Hated by her lineage, Iliya Dalaminai dwells in self isolation, awaiting the day her cousin marries so she might escape the Throne.
Feared by the Gods, Sorein Chakrine's crown is mainly a relic put on display at royal ceremonies to ward off evil.
Wh...
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Iliya kicked into the ground as hard as she could, sprinting through the crowds of people with a speed she'd only used in training with her mentor. She felt her calves straining, her arms pumping at her side.
She knew he wouldn't come after her, but she couldn't stomach the city anymore. The people. The constant whispers and chatter. The noise of drums and confetti, of children screaming and cannons going off.
For a moment, she wondered what they would think. What Siofra or Rhydian or even Sulliand, her mentor would make of her sprinting away from this country as she had done so many times before.
Iliya felt just as much shame for running away as she did when facing her people. The men, women, and children of her country. The very civilians that often wished either nothing to do with her or stared at her with pity.
This was the only way.
She kept the chant alive in her mind, circling over in loops.
There was no other way.
The thought had her crashing into a gorgeous young woman with piercing hazel eyes and thick black hair bound in a tight bun that left several wisps breaking free. Crashing or caught, Iliya didn't know.
She couldn't know over the ringing in her ears and the disorientation of her vision.
Iliya felt the hands on her shoulder and understood the woman's lips moved. In the farthest reaches of her mind she could hear a soft voice asking her questions.
In and out, the woman's image swayed.
She focused on the voice.
A soft accent unfamiliar to her.
When her vision stopped dancing, Iliya took in the soft afterglow of her rich red-brown skin. The dawn became her, sunrise warming her cheeks like sunbaked clay.
She gasped roughly, attempting to swallow deep breaths before she lost her composure all together.
"Karna help you," the woman said to her. "Breathe."
Iliya did, training her vision enough to notice she was causing a scene. Several onlookers watched from a distance, though a crowd hadn't begun to draw.
"I'm sorry," she said, still panting. "I really am so sorry."
The woman chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she adjusted a beautiful turquoise and magenta shawl around her small frame. Her clothing was form fitting, with black pants and a tunic that highlighted the curves she otherwise hid.
A few more breaths and Iliya was standing up straight and sliding out of the bracing grip that held her.
"I'm so sorry," Iliya said again. She looked for her balance, grounding herself to the best of her ability. "If you'll excuse me."
