Women in the small kingdom of Aeriana are disappearing.
Iris Daniels, a budding painter in the East Territory, is trying to keep her head down. In a kingdom filled with abilities, music, and Destined love, Iris is determined to build a career out of...
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"I've created this vision of you / what will make your lips curve / what you'll scrunch your nose at / and all this time I look / to the Stars / waiting for you."
—B for Beauty, Waiting, Waiting EP
King Demitri Ivan Nicolai Antonov rubbed his thumb against a photo in his pocket.
As he did so, he stared at Duke Igor Werner across the table. Igor was a mellow, balding man from Northern Aeriana whose suit bunched rather tight against his arms and mid-section.
Funny. King Demitri could've sworn that same suit had fit the man only two sessions ago.
"—see why we can't further limit the amount of steel we send over to Sarias," Igor was saying. As he spoke, his advisor next to him tucked his chin into his chest and closed his eyes. "The price of creating the resource alone is..."
King Demitri settled in to listen to Igor discuss the idea of limiting the resources leaving the Duke's territory. This was the third time this year Igor had recommended the motion, and according to King Demitri's own advisor, there was not enough reasoning behind this action.
Not on the surface.
He'd be a fool to think there wasn't a greater reason behind this motion. There always was with Igor. Limiting the amount of steel leaving his territory would only give the Duke more opportunity to raise the price and sell to other willing buyers. Igor had always had issues with the trade agreement between Aeriana and Sarias and the amount of money he lost because they gave a discount to their neighboring kingdom.
King Demitri's thumb traced the curling, worn corner of the photo again. And again. An ache had settled behind his eyes and burrowed down into his back. If he wasn't careful, he'd risk spending all of his energy on this monthly session.
He glanced around the table at the other territory leaders—Duke Desmond Ulrich and Duchess Khristina Williams—whose expressions remained carefully blank as Igor went on. They each had their own advisors next to them, along with the ambassadors of their respective territories.
Staring at the nine other individuals around the table, not including his own advisor next to him, he was grateful that they'd chosen to limit the amount of people in these monthly sessions.
He couldn't do large events anymore. Even these sessions were getting to be too much for him.
But he'd be cold and in the ground before he revealed that to them.
As if on cue, one of his staff—Galina, his nurse's assistant masquerading as a regular assistant—approached his right side. After a quick head bow, she came up to his ear. "Your Majesty, we need to leave for your next treatment."
