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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He witnessed everything. Standing behind the group of nobles in the shadows of the side doors, his eyes were fixated on the purple-eyed beauty who spoke so boldly against the king. He wanted to give an encouraging cheer to her witty responses but knew he'd only worsen her situation. He wanted to step forward and ask to be the one to discover what she was, despite already knowing the answer.
He shifted anxiously, sweaty hands fumbling with the gold buttons along his coat vest. For years, he heard the disgraceful stories of the Strange thief with purple eyes. Rumored to be a pest with a horde of sticky little fingers who needed to be caught and done away with. Some stories noted her bravery and some, her beauty, yet the majority scolded her existence and impurity towards the Diviines.
"Gris, we should leave," his close friend and confidant whispered.
"Not yet, Rasheem."
Rasheem Hanias was a man born with a disfigured right leg that was shorter than his left, giving him a bit of a hobble in his step. Born during the times . Since the age of ten, he worked nonstop to gain the favor of the royals and nobles until being honored with the title of Master of the House. This position did not give him actual authority over the palace, but its maintenance and its workers.
Gris gestured to him to wait, ears attentive to the king's final words. He couldn't believe that despite the girl's snippy rebuttals, King Dimitri gave her mercy. Still, he wanted an audience with the Purple Thief. He frowned, watching the quick interaction between the young lady and the Fiisen, and wished he could hear what had been said. Whatever it was, the girl grinned and yanked out of his grip with a nasty force.
"What if she's a witch, Gris?" Rasheem asked.
"She's not," he said.
There was more about Mageia Unknown than what met the eye, and Gris had to confirm it. The only way to do that was to get permission to see her.
"Orlan, go," he gestured to one of his high-ranking servants to do as he was told. The tall, average-looking man approached the king's Knight Escort by the throne with strong confidence and handed him a note.
Ser Garret Slan scowled as he listened to the middle-aged servant. With a slight huff of annoyance, the royal escort took the note and ascended the throne's platform as glasses of water were distributed amongst the family. Gris' shoulders tensed as he handed the king the note. The king read it, with his wife nosily trying to peek over to read it too. When he was finished, he sharply returned it to Garret's hand and shook his head.
"Gaw," Gris growled and did not wait to hear the no. He turned and slipped out the side doors with Rasheem on his heels.
"Whatever you are thinking, do not think it. Rebuke it."
"Rasheem, I need to do what I am th-thinking, or else I will dr-drive myself mad."
"You are already mad, Gris," he grumbled. "Saving that girl will not be smart."
