Fantasy RP σf skєlєtσn kєчs & cursєs | SaltyRat & Sol

[Solaris-]

"My heart is open, Alice. Never closed, never locked. It needs no key."

Act I - Reintroductions

 

[Solaris-]

Andromeda had dreaded the idea of coming home after their studies. The idea of coming home to their family and the expectations that came with it. She knew that she could no longer make up excuses for why she'd not married the person they'd chosen for her to marry. Whilst the girl was grateful she'd not been victim, like many other orphans, to her adopted family's vampirism, it was times like these that she wished that they'd not spared her. The younger of the two heirs had taken pity on her as a dirty child they'd taken from the broken down orphanage, and at this current moment, she hated him for it.

The patriarch of the von Stratton family had come from his home villa several hours away with his dutiful wife that Romy had only met on rare occasions where they'd come to ascertain how well their sons were doing on their own. Romy had been home less than a week from graduating with honors that many of the young men she'd went to classes with had dreamed of obtaining from the prestigious university only to be greeted with their stoic faces seated in the drawing room. The older man barely looked a touch over forty years old despite his age, and the same could be said of the woman as well. All of the family was incredibly beautiful with bright eyes that nearly seemed to luminesce in the dim light. It was easy to see why they'd be accused of such unsanctimonious acts that they'd never attempted to dissuade.

"Lord and Lady von Stratton," Romy greeted them both with a polite bow. The loose braid she'd tied her hair in fell over one of her shoulders in the quick motion.

The man raised his hand and shook his head- letting out a soft laugh. "Come now, Andromeda, you know you can greet us as your parents. You are a von Stratton after all." Romy could feel the pull of his words. The hint of the suggestion. It'd become less effective on her over time as she'd become exposed to it, but it was still enough to make a cold shiver run along her spine at its influence. She wondered if this is how the normal villagers felt speaking to someone who bore their last name. "Right then. Come sit down. We've a lot to discuss."

He motioned to a nearby chair and Andromeda did as requested. Their body doing as told without much prompting. She swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered if they realized how terrible their suggestive power truly felt to someone who was not born into this damned family, but she didn't dare speak on that. "Is this about our deal?" She asked quietly- sea-glass colored hues looking down at her slacks to avoid making eye contact with the monsters she called parents. "I thought I'd be ready to honor it, but I've learned so much and seen so much. I'm not ready to do this."

"Shut up," The command fell against her harshly. The suggestion slapped her in the face like someone was throwing a brick at her head. Immediately, Romy fell silent- their face flushed with guilt about speaking out of turn. It wasn't like her to speak out like this as she knew that disobeying them got her nowhere. They were used to being the perfect child- the one who listened to each order and did as they were told. It seemed that being married off like a common woman was the only thing that she disagreed on wholeheartedly. "I have raised you, given you a home, fed you, and put you through the most prestigious classes only for you to throw it back in my face. We have given you nothing but the best, and you still cannot heed our simple request. My useless sons may be able to tolerate this level of disrespect, but I will not do so anymore. You've begged us not to use our influence on you on this matter, but my hands are tied. I have already promised that our families will be intermingled. We made a deal that you would return home from your studies, and then you would do as you were told, and so you shall. You will no longer be a spoiled, petulant child, Andromeda. At the end of this week, we are leaving, and you will make a good impression of yourself on the King and Queen and their daughter, and that is the end of it."

Her chest constricted tightly. It hurt so much to fight it. Their hands were balled into tight knuckle fists against their slacks and tears pricked at their eyes. Romy blinked them away. "Yes, Father," She said through grit teeth. "May I be excused?"

At that, Romy was waved away like an insignificant creature, and they left the drawing room quickly- nearly knocking over a maid in their haste to get away. This was the first time that they truly did feel like a spoiled, petulant child who desired nothing more to rebel against their parent's wishes. But it was useless to try and escape the influence of the words. It felt as though she were being pulled along by an invisible string that was wrapped tightly around her entire body.

----

The week came and went, and Andromeda was no more thrilled about leaving their home to travel to another kingdom to meet someone they'd only met once before when they were children. She hardly remembered anything about the other person, but yet according to their parents, they were destined for one another or some other stupid bullshit of the sort.

The carriage jostled, and Romy's head bumped against the window in a way that woke her from her tempestuous slumber. On the other side of the carriage were her parents. They would be attending this month-long endeavor to ensure that their child made a good impression. She could see from their grim expressions as she rubbed her forehead what exactly was at stake here.

It was a very long, very silent journey to the kingdom of Behzadi, and the pit inside of Romy's stomach only grew deeper as they neared the palace. "Remember your manners. In the public eye, you are one of our sons, and you need to behave as such." This was one of the first words that their mother had spoken to them this whole trip, and they carried a lot of weight on Romy's shoulders despite not being very harsh.

"I know, Mother. I'll behave myself." They swallowed the thick bile that creeped up their throat and looked out the window as the carriage came to a jostling stop.

There was a guardsman and an entourage there to greet them. Romy was first out of the cramped space- followed by their mother and father as well as their elder brothers. It was clear that the entourage had heard the rumors of the von Stratton family, and they wore poorly disguised fear on their faces despite their eagerness to help the family get settled in. They were shuffled along by the servants to the western wing of the palace, and Romy took the opportunity to look at her appearance in the mirror. Dressed in a designer suit trimmed at the shoulders with a neat tawny colored fur with ironed slacks and polished boots. Honey colored hair was brushed and groomed neatly on their head. Ocean colored hues continued to give herself the once over- attempting to find a flaw in the appearance that looked back. She was the son that her parents wanted of her.

"Sir," A mousy voice called from the other side of the door. "The Lord and Lady and the Princess
request your presence in the drawing room at once." It was such a far cry from the commanding voices of their family. A soft sigh left her lips, and she shook her head at the thought. Romy opened the door and caused the servant to jump. She offered an apologetic, charming smile to the poor girl whom she'd startled.

"Please lead the way."

The two of them came outside a rather impressively carved door which the smaller of the women had trouble opening. "My Lord and Lady and Most Esteemed guests. I've gathered the Young Master to join you all."

Romy bowed deeply in respect. "Revered Hosts, Honorary Margrave Andromeda von Stratton. Charmed to make your acquaintance." Their eyes scanned the room as they took a seat near their parents whom were already seated.​

 

[ASaltyRat]

​

"No dress?"

Azara felt the blade of her mother's eyes cutting into her very spine. Nonetheless, Azara stood firm. A person that embodies the likenesses of proud beasts should never cower, even before their own creator.

"No, there will be no dress. I agreed to greet them, not to curtsy at their son and bare my breasts in the study over tea." came the princess' sharp reply, a cross between exasperation and amusement.

She loved her mother, but they were always at this same impasse. She busied herself with her own tidying, preening her jacket and adjusting her cufflinks. No maids were currently present, she had even dismissed her own lady-in-waiting for the remainder of the morning to oversee her own attire. She stood before an ornate golden mirror that spanned most of the length of her bedchamber wall and was at least double her own height. She rather liked seeing everything happening in the room at once- no secrets, no hidden beasties. Well, save for her mother, of course.

"Greeting them like a proper lady is hardly the same as bedding him." the queen snipped. Her beautiful crimson hair never lost its glow, and the heat in her scarlet eyes never lost their spark. Azara was her mother's spitting image- if not for the prideful, boarheaded posture and tendency to smirk to the side.

"I've a campaign briefing soon, mother, can this wait?"

"No, it can't! You know how long it takes to prepare the proper attire for official meetings of this nature, Azara, can't you-?" continued her mother, her voice getting higher and higher like the trill of a panicked bird, practically a shriek.

As per her habits, Zara's left brow rose ever so quickly. "Mother, only dogs can hear you right now. Ah! I know, why don't you make Davar wear a dress for the meeting? He's got your attitude and your fashion sense, he's practically the perfect lady."

"AZARA!"

A shrug. "WHAT? Was any of that even a lie?" she laughed, her mother plopping down on the nearest settee as though stricken with grief.

"You've gone rogue on a dozen suitors! You are a PRINCESS, your brother is a PRINCE. Far be it for me to explain to foreign nobles why I've presented them a man in a dress. Just for one day, can-" her mother tried again, feeble, begging. Azara strode to the seat at her mother's side and gave her a very genuine and well-intended peck on the forehead before she could finish. "You won't be, you'll be sending them a woman in a suit." came the cheeky response, after which she straightened her jacket and headed for the door. "I've already forgotten when they're slated to arrive, send for me when they've hit the gates and I'll be along shortly."

Azara didn't wait to hear her mother's reply or to again analyze her mother's face. Perhaps this was her own form of rebellion, something like revenge upon her parents' constant and blatant attempts at marrying her off. She knew they meant well, and she had long since known how other princesses fates aligned with such a narrative. There was no shame in being a wife, a mother, a lover- but more than anything, Zara craved her father's seat. The seat above all, the seat that shook the earth, changed the legislature, the seat that could lift the burdens of tradition off of her for good.

A man in a dress. A woman in a suit. A woman on the throne.
These men could watch from the sidelines for all she cared- a husband was of little to no consequence.
Azara would have that seat, regardless of whether or not she had to cross blades with her own brothers to get it.
________________________________________________________________________________________
"No dress?"

Azara would've called it deja vu if she weren't seated across from the royal advisory cabinet and the strategist union. Yet again, her left brow hiked to the ceiling. This time, it was Davar. Spindly, jealous, conniving, salty wee lad that he was, ruddy brick colored hair and eyes like mud, angry and unfeeling. He was barely a year her senior, and yet he carried the appearance of someone highly inconvenienced by the slightest gust of wind. Practically from their wetnurse days, Azara and Davar were all hands, on sight, any time, any place.

Azara clicked her tongue like a mother hen. "Why? Are you cold? I'll have the finest silks brought into this campaign room and we," she gestured across the table before them, laden with plans, budgets, geography, and symbolic figurines and onward toward her constituents, "can ALL help you prepare for the arrival of the Von Stratton envoy." she chuckled, met with silence from the rest of the table. It was probably highly comedic for all present, but anyone save for the royal family that laughed at Davar would be in for a bad time. He was an incredibly vengeful little man.

"A woman with no decorum, no dignity, has no place in this war room! You're chickening out of uniting us with the noble families again!" he sputtered, slapping a thick packet of unsigned documents to the tabletop. His sister found the claim extremely funny. "I don't seem to recall discussing dresses and jewels for the past two hours before you decided they were of such high importance. Your royal highness, darling brother, let's wrap this up, hey?"

He stormed out of the room in yet another of his fits, likely to tell their father in over embellished detail. The heavy redwood doors slammed with a dramatic thud.

There was a brief silence that followed, interrupted only by another lady official, a senior on the advisory counsel. She adjusted her glasses and whispered just loudly enough for those nearby to hear. "I think you look dashing, your majesty."

Azara's lopsided grin didn't escape anyone. Usually compliments flustered her, but one such as this was a delicate yet symbolic reminder of what she could bring to women all across the empire. "Thank you. Let us resume- bring me the audit records from the famine seven years ago, and the crop yields for the past ten years. I want a list of which fiefs have unfarmed acreage in their territories as of this year. We need separate foodstores for the campaign that don't gut the kingdom's civilian grain supply." she instructed, the hurried shuffling of documents, scrolls, and reports marking the resumption of the review. Her father, having been weakened recently with a few strokes and physical rehabilitation to match, had been unable to take up his usual place at the helm of the campaign meetings. With his eldest son away on military missions, he had left Azara and Davar in his place during his leave of absence. It had been decided that if any sibling were to be left back home and stopped from participating in further military involvement, it would be Azara.

She could feel her heart break all over again knowing her father secretly hated how powerful she was alone, how much she could do if left unmarried.

She blinked the nasty thoughts away, sifting through the handful of paperwork she'd been given. Work to be done, no time to dwell on a man. Not Davar, and certainly not a fiance.
________________________________________________________________________________________

"My lady, they've come."

Zaya's voice was quiet, calm- gentle, always. Azara savored it for a moment before giving the council a final nod. She hadn't the words to dismiss them, not with the betrothal sitting like a pit in her stomach. She had ignored it all day, brushing it off as with any other suitor her parents had sent- a key tied to the barn cats around the palace. Spilling tea on them. Riddles. Intimidating them with her wit. Anything, whatsoever, to delay what was surely the inevitable.

Zaya, the finest lady-in-waiting in the empire, followed Azara in silence to the door of her chambers, patiently and instinctively stopping outside the door. Grateful, Azara maintained this silence and slunk back in alone. Again she found herself in front of the mirror, and not so haughty this time. There she was, dispirited, yet always awash in the vermillion shades of her mother's lineage. Her hair was cleanly but rarely deviated from a neat tail or simply hanging from her shoulders on its own.
No makeup. No gowns. Nails short to allow for her prized gloves.
Azara loved herself this way, and it was rather the way that others did not that incited her worst inner dialogue.
Surely neither the von Strattons, nor their son, would be any different.
A final once over- well dressed, tidy, red as could be, the royal crest shining and inlaid with her brooch. Fresh leather gloves, shoes still without blemishes. Her father's jacket, freshly pressed, no creases.

Elegant. Powerful. Respected. The only things she had ever wanted. And yet?

A knock at the door. She took a very, very deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "May lady, King Armand has come to collect you." Zaya announced softly from the hall. She opened the door for her father, waiting for judgment to pass.

"I see, then. No dress, eh?" he observed, a twinkle in his eyes despite the cane in his hand and the limp in his gait. Azara grinned, even if only a little wryly. "Wishful thinking won't drag me out of the palace, old man."

He smiled, crookedly, a thin man in fine clothes, a calm and peaceful father that Azara would always adore. "Or I could make it so dreadful that you run off on your own. Are you ready?"

"Is he?"
the king didn't hide the deep bellows of his laughter. If anyone was capable of creating peace in Azara's heart for even a moment, it was her father the king.

________________________________________________________________________________________

A servant threw wide the doors to the drawing room, and Azara was rigid at first. Something like a cross between her pride and her anxiety welling up all at once. Her mother gestured quickly for her to sit- almost as soon as she and her father were seated, the crisp click of shoes on the palace floor outside the drawing room were heard getting closer. She swallowed a lump before it could crack her voice.

"And still no dress?!" her mother hissed in the smallest whisper, accompanied by an annoyed but overly gentle slap on Azara's arm.

As the von Stratton family filed in and began their greeting, Azara found herself gazing upon their son immediately. He was dressed well- and certainly easy on the eyes. He seemed soft, refined, certainly a great bit more princely than her brothers had managed. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, though... a flaw, perhaps? A weakness? A reason to run? She cursed herself within the silent confines of her own head. It would be wrong to muddy the waters during a tea, she was already dressed like a bachelor herself. She had been told they'd met as children but there had been no memory to delve into. This man was a stranger.

"Thank you SO MUCH for making the trip here, how was your journey? Are you well?" her mother began, starting off as strong as usual as she looked earnestly toward Andromeda's family. Queen Sana was very proper, very deep in the etiquette rabbit hole. She waved the waitstaff over to begin placing refreshments, tea, a few scones, a few fresh pastries- nothing heavy, as the king and queen were certain the von Strattons would rather eat a larger meal privately in their guest chambers than be rushed into a royal feast fresh off the carriage.

The King, however, seemed to enjoy the graceful greeting from Andromeda, a light stroke of his beard signaling only to a select few his interest in the princess' new suitor. He seemed excited about the prospect of a peaceful husband for his daughter, of course. It had not gone fully unnoticed.

'Fuck. The ones he like are harder to get rid of.'

Azara leaned a bit, extending a gloved hand across the table for her new fiance to shake with no care for any potential scoldings or the dozen or more eyes in the room. Not the most ladlylike gesture, of course. "Welcome, Margrave, I'm Crown Princess Azara Lashgari Armandokht. A pleasure. Thank you for coming all the way to Behzadi, we hope you'll enjoy your stay with us." Azara offered coolly, smiling and of course reasonably sincere. Her half smirk nearly gave her away. A test; Would he shake it or would he kiss it? Neither? Both?