The Tributes (Sable)

Taken to the Castle

Sable had always believed that her life would end in some way in the fifteenth year of her life. Her more optimistic version of that end had been that she would finally cross into the outskirts of the forest that surrounded one side of her village and leave her birthplace forever.

Mostly though, she had expected to either be killed or finally be led to taking her own life.

There had been quite a few in her village who had deigned to tell her that she often spoke and acted above her rightful "place". She'd not believed them though. After all, how could she be too ambitious when she had such a limited view of her lifespan?

But right then, standing in the courtroom of the most ruthless and powerful monarch in the kingdom's history thus far – when she was just about a month shy of her thirteenth birthday – she was beginning to wonder why she had ever believed that she would live long enough to turn fifteen ...

Trepidation and dread had been her constant companions during the entire journey to the palace. And the only good thing about it was that, by the time they'd reached the fortress, she'd passed her saturation point for terror. So she didn't have to fight her panic down quite so hard anymore.

Or at least ... that's what she had believed until the two guards "presenting" her to the Black Queen had dragged her into the ornate and ridiculously lavish courtroom.

The ride there had been jerky and uncomfortable with plenty of ominous silences and subverted, threatening remarks from the guards. And the looming stone castle they'd finally stopped in front of had been more intimidating than stone walls had any right to be.

However, all that paled in comparison to when she was finally in the presence of the Queen.

It was like the very air had changed once the double doors of the Black Queen's courtroom had slammed shut behind them:

The entire room felt colder than the rest of the palace they'd passed. There was an intangibly heavy sensation swirling about the room as well; like everyone had taken a breath and was too scared to exhale... because they were scared they might disturb the chilling air by doing so...

It was nameless, this atmosphere. One couldn't call it tense for it was too loose, too fluid; the air chilly rather than too warm or too cold. It could almost be dubbed tranquil even ... if there wasn't such a definite breath of danger in the air ...

A soft yet lethal kind of danger that was swimming like mist through the room ...

And all this was what Sable felt when the Queen's attention wasn't even on her yet.

No. That privilege currently belonged to some other poor soul: One that was standing in front of her and surrounded by guards with drawn weapons.

* * *

AN:

Sable: 15 years is a good run, right? That's plenty of time on this mud-rock.

*Sable, at 12, taken to a gothic castle straight out of a horror movie with a dracula-like hostess*

Sable: I had unrealistic expectations.