The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Chapter 2: Aebbé - Respect

"Truly powerful women don't explain why they want respect. They simply don't engage those who don't give it to them." - Sherry Argov

Raven's Peak, Ardam 40

Trained to obey the Ardam crest, a guard moving to stop me quivers when he recognises it on my ring. Family portraits whip past as I march forth through the hallway. Seeing my father among them, his stern emerald eyes smiling down on me, crimson curls dancing - barely contained by the green ribbon at the nape of his neck, causes my step to falter for a moment.

"I will announce myself, thank you," my commanding voice echoes to another guard who dares to interrupt my purposeful stride as I arrive at the great hall's door. Frozen in astonishment, he almost topples over as I throw the massive door open.

Scowls and stares turn to the door, waiting to see who will be announced. The silence stretches on. More heads turn when the hush remains uninterrupted by the customary introduction of the arrived. Faces wriggle with disgust at the breach of social etiquette; lascivious gazes of lust and admiration latch onto me, and eyes with predator-like jealousy threaten my unwavering courage.

My graceful stomps echo through the hall as I study those seated at the main table. King Friduric, my father's firstborn, sits in the middle - on the chair that used to be my father's. With his fiery red hair he is Ardam Vaubadon's spitting image; his claim to the throne indisputable. Dark blotches of wine spill on the table as he clutches his silver goblet tighter with white knuckles.

A hollow feeling holds my breath hostage as my eyes move to Friduric's right and lock with Ferdaid's hollowed out olive green eyes. My second brother's shoulder-length jet-black hair smoothed backwards, is in stark contrast with his almost translucent skin. He was never as burly and stocky as Friduric, but he seems to have lost a lot of weight.

My heart misses a beat. No. He is too young to have the same thing that killed my father. Father was a skeleton before he died.

To Friduric's left is Queen Claira. She is three or so years younger than me. I did not attend Friduric and Claira's wedding. Claira stayed with us for almost a year before I left. She helped convince my brothers to grant me the necessary leave of absence. My brothers were not immune to her hazel eyes, faint freckles, and jovial personality. Her auburn hair, now tucked into a plait circling her head, used to have a slight kink that reached her hips whenever she let it rebel against the latest fashions. The crimson dress and ruby earrings accentuate her heart-shaped face.

With warmth radiating from her smiling eyes and the evident pride in her straight shoulders, she doesn't need the crown resting on her head to declare her position as queen. However, the crown of gilded leaves and rubies ensure that her claim as the people's sweetheart remains unchallenged.

A shiver runs down my spine as a marble woman with ice in her eyes studies me. Her blue gown, with its pearly hem, match her eyes. Even though I have never met her, it isn't difficult to add a name to the woman to Claira's left. Lady Catharina - Ferdaid's wife. Her hair, almost a midnight blue, hangs in a simple plait embedded with pearls. Now I understand why they call her The Lady Ice.

Lady Catharina bears a resemblance to the man on Ferdaid's right; an ambitious man I have met before. Lord Riann. Oh yes, she is his daughter. His power grab is working out well for him. Through his daughter, he is married to Ardam's second son. He shares an identical cruel twitch of his lips with his daughter. 

None of the faces I recognize, recognize me.

At the last moment, someone to my left stands up. The elf is dressed in the characteristic blue I know so well - that of the Second Order. He meets my eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitch slightly. His lashes, long and thick, hide his dark blue eyes.  A silver browband - not decorated with gems, but with an intricate scene of the forest carved into it - keeps his ebony hair out of his face.