Forced Into Tyranny

1: Silver Rose

1445, Elderham City,
Home of Lord Bailif Syagros.

     As she came of age, the young woman found herself filled with disdain for many things. She questioned whether she could ever amount to anything more than being the daughter of one of the members of the King's Council. A member of the senate.
     Her mind often wandered to herself, Lyra, a woman of noble blood from the family of Syagros, and she wondered how different her life must be from others with normal blood. She knew that her family had plans to marry her off to a wealthy man, possibly even a statesman, to bring honor to their name. However, the thought of being bound to someone she did not love made her shudder. She yearned for a life of her own, a life where she could be free to love who she wished and pursue her own aspirations.
     The second child of the Syagros family, she was also the first female of three siblings. The name Syagros, however, filled her with disgust and disdain. She had her reasons for feeling this way, reasons she would later admit to.
     Being a young adult, she was filled with curiosity, as was common for those of her age. Being of imperial blood, she was also granted a small measure of freedom. Although her family was no longer in line to rule, they had once been, and this entitled them to reside in Elderham, the city of aristocracy. But she held no love for the place, and often referred to it as "trash", for reasons that would later become clear.
     Navaría was the antithesis of her current city. She could not fathom why they needed to be divided, as if some among them were gods and the rest, mere animals. It was all "trash" to her. In truth, however, there was no equality to be found among anyone, neither men nor women, neither nobles nor slaves.
     Affairs of the states and cruelty were two words that could never be separated in her mind. It was the reason why she despised Syagros. Her father, a patrician, landowner and bailiff, had been the nephew of the great Queen of two successions ago. Along with his status and power was a cruel man Lyra was ashamed of.
     She did not hate him, she simply did not like his affairs, so she stayed away from it...him.
     She spent most of her days staring out of her window as the sun blazed down on her, burning her skin. Every morning, she would stare until her vision blurred. She knew there was a town out there where even the grapes were shriveled like raisins and the people lived in squalor. Men wore rags and the women fed their children rotten fruits. She had never been there, but she knew it existed. The townsfolk talked about it in hushed tones, and the elders warned the children about it in bedtime stories. It was a place of misery and despair.
     Lyra's gaze fell upon the majestic mountains of Creek Hill, looming in the distance. Her governess had whispered tales of Navaría, a land of mystery and wonder, no more than a horse ride away beyond those very peaks. Lyra's heart swelled with longing at the thought of venturing there someday, of making a difference in a world where noblemen refused to act.
     As the historians of the thirteenth century had recounted, the Navaríans were once proud citizens of Haldor, a great nation that lay far beyond the walls of Thevalon. In the last years of the 11th century, the mighty Vikings of Haldor had descended upon Thevalon in search of the fabled bloodcoins, coins forged from pure gold and the blood of fallen warriors, said to bestow great power and fortune upon their possessor. Alas, the war had ended in a bloodbath, with the heads of some Haldorites mounted on spikes and many more trapped within the walls of Thevalon, never to return home again.
     Through the grace of the king and the intervention of the gods, the remaining Haldorites were granted their freedom and citizenship in Thevalon. However, the Thevalonians, who had lost loved ones in the war, were not pleased with this decision. They implored the great king to reconsider, and a compromise was reached. The Haldorites were banished to a cursed village in Thevalon. This was Navaría, where they were to start anew. Over time, their language and customs would remain distinct, as they spoke with a stronger accent and held onto their Haldorian traditions.
     The Navaríans, despite their banishment and isolation, were no less important than any other people. Lyra couldn't help but agree with herself. Their suffering, starvation, and abandonment were not justified by the sins of their forefathers. They were people, with their own stories, struggles, and dreams, who had long forgotten the wars of old and their proud heritage.
     Getting off her stool, Lyra pulled the window close before padding down her bedroom. She sat at the edge of her bed, staring down at her pale feet. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there when someone pushed her door open and shattered her thoughts. It was Anais, followed by Doris, prancing in as if they owned the space.
     "Oh, hush it, Anais. The man was not even good-looking."
     "He was. And don't speak ill of the gentleman." Anais' reply to Doris accompanied a nasty frown, and Lyra shook her head, realizing they were at it again. Doris refusing to agree with Anais on her taste in men, and it was a recurring argument between the two.
     "Pray tell, what is the purpose of this discussion?" Lyra put them quiet. Well, only for a second. They continued bickering in no time.
     Doris had said, time and time again, that Anais was too young to differentiate between handsome and attractive. Anais was childish for her age of fourteen, but even Lyra didn't know the difference, and she was two years older than Doris.
     Lyra always thought that Doris was too exposed for them. She had more experience than Lyra and Anais combined, and sometimes Lyra wished that her experienced sister would get married first so she could tell them what it would be like to...you know, consummate a marriage — exactly how their governess had muttered it.
     Doris and Anais spoke on and on about men. Some they'd only met through their room windows, others they'd run into at the times when they were let out of the house under their governess's supervision, and Lyra paid close attention. She was more of a listener than a talker, and she found their conversations fascinating. Anais talked about a boy who lived on the next street, and Doris talked about a man who worked at the market. They described their appearances and personalities, and Lyra tried to imagine what it would be like to meet a real man in person—not the unfeeling guards that surrounded them day and night.
     She was curious about love and romance, but she was also scared of the unknown, as the burden of wondering if she would ever have the courage to talk to a man, let alone fall in love with one, weighed heavily on her mind. 
     After a moment of hushed whispers, they heard their names being called from the hallway, and hastily made way to join their mother.
      Gertrude was bent over the window, facing the garden, her strawberry blond hair dangling down her back like a veil trying to cover her pale skin. Doris inherited almost everything from their mother. From hair to grey eyes, to full lips and the legendary round face. Well, Anais and Lyra pretty much looked like the product of a confused painter who couldn't decide whether he'd paint their mother's features or their father's.
     "Where's Father?" The only one who cared to know asked.
     Gertrude faced Anais and smiled. "He went with Thymotes to Rusthelm." Then she started walking towards Doris and Lyra. "There's a match today."
     Indeed. It was Wednesday, their father never missed a Wednesday match, or any one at all. He had said they decided their fate, yet Lyra never understood him. A gambler was never meant to be understood. Now listening to a political gambler was a waste of precious time. They were no different from drunkards.
     Gertrude's gaze bore into Lyra with an intensity that bespoke of an urgent need for conversation. Lyra was all too familiar with that look, and it never failed to unsettle her. Whenever Gertrude fixed her with that piercing stare, Lyra knew that she was in for a difficult conversation. Gertrude's eyes would narrow, and she would gesture towards the nearest exit, all the while continuing to speak as if nothing was amiss.
     With a subtle nod, she motioned for her mother to join her, then resumed her questioning about Thymotes. Why did he always accompany their father to the blood-soaked spectacle of the Arena, where men fought and died for the amusement of the masses? It was a brutal display, a twisted form of entertainment that masked the true cruelty of the men who organized and profited from it. Her mind didn't resist wondering what other atrocities these men were capable of, and what other horrors they sought to justify with their twisted logic.
     Gertrude gave Doris a gentle pat on the head and instructed her and Anais to go to their respective bedrooms. Lyra reluctantly followed her mother into her bedroom, which held a sense of unease for her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why.
     As she stood there, she could feel the weight of the room bearing down on her, and she longed to leave. Trying to break the silence, Lyra cleared her throat and addressed Gertrude, averting her gaze from the imposing mirror that hung before her. "Mother," she began, struggling to find the right words. "What is it you want to discuss?"
     Gertrude regarded her daughter with a look of intense scrutiny, as if she were some rare and valuable commodity. Lately, she had been giving Lyra that same penetrating gaze, always before launching into one of her interminable lectures on marriage and responsibilities. "Relax, my dear. Lift your chin. Take a deep breath. And smile."
     The obedient side of Lyra followed through with the statement as it came, and she was suddenly faking a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Another thing she hated.
     Throwing her a prideful face, Gertrude laughed and said, "We found you a husband."
     Lyra would have choked, but then again she was faking a smile that she couldn't dare ruin. "Is that so?" She said through the hapless smile. "Who is it, if I am allowed some level of curiosity?"
     "Your father will tell you." Gertrude's face fell into sudden sadness. It wasn't her place to tell, was it? "The games. The games, they always get in the way of everything, don't they?"
     "They do," Lyra said, despite knowing her mother wasn't asking for her opinion. 'Did Father even have time to bed her?' Lyra wondered to herself. She suspected that he spent all his time poring over his scrolls, which detailed the strengths and weaknesses of each fighter in the weekly, monthly, and yearly matches. He had a small fortune locked away in a chest, which he only brought out when it was time to pay off his debts or place another ill-advised bet.
     During one of their heated arguments, Lyra's mother had revealed that it all started when the late King appointed her father to oversee the games. He was paid handsomely for the position, which should have meant more money for the family, but instead, he gambled it all away.
     "Look, child, your journey is about to begin," Gertrude said, her smile heavy with unspoken emotion. Lyra felt a sudden urge to ask her a thousand questions, but Gertrude continued before she could speak. "Mine is almost over. Make the most of yours."
     Lyra was left with more questions than answers. What did Gertrude mean by "journey"? Who was she supposed to make the best of? How could she do that if she didn't even know what he was like, or who he was?
    "Okay, Mother," she said firmly.
     Lyra's parents had been resolute in their search for a suitable match for their daughter, and they had invested countless hours in grooming her to fall in love with her future husband.
     Love him.
     Doris had once told Lyra that love was a profound emotion that one grows towards someone, and that it only continues to grow; it's never meant to die. This led Lyra to conclude that she loved her family deeply, but how was she supposed to develop such a deep feeling for someone she had never met before?
     Doris was very confusing, but nothing confused Lyra more than Doris's definition of love, or rather, the definition of love she had read in books.
     As Lyra left her mother's bedroom, she couldn't stop thinking of her parents' marriage. It had been arranged from after birth, and while it was not based on love, it was a marriage of convenience. Her father had been the nephew of a Queen, now the current Mayor of Elderham, and her mother was the daughter of a nobleman. It was a fitting match, and over time they had learned to love each other, or at the very least, to tolerate each other.
     Lyra was determined not to settle for a marriage based on mere tolerance. She wanted to love her future husband, whoever he may be. With this in mind, she made her way to Doris's bedroom, eager to hear more about her theories on the subject of love, as it was now known that she didn't have much time to keep figuring things out.