VERDANT fluorescence surfed into the grand throne room through the welcoming panes of the flank of glass windows glazed with green, drawing on the pure pastel, tiled marble floor cool shadows of curlicues and floras weaved across the casement's crystalline surfaces in waves. With the golden curtains tucked in their respective bronze hooks, giving way to the hailing farewell of the departing sun, the last of its warmth bid its red-orange radiance. Flaurella would once again long for its awaited splendor to grace the people to go about in another cycle.
But, unbeknownst to the Kingdom of Calyxia, that day would, woefully, not come.
The lively chorus of the bards had slowed to an elegant performance of slow, ambiguous melody conjoined by the ceramic flute, golden harp, silkworm violin, and ivory piano.
"Iha, are you listening?"
Stella snapped back the instant she heard her name.
Father stared at her with a contemplative, unamused deem. The beard aligning with his mustache has been trimmed to the perfect frame of a sharp-edged square, its graying complexion more aplenty than yesterday like he was aging three times his age a day. A little more sprout, the remains of dark streaks on his hair coagulated with the overall cloak of ash on his balding head. The wrinkles creasing his forehead and cheekbones had also been becoming more noticeable.
"I asked: Were you listening?"
Stella poised her chin up, hands clasped, then looked at her father with the same lightless demeanor. "Apologies, Father."
The old man rubbed his sagging face, wiping the sweat of oil off his skin. "It is unethical for a member of the court to allow her head to wander about whilst matters are being discussed in front of her. Be it urgent or not, you are bound to lend an ear to every subject."
His pair of dim brown irises suffocated her albeit being in a broad room that held innumerable grand ceremonies and cases of insurmountable quandaries to be brought before the King. It was a wonder how this part of the palace could be so breathtaking as much as it is asphyxiating.
"Of course, Father."
Perhaps it was that. The indisputable pressure it aired out in every ornate corner carved in gold, sapphire, and emerald. The very same heat of energy from where its precious stones condensed into its foundations was born from long, long ago.
Father recommenced, reiterating diplomatic interrelations while inserting courtly ethics for emphasis as if he had thought a lifetime of lessons departed from her overloaded head.
It could have been fatigue from the previous arduous session with Tutor Mrs. Beathery, or the countless times she had to absorb it all at once without spilling a single word from the book. She had not been able to tend to her Rosarias because of this. In fact, it had been weeks since she had laid a finger on the lustrous golden petals of her signature flowers, leaving it for the royal gardeners to pull out the neighboring weeds.
It was a thought that cruelly bothered her, like saying goodbye to Darling all over again. Stella had received the poodle when she had learned to read, and she never left a room without the dog's four paws traipsing after her. She cursed mortality for his demise at a young age.
How long must she let others foster her greenhouse? Will there be a time when she will need to give full-keeping to the gardeners to take care of her blossoms?
If so, did that time have already come?
Before the thought delved her into madness, the palace doors burst open.
An outpour of cold air surged into the room, dissipating the warmth left by the mellow dusk. The music stopped, replaced by a jubilant, almost charming, voice that greeted them.
"My, oh, my."
It belonged to a man with a lean figure. His garments clothed him in an irresistible ink purple, accentuating the beige skin beneath. The black mope of his hair slithered back in a perfect sweep, leaving no strands unkempt, stressing on his pointed hazel eyes upon lifting a delicate, yet cynical, smile.
His face was not one to be forgotten easily. Stella knew him as much as everyone in this entire nation.
And he has never shown an ever friendlier grin.
"Allyson!" Father said, more in a terrified shock than cheerful relief, for one of his trusted advisors had returned, yet oddly so. It was clear Father was not, at all, thrilled because his arrival had brought forth a matter of inconvenience.
A conspicuously, unignorable one.
Behind him, a mammoth-sized box--identifiable by the four corners of its edges protruding from the large grey cloth over it--followed behind him on a steel trolley twice the size. Like a sumptuous meal under a cloche served on a silver platter. A pair of enormous creatures hauled it by its handles. They had jutting noses growing with blisters and long, pointed ears. One had it pierced. Their eyes could be mistaken for reptilian origins, only that they were bigger and could almost pop out of their sockets. Their physique was nothing Stella had seen before. Sure, she had seen men with extraordinary sets of muscles, but these titans possessed tremendous builds under green skins that not even the largest human could surpass. Their rugged outfits made it appear they had overgrown their clothes as torn and loose fabrics barely clothed them.
Stella had heard stories of such life forms in classic fairy tales Mother would tell her before she was tucked into bed when she was a child. But they were only that, right?
Fairy tales.
"Goblins?" Stella whispered, unsure whether she should feel excitement or alarm upon beholding a creature thought to be mere fiction.
"Gargantuan ones, milady," the newcomer unexpectedly answered her. "Worry not. These beings will not lay a single hand on any accommodations in the palace unless I give a word."
The King kept an unfazed expression to regard the matter, failing to an extent. "I suppose your trip to Acynath ended too soon?"
Allyson bowed, left forearm crossed over to reach the opposite shoulder. "Apologies if I had not heralded my early return, Your Majesty, Your Highness." He briefly nodded at Stella. He had a polished, thin line of mustache. His ponytail must have been trimmed from the last time she saw him.
Father studied him. Allyson Andre Alejandres IV was a renowned man from the court. A scholar who climbed the ranks since he was able to write. A prodigy of the languages. And a master of proficient exchange between elite intellectuals. Among his feats greatly circulating about in the palace was that he took up the position of defense when accusations of violating the Alejandres House female servants bombarded him. Not only was he cleared of these claims, but his investigations, driven either by sheer fervor for justice, or gratifying revenge, unveiled that the plight was a select scheme in hopes of acquiring compensation from the Alejandres Manor. Therefore, it was no surprise that news spread of his promotion to Ambassador of Flaurella, the youngest to be so in the history of the Sphere.
He was the epitome Father had been molding her dearest daughter into. That all queens to barons prayed their children would grow to become. And despite the pedestal she was budged into, she could not bear ill will towards this man, nor could she direct it towards Father and Mother. They have talked openly about the struggles that came with as a child of blue blood, and though Stella was relieved that they shared a common ground of understanding, she could only be grateful to an extent.
No matter how crippling it was, her fate, as well as her parents, her siblings, and likely several others, was sealed the moment the people heard of their upbringing in the womb. The subjects were theirs to rule, guide, and protect, to usher in a new era lest a looming chaos threatens to bring a mighty dynasty to crumble down.
Father was more drained than Stella. Like her, he was yearning for the day to end, but apparently, one last, unanticipated affair issued, but it could not require a more rigorous endeavor than the last hearings. Could it?
Stella dared a glance at the goblin on the right as she was closest to. It may have sensed her staring at it for his slit eyes shot back at her, fierce and rigid. She quickly pulled her gaze back down to the floor, clenching the fabric of her dress in apprehension.
"Though inapt of you to rashly burst through my doors, Mr. Alejandres, your immediate return may only mean you have an urgent proceeding you want to discuss with me in person. Is it not?"
The latter replied with unnerving pleasure that Stella wondered if that had been his key to charisma all along, "Indeed. And I made sure to deliver it to your utmost satisfaction; a souvenir from our allies from the borders in the west."
Father drew his eyes from the man before him, to the two stationary goblins, and the mysterious cube shrouded in polyester grey. Stella did not need to come close to know it towered over her as if it were an actual cage for a mammoth or two--she swore she saw it move--or a whole wyvern at most.
"I wish not to bid your time more than you already did, Your Majesty, and I would not have come any other evening if I knew you would be spent at the end of the day. But I would be more than honored should you render me a moment of your ever-generous regard for this historic opportunity."
The King pinched the bridge of his nose. All eyes were on him, awaiting his word.
By the time the crystal lights had engulfed the whole room in a dazzling elegance of white--Stella had not realized the sun had completely gone down--Father sighed in resignation.
"Continue."
The Ambassador arose, retaining his grin. Stella had known about this man, had read his autobiography and the files given to her by Tutor Beathery. Practiced on flash cards even. But the papers had only ever expounded on his wits and skills, never elaborating on the kind of character he had embodied, claiming that he is a man whose heart is in the best interest of this nation. She had seen how serene and punctual he could be with his many hearings. How he would charm the crowd and entice the media. Yet he had never shown any other sentiment other than a guileful smile plastered on his face.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Though, I ask if I could have your mere presence alone. We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for the Princess, no?"
The old king met eyes with Stella. One pair of weary, taut brown eyes and the other airing concern.
"Leave the room to us."
Without so much as haste, the royal musicians, servants, and Stella, ushered by her three ladies-in-waiting, poured out of the room.
*
After making sure the attendants left, Stella drew back from pressing her ears to the door, her fingertips warm on her cold cheeks. She traipsed across the chamber, the heatless floor impelling hesitance into her feet with every step she took. The thick curtains hung loose over the closed glass windows, allowing air to only seep in through the door slit and the ventilation.
Upon entering the closet vault, she shut the door behind her, carefully so as not to let a creek sound, not bothering to turn on the lights. Switching on the flashlight in her grip, Stella delved deeper for the opposite side, flanked by a set of hanging thick cotton dresses within the metallic colors section. Her arms cleaved through the soft, heavy fabrics while the other felt for the cold surface of the wall muffled behind. After seconds of rustling through the maddening heap of silk and wool, the heel of her hand pressed into a small panel. Finally finding the desired spot, she thoroughly pushed the small, odd tile, resonating a victorious sound of sliding porcelain.
A successive noise of smooth rock grinding against each other and rusted mechanical gears turning followed. The white wall parted, opening to a gap stretching wider as the two components grew distant.
A narrow aperture her size stared into Stella, blowing cold air as if breathing. The flashlight shone upon the polished flat granite stone on both walls of the tunnel. If it were not for her routine dusting after her maids would clean her room, the pathway could have accumulated bundles of cobwebs and bags of dust. She would be discovered should she let her secret passage be responsible for inflicting disruptive bouts of cough on her.
She directed the light at the center of the void, giving way to more ominous darkness lying ahead. She had not walked beyond since she snuck out in spite of her mother's authoritative discipline when she was eight. And that was the first time she discovered this small hidden detail of the castle.
If she could remember, the tunnel led to the small spaces behind the walls of the palace. If her memories were accurate, she would recall a maze of paths that guided her toward the abandoned garret looking down on the throne room.
Stella can choose to simply obey Father, or let her curiosity clipped with worry overwhelm the compliant voice urging her to be a good daughter. But one thing she knew was that the Ambassador had grim intentions.
What she saw through the cloth of the veiled cube were a pair of glowing golden eyes that stared dead back at her.
*
The stone steps had opened to an ample leeway identifiable only by the several streams of light striking through the slits on the diagonal floor, baring the beams intertwining on the ceiling. Clouds of dust manifested through pillars of white illumination, denoting the time when it had been visited.
Her nimble footsteps ensued hollow sounds as she walked over the timbers to situate at a slit suitable enough to spy between. When she found it, the first thing she saw through the small gap was the two men engaged in a stagnant exchange. Father had sat on his throne. Stella could only do so much as to make out of their facial exteriors from a considerable height.
The scene below her simulated a deaf theater. However, she trusted in the clarity of her eyes to see her father's demeanor change from wariness to horror.
When she adjusted to see where he was gaping at, her reaction was no different from his.
The cloak that covered the giant cube lay crumpled beside the trolley. Her speculation was proven right when she recognized a metal cage, containing what seemed like a sentient coal-dyed haze, shaped like the upper half of a malnourished human, surrounded by limbs of what appeared to be tendrils.
Before she could observe its whole anatomy, the entrance doors had once again flown open as pertained by its banging sound. Stella had not realized Allyson had ordered his escort guards outside to bring a man at their demesne inside. It was clear the captive was not in compliance as the armored guards dragged him by the arms with his knees scraping against the floor. His white robes marked him to be a prisoner, unfortunate to be picked as a volunteer for the Ambassador's uncanny presentation.
A few more words were swapped between them. Father has finally shown his agitation when a beat in his voice reached Stella's earshot. Somehow, the unperturbed Ambassador eased him down, standing beside the King to place an encouraging arm behind him as he looked on at the guards and the wriggling man in between, arms stretched out to coax him to observe.
Allyson snapped his fingers. A reverberating clang struck the room. The door of the cage has opened. Unblinking, Stella watched, along with her father, as the guards sprinted from the man, and a black streak as fast as lightning dove toward him.
The captive let out a rough, agonizing scream, making Stella cringe at the manifestation of his fear it carried off all over the room. His body contorted as if she could hear his bones cracking. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound to cease.
When it did, she was left in terrified awe.
The man lay still, standing. His features had become darker from the coal smoke emanating from him. His eyes had turned a whole glaring violet. It was only then did it moved when one of the goblins charged at him, stout spiked club at the ready. Stella had not seen such inhumane reflexes when the captive shot his arm out and flung the goblin by its wrist toward a pillar with a loud clank. A crack has formed on its concrete surface, branding it the fastest conclusion in a spar she had witnessed.
Allyson's arms were wide as if embracing fresh air around him, anticipating a satisfactory response from the King. Yet, as much as his daughter, the King was at a loss for words. The fright in his broad, sweat-laden eyes bloated, his limbs frozen in place.
The Ambassador had always been eccentric. But now, he was a madman. And Stella knew Father would not have an easy verdict upon this.
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NEXT on Youngblood World:
Now that we know the events transpiring behind Stella's story, what is Flaurella's Ambassador planning to do? What does this mean for the whole of the country? And for what purpose did Stella come to Vherna?
Find out in the next chapter,
A Daughter's Tale
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