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CHAPTER 6 - DRAVEN
Acontingent of RoyalGuards burst into the room first, leaving the chamber doors swinging open behind them with a dramatic flourish.
Two small Royal Pages marched in next, playing their golden trumpets a little too loudly and a little too gleefully as nine-year-old boys were wont to do.
Close enough behind to supervise, followed the Royal Herald, looking arrogant and imperious and distinctly bored.
Next came the Court Mistress of Ceremonies in a long robe of emerald and gold, twirling a gilded staff and smiling broadly. It had been a long time since she'd had an opportunity to participate in a formal occasion that was not scheduled to include bloodshed, and the change seemed to be a welcome relief.
Behind them followed some highly underutilized members of my late father’s court—the jesters. A troupe of acrobats, no less. They entered with wild abandon, whooping, capering, and somersaulting through the doors. The suits of gleaming gold and silver metallic fabric they wore were adorned with bells and ribbons that jingled and fluttered with every gravity-defying flip.
They tumbled to the ground at the foot of the bed in a perfectly executed pile of lithe bodies, then bounced to their feet with a grin and a flourish, leaving the two young pages laughing their approval while the coterie of guards looked on with undisguised smiles.
Amidst all of this, I walked in last.
Catching the Royal Herald’s eye, I nodded my approval, ignoring the commotion that was occurring in the large bed that occupied the center of the room where a single occupant had been lying down and was now endeavoring to push themselves upright.
The Royal Herald cleared their throat and turned to face the occupant of the bed. Unfolding a long parchment covered with elegant calligraphy, they began to read.
“Let it be known unto all present in this august assembly and in accordance with the solemn rites of our most revered traditions as well as the immutable decree of the Crown Prince and Royal Consort, Kairos Draven Venator, Noble Warden of Myntra, Protector of the Siabra and First of His Name, that it is my esteemed privilege to declare that...”
A furious hissing had been emanating from the bed and now reached a crescendo.
“Stop, stop, stop! What the fuck is this?”
The Royal Herald trailed off, looking down his long, aquiline nose at the figure in the bed with distinct disapproval.
“If you would remain silent, Madam, you would be certain to find out,” he replied, his voice clipped.
“Not you, you nitwit,” the woman in the bed snapped. “I’m speaking to your master.”
My sister-in-law, Lyrastra Venator, was glaring at me with an expression of extraordinary fury.
“Lyrastra,” I said, taking a step towards the bed. “It's good to see you, too.”
She made a sharp sibilant sound as if a tempest of fire and venom had been ignited within her. Though I did not think we were the first to light that spark.
Long, glossy, black hair framed her pale, delicate features. She had always been a beautiful woman. Now she was a vision of haunting vulnerability as she pushed back against the plush pillows supporting her. Her vividly hued, serpentine eyes of purple, green, and gold were clouded with pain and frustration.
With determined resolve, she finished pushing herself up in the bed, her one remaining arm trembling from the effort. The empty sleeve of the mulberry silk robe she wore hung forlornly where her missing limb should have been, a stark reminder of the horror she had been through.
And the sacrifice she had made.
For me.
“You are here to mock me. Is that it, Kairos?” I watched her draw a long, shuddering breath as if to gain her composure.
“Not at all. That is the furthest thing from my mind,” I replied. Her eyes dilated angrily, and I quickly added, “I simply wished to get your attention.”
Her nostrils flared. “You have it. Now get them out.”
I turned to the Mistress of Ceremonies apologetically, trying to ignore the crestfallen look on the poor woman’s face. “I assure you,” I murmured. “There will be... other opportunities.”
