THE SUNDERING

NYSSA

Heading back to her chambers without the new bed partner she had her eye on earlier, Nyssa closed the door behind her and leaned her head back onto it.
Her eyes shut while she eased her breath out with a sigh. It was a long moment before she opened them again.

Another day, another hanging. She smiled cunningly, pleased as always when her day went well. At least it proved to be more than the humdrum of the past week. Those days were barely tolerable, the ones where there were no infractions, where she had no judgment to give. Where nothing made it interesting, or different, or further proved the validity of her reign.

It always surprised her that the courtiers didn't revolt over the way she ruled. The way she must rule. Such simpletons, easily led and easier to ravage. She was admittedly cruel, cold, and heartless, but she loved the power of owning the land. Yrurra was hers, and she meant to keep it that way.
Perhaps she governed with a mighty fist, but she knew from experience what happened when rebellion took over.

After all, she'd been the first to rebel, all those years ago.
Her sister, her foe. How she loathed her! By all counts, and if given the chance, Alore would steal what was Nyssa's by right. The Regent would stop that before it happened, nipping any waywardness in the bud before it became a problem.

She sneered, kicking off her heeled slippers and curling her toes in relief. Her entire persona was carefully calculated, from how she dressed to how she styled her hair. To reflect power, mightiness, prestige, ready and able to instill allegiance: all of it was thought out weeks in advance. If only her son took a page from that book.

It gave the illusion of comforting warmth and sympathy, the fact she had an heir, promoting a vibe of motherly affection towards a man-boy who all knew didn't take his responsibilities seriously. Yet, how was she any different? To the astute: not at all.
Those who looked past the surface of her relationships realized that they, too, were fake.

She hardly bothered pretending to care anymore, for what was the point? After all, her son wouldn't change. She hated the insipid law demanding that any male heir took over on their twenty-fifth birthday. That should've been the first law she eradicated once assuming the regency. Now it was too fucking late. Generations of talk meant that years later, everyone knew. The book that contained them was repeated, permeating from village to village, through province and across land.
She could control her son, but her sister? A scowl covered her face. Alore had always gotten everything she ever wanted, although Nyssa was the elder twin. Now, by their parent's command, was it fair that Alore got Yrurra, the land that was Nyssa's by birthright, the one she was meant to have for the rest of her years?

Alore was the first she must eradicate, to kill without regard, to maim with nothing left behind. This would happen, and soon. It must, in order that there wouldn't be uprising against her.

She only had to get rid of her blasted son.

She tapped her lower lip, pondering how best to enact his downfall while sauntering towards the innards of her bedchamber. She collapsed in her favorite chair. Kicking her legs up and pulling them under her, she sat quietly a moment, contemplating. Her son was the next she must take down.

It was better that he didn't realize the full scope of his lineage. Perhaps, like her, he hadn't inherited her parent's magnificence. But what if he had?

A growl escaped her lips at the thought of someone other than her gaining that kind of power and control. A harsh chuckle followed, one of disbelief and canny retribution.

If Tiran did inherit, his life meant nothing. More than nothing, for by her methodical plan, he was already dead. It was fact set in motion from the moment she conceived. No matter how she tried, her body wouldn't expel him. When she birthed, his father kept him safe from harm.