A Touch Of Darkness

4.5 || Perfect

Giulia traces the faint markings in the white marble, fingers snaking down the throne's armrest. It is solidly built, but hardly a masterpiece. Neyaibet's throne is a bold sapphire, emblazoned with cyan starbursts, with the crest of a wave forming each arm. In contrast, this seat is plain, too simple to class as the grand symbol it claims to be. A fitting match to the kingdom it represents.

Then again, she has to give this throne some credit. After all, it is the first she's been able to sit in. Though she has seen the throne room of the Neyaibet royalty many times, it belongs to the queen, and to even draw too close to it is an action of outrageous disrespect.

"Thank you, Oscensi," she whispers to the marble, "for being so useless. You've truly made today spectacular."

She chuckles to herself, shifting in the seat to scrape her boots across the white surface. The back presses awkwardly into her shoulder blades, but thrones aren't made for comfort, and so she forgives it for that.

Her gaze drifts to the rest of the room. A feeble attempt at glory, but her lips quirk at the thought of viewing it from a height only meant for royalty. Sitting here is no less disrespectful to its owner as it would have been in Neyaibet, but the difference here is that the king deserves no respect. A pitiful ruler, one who tried to fight a war with untrained children and blunt weapons, who hid his relatives and friends behind high walls while the peasants of his kingdom laid down their lives, and who now runs from his castle with little care for the people he leaves to be slaughtered. All he has achieved is saving his own skin.

It is most irritating, particularly to Giulia, that he hasn't yet been caught. She can't wait to see the look on his face as she explains to him, painfully slowly to allow his little bird-brain to catch on, what has become of his precious kingdom. And how every detail is solely his fault.

Alas, he has escaped, and so she finds a lesser pleasure in lounging in his throne. She shifts again, spreading out as much as the seat will allow. Her foot kicks at the hilt of her sword, and she reaches for it, smiling at the familiar touch of its soft leather.

It fades within moments, an unwelcome thought looming. Today has been almost perfect, but one knife still twists.

Talks with Harlow are usually the highlight of her day. Even without his ruggedly handsome face, he is a joy to converse with, for he is different to any other Neyaibet solder. Besides her, he is the only one that seeks to command whatever room he enters, even when in the presence of his superiors.

His quirky ideas come regularly, always to her delight. Until today.

A shiver runs through her at the thought of him. She straightens, muttering a curse. The boy didn't look to be even at Oscensi's dreadfully low draft age. He was a child, and a sickly one at that. He shouldn't have had such an effect on her.

His eyes flash at the back of her mind. Black, painted by the darkest depths of the night, lit by no stars. The pupil was impossible to distinguish. That in itself was creepy enough, but it was the fire in them that really spooked her.

The moment he conjured the flames, his eyes changed. Giulia has long since learned how to read fear in people, and even with the lack of light in his eyes, she saw it in him the moment he crossed into the room. Yet when those flames rose, it all vanished. His unbroken gaze bored into her, like a snake slithering through the undergrowth, forked tongue flicking out to taste potential prey.

Blackened fangs reared back, glistening with death and eager to strike.

She shakes her head, discarding the image, but its touch remains. Clasping her sword, she slides from the throne.