[ON HOLD] The Empress

VIII. A Person is not a Gift

Warmth. Softness. Comfort.

Zilyana's body felt stiff, yet the ground under her was as soft as Indigo Spidersilk. The young Sídhe slowly opened her eyes, sleep clouding the golden orbs as she tried to get her bearings.

She wasn't lying on the ground, nor was she outside. Zilyana laid upon a large bed with thick blanks and plump pillows, the fabric of which almost rivaled that of Erera.

'Am I back home? Was all that I experienced nothing more than a dream?'

Slowly, Zilyana rose from the bed, her bare feet softly touching the warm polished marble floor as she began to explore her surroundings.

The chamber that she was in did look to be made for someone of noble blood. It possessed rich furnishings and tapestries, but it also looked to had been designed for someone with simple tastes. For example, rather than the couches and chairs being overly plush, they only had the necessity of stuffing, almost as if the sitter didn't want to get too comfortable.

However, Zilyana's attention was that she saw what appeared to be items in the Sídhe-style or tried to mimic it. Such as a dagger that sat on a table, it's blade having been fashioned into that of a leaf with Sídhe runes carved into it.

'This isn't right,' Zilyana thought as she picked up the dagger. 'These runes aren't in the correct order. The runes are supposed to say...'

"You're awake!" a voice exclaimed behind her.

Zilyana whipped around, her hand tightening around the dagger as she instinctively acted. Holding the dagger in one hand, Zilyana's other struck out the grabbed the shirt collar of the person who had spoken. She pinned them against the wall and pressed the sharp blade against their throat, positioning it so if the person so much as twitched, their jugular would be sliced instantly.

It was a boy.

A human boy around her age.

He looked at her with eyes the color of a clear sky, those orbs wide and surprised. His skin was fair yet had a slight bronze undertone who loved to be in the sun. The hair on his head was black as ebony, yet hung in curls and flopped over his eyes that gave him a youthful appearance.

"Who are you?!" Zilyana demanded on her tongue. "Where am I?"

The Human held up his hands as to not be a threat. "I... do not... speak... Ererian... Do you... speak... Common Tongue?"

Zilyana frowned. 'I could just slit his throat... but who knows what's on the other side of this door. I'll never make it past a small army. Then again, I could always burn down this place.'

"Where... am... I?" Zilyana said, this time in Common Tongue.

The Human looked relieved. "You are in... the Paefon Empire. Do you understand?"

Zilyana nodded. "Where in Empire?"

"The Imperial Palace of Newset," the Human replied. "I am Maximilian. Can you say that?"

"Maxmillian."

The Human huffed, then covered his mouth to smother a chuckle. "No, it's Max-ee-mill-yawn."

"Max-ee-mill-yawn," Zilyana repeated, slower this time.

The Human nodded. "And your name?"

Zilyana opened her mouth to reply, but another voice came out.

"Your Majesty!" A man suddenly barked from behind them.

Zilyana looked over her shoulder to see a dozen men dressed in the metal suits that humans wore when they went to battle. They drew the thick, long swords at their sides and pointed them at her, their eyes narrowed with hatred. The look in their eyes only made Zilyana press the dagger closer to the Human's neck, not one to lose the only hostage she had.