Legacy of the Destroyer: Ragnarök

Chapter II: Mission

CHAPTER II: MISSION

IT WAS A CRISP autumn morn, with the yellowing of trees and chilly breezes that warned the citizens of Icea of the coming winter. The harvest season was drawing to an end, and a long period of cold would replace it. Within Icea Castle, however, the snow was already deep enough for a flower to be buried underneath it. Not that flowers ever bloomed in Icea; it was far too cold and the winters far too long for anything to grow outside the greenhouses.

Icea Castle was a desolate place, fit for the dead, not the living.

Despite this, Queen Dresmia Saphira was dressed in light clothes of a glistening silver and blue, looking as if she had dressed for spring or summer. Certainly not winter. She wore no winter clothes nor were her feet booted; perhaps this was why she seemed to glide over the top of the snow, rather than trudge through it. Her crown glistened in the sunlight, indiscriminate on whom it shone upon.

She drew near the indoor practice courts, which were still drafty, with no fire. Her walk was elegant and light, still purposeful: it had been perfected since she had learned to stand. No sound carried in her steps, nor did she pause.

Her walk was impeded by the flock of maids scattered around the courts, clearly neglecting their duties. They took no notice of the newcomer; perhaps her height, very short as she was a tender age of twelve, aided her unwanted invisibility.

“The men are dreamy, aren’t they?” one sighed.

The others giggled. “Well, Chalisse,” another said. “Which do you fancy of the lot?”

The girl named Chalisse pretended to ponder the question. “Jason is the most handsome but Cais is the strongest. I think… I would go with the latter.”

“You like brawny lads, then?” she clucked. “Well, I must say… there is some benefit to brawn, no doubt!” They all erupted into giggles.

Having had enough of the nonsense, Dresmia adopted an icy manner and stepped forward, ready to assert her dominance as queen. “Such frivolity is not becoming—not is it proper decorum within Icea Castle,” she proclaimed, her tone still like ice. She refrained from voicing their vanity, though she thought it was apparent all the same. “Miria,” she called.

Her lady-in-waiting stepped forward obediently, her head inclined slightly, not looking her queen in the eyes as proper etiquette indicated. “Yes, Queen Dresmia?”

“I have put you in charge of educating the palace maids,” she scolded coldly. Her eyes pierced through every single maid’s, her disapproval in every single word. It was tradition for superiors to take the blame for their charges’ misdemeanors. “Yet I see they have yet to learn the manners of the palace.”

“My greatest apologies, your Majesty,” she murmured gracefully, casting an icy look at the maids. “Get into proper formation and greet your queen!” The maids squealed as they did so, looking worried and scared. Dresmia glided past them, ignoring their growing hysteria with poise.

From almost-birth, she had been taught that composure in the palace was a necessity. If she were to be taken seriously, she must act so.

Reaching her target at last, she waited for the men to pause their sparring and told Miria to fetch Cais. She brought forth a grim-looking dark haired main with solemn eyes, no visible emotion on his countenance. She whispered instructions to Miria, who took the maids and left, followed by the men who recognized their desire to be alone.

Once they had left, Cais dropped to one knee and said, “My Queen… What brings you to these humble grounds?” His deep voice calmed her, gave her comfort.