Early-Evening within the Royal Villa; A few miles north of Rieguam, Myiesia.
The winds that blew from Crescent Bay were warm; its crystal water having been heated all day by the sun, and though several stars now dotted the eastern horizon, it jealously retained its warmth. Sapharin's silvery blonde hair rustled as she stood on one of the many balconies that clung to her families home, built of white marble and exquisitely decorated by the finest silks money could buy. Below, a drop of perhaps 400 feet led to dark stones gaping like a set of teeth and the white froth of waves darting between them, only adding to the illusion that the seashore would swallow her whole, and hold no qualms against it. With an idle curiosity, the princess leaned across the railing, and stared into the mouth of the sea. With the depleting light, soon she'd stare into complete blackness, and the only reminder of the ocean would be the constant sound of the waves breaking against the ragged stones.
It was soothing, to stand there and listen to something other then the bickering of nobles, and their snide, well disguised insults of her, and her family. It allowed her jumbled mind to relax, and her thoughts to collect, to manifest. It'd only been a fortnight since she'd lost both parents in one swoop. Fate was not kind enough to allow her gentle father to succumb to simple sickness as an elderly man, nor did her mother parish from the grief of his passing. No, it'd been poison that had overpowered his healthy heart, struck done in his prime by her own mother. And it'd been a rope that strangled her mother, though the woman sobbed and swore she had not meant to kill him. Part of Sapharin believed her, at least longed to believe that her mother was not so vicious that she'd murder her own husband. But even though she desperately had wished it to have been an accident, the King was dead, and the Queen was the cause. There was no other way to pay for death then with your own life, and so her mother had to hang. The Nobility were breathing down the poor girl's neck, and her throne was already contested because she was a woman. If they had even the slightest suspicion she held sympathy for her mother, she'd hang too, and then no one could protect her siblings. All seven of her younger sisters had screamed and begged her not to, but Sapharin had no choice.
Her concentration was broken by the screams and cries of the littler ones now, though they were quickly followed by laughter as a smaller only gripped her around the knees, and giggled insanely, "Mama, Sara's chasing me!" She'd call, the girl wincing at the once endearing nickname the toddler called her. Finally, she'd pull her eyes from the blackness, and let them rest on the blonde haired, blue eyed, little creature that hugged her legs. All her sisters looked almost alike, of pure blood and with sweet smiles. Among them, there was one set of identical twins, Sasha and Satine, and they were eight. Swallowing back resentment, Sapharin smiled to her younger sister, and lifted the girl against her, glancing through the open doorway, Sara darting away from her gaze. Releasing a sigh, Sapharin mused over the fact she was surrounded by children, they constantly relied on her, though half of which would not even look at her now. She herself was just a child, of fourteen, but she'd often been told she was wise beyond her years, and though she was just a girl, she'd always assumed the elder role, and been prided by her parents for her maturity.
The Princess forced a smile, and it hurt; though she was seen as a monster by many of her siblings, she too suffered the grief of losing her parents, perhaps even more so then most of them. " Have you come to see me?" Samantha was too young to understand her parents death, and though she'd cried just the same as the rest of them, Sapharin suspected she'd only been upset because everyone else was. Samantha had even been angry with her for a few days, copying the rest, but it'd seem that she'd forgiven her eldest sister now, nuzzling against her breast, and nodding shyly.
Summoning strength from somewhere deep within her, Sapharin would leave the balcony, and return inside, holding the little girl tightly to her, and kissing at her temple, " Go on now, isn't it time for bed?"
"No!" The little girl replied squealed happily, but when she was set down, the girl crossed her arms, and would sulk off. The Crowned-Princess knew she was tired, having been up since dawn dealing with different nobles, as they desperately clawed for her heart. For the time being, they were to busy ripping at each others throats to pay much mind to her, but she knew that soon enough they'd demand her to answer, and Sapharin had no intention to marry the son of a man who denied her the crown that was rightfully her. They could all be damned, for all she cared, and if they insisted she be married before she was made queen, then she would marry a man of her choice, one that would bring her power, rather then the other way around. It was dangerous to defy the nobles wishes, and she already stood on a razors edge between being usurped, and being hung, but despite the fact she was young, Sapharin was no fool, and she knew what she'd do. She'd marry some sort of warlord, with a strong army that could scatter their pathetic attempts with a single regiment, and since they would not crown her queen, she realized she'd much rather be an Empress anyhow.