At Hero's Bay

True Colors

𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬

𓄹 𝐘/𝐍 𓄼

Krow has a regal and handsome face, Y/N thinks involuntarily, but it's such a shame that he has the poorest etiquettes and manners in the entire palace.

As Y/N side-eyes her dear friend fastening a wolfish, dark fur-coat, she allows herself to be twirled and leaned upon by the various handmaidens assisting her with her dress. Despite the precipitate council meeting and the fact that her father did not—surprisingly—reach a final verdict for Khrōsa Aruul Qhyros, the two continued to follow their ceremonial duties accordingly. They were pampered, to say the least, and it was something that Y/N detested very much after a long day.

After everyone had emptied from the counseling chambers, Y/N had remembered her time with Wisp as they ambled down to their respective quarters. He had informed her that the brood of dragons they had purchased was immediately enthralled by their other siblings, who decided to form a proper companionship with them. As Wisp had chosen the golden she-dragon Sunny and Y/N bonded with her fierce Grey Blood, she had heard that Cyran was kept company by the silvery-white dragon of whom he named Nimbus.

Davraya had named the bronze-dragon Scuttles after he speedily attacked Faeryyne's cobalt and indigo-blue dragon. She had named her Wrenoria, of which Y/N easily recognized as the name of Amis' first queen—typical, she thinks. Wisp had vaguely mentioned that Yven and the sage-green beast that she named Ser Pine was attacked by a proud and yelling Morok with his red dragon. Throughout the palace halls, the name 'Rāi' echoes for an entire hour—the axārī word that meant 'war', Y/N remembers with a slight grin, it suits him.

After Krow pats down the garb of his embroidered leathers, he turns to Y/N with an avid gaze, "Well? How do I look?"

Y/N gives him a blithely fleeting glance before shrugging, "Adequate."

"'Adequate'?" Krow repeats with a mirthful scoff, folding his arms with a pout, "Hey, this outfit cost me fifteen iso'drānis coins. I almost had to beat up an elderly woman for just these pairs of boots!"

Y/N laughs giddily behind her hands, "Oh, please. You'd never have the gall to punch an old woman. Sounds like she just let you off easy."

Krow sputters and scoffs incredulously, practically fuming smoke out the ears before he promptly storms out of the room. Poorest etiquette and manners in all of the palace, indeed, Y/N thinks with a wicked grin. The handmaidens could not help but peal out with laughter along with Y/N as she wiped her tears.

"Please, Your Grace, you tease him too often."

At that, Y/N wholeheartedly agreed.

I just want to sleep, Y/N thinks with a slight sigh, her nose wrinkling sourly upon the scented-oils bedaubing behind her ears. The details of her conditions were scarce and were rather vague; head-nurse Thalisina only informed that she and Cyran should watch over each other closely, and attend physical and mental counseling treatments regularly. Her psyche was damaged, Krow had told her solemnly, but even she did not know what that meant—this has never happened before. Not once, during these many long years. It terrified her.

Despite this lingering fear, Gardenia emphasized that she and her other previously 'damaged' children would still have to prance around at the feast. Pretending as if nothing had ever happened—a sign of change, she called it, but all that ever changed within Y/N was her tolerance for being a nuisance. Y/N spat a wad of blood at Gardenia's heels, quickly turning away with a proud grin as she ignored the vehement screams echoing down the palace halls.