed, though he determined for himself rather quickly that this female was too much of an attention grabber for his liking. However, his gaze lingered enough to notice the struggle he regarded as nothing short of embarrassing. 'Pitifully ungraceful much?' His inner thoughts mocked before his silver orbs looked on towards the royals of Jagerha. The shriek of the woman is something he chose to ignore, however he did cast a quick glance to her. More so her appearance. She’s dressed like royalty. If the gods do exist, then that surely won’t be the princess whose hand I’m burdened with. Wishful thinking, because either way the knight had a duty to fulfill, however practicing optimism is beneficial. So he’s heard.

Hendrix’s polite smile instinctively etched itself into his otherwise charming features as the King began to speak. Tipping his head down in the slightest as a show of respect and acknowledgment to the King’s words during his pause is all Hendrix returned. Consider me your personal ticket to whatever afterlife you believe in. While the real Hendrix was coveted by a suave mask of charisma, the word home when referring to Jagerha nonetheless struck a nerve. Moving his head to the side to view his knights after the King spoke of them, they waited for Hendrix’s approval before moving a step. A simple wave is all it took to quietly communicate Hendrix’s order to do as the King said. Passing the reins of his beloved horse to one of his own knights, Hendrix’s postured figure began to proceed forward as the King finished speaking. “The air is rather prickly in Jagerha,” Hendrix spoke in reference to the cold, “I’ll spare you a lengthy wait of my audience by not drawing out my initial settlement here then, Your Majesty.” Hendrix added, flashing a warm smile before his eyes thoughtfully traveled over the space around him.

Humility among knights is a general quality Hendrix lacked. The practice of such weakness is below the knight in his eyes. Those with closer ties to Hendrix understand just how -dare be said- quirky of an individual he can be. The man dances on very dangerous lines in his homeland, and here he walks a fine line between succeeding in his own glorious life, and diminishing the royals of Jagerha’s lives to nothing more than stories. He’s walking a line of life and death. How invigorating. Hendrix knew well though that fronting conformation to the highest expectation of what a knight should be is what he will practice here. As much as it both bores and irritates him.

Upon entering, Hendrix’s eyes continued to carefully study his new surroundings. Not to marvel or gawk at such a place, but merely to construct a perfect mental map. Adding to that map is what he would do overtime, but it pays to currently be seen looking at the interior as if it dazzled his vision. “I was not told I’d be honored to call such a beautiful place home.” Hendrix commented with a subtle amazement to his tone. I even convinced myself on that one. He supposed the best actors can convince themselves their plays are fact. Anyone can convince both themselves and others of anything if they can manage to find the slightest of truths within their lies. The east annex as Hendrix recalled was to be his destination, and thus he began to walk where he was judging was the right direction. Perhaps his stronger quality of independence will shine through here on occasion, but not in a grotesque fashion. The knight of Rhen both felt and knew he stood out within this place, and the thought touched him enough to bring forth a ghostly smile. Being like everyone else, not to mention being merely looked over as just another face in the crowd didn’t sit easy with the knight.

It didn’t take merely as long to reach the east annex as he anticipated, and it was rather easy to tell which chamber the King had referred to for Hendrix to stay in. Judging by the light flurry of servants; their previously simple and bland expressions quickly evolving into attentive stances at his approach. “Welcome, Sir-” a male servant began to speak before Hendrix gave a flick of his wrist in a motion to be silent. “There isn’t a thing I want from any of you right now,” Hendrix stated, “should I find myself needing something that I can’t get or do for myself, then I’ll call upon you. Don’t humor me by groveling to me and my every need like lackey’s on leashes.” Hendrix finished as puzzled expressions blanketed the servants. The knight knew he was a bit unconventional, although he was guessing he was going to find out soon enough just how different he was here compared to the behavior of the royals. “All of you are dismissed, except…” Hendrix’s finger swept over the group until it settled on a male a few years older than himself. A man with delicately blonde hair and yet blue eyes that sang with an evident wisdom to them. “Your name?” Hendrix asked the male, as the other servants began to hesitantly shuffle in either direction of the corridor.

“Adonis.” The male responded respectfully. Hendrix tipped his head slightly to the side as he observed the male silently. “You have the posture of an honorable man, Adonis. I like that.” Hendrix spoke in a thoughtful tone before opening the door to the chamber, gesturing for Adonis to follow him in. Closing the door behind them, Hendrix did a full, slow spin around the room as he took it all in. “Not exactly my style, but I’ll manage.” Hendrix grumbled with a sigh. The knight cast his silver orbs back to the silent servant still standing in front of the door. “You’re quiet, and I find that boring. At least the servants in Rhen had the gall to mutter smart remarks in my presence.” Hendrix spoke, clearly already reminiscing home.

“Smart remarks are for the smart, Sir. You won’t find such intellect within everyone here.” Adonis spoke with a glimmer of a smirk, and Hendrix clapped his hands with delight. “That’s the kind of reply I like to hear, Donnie.” Hendrix smirked back, deciding on the man's nickname. It was Hendrix’s way of politely saying ‘you will be my beloved pet’. He could take the time now to play a thousand questions with Adonis; regarding the King, his bride to be, and a multitude of other things involving the royals. However, one thing at a time. If Hendrix looked too pushy with so many questions now, well, he didn’t know Adonis well enough to determine just how loyal to the crown he is. Therefore he can’t risk being viewed too skeptically. So for now, Hendrix’s idea of briefly settling in was pacing to the window to get used to the view beyond the chamber. The view reminded him of a few things. Those things being his task of assassination, his glory that follows, and returning to his homeland when this is all over.

She was thrown into a corridor, and if it weren’t for the clacking of heels, it would have been silent. Idara matched the burning stare that was her mother, crossing her arms as if amidst a tantrum. “You embarrass me so.” The Queen scoffed, slapping her once more. “I should be saying that, Idara. Me.” Idara quieted. “You’ll have no allowance, you’re not to set foot by the stables, and no more gatherings!” No more gatherings, no more allowance? Preposterous. “Mother, I’m the princess. I must tend to my social life.” She let out a bitter, breathy chuckle, watching as the Queen dared her to continue. “You’re a princess out of many. Your sisters can host just as well as you can.”

“You’re joking.”

She simply stared down at her daughter, sheer vexation overcoming her face. “I must be on my way. I’ve many more important things to attend than to spend another second with your temper.”

“Mom.” Her eyes followed that of her mothers drifting figure, clenching her jaw. Surely if she had spoken, she would have lost her head. The Queen, although polite and mindful, was absolutely merciless, shockingly so. Idara knew her father was upset with her, and was nearly grateful to have received punishment before he could draft one himself. It would have been worse than what her mother had come up with, in some strange and twisted way. She could already imagine it, forced to lock arms with her brother for the entirety of the day, forced to shadow the palace advisor during a congregation of officials… yes, her mother was merciless, but her father, creative. One could only wish to know what he had desired to say during his audience with the Rhen Knight.

<|||||>

“Put a tail on those residing in the barracks.” Just as quickly as he had gestured for the servant, the man was dismissed, striding from the checkered pathing of the throne room and nearing the unsuspecting maiden at the grand archway. The man-servant cocked a brow at Idara, buckling his knees in acknowledgement. “Greetings, your Highnes-”

“Quiet!” She snapped with a breath, although to no avail.

“Send her in.” The King’s voice resonated off the walls, and should she be a person of meritable sweat, it would have struck dew down from her arms and face. Idara huffed, descending down the miniature steps with her fingers pinching the hem of her skirt, biding her time. “Your Majesty.” She cooed in formality, perching herself before her father, and seeming nothing but a speck amidst the mass of the throne room and its dark design of glossed, what seemed diamonds, but were squares; a checker’s board pattern but grander in every way. The Palace had a respectable and admiring theme. The finest of greens, dare say acid, and the most perfect blue, aegean. Those colors made its presence known among the castle, but it dared not dawdle in the throne chamber, in this lounge, it appeared “gloomy”, forgetting the patterned floor, the lights were dimly lit, and the windows so huge and wide, Idara feared should she traipse too close, the winds would swallow her.

Her father sat like stone on his pedestal, atop a platform that stretched to either side of the room should he invite people to be seated. It was high that it required steps, but not so high should someone spend more than two seconds scaling them. “Your suitor has a witful tongue, I admit.” The King rumbled, and at this, Idara stapled her knuckles beneath her chin “inquisitively”. “How so?” She replied, fighting the interest in the meager topic. Earlier today, she had meant to at least glimpse at his appearance, perhaps wallow in shame should he be. . . unseemly, but alas, no such luck. Her wishful endeavors on horseback had earned her nothing but unwitting pain. She’d have to find another source of income without her allowance. . Terissa would be waiting.

“Nevermind that.” He started, shooting his offspring an unimpressed glare. “I’ve caught wind of your punishment, and if it were not for your affairs, I would have had you dress like a servant girl and ride the horses in the pasture for as long of a time as you had humiliated your mother.” Thank Ulycta. “Please, i'm the one in distress here, papa. You barely sent any servants to tend to me. What if I was bruised?” He shook his head, clearly displeased. “Are you?”

“Yes.” She lied.

“Then I suppose you shouldn’t see your suitor until it has healed.”

“Ridiculous.” Idara remarked, grinding her teeth. “You suppose I live in my chambers unknowing of the man I’m forced to marry?” Expanding her chest with a hefty breath, she’d quip. “Humorous.” The King chortled with an unsavory look, rising whilst adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “That's enough Idara. The day I bicker with you will be the day I allow you out of this marriage.” Almost simultaneous to his words, in strode the female descendants of the crown, her five sisters, the other princesses. “You summoned them? Why?” Idara interrogated, turning to face her sisters with a more or less sour expression. “Yewla, shouldn’t you be at the Gryffin Estate? I’m sure Ezekiel misses your presence.” Idara droned habitually, letting her eyes wander to Yewla’s shoulder length, dark brown hair. “You got a haircut.”

“Yes, well, the wonders of pregnancy shifted my mood. I’m much more impulsive these days.” Yewla chuckled, caressing her flat stomach. “Oh please Yewla, You’re barely along.” Idara remarked. “Hush! You’re always trying to spoil the mood. Always trying to rush me from the palace. I have a place here too, you know!” Her sister snapped, shrugging her shawl further across her shoulders. Hailan interjected, being the eldest, she would naturally do so as if a second breath. “Calm yourselves. Heavens, to this day, you both never cease to remind me how much you have to learn.” She’d turn. “Penelope, come, let's join father.” Second eldest, Penelope, happily took her invitation, but Idara grabbed her wrist before she could embark any further. “Tell me why you’re here. All of you.” Jia, only nine months older than she, and Terissa, immediately quipped. “I live here.” In unison, to which Idara rolled her eyes in reply. “Quiet yourselves.” Their father spoke, perhaps having finally bored of their squabbles.

“Your Majesty.” Personal Attendant Zanar presented himself, bowing alongside one of the top housekeepers. “The Rhen Knight is nearing the chamber..”

“Line up.” the King gestured, crossing a leg over the other and nearly grinning. Idara chuffed victoriously, making her way towards the seat at her fathers side. “All of you.”

“But papa-”

“Just do as I say.”

Annoyed and angered, she shuffled her way in line, at least priding herself in being the best garbed of the selection. “Tilt your heads down.” Seriously? What are we, maids? Nonetheless, they did as told. She gazed simply at her shoes, on occasion, thrusting her onyx stare past the veil of bangs which fluttered and stilled at her eyes. Now so stonily roosted in the middle of the floor, Idara felt a chill claw up her spine. She glanced to her right. A window was open, gracing the maiden with the picturesque view of an early afternoon vista. She could’ve sworn it was just the waking hours of morning. The day was traveling far too fast for her liking. A nasaly voice rang in her ears, and it was then that the announcer introduced the knight as an esteemed guest, and his arrival to the throne room. She bit her lip, finding the matter of looking, perhaps meeting his gaze, a mighty challenge indeed.

“Have a seat.” She heard the King call, gesturing towards a seat at his side. “Now, entertain me, young knight. I know you must be curious about your bride. Go on and choose. Pick any one you’d like.”

“Papa-” Terissa started in protest, but was quickly silenced.

“I'll let you know, the one on the very left end has the largest dowry, and the one on the other, the littlest. As for the rest, well, gauge them for yourself.”

She was on the left end. Really, papa? Why must you toy with him so? It was a trick question, an odd one at that. One who might think themselves clever, or of good morals, would obviously decipher the Kings intent, and go for the one with the least sizable dowry, hoping themselves to be rewarded with jewels and praise afterwards. But her father didn’t care for that. He thinks a person should pursue ambition, have no shame in seeking greatness. He thinks those who settle for less are weak and less desirable. The King cares not for the common morals, but one's own individual character, and even then he will be unfairly picky.

Hendrix perhaps took a little longer than he intended to get situated, although who’s to blame a man for not wanting to make peace with new surroundings? It’s not as if he could ornament this chamber with items to his liking. Such items typically being finely crafted weapons. Splays of daggers, swords, axe’s, and galore were things he enjoyed spoiling himself with. Of course, the knight has particular taste when it comes to surrounding himself with such devices. Here, however, the display would most certainly come across as threatening. It would be of no surprise to friends of the knight that he found peace in being surrounded by cold, metal used as instruments of intimidation and torture. Not that Hendrix collects such things to be regarded as an entity adoring harm and malice. If anything, it’s simply because he can appreciate how something so beautiful can be so lethal.

Approaching the throne chamber -to which Hendrix would have to get used to the location of places within the Jagerha palace being starkly different from that of Rhen’s- his steps echoed lightly in his ears. Any eyes that care to study the walk of the knight would form the impression of a creature with steadfast confidence with an unwavering discipline to his posture. The impression formed based on this alone would be accurate; for he is matter of factly a creature of both confidence and discipline. Hendrix assumed most men in his current position would be storming their thoughts with the thousands of hypothetical ways a direct meeting with this King could go. Hendrix is not most men. Zeroing in on the door, the entrance he made was one of subtle flattery. I love hearing my presence announced. Hendrix dipped his head lightly in acknowledgment with an uttered “Your Majesty” to the King before furthering himself into the room.

Observantly argent eyes flicked to the sight of women standing in line, but just as quickly as his gaze had been cast to them, it traveled to the King. Heeding the request to sit, Hendrix ascended the platform with his calmly calculated steps before seating himself beside the King. While Hendrix’s posture didn’t lessen from its typical stance, he certainly relaxed in a visible display. As if he had been seated here many times prior, and the King and him were getting prepared to host a friendly conversation. Respectful he stayed as well, but Hendrix’s entire demeanor reflected no meagerness in the King’s presence. A slight tip of his head and a faint smile pushed at Hendrix’s lips upon hearing the King. Silent the knight remained as an expression best translated as amused moved onto the women.

As the King spoke, from left to right his silver, piercing gaze swept over the view of the princesses. Are their faces so horrid they’re not to be seen directly? His inner voice joked lightly to himself. After the King silenced, Hendrix only let a few seconds of quiet blanket over them before his eyes moved to the entity radiating with power beside him. “If it’s entertainment you seek from me, Your Majesty, I’d find it much more amusing to rise, spin around with my eyes shut, and thrust my deciding finger out in a direction completely at random. Thus I get a bride, and you are delivered entertainment.” Hendrix spoke with a light smile, although that soon was replaced by a more thoughtful expression as he turned his eyes back to the princesses. Comparing them all, even Hendrix could note the differences in fashioned attire being worn by the girls. One such standing out in showcasing better dressage. Not that it is the only observation he made about that particular princess, a dull throb of familiarity harboring in the recesses of his mind, but despite this his decision was made. Horse girl. His former dread of the equine rider was at least confirmed of her being a princess from the looks of it though. Perhaps the women of Jagerha just aren’t talented riders, a thought he internally smirked at. I pity their husbands. Perhaps the next pity party he should throw will be for himself in that case, being a future husband to a female of Jagerha, but he was absolutely not letting anything go too far with his future bride anyway.

“As enticing as high dowry’s alone are to me,” Hendrix spoke, before moving his hand to gesture to the princess of his choosing on the left. "I’m a man that fancies things that stand out in a greater fashion. As well as a man that would prefer to seize any opportunity of having something that attractively stands out. There’s just something about attaining things that don’t fit the common mold I find appealing.” Hendrix finished, his tone authentic as he spoke. The others could very well be attractive in their own right, but Hendrix was going for what boldly stood out to him, which would be the difference in clothing. A seemingly silly way to base the decision on, but that doesn't concern him. It is exactly how the knight chooses which weapons he trophies as well; all are fine blades, some just happen to have more creative hilts. So he’s not lying about fancying objects that fit his bold taste. In so, admittedly, that would make 'horse girl' nothing more than an object to Hendrix.

If this was His Majesty’s attempt at baiting him into a game, then Hendrix didn’t care to play. The knight plays games on his own terms, and this was not on his terms. So appeasing the King by choosing “right”, or displeasing the King at choosing “wrong” was of little importance to Hendrix. After all, he’s not here to impress for long. Being in anyone’s better graces made a job like this easier, but he could easily find himself engaged with adding a flare of dramatics to his task by making it a little more challenging. Just for his own amusement. Who doesn’t love a challenge? The decision he made was one he did so out of the due process he chooses other finer things. Nothing more, nothing less to his decision. “Did I manage to fulfill your request for entertainment, Your Majesty?” The tone to Hendrix’s tone was easily respectfully genuine, however his smile fueling the glint to his eyes expressed that he himself found entertainment in this situation.

“As enticing as high dowry’s alone are to me, I'm a man that fancies things that stand out in a greater fashion”

His shoes thrummed decisively against the floor, and thus igniting a peculiar heat of. . .what was it? Embarrassment? No, not quite. Anticipation? Slightly. Idara swallowed, she swallowed something as he neared her, approaching the maiden as she began to reach amidst herself for the courage. The courage to what you may ask? Well, to look.

Deep, chestnut brown hair. Shining silver eyes? Wow. She tipped her chin upwards, gaze unmoving and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Hmmph. “Good.Very well.” The King nodded, faintly amused. He inclined further back into his seat, beckoning a servant towards his side with a small wag of his finger. “Reward the man.” He smirked.

Simultaneously, the neighboring princesses at Idara’s side dispersed from the line, chuckling and giggling softly at what had just occurred. “This is the man I’m to marry?” Idara huffed, quirking a brow, seemingly unimpressed. Admittedly, her suitor was fairly attractive, but who’s to say she’s never seen a pleasing man before. He was nothing new. . .and yet those eyes, she just couldn’t quite get the image out of her head. No, it festered and dare say put a tint to her cheeks-unfortunately so.

“Did I manage to fulfill your request for entertainment, Your Majesty?”

She strolled forward, brows downcast upon her face, and nothing but her dragging garments projecting any sound to diffuse the heart-beat of silence. She claimed the closest seat beside her father, and upon his lack of objection, she only nestled herself further against the cushion with a dainty cross of her legs. “Enough with the foolery, papa. I have more important things to see to, you know.” A chill frosted over her eyes, and she indifferently watched as her sisters, faintly intrigued but content with their summoning, curtsied and bowed before retiring from the chamber.

“Poor guy- I feel bad for him.” Yewla mewed softly in her passing, perhaps, dare say aware of her utterance having been heard.

Asshole

The King, having rested his chin atop his knuckles, leaned forwards with a hefty exhale, considerably pleased with the outcome of his. . .inconvenient antics. “Yes, yes, I suppose you have.” He spoke in a light-hearted tone, flapping his hand firmly in the air. “My youngest daughter, Princess Idara Chorncellet, is to be your bride.” She winced at the title, although quite a bit too busy with the admiring his looks and all. “I’ve sent a servant to pay you a pouch of silver for your endeavors. . .whatever you may decide to do with it, I’ll bid you full reign.” He dryly chuckled. before casting his gaze firmly between the both of them as if his sight were a tether. “Now, acquaint yourselves if you will. Head back to the east annex and do whatever it is. . .you do.”

But- She could already feel the refusal bubbling up in her throat, and yet to avoid any humiliation should her father shoot her down in an unfitting manner, Idara bit her tongue. . . but lifted, inwardly trembling with rage at the ways of the King and how he so quickly bores.

“Your arm, sir.” Idara gritted, folding her wrist around his elbow without even awaiting a response, and clicking her way out of the room. If only he could feel how her heart nearly rode out of her throat. Was she nervous? Well, this was new. . not really.

“I’m going to the conservatory.” She almost snapped, albeit coolly despite her chaotic innerworkings. And although she felt like recoiling from his touch, the grimey, dirtied touch of a knight, Idara tightened her grip, lips jutting out begrudgingly. “You’ll come with I suppose.” She excused, confidently striding towards the northern corridors of the castle with an entourage of maid-servants following their trail. “What's your name anyway? You know it's impolite to not give your title.”

Funnily so, the King hadn’t cared enough to ask I suppose. But how is that my problem?