The Exiled

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The brush with unkempt bristles slid against the canvas, creating an abstract symphony with no defined direction.

"Would you like fresh water, your majesty?"

Reina dipped her brush into the sea of wine in response, the ceramic bowl was stained with a dirty-crimson hue. "No need." she reassured, she stepped away from the tarp and tilted her head.

Beyond the careless specks of deep hot colors, a woman with coils tracing down her curved figure kneeled helplessly on the prickly glass painted with a thick cerise residue. "What do you think, Daphne?"

Reina turned to her lady-in-waiting with a high chin, it was to her surprise when the question was met with a damp "I suppose it works."

She raised an eyebrow at the bland acknowledgement, almost pleased by the indifference in Daphne's voice. "It works?" she mocked. "Something tells me I should be offended."

An appalled look washed over Daphne's face. "N-no, your majesty! I didn't mean it that way. Not at all. It's just, well, can I make a suggestion?"

Reina pulled the stool out from the easel, signaling Daphne to take a seat. "Please." Her smile was genuine.

Daphne hesitated for a moment, gliding her hands under her bottom before sitting before the broad canvas. "Your anatomy is perfect, however, I don't understand what this is supposed to portray here." Daphne pointed to the scatters of deep red surrounding the woman's feet before the waves of fire.

Reina came behind her, circling an unfinished object beside the figure. "These are shackles." she explained, then continued to trace the smudged outline of chains along to the edge of the canvas, "And this is the crown."

Daphne nodded for a moment, picking up the brush and dipping it in the crimson residue of the palette. If she understood the symbolism, she made sure not to show it.

Moments passed, and a firm knock punctured the awkward silence of the room. With Reina's order, a tall man in a black suit and red poppy in his chest pocket marched towards the two. "Good afternoon, your Majesty." He spoke as if they had met outside rumors, a casual opening to a conversation between acquaintances.

Prince Drystan of Valamore. The neighboring nation that has bore a love-hate relationship with Konstania for generations. His prestige and charm earned the hearts of many, and many have left the interaction torn or thirsty for more of his recognition.

Reina gently placed her hand on Daphne's shoulder, who immediately made her exit in response.

"Oh, please." His laugh felt recited, perfectly spaced between each exhale of polite chuckles. "Don't stop teaching on my behalf." His eyes followed Daphne's nimble body as she slipped past him without a sound.

"Your reputation precedes you," She responded coldly, turning from the portrait.

He smiled and nodded in return. "I'm sure you've heard nothing but lovely whispers, your Majesty." He bowed and reached for her hand to kiss. She rejected the gesture.

"Who sent you?" she questioned.

"King Cyrus."

Reina's father. A sick taste dispersed in her throat.

She returned to her easel."I'm sure it was a mistake, we were to meet formally tomorrow night, at the Ball."

Reina recalled a courtier by the name of Valerie informing her of Drystan's arrival for her birthday festival (and betrothal), as he was the closest statistical and compatible match when examining age, status, and values. The only opposition was the drastic difference between national wealth. Reina's Konstania was a nation of financial and agricultural prosperity, placing other countries in a relentless gap for the mere title of second best.