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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Iliya's vision burned violently, fading into sparks of red and gray as the corset crunched her ribs together.
Tight.
So tight, her gasps warped into a sharp hiss.
As far as she could tell, the infernal device wrapping around her was designed more for torture than anything.
The very concept of this Ball had become just that. Torture. A celebration of unity to mask the announcements of bridges spanning from the heartline island to Solraidas and potentially Toskapel.
Another sharp pain loosened a groan from her lips, skin pinching beneath the metal and thick leather seams.
Iliya hadn't had time to consider the night before, how she'd gotten to bed, or the conversation she'd had with Sorein. There was too much to process and no space to do so.
He would Seal himself tonight, forever twenty four and she would live out her natural Therian lifespan.
She'd always wondered how different species inherited strange gifts. Unique to each house and line. Striping them down to their essence, the Fae were always to be immortal. Their very blood meant to fuse and freeze, granting them eternal strength and life.
Therian's oftentimes seemed like the bridge between Humans and Fae when it came to lifespan. They aged exponentially slower, more gracefully, with sharper minds the older they developed. Iliya knew she might even last an extra three hundred years just because of her Fae ancestors. She could well surpass the cusp of the Eldest, who now dwelled on Azuris in the City of the Lost.
At least she had a choice, unlike the most powerful of the Fae. There were stories of madness consuming those who waited too long or their lifeline fusing in their sleep when they couldn't control it.
Wild, untamed magic.
Iliya shuddered and for the first time it had nothing to do with the corset, her train of thought creating a cold sweat. That was, until another sharp pain had her hissing out breath.
The Priestess chuckled, tsking to herself. "That was the last one," she said.
"I can take over from here," a voice chimed in from the doorway. Siofra strode through the room with her usual confidence, coming to stand beside Iliya and giving a critical once over. The sympathetic smile on her face said it all. "Can you breathe in that?" she asked.
Iliya tried to exhale, mostly failing.
The Priestess nodded and excused herself, leaving them alone in the strange, uncomfortable silence between them.
They hadn't spoken in what felt like a few days now.
Iliya swallowed back the weird tension and forced her eyes from the ground, meeting Siofra's blue gaze. She would be the most comfortably dressed, in black slacks and a lovely lace blouse the color of morning dew.
