"I'm dying" Raven lamented. "only a kiss of true love can save me "
"Best I can do is a high five of semi- cordiality"
After a lifetime of house arrest, River Verlice attends his niece's first birthday banquet, expecting nothing more than a quiet e...
As River reclined in his lukewarm bath, he thought back to his brother's words.
Raven Alistair's ascension to the throne three years ago took all four great kingdoms by storm.
In the Kingdom of the North, the crown passed down from father to eldest son or daughter, a tradition mirrored in the East and West.
However, South had its own unique approach regarding the selection of a suitable heir.
Adler Alistair, the late king of the South, took three wives and sired ten legal children in his eighty-seven years of life, and remarkably, nine of them were sons.
When illness claimed him, it was time to select the successor. According to tradition, the "Battle of the Southern Ring" took place.
It's where all the children of the Southern God, regardless of age, gender, and legitimacy, fought a three-day battle until one sole victor was standing.
The new king who emerged from the blood bath was none other than Raven Alistair, the youngest of the lot and an illegitimate child to boot.
Naturally, the Southern king was feared and frowned upon for this very reason. Adler Alistair had to fight only two siblings to acclaim the throne. Raven Alistair slaughtered eleven well-trained men who had been preparing themselves for this battle since the day they were born.
He was the most venomous one in a pit of snakes.
River got out of the bath, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the marble floor. He wrapped a towel around his long hair and set the disturbing thoughts of the Southern ruler aside, but the unease lingered in the crease of his brows. There were more pressing matters to be dealt with tonight.
He had a banquet to attend.
As he laid all his clean clothes out, he realized that, despite his promises to show up, he had nothing suitable to wear.
He had a set of black formal robes and two casual sets of the same color. But black was mostly worn for funerals and was considered an inauspicious color. Wearing black to the banquet was more offensive than showing up nude.
His fingers tapped against his chin in a rhythmic dance as he raked his mind for a solution to this wardrobe dilemma. He picked up one of his shirts and sniffed it, smelling dampness. The moldy stench of the building had soaked into his very being. It was like he couldn't get the East Wing out of him, even if he got out of it.
At that moment, a soft knock reverberated through the room, a gentle interruption in the midst of his thoughts. River hastily threw on a black outer robe and opened the door to find none other than Ayla Yearwood standing there with a polite smile.
Ayla Yearwood was the closest thing River had to a mother. He often liked to picture his own deceased mother as being like her: warm, kind, and elegant.
She was not heaven-shatteringly beautiful; one could even safely say that she looked quite plain. Her eyes held the warmth of hazelnuts, her ebony hair cascaded like a waterfall, and her olive-colored skin radiated a subtle glow.
She had no wealth to her name, either. But Valour Verlice fell madly in love with her.
They had met three years ago in Queensend, a region near the East Coast. It was when Valour moved there undercover as a low-ranking general to help his troops ward off Eastern soldiers that were raiding Queensend and other villages in the vicinity.
Valour had promised River that he would send letters often while he was gone and had kept his word. Every week, a neatly folded letter would be pushed in through the gap between the locked, solid door and the marble floor.
First, these letters were about Queensend and its people. Valour would narrate in length about the casualties of the raids, the political situation, and how depressing everything was. He would vent to his confined brother about how helpless and powerless he felt, not being able to save every suffering citizen.
River had no way to reply to these woeful letters, but he prayed every day,wishing for his brother's safe return home. He asked the heavens to lift the burdens off his heart and bring him happiness in these dire times.
The heavens were too efficient in answering his prayers, like an overzealous quill-weilding scribe,because soon his letters were filled with how hopelessly he was in love with this girl he met. River read them with a mix of amusement and facepalms as Valour ranted about the lady of his affections.
Needless to say, the entire nation had an opinion to voice about their affair, the loudest of them being the Queen's, who screamed it at Valour so noisily that even River could hear it from his confinement in the East Wing.
She said the marriage was like a peacock marrying a hen, among other very rude things, but Valour was unshakable in his decision. He took his love by her hand to the shrine of Vorine, kneeled before the altar, and asked the gods for blessings.
The gods had said, "The one with courage is not without wisdom," and the marriage was pretty much done.
River almost forgave the god for ignoring him at his birth for that one. Not even the queen had anything to hold against a god's judgment.
Ayla had done nothing but prove the northern god right, year after year. River could not ask for a better spouse for his idiot brother.
"Lady Ayla" River's fingers fumbled, clumsily adjusting the fabric of his robes."What brought you here?"
"Brother," she said softly, "I've come to assist you."
Loulou emerged behind her and carried a heavy chest into the room. River had a sudden forboading feeling at how the chest rattled,like it contained a sacrilegious amount of jewelry.
"That's hardly appropriate," he refused hastily. "My lady is already dressed and ready; I mustn't delay her from attending the banquet."
But in the end, his sister-in-law convinced him to let her help his clueless self get ready so that River would not disgrace himself at the banquet.
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