The Young Gods (The Young Gods #1) [NEW DRAFT]

•capítulo seis // chapter six•

"Because-" Rosa pauses, thinking of all the books she used to read as a child, ones with vivid illustrations and declarations of eternal devotion.

"You're just like your father," her mother remarks, lips curling. "Love. Devotion. They're the musings of children."

Rosa whispers, "But I am a child."

Her mother casts her a lingering look. "Not for long."

*

Rosa awaits the king in front of the only home she's ever known. The Silva manor towers overhead, brick and mortar absorbing the high summer heat. Around her is her family; her four sisters stand to her left, all younger and more Rubio than Silva. Her mother and father take their place at her right. Behind her, her cousins- and behind them, a contingent of vassals keep their heads down in the presence of the all-powerful Silva family. The long road that winds through the city of Covigo and up the hill to the manor is empty, although the massive wrought-iron gates that protect the property have been thrown open in expectation.

"His Majesty's telegram said that he'd be here by sunset." Rosa glances at the sun, dipping low to the horizon. A droplet of sweat trails its way down the back of her neck. "Where is he?"

"It won't be long now," Mateo de Silva replies. Her father. His smile is indulgent, but his brown eyes aren't humouring her. His dark, thick curls are rife with sweat. "His Sentinels need to be sure that the area is clear. I'm sure he's anxious to meet you, mija."

"What's he like?" one of Rosa's sisters pipes up. She's as blonde as their mother, with the same frigid blue eyes.

"Lucia," their mother snaps.

"It's alright," says their father. "His Majesty is... reserved, most often."

"Does he look anything like his brother?" another of Rosa's sisters- Elena- asks.

Rosa imagines that the effort her father must be putting into that smile of his is sapping him of the rest of his energy. His tanned skin is growing pale, and he reaches into his breast pocket for his handkerchief, dabbing at the beads of perspiration on his forehead.

"The late Crown Prince," he begins, putting emphasis on those words, "and King Miguel don't look much alike."

"I know what that means," Elena mutters, leaning in towards Rosa, pink lips curling into a mocking grin. "That means you're going to marry an ugly old man. Congratulations, Rosa."

"At least she's getting married, Elena," Bianca- Rosa's youngest sister- squeaks.

That mocking grin turns ugly. "Bite me, pequeñita." Tiny.

The sister closest to Rosa- Claudia- finally makes herself heard. "She'd rot her pretty teeth."

"Girls." Their father's smile is twitching at the edges. "Please."

Elena scoffs and turns away. Rosa gives another glance to the sun and the cloudless sky, hands itching in her lace gloves. What if the king doesn't come? What if he never comes? What if the train derailed, or what if he was attacked on the way? What if all of this planning will be worthless? And if that's the case-

"There he is!" someone cries.

Sure enough, the king's procession has appeared at the top of the hill. His carriage crests downwards with every passing moment. Even from here, the deep blue of the carriage exterior is hard to miss. Sentinels in blue and silver surround him on horseback; nine to the back and sides of the carriage, and two bringing up the front.