[centre][h2]Sunvale, Kingdom of Xandria[/h2][/centre] [i][centre]4th of Helstar, 1196 AU[/centre][/i] [hr] It was the sunniest, most cloudless day of spring thus far. The young Anice Gracieux, who would soon become the heir to her family's power and fortune, was even younger: a shy, but cheery, six year old girl. The heir to House Gracieux was neither Anice nor her mother Victoria; that title still belonged to her aunt, Zoé Gracieux, Victoria's elder sister. Anice's grandfather Frank had not yet passed away, and Zoé was the heir presumptive, residing in the House Gracieux seat of Fleur de Violette, assisting the ageing Duke Frank in his twilight years. Anice lived with her parents in her father's seat, Sunvale, a castle perched on the coast of an island in southern Xandria. The island was ruled by House Dustin, of whom her father, Trent Dustin, was Duke. House Dustin of Sunvale was a prominent family in Xandria, wealthy and well respected. Their island seat's ports were filled with merchant vessels and war-galleys alike, the masters of the Xandrian seas. Anice did not know or even comprehend that it was for this prominence at sea that her parents had wed. Duke Frank had always desired to achieve continental breadth for his republic’s navy, and marrying his second daughter off to the patriarch of House Dustin—no matter how foul the dynasty’s reputation—would help achieve this goal. It was a necessary step for the aging Duke to take, to ensure his legacy. Beyond owning a great many ships, Anice was not exactly sure what the Dustins did. She knew, however, that it had something to do with grapes. Sunvale, and all of the rest of the island that Anice had ever seen, was practically overgrown with grapevines, constantly tended to and watched over by an endless bustle of servants. It was as if the entire island was one huge garden, and all of its people gardeners. This was much to Anice's liking; the warm weather of Sunvale, and the vineyard's pleasant scent, had enticed the young girl into an appreciation for plants and nature. The island’s prime industry was a wonderful distraction, to draw her thoughts away from what went on in Sunvale underneath the veil of the sun. Anice's mother, Victoria Dustin, who would in four years be known across Ethica as the imperious Duchess Victoria Gracieux, with an ambition for the Imperial Throne, for now had only one ambition: escape. Every night, far past Anice's bedtime, Victoria would enter her young daughter's bedroom, freshly bathed, but crying. Sometimes she would limp, and sometimes she would wear makeup over her face, to hide her wounds from her beloved daughter. Anice would almost always wake when her mother crawled into her bed, but rarely would she speak, or even open her eyes. If ever she moved or made a sound, it would be to whisper a soft goodnight, or hug her mother more tightly. Anice didn't know why her mother visited her at night, always crying, but she had heard from servants she’d asked that her mother was sick. She hoped she would feel better soon. Young Anice would have her wish on that fateful, cloudless day, the first in over six years whose night would hold no tears for Victoria. Duke Trent Dustin, Anice's father, had been drinking all day. His cups were filled with something Anice had never tasted before, but smelled often. She had learned that it was a special grape juice, only for grownups, and Victoria had always been sure to tell Anice that she wouldn't be allowed to have any until she was older. Trent sometimes poured his daughter a glass anyway, but it would always go to waste. Anice trusted her mother's judgement, and she was fine with drinking the same grape juice as the other children. Besides heeding her mother’s advice, however, Anice had other reasons not to taste what her father offered her. The juice would sometimes make Trent very happy, but other times, if he drank too much, he would be very mad. Anice would always leave and hide in her room if that happened. Her Dad was always loud, but when he drank too much, he would be even louder, and sometimes storm down the halls of his own castle, stumbling over and breaking things, making a ruckus. That night, however, would be the first time he'd ever gone to Anice's room in such a state. "Victoria!" Trent hollered to his wife angrily, as he pushed open the doors to his daughter's bedroom, some of the contents of his cup spilling onto the floor as he did. He was shocked for a second, finding the room smaller than he remembered and all of the furniture out of order, but after a few moments he realized he'd stormed into the wrong room. His stupor was too strong for him to care, though, and the drunkard Duke Trent decided he didn't talk to his daughter as much as he should. "You know, girl..." he began, sitting on Anice's bed next to her, and staring down at the floor. "You're six years old, now.” Trent held up six fingers, barely keeping hold of his cup as he did, and spilling another few drops onto the ground. He then lowered the finger on his off-hand, reducing the count to five. “Over five years your mother has had to make you a brother, and she can't. I’ve tried and tried every night, but it’s like the woman is barren. I’ve had bastards since you were born, so I know my seed is strong. And all the healers I’ve paid to take a look at her say all her bits are working fine. There’s no good reason I can think of, not a one, for her belly to be empty. You want a brother, don't you Anice?" The young girl squirmed uncomfortably, scooting down her bed a little further from her drunken father. "Maybe a sister, daddy?" she asked, quietly, staring in curiosity down at the same spot on the floor that her father seemed to be fixated on. Trent took a few seconds to reply, smacking his lips and grumbling under his breath before any words escaped. He spoke to Anice, but seemed more to be verbalizing his own thoughts. Even had he been sober, he would not have expected his young daughter to understand all that he said. Neither did he expect her to understand what he was about to do. "Another girl wouldn't do me any good. If I died right now my brother's son would become the Lord, you know? I don't know how it works in Violette, but there isn't such thing as a Duchess here. There's never been a 'Duchess of Sunvale', except for the wives of the Dukes. So you..." Trent trailed off, turning suddenly to grab hold of his daughter, closing his hands around her small arms and pushing her down onto the bed. "You are completely useless to me. And for as long as you’re here, your mother won’t bear me a son." He released her left arm, only to use his hand to strike her, smashing a fist against the child's face. His ring cut into her cheek, leaving a gash that immediately started bleeding, heavily. Both of his hands were then around her neck, squeezing it, strangling the life out of his daughter. He spoke to her as he strangled her, staring into her eyes, utterly filled with hate. Anice didn’t hear what he said next. She couldn't see or hear or even feel much of anything, except the wound on her cheek and the tightening around her neck. "You had a brother, you know. Or maybe the sister that you wanted. Probably more than one. But she got rid of them, didn’t want to spawn any more children of mine.” He burst into tears, screaming and crying hysterically as his nails began to cut into his daughter's neck from the force of his stranglehold. “Your mother, your fucking cunt of a mother, she killed them. She could bear me sons, and she did, but she killed them all.” Trent’s anger was not subsiding as much as he’d hoped, and he dug his claws deeper into his daughter’s neck, glaring at her with a seething and ever growing hatred, seeing Victoria’s eyes look back at him. He screamed loud enough to shake the castle. “She murdered my sons!" Suddenly, Anice could breathe again, but only slightly. Her father's hands had left her neck, and he had broken out into tears, collapsing onto the floor next to the bed. Anice felt like crying too, but she hurt too much to cry. Her father's screaming had attracted the attention of a small crowd of servants and guards outside, but they didn't dare open the door, for fear of their lives. It wasn't until Victoria arrived, having grown tired of waiting in Trent's bed, that she opened the door herself. The sight of her daughter, bloodied and gasping for air, sparked an instinct in her that sprung instantly, without a thought. She grabbed a candelabra off of Anice's bedside table and smashed it over her husband's head, crushing his skull and killing him instantly. Falling out of his robes as he limped to the side, dead, was an empty vial, containing only a few remaining drops of a peculiar black liquid. The guards did nothing to stop the Duchess of Sunvale as she carried her barely conscious Anice out of the room and away. That was the last part Anice remembered. [hr] [centre][h2]Violette, Republic of Violette[/h2][/centre] [i][centre]13th of Gerna, 1200 AU[/centre][/i] [hr] "Anice?" "Anice?" "Hello?" The third word was accompanied by a gentle poke to her cousin's shoulder as Tsirine tried to get her attention. Her face showed an expression of confusion and concern. Was something wrong? She didn't normally just sit there staring. Tsirine knew all sorts of things that could be wrong, she'd looked through one of her mom's books on healing a few times and sometimes people's heads just stopped working and they died. The nervous young girl was about to go get her mother when Anice finally responded. "I'm sorry. I was looking out the window, and it was so sunny today. I'm okay." Gathering herself and moving her thoughts away from the past and into the present, Anice Graxieux returned her gaze to the chess board assembled before her. It was made of some sort of fancy glass from across the ocean, one side's pieces tinted violet and the other's tinted gold. She still didn't fully understand the game, but the sunlight from the window reflecting off the glass sure made it look pretty. Reaching forward, Anice grabbed a rook off of the board and moved the piece to the right, defending her King from Tsirine's Queen. She wasn't entirely sure if that was a legal move or not, but she trusted that Tsirine would tell her if it wasn't. She rubbed the scar on her cheek idly, waiting for her cousin to take her turn. Tsirine nodded, but her eyes lingered on her cousin's face for a long moment as if looking for any sign that there was really something wrong. She knew what had happened to Anice, she also knew she wasn't supposed to talk about it, her mom had been very clear with her. And if Anice said she was okay... She looked down then at the chessboard and frowned a bit as she took in the current boardstate and what her cousin had done. Then she reached out with a hand and pointed to the rook. "If you do that then I can do this," She picked up a knight and moved it over to put Anice's king in check again while also threatening the rook. "You always have to look for opportunities like that. And not just ways you can get my pieces trapped, but also how I can try to trap yours if you make a move." Tsirine nodded again as she tried to explain. "It's part of the fun, thinking ahead." Anice pouted, frowning slightly, not quite bored so much as disappointed in herself. "I don't like this game. It seems like there are so many different things that you can do, but none of them is the right thing. I don't know how my mother thinks moving around bits of glass is supposed to teach me how to rule. I bet she never played this when she was little, and now she's going to be Empress." "If Raltene wins the most support she will be Empress." Tsirine corrected instinctively. "That might not happen." She pointed to the chess board. "My dad said that chess was like life, you take the best possible move and try to guess what your opponent will do but you never know for sure and you should plan for everything. I bet even if she doesn't win she'll have a plan." Tsirine smiled then. "Don't be too hard on yourself, you are doing better than I did when I was first starting to play and you won't make the same mistake again." Determined not to lose, Anice carefully looked over every piece on the board, analyzing every move she could move and every move Tsirine could make after her. It seemed as though none of her king's soldiers could save him, though, and so the king had to save himself. Grabbing a hold of her king piece, Anice moved him out of the way of Tsirine's knight, and carefully ensured she hadn't trapped herself before releasing her hand. "Another part is making your opponent have as few options as possible." Tsirine spoke as she reached out to move her knight again, this time to take the rook she had set up with her previous move. "You only could move your king which meant I was guaranteed to be able to take your rook." Raising an eyebrow and sighing, Anice crossed her arms over her chest and grumbled. She didn’t like chess, but she was too polite a girl to be blunt. "Can we play again sometime later? I'm tired of this game. Auntie Ari!" Anice turned away from the chess table and Tsirine and towards the Ariette, sitting off in the far corner of the room. She had been adjusting the strings of an embellished lute idly, half listening to the conversation of the two girls. "Did your brother ever play chess when he was little? Do you need to be good at chess to be a good ruler?" Ariette glanced up and stirred from her chair, lifting her head up as she looked away from the instrument to consider the question for a moment, appraising her daughter and her niece in the slightly evaluative but always kindly way that she so often seemed to. "Aethlar never enjoyed those games. He was always out galloping across the fields from village to village in his shining armour and his cloak. Our father was a bookish man, not a warrior, and so my brother decided that to be a real king you needed to joust, eat and galavant in equal measure,” she paused momentarily, running a hand through her moust brown hair. “He could have used some more chess; his wife, Queen Hiltruda, was a marvel at the game. She used to sit up with the king’s sister Alissera long into the night strategizing,” Ariette’s eyes flashed mischievously at the two girls and she gave a sad smirk. “I'm almost absolutely sure she still does,” She winked at Tsirine, then turned her gaze to the window. Tsirine looked across the table at her cousin and said softly. "Okay. We can play something else if you want." Anice thought about all of the different games the two of them could play there in Fleur de Violette. The lavish island-palace was home to every game ever conceived in Ethica or beyond. Much to Anice’s dismay, though, they all had rules, strict formulas to be followed that denied more clever avenues of success. It didn’t take long for the heir to House Gracieux to suggest a less regimented game. "I know!" She called, reached over and tagging Tsirine on the shoulder, then running away laughing. "You're it!" Tsirine scrambled up to her feet and chased after her cousin in a hurry. Ariette smirked to herself for a moment, then sighed deeply and contentedly, before beginning to pluck out a melodic, loping Gwethyn tune from her own childhood on the newly tuned lute. She vaguely recalled that the words that accompanied it told the story of a shepherd falling in love with a wolf in the guise of a woman. --- [b][Collaboration between myself and [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/users/themoatedgrange]TheMoatedGrange[/url].][/b]