by Furrydogs12 » Mon Nov 25, 2024 6:13 am
Caelum Rieth | 27 years old | Male | Heir of Maraqua | He/ Him | Demisexual, Demiromantic | Merman| Tags: Adria, Atlas, Keenan, Wisperals
Caelum couldn’t help but watch the scene unfold with a curious blend of resignation and frustration. The courtyard buzzed with chatter, a cacophony of polite greetings and idle flattery—familiar, and yet, draining. Andromeda was poised as always, floating through the crowd, smiling graciously as she deflected their well-meaning comments, her answers light, breezy. It was a skill Caelum could admire if he weren't so tired of it himself.
He understood the weight of these appearances, the delicate dance of politics that demanded one to smile through gritted teeth, to appear interested while the world swirled around them, oblivious to the private storm brewing beneath the surface. It was almost too easy to slip into that mask himself, to play the part of the dutiful prince, to be everything the court expected—strong, capable, unwavering.
But every glance he cast toward Andromeda made his skin itch. She knew this world, and he didn’t. She belonged in it, or at least, it seemed she did. She had already found a rhythm, a role in the song of their court. She moved effortlessly through the crowd, her presence commanding attention without ever demanding it. Caelum, on the other hand, felt like a foreigner in his own skin, drowning in the expectation of who he was supposed to be. A crown was heavy enough when it wasn’t yet his, but living with it, wearing it as a mask—he wasn’t sure he could do it forever.
He was from Meraqua, the land of water, where the ocean stretched far and wide, its waves crashing against the shores like a ceaseless rhythm. His people were born from the sea, their magic flowing like the currents that ran deep beneath the surface.
But here, in Solvale, the land of earth, everything was still. The ground beneath his feet was solid and unmoving, the air filled with the scent of soil and stone rather than salt and seaweed. Caelum could feel the weight of this land pressing down on him, the unfamiliarity of it, the way it seemed to expect him to settle, to become a part of it. His own nature—his watery grace and fluidity—seemed out of place in the unyielding earthiness of Solvale.
Andromeda, on the other hand, had been born of this land. She moved through the world of earth with ease, as though she had always belonged here, as though the mountains and forests were extensions of herself. She was at home among the courtiers, a steady presence in this realm of stone and soil. Caelum envied that in her—the confidence, the way she glided through the complexities of the court, her strength rooted in the land she had been raised to govern.
He, however, felt like an outsider. Even his human form, though handsome in its own right, was marked by the fluidity of his origins. His appearance—his long, dark hair, the glint of opalescent pearls woven into his clothing, the subtle shimmer of his skin—spoke of the sea, of Meraqua. He often felt too large, too imposing, among the delicate figures of Solvale’s nobility, where the style was less about strength and more about subtlety.
When Andromeda mentioned that Caelum would be joining the crowd soon, she spoke without hesitation, without the unease that gnawed at him whenever their names were mentioned together. Their "union"—what a word. As though the future of kingdoms and families could be bound with a simple declaration, a public display of affection that had more to do with diplomacy than anything resembling real connection. Caelum felt himself tugged between duty and distaste, wondering just how long they could pretend before the weight of it all crushed them.
His mother had told him the unity between their families was essential—what she had not mentioned, however, was how far-reaching that unity would stretch. Caelum’s eyes swept over the room, looking for something, anything, to anchor him. His mother’s words echoed in his mind—"Unity." The weight of the expectation was unbearable, pressing down on him with every breath. He wasn’t sure where the man ended and the crown began anymore.
"Let today be remembered for the unity we are trying to build." His mother’s voice lingered, soft but authoritative. She had no idea how hard he was already working just to stand at the same height as his responsibilities.
As Caelum’s thoughts drifted, he found himself remembering the quiet anxiety in his mother’s eyes earlier in the day. Lillian had led her children through the royal halls, always with a firm, graceful presence. Yet, there was something different about the way she moved today, the way she slipped from his side without a word, a momentary tension in her features. As they approached the courtyard, she had broken off from him with a gentle smile, murmuring that he should go on without her.
“You’ll be fine, Caelum,” she had said, her words soft but reassuring. But Caelum knew better than anyone that there was a difference between what Lillian said and what she felt. He could almost hear her sigh as she watched him enter the crowd, her mind already searching for Adria, her wayward daughter. He imagined his mother, standing there in her lilac and purple gown, watching as Adria slipped away to wherever her curiosity led her.
His mother’s role in these gatherings was always one of poise, and yet Caelum knew how difficult it was for her to navigate them. The small talk, the endless pleasantries, the smiles that felt so hollow. He had witnessed it often enough to know that while Lillian had mastered the art of graceful conversation, her true desire was to find meaning in the words, to connect with someone who wasn’t just playing a part. As he watched her earlier, he could see her struggle to breathe, the way she held herself too tightly, how she forced a smile and nodded her way through the crowd. The weight of expectations on her shoulders was no different than his own, and he wondered how much longer she could bear it.
Caelum caught sight of her again, across the courtyard now, standing tall on the dais as she exchanged pleasantries with another noblewoman. She forced herself to move gracefully, but there was something in her posture, something tight about the way she held herself that made his chest ache.
As much as Lillian held herself together, Caelum could feel her discomfort like an undercurrent. He exhaled sharply, trying to rid himself of the suffocating pressure in his chest. He had grown used to these moments, the loneliness within the crowd, the weight of being watched.
Andromeda caught his eye across the room, that same casual grace in her movements. He couldn't help but feel the pull of her presence, the ease with which she navigated the court’s expectations. But her gaze didn’t linger long enough to meet his. She was already surrounded by a small group of nobles, exchanging pleasantries with them like they were long-lost friends.
For a moment, Caelum hesitated. He stood there, unsure of how to move forward—how to reconcile what he was supposed to be with who he felt he really was. The weight of Meraqua’s oceans felt distant, and the solid earth of Solvale pressed down on him, unfamiliar, heavy. But then he remembered the role he had been groomed for, the duty that pressed down on his shoulders like a weight he could never shake off.
With a deep breath, he pushed aside the unease that threatened to overwhelm him and started moving toward Andromeda. As he drew closer, he put on the mask, the familiar expression of the betrothed prince—calm, composed, ever the dutiful partner. He stepped into the circle of nobles surrounding her, offering a smile that, while forced, was sincere enough to keep the peace.
Andromeda turned, her eyes meeting his for the briefest moment. The subtle acknowledgment passed between them—one of duty, of shared understanding, of the roles they were each playing.
“Lady Andromeda,” Caelum said, his voice smooth, the tone carrying the weight of formality, of expectations. “Shall we take our leave, or do you find yourself enjoying the company?”
With that, they made their way through the crowd together, Caelum following her lead, playing the part of her betrothed as best he could. The mask he wore felt heavier now, more suffocating, but there was no turning back. The crown would be his one day, and this was the world he had to navigate. The land of earth, so foreign to him, would have to be his home, just as Andromeda would have to be his partner.
Until then, he would wear the mask—and perhaps, just perhaps, he would learn to wear it with grace.
Seraphina Drakonis| 32 years old | Female | Noble of Solvale | She/ Her| Bisexual, Biromantic | Dragon | Tags: Damion, Cadence---> open
Seraphina watched as Cade flinched, avoiding her gaze, a subtle tension in the way she held herself. The girl wasn’t used to being in the spotlight, that much was clear. **"The first time asked to help at this scale,"** she had said, and Seraphina noted the unease in her voice. It wasn’t surprising. **"Comfort,"** she’d called it—doing chores, staying out of the way, blending into the background. Seraphina could understand that. She, too, had been raised with the expectation of quiet grace. But there was something different about Cade. **"Not quite suited for grand events, is she?"**
Seraphina tilted her head, her gaze sharp as she studied the servant girl who still seemed intent on avoiding her. Cade’s nervous energy was palpable, but there was something in her posture that suggested the girl had a strength she wasn’t yet willing to acknowledge. A fragility, yes—but also a resilience.
Seraphina’s lips curved into a small smile at the question that tumbled out of Cade’s mouth before she could stop it. **"Is this a typical event for Solvale?"** It was an innocent enough question, but it cut through the air between them, bringing the reality of Cade’s situation into sharper focus. **"Curiosity,"** Seraphina thought. **"She’s just a girl. In over her head, like most of us were once."**
The question lingered in the air for a moment before Cade stumbled over herself, apologizing and offering a hurried curtsy. **"No need to apologize,"** Seraphina said softly, her tone a touch more gentle than she intended. She could see the girl was trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism, but it was clear that this wasn’t her comfort zone.
Seraphina glanced at the courtyard, where the nobles mingled, and the laughter and clinking of glasses felt distant. She wasn’t one for small talk, but there was something about Cade’s nervousness that made her want to break the ice, to offer some semblance of reassurance. **"It’s a little more extravagant than usual, but these things are all about appearances,"** she said casually, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. **"Nothing about this is ever truly ‘typical.’ A political engagement is the same as any other—it’s all about what people expect to see. What we want them to see."**
She paused, watching Cade's attempts to wrangle the tray with the empty glasses, her movements stiff. Seraphina had seen that kind of tension before—when someone wanted to disappear into the background so badly that they were practically invisible.
It reminded her, in a way, of herself. **"But then again,"** she thought with a flicker of amusement, **"I was never a servant."**
The faint sound of the tray scraping against the floor snapped Seraphina back to the moment. She tilted her head slightly, and in a soft, knowing voice, she added, **"You don’t need to hurry off. We’re both trapped here in this madness, aren’t we?"** Her eyes softened as she caught Cade’s gaze for a brief moment, offering a semblance of understanding. **"I don’t bite, you know."**
Seraphina’s words might have been meant to reassure, but she could see that Cade was already turning away, her eyes darting to the tables as if they held the solution to all of her discomfort. **"It was nice meeting you, your grace,"** Cade said quickly, another curtsy, and then she was gone, her steps hurried, purposeful.
Seraphina let out a soft breath as she watched the girl scurry off to collect more glasses, her back straight and her movements precise, as though trying to regain a bit of composure in the chaos of the event.
Seraphina smiled to herself, the edges of her expression both wistful and knowing. **"She’ll be fine,"** she mused, although she wasn't entirely sure whether that was meant for Cade or for herself. **"We all find our way eventually."**
For now, she would wait. Let the court drama play out. Let the nobles gossip and flirt and posture. But Seraphina was already thinking ahead. There was something more to this event than the royal charade—the whispers beneath the surface. And she would be at the center of it, one way or another.
It was only a matter of time.
Kaelan Emberheart | 24 years old | Male | Servant of Solvale | He/ Him| Homosexual, Homoromantic | Phoenix | Tags: Marinn
Kaelan’s eyes followed her gaze to the balcony as she looked away, lost in thought for a moment. It was clear she was used to the bustling world of the court, to the ebb and flow of conversations, the constant shifting of alliances, the undercurrents of hidden agendas. For a moment, he thought he saw something akin to a shared understanding pass between them, though it was fleeting—like the wind before a storm.
Her words about Adria struck him, the hint of frustration in her tone not lost on him. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if acknowledging something unspoken between them. There was something familiar in her frustration, something he’d witnessed all too often in the delicate games played among the nobles of the court.
"Sounds like she's trying to carve her own path, even if it’s a bit… reckless," he said, a soft edge of bitterness slipping into his voice despite his best efforts. He quickly masked it, though, his usual guarded demeanor falling back into place. It wasn’t for her to know what weighed on him, what he carried with him—at least not yet.
When she turned the conversation back to the flowers, he gave a small smile. It was an easy change of topic, one that didn’t ask for too much. The softness in her words, the simple appreciation for something as fleeting as a bloom, made him pause. For a moment, he could almost forget where they were, the tense undercurrents that seemed to pulse beneath every conversation.
"Yeah, the flowers here have a… strange beauty to them. Different from the ones I know," he agreed, though his tone was thoughtful, like he was considering the words carefully. "But I suppose it’s a good thing to find beauty in new places." He paused again, eyes flicking to hers, gauging her reaction. He wasn’t sure if she’d catch the subtle shift in his mood, but the question still lingered—was she really just like him? A servant, like him. But then again, was that all there was to it?
When she spoke again, her question about his awareness of her status as a servant caught him off guard for a moment. He blinked, then shrugged, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You could say that," he replied. "I suppose I don’t always see things as clearly as I should." He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "But you’re right, I suppose it’s not hard to tell."
Her answer about the drama seemed almost too casual, too resigned—like someone who’d seen it all before and wasn’t expecting much more than a continuation of the same. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, something that hinted at a deeper understanding of the chaos that always seemed to follow nobility. Or maybe it was just the way she spoke. Whatever it was, Kaelan found himself watching her a little more intently, trying to piece together just who she was, what drove her.
"Drama can be fun," he echoed, his voice a little softer than before, like he was letting the words linger in the air between them. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with a hint of amusement. "But it’s only fun until it turns real. Then it’s just a mess."
He glanced back toward the crowd, where the nobles were already starting to settle into their own little pockets of conversation. His thoughts were still with her, though, still trying to gauge the kind of person she was. Another servant, but not quite like any other. He could feel it in the way she spoke, the way she observed the world around her.
"I guess we’ll see what happens," he said, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. "We always do."
Elenara Windrider | 21 years old | Female | Noble (Knight) of Maraqua | She/ Her | Bisexual | Elf (water) | Tags: Katrina
Elenara nodded quietly as Katrina spoke, taking in the words with a calm, practiced air. The politics of these gatherings were not new to her—especially the delicate, veiled games of the court—but hearing it spoken aloud, as plainly as Katrina did, gave her a moment to pause. It was rare for someone to speak so openly, and even rarer for Elenara to feel the weight of the conversation so keenly.
She took a slow breath and glanced around the courtyard, allowing her gaze to wander briefly over the figures gathering, the noble faces, the glint of jewels, the flickers of hidden agendas. Even the bright beauty of the place couldn't mask the tension that hummed beneath it all. Elenara’s eyes lingered on the royal family from Maraqua—how they stood apart from the others, watching, calculating. The undercurrents of their presence were unmistakable. There was always something to be gained or lost in moments like this.
"Yes, you're right," she replied softly, her voice carrying a slight edge of thoughtfulness. "Inter-kingdom betrothals are rare. Particularly one like this, with the stakes so high for both sides." She paused, allowing the quiet weight of the situation to settle around them. It was strange, hearing someone like Katrina acknowledge the intricacies of court life so candidly. But then again, this was a woman who knew how to move through the shadows of power as deftly as Elenara herself did.
When Katrina dropped her voice to a whisper, Elenara leaned in slightly, her expression shifting just a touch to something more guarded. The mention of Princess Andromeda hit a note of quiet recognition, and her lips pressed together for a brief moment. Ah, so it wasn't just the usual suspects vying for favor. The whispers of discontent were not just about the betrothal itself but about who it left in the dust.
Elenara’s smile, though polite, didn’t reach her eyes. She had seen how people played this game before. "I had a feeling," she murmured, her voice dropping to match Katrina's conspiratorial tone. "There’s always some who think they deserve a better hand, isn't there?" She glanced at Katrina, a slight flicker of something—amusement, maybe?—dancing in her gaze. "It must be hard to watch someone else take the prize when you thought you had it in your grasp."
Her words were measured, carefully phrased, as if each sentence had been rehearsed. She had seen enough of these quiet battles in the court to know that revealing too much was always a risk. Especially here, when everyone was watching, even when it seemed like no one was.
“I suppose,” Elenara continued, her voice returning to its usual cool composure, “that’s the price one pays for being on the outside, isn’t it? The ones who are seen as not quite enough always bear the heaviest burdens, even if they don’t wear them openly.” Her eyes flicked back toward the nobles milling around, careful to ensure no one was close enough to overhear. “It’ll be interesting to see how they handle the... disappointment. I don’t expect any of them to show it, of course. Not here. Not in front of everyone."
She paused again, letting her words hang in the air like a subtle warning, before her gaze flicked back to Katrina. "But you’re right. Something as big as this is bound to stir the pot. And not everyone will be content with whatever decisions are made. Not with stakes like these." Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were imagining the coming months—how things would unfold, how the alliances would shift.
It was dangerous, talking so openly. But Elenara had learned long ago that the power of information was most potent when it was shared with those who knew how to use it. And Katrina seemed to understand the game as well as she did, if not better.
As the silence stretched, Elenara’s gaze lingered thoughtfully on the courtyard again. There was something about the way Katrina spoke, so assured, so calm, that made Elenara wonder just how deeply the woman was involved in the coming changes. Perhaps Katrina was more than just an observer in all of this. Perhaps, like the rest of them, she was playing her own hand—one Elenara would have to watch carefully.
“Well, Katrina,” Elenara said, her smile returning, but this time it held a quiet intensity, "I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what plays out, won’t we?"
