A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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Gris checked his timepiece. Time had begun to edge closer to the seventh mark, and he needed to get dressed for the parade gathering. After talking and convincing Rasheem to stay in the infirmary, he found Orlan and gave him the task of finding Mageia's letter and gathering his possessions to prepare for the ceremony.
He looked around at the faces of his six overseers, pushed aside his worries, and spoke with authority. "By the r-roster, the majority of royal officials will be at the ceremony. All cleaning sh-should be ending right now. I don't w-want any of my workers in-in the West Wing unless some idiot gives a dire ring."
"Yes, sir," they responded, bobbing their heads.
"I want my kitchens c-clean, and no family visits unless it's outside the palace," he frowned. "I prefer everyone to be checked into their q-quarters by one in the morning. No later. No excuses. We must be back at least b-before the royal's return."
"Yes, sir."
"If any issues arise, Orlan and Kresto will be on call. Summon me if the issue is grave," he continued, then skimmed his messy clipboard. "I don't want anyone e-exc-cessively drunk. Riots are known to occur on nights like this. Thievery, murder, and-and violence, which I w-want you to be protected from. The last thing I want is for any of my workers to be accused of something."
"Yes, sir."
"This goes for everyone. Rasheem must not leave the infirmary. I don't care if he hurts you to the c-core with his words. That man stays there to recover. Any questions?"
Everyone shook their heads. They were used to this extensive set of safety precautions.
"Good. Orlan will be on call for me, like I said," he huffed, wishing he could crawl into bed rather than go to the Altar. "Let's just get through this, okay?"
They nodded, sorrow leaking from their eyes and faces. This was not a time for celebration or joy, contrary to the emotions of those considered Fair.
"You all are dismissed," he said, then took his leave.
He walked quickly through the kitchens, now empty and spotless, towards the slave quarters in the north section of the East Wing. Being banished from his own quarters, some slaves easily prepared him a bedroom with an area for a small office. Though Gris knew the king couldn't permanently keep him away from his quarters, anger and frustration still scratched at his nerves at the unfairness of it all.
He halted at a grand window. There was a great view of the palace's north and western wings. Mageia may have run this way when she slipped from Rasheem's supervision. The girl was a brave one for sure and most likely scared. He was not angry with her actions. He would've done the same thing. An open door and only chance to run, to make an escape. Yes. He would've done the same thing.
He stared up at the clouds forming in the sky. Dark and angry, they looked almost as if a god had decided to break through the barrier between the realm and the Serene. The very thought chilled him and drowned him in sudden dread. Tonight, at midnight, seven people were going to die a terrible death, and there was nothing he could do about it.
