Four Suits (Book 1)

Day 39-4: Vow

DAY 39-4: VOW

Sirens barrage the palace.

Feet scramble in equal frenzy, marching the corridors of the palace, all suited up and ready to battle.

   The chaos is alarming, especially to those gathered in the hall the wedding is to take place.

   "What's all the commotion?"

   A guard is whisked from the crowd only to find himself at the mercy of the man who'd posed the question.

His sharp-toothed smile slices into his cheeks, one of his red pupils dilate; and the other broadens to the point where it scorches the guard's soul. A firm hand to his tall, black hat, he continues, "Her Majesty's made it clear this wedding will go on without interruption. Are you that willing to defy your ruler?"

The ever so intimidating interaction leaves the guard shuddering in his boots. Unable to muster even his voice, he sputters, wordlessly.

   "Isn't it intruders?"

   The voice lofts from above. Perched on the railings of the second floor, is a dark-skinned girl. Lollipop in hand, she listlessly kicks out her legs and tilts her head, the star and moon jewelry adorning her Afro, neck, and ears swaying with the action. Even the star tattoos grazing the surface of her nose glisten under the fluorescent lights. Plopping the sweet into her mouth, she sucks on it with the blankest stare known to man.

   "A Spade is running freely around the palace," she elaborates. "His companions, too. Heard Paola's gotten rid of one of them, though."

   "Spade...?" The word slips like venom off the man's tongue. His ear-splitting smirk widens. "Is he so tough all these Numbers have to be sent after him? One of us should be plenty."

   "Paola's not kind enough to share her prey with anyone." A slurping sound erupts. Somehow, unbeknownst to the two gathered, they've gained company. Solina sits on a mushroom chair, the same tactless fungi that decorates the exterior of her green hat. Her amusement is stifling as she drinks a piping cup of tea. "Mavix must've sent the Numbers as backup since she failed in killing them once already. Regardless, if any of us act now, there'll be an even greater commotion. Her Majesty is expecting a wedding ceremony, and a wedding ceremony is what she'll get, Elora. Naeve."

   Elora's eyelids taper as she sucks on her lollipop.

   Naeve tips the brim of his hat.

   The Number guard he'd had by the arm dashes off in fear for his life.

   "His Highness Avelious and Her Highness Valentina, huh?" muses a short-statured girl, back against the wall, arms folded across her chest. Her black eye-patch contrasts greatly with her lengthy purple hair. "I understand inbreeding is welled deep in our history, but it still makes my stomach churn imagining the thing."

   "Are you possibly skeptic of the Queen's decision?" Naeve remarks. "Don't tell me your loyalty to her is that superficial?"

   "Superficial? Mine?" Myrin has to scoff. "This aching eye socket of mine is suffice proof that I'll never betray the Queen."

"I've once heard a rumour that upon screwing up a marksman mission, you gouged out your right eye and offered it to her," Naeve drawls. "If genuine, I apologize for doubting you, Myrin. But can you blame me? Both you and Jareth are so soft-spoken—who's to say what goes on in your minds."

Jareth, who idles nearby, doesn't put in a word. His cloak and broody demeanour give little leeway to figuring him out.

"What I say still stands," Solina interjects, decibel collapsing to a fierce low. Her tea cup shatters within her vice-grip, a testimony to her frustration. "Even if not at the front lines, as Straeh's Five Holy Sorcerers, we will make this wedding a success. Human, Spade, Mond—even those wretched Harlequins the Queen invited as esteemed guests—none will get in the way of His and Her Highness. No matter the cost."