---

Knowledge and information were twin crowns of rulership. They enabled a queen to understand the complexities of a diplomatic situation. It allowed them to maneuver through a military crisis. And, perhaps, most important of all, such knowledge made a leader accept when their hands were tied and that they had to swim with the tide or risk being drowned by the storms.

Sulhana prided herself in her vast roots of information giving her whispers that no other royal ear had heard before the princess let it slip from her lips. But, now, those same voices spoke nothing but the four foreign princes who had come to take away Astalia's daughters and take her resources as their own. Naive girls dreamed of being swept off their feet by dashing princes with brilliant smiles that threaten to make their hearts pound in flustered admiration. But, dreams were for ignorant girls, unknowing of the truth behind noble marriages. And, Sulhana had awakened from her slumber a long, long time ago.

She could not see these men as protectors nor liberators. No. All she saw were iron shackles, eager to clip at her and her sisters' heels. To drag them down from their pedestals and make them tragic baby mills of inept scions.

Knowledge was indeed a crown, Sulhana thought. Now, she wept at the irony that although she had been schooled and bred for this, she found such a circlet heavy on the heart though light upon the head.

The Princess of Whispers rose from her rosewater bath then, the water trickling down her slender frame as she looked out at the nearby window where the procession of the princes thundered her fears into reality. The handmaids gathered to her side quickly to wrap her in cloths before she stepped out of the bath and into her chamber room. There, she stood in front of the large mirror. Before long, she had been dressed in a form-fitting, dark blue dress which was fastened at the collar with a golden buckle with the sleeves falling down to her wrists. At her waist, there tied was a lengthy cloth band of white and black with the crest of the stag embroidered upon it, a symbol of Astalia's spymaster. Her emerald orbs gazed at her reflection: a deteriorating king's offering with thick raven locks braided neatly hidden beneath a translucent white silk veil. A circlet of the silver moon wound around her head to fasten the veil on tight.

Sulhana gritted at her image whilst she tapped at the onyx band on her ring finger, fury simmering at how small she looked as compared to her sisters. She was barely five-foot-six. But, perhaps, it was for the best. After all, looks can be deceiving. The third princess was a spider; she was barely noticeable as she spun her webs. However, once the threads tightened, oh... the prey she could catch.

Soon, the scent of lavender wafted in her wake as Sulhana made her way through the cold halls of the Astalian Palace towards the grand chamber where their guests would meet with her father. Men... who, without a doubt, would have only seen the four sisters as nothing more than bargaining tools used to further their ambitions. Her thoughts dwelled on Annalise, her dear eldest sister, who had the strongest claim to the throne. No doubt those princes would have set their sights on her in an effort to secure Astalian lands as their own once the king faded from this world.

I will protect her. I will protect them all.

With a trembled sigh leaving her lips, the girl lifted her head from the harrowing thoughts as she looked straight ahead at the double-doors leading to the grand hall. Emotions faded from her visage, all worries and smiles seeping out into the recesses of her heart when the guards opened the path for her. Sulhana sauntered softly over to where her father, King Harold, sat upon his gold-enshrined throne. Each step closer sent visions of a once-warm father stabbing at her heart, causing Sulhana to bite her lower lip in frustration. But, when she set her gaze on him, she was reminded of the cruel reality that the beloved king of Astalia was no longer the same man when their mother was still alive. That warm father figure was gone, replaced by the ghost of a man in shambles.

"I greet the Sun and Moon of Astalia," Sulhana greeted her father as she bowed deeply in his direction. "I greet you, father, on this memorable day when we forge alliances with the sovereign nations around us," The princess offered a smile despite the cold pang in her heart which forked out and ran through every limb of her being. "Mother would have loved to see this day."

---

The day had drawn upon him far sooner than he had hoped, and as Erick and his men crossed into the perimeter of the city limits, his entourage mounted on horseback, they were soon met with the royal escort of King Harold. The magnitude of the Astalian palace soon came into view and as they approached the more affluent, innermost sections of the city which was decorated to much grandeur, citizens had began to gather to gawp at his arrival. Erick wasn’t unfamiliar with this as such, but usually his return to the capital in Jörda drew a different kind of crowd; pain and sorrow as the families could not identify their sons or husbands within the returning troop.

The prince had with him only a small squad of men, some were soldiers too - guardsmen, a guide or navigator and a handful of officials should any negotiations or contracts need be discussed. There was only one man who rode before Erick, the standard bearer presenting the flag of Jörda; a golden ouroboros set against a green background, and the King’s family crest; a fierce, dark grey wolf passant, set against a dark yellow background, a black chevron separating the shield where a sheaf of arrows points downward in the lower portion. No one, not even the King, rode before the flag of Jörda. Otherwise, Erick had no particular pomp or airs and graces about him, save his attire; a heavy woolen cloak of deep blue was wrapped across his shoulders, it had a dense collar of a white, silver and tan fur, pinned with a heavy ouroboros broach made of silver. Beneath the cloak, he wore a sleeveless quilted tunic in a brighter hue of blue and finely embroidered at the neckline and fastening edges, it was belted at the waist and worn atop a white, long-sleeved linen shirt. His plain, dark coloured trousers were slim fitting, more closely resembling leggings and he sported tall, dark leather boots with some subtle embossed areas which nonetheless exhibited their craftsmanship.

As was customary, Erick had brought with him several gifts for King Harold from the nation of Jörda, this included a chest of gold, and weapons amongst other things, as it was generally considered rude to arrive empty handed, and to marry one of the King’s daughters too, no less, it would be particularly offensive. This was no dowry, as such a thing did not exist to the people of Jörda, though it was possible it could be misconstrued as such.

Erick’s body had healed from his campaign in the North, but his heart and mind had not yet adjusted to the loss of his brother, with every motion his horse, Sinir, carried him closer to the palace gates. The prince knew Andor should be in his place, for Erick knew his elder brother had been a finer man, and better suitor in all regards. It pained him also to no longer be amongst his countrymen who continued to fight, and die for Jörda, and he had not been prepared to be next to lead them from the centre of a city. He wondered what was the disposition of these daughters of King Harold - the daughters of Astalia, and if they too loathed this entire arrangement?

They had travelled far to reach the gates of Astalia’s great palace, and yet the distance did not seem to be long enough nor far enough for the prince. The horses, and his company would need rest, but first they’d have to perform all the required formalities. The standard bearer blew a note through a robust, natural cow’s horn which bellowed as they entered the palace grounds to announce the arrival, the Astalian guardsmen guided Erick and his men to the area at which they would dismount, “his name is Sinir, be careful with him” the prince warned as one of the stable boys attended to the steed, whom was the only animal of a deep chestnut, and led him away. Erick made his way into the palace with his company, he wondered if he was the first to arrive - a part of him hoped this was not the case.

---

Today was the day, the day the suitors from the Kingdoms still free from the Empire’s grasp entered the castle and the process of them picking her and her sisters to be their wives would begin. In the months since the acceptances had been received the Eldest of the Altera daughters had spent many hours a day learning the cultures and languages of each of the remaining countries. She had a rough grasp on each by now and intended to use this information to the best of her abilities. As much as she wanted to do as her father had done, and marry for love, it wasn’t possible now. A time of war was upon the countries of Sahas and alliances were needed to be formed in order to ensure the survival of the remaining Kingdoms, as well as, hopefully, the freedom of the smaller countries swallowed by the might of The Empire.

Annalise had awoken with the sun, pouring herself into last minute studies before the handmaids entered her chambers to ready her for the day. A bath with the scent of lavender had been prepared to help calm her nerves. She soaked in the bath as long as she could after being washed, only standing when the water became too cold for her to stand any longer. The windows were opened to allow the cool air of the sea breeze to enter the room as she was prepared. She was dressed in a light blue dress that seemed to flow like water. The handmaids seemed to enjoy dressing her in clothing that made her seem even more delicate than she already appeared. Something Annalise had grown used to. Darker colors washed her light complexion out anyway so the lighter flowing fabrics were the favorite. Her snow whire hair was left mostly untouched, seemingly only taking a few strands from the front of her hair and braiding them into a simple half circlet of hair, which was decorated with a few gold and light blue ornaments. A silver necklace with a small silver stag head was clipped around her neck, and her simple silver vine-like circlet was placed on her head. Finally a small white lace veil was placed clipped into her hair, the veil served one purpose, to obscure the slight off color of her right eye. She had been born blind in this eye, something the royal court was aware of, however this was not common knowledge among the citizens of the country.

Upon looking at herself in the mirror Annalise couldn’t help but let out a small sad sigh. Her pale complexion and white hair made her stand out significantly when compared to her siblings. At first it was something people associated with the potential for magic, but when it was discovered she was incapable of learning magic she was treated as frail as she looked. After a long look at herself she pushed away the self pitying thoughts threatening to consume her. She stood up tall, taking a deep breath, and finally exited her room, heading to the main hall, where her sister Sulhana was already waiting with her father.

“Greetings father, sister.” She said with a curtsy. Her voice seemed small, though her family knew this was not the case normally. Annalise, despite hating her frail appearance, had a habit of using it to her advantage. Many visiting officials had made the mistake of thinking the Eldest Daughter was a pushover and easily manipulated. Something they quickly discovered was not the case. She was a strong woman who knew how to get people comfortable around her and used the public’s perception of her to her advantage. Her duty to her kingdom had formed her into the woman she was. She took her space beside her father after greeting him and awaited the arrival of the Princes from the other Kingdoms.

From distantly behind him on the road, Vyarin can hear orders being shouted. The steady stomp of greaves in the dirt called out in waves, rising and falling. The column of grizzled Prozdy veterans, armoured and armed, had every simple merchant and traveler crossing them in the road scampering to the side of it to allow them passage. No doubt rumour followed the band of Prozdy men as they wandered from inn to inn, through village to village, bearing their combined arms with them. Could they be invaders, the vanguard of a much larger force come to pillage and raid? It was not for them to know, inevitably. These men are Vyarin's; men bound to defend him as if brothers. They were a prince's retinue, with which no true prince of the League would travel without. They who do tend to find themselves on the unfortunate end of an ambush brought on by a usurper.

None of them could have predicted just how torturously hot the southern climate was. Did it ever snow down here, where great fields of grass grew, lush and deep green, where the trees stretched up straight into the sky, their leaves wide and flat as fans? Did this land know any hardship? Once the bearer of welcome warmth to chase away long nights, the sun had betrayed Vyarin's host in the night and now beat down on their weary bodies. One league turned into two under the blinding sun, and soon, one step turned into leagues. Occasionally, these great roads would pay host to a pack of mules, each carrying with them saddlebags of valuables. Other times, swift regiments of horse guards would pass by, exchanging brief but informative conversation with the party before going about their way. Neither of these luxuries were available to the Prozdy men. They would have to content themselves with their heavy stress-worn boots and their iron will to keep walking.

Yet, it was not without waste, this forced pace they kept themselves to. At last, before them rose the walls of mighty Astalia's capital, built of yellow-brown stones, that reflected the afternoon sun beautifully, so seamless in its construction that they appear to have grown out of the ground rather than having been fashioned by masons. Above them rose points of shining light, as stars in the broad daylight, the helmets of the garrison soldiers. Behind those walls the peaks of spires and towers rose, thin and coloured in many bright tiles. They were not built to defend against siege. This was, no question, a land of finery and luxury, of stability and excess. The city itself seemed a bulwark against the sea, placed squarely upon a sheer cliff face at the foot of which waves lapped like dogs. So near they were, that its majesty may be observed, yet it was still unlike that they would actually reach those walls before evening. No good daydreaming about rest now; there was still a ways to go.

The newcomers did not arrive unnoticed. As the column of men approached, more points of light congregated together at the great gate meeting the road. Was it that they were expecting a battle? A worrying thought, that their intentions be misinterpreted. As they drew near, Vyarin could finally take note of those polished helms, and of the men sitting beneath them. Their armour was fine, intricate patterns drawn into them that shimmered in light like the sea they guarded against. In their hands were crossbows and longswords, marvels of engineering by the standards of the League. One of them shouted a few sentences in the Astalian tongue at them. By the distance, Vyarin could not quite make sense of what they were saying; not that he would have understood much of it otherwise. He turned over his shoulder at the band and shouted an order.

"Bring forth one who speaks the tongue!" His words rang out, and were repeated by those immediately behind him. There was some shuffling in the ranks, and one was pushed up to the front. In broken Astalian, the guard and the Prozdy warrior exchanged greetings, and assurances of peace. With some commotion, the gates began to crank open, and his loyal men began to shout and bang their spears on their shields. The ruler of this land will know of their coming.

THWACK!

From the back of the grand castle of Astalia, on the knights’ target range, came the sturdy sound of an arrow hitting a target.

Princess Jinayah, fourth and final in the line of succession, lowered her recurve bow and smiled. That arrow had hit dead center. Despite today being the end of her life as she knew it, her aim was as true as ever. That, at least, was comforting. With the smooth motion of a practiced archer, she nocked another arrow and let fly. The sea breeze hit it and it arced to the left, landing just to the side of her first shot.

With a faint sigh, Jinayah lowered her weapon. She shut her eyes against the breeze and let it cool her. She’d been out since before the sun rose, and it was going to be a nice and warm day. Good weather for visitors.

Visitors…

It still made her stomach hurt to think of it.

Slowly, she pulled the thick leather archery gloves from her hands, and sat herself against the cobblestone wall. She unclasped her rich plum purple cloak and folded it nearly across her arm. Perhaps if she started into the woods now, she’d be long gone before the foreign princes arrived. Even though the thought was extremely tempting, she would not abandon her sisters. They all had to stay strong. Even if they were going to lose what they valued most.

Jinayah, for one, was going to miss these mornings. Nothing but the bow, the wind, and targets. Her father had been kind once, kind enough to have the crown tailors fashion her several sets of male clothes throughout her years. There had always been mutterings about her strange proclivities. When she had asked for a bow and to learn to use it, there had been complaints from various nobles. Luckily, her father heard none of them.

The first day she showed up at the pages’ practice area, confusion reigned. Jin had been seven then, just the same age as all the young boys hoping to make it to knighthood. However, there was one sympathizer – Knight Captain Theodore Arnold. He was the first person to treat Jin’s wish seriously, and not as a passing fancy. He trained her day and night, helping to catch her up to the boys who had sword and bow as soon as they could walk. When she stumbled in last after a footrace, there had been laughter all around. When she smacked her face with the bowstring, there had been jeers. When she lost a swordfight, she was told to go back to her knitting.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Jin put everything into her training. While her sisters learned needlepoint and singing and other “feminine arts”, she practiced with the bow and blade. Soon, she could hit a target at 100 paces, dead center. Soon, she could win the footraces. Soon, no one could find a more graceful fighter.

Soon enough, they all took the princess quite seriously.

And now, all those years building up the respect and friendship of most of the young knights in the castle were all for naught. She would be leaving sooner or later, with her new husband. When the news reached the knights, they had thrown her a small party. She had cried, like a girl, to her own embarrassment.

At the end of it, Sir Theodore gave her a custom set of armor. It fit her like a glove, and left her wondering just how much he’d had to bribe the royal tailors for her measurements. That was safely hidden in a secret groove in the stones behind her wardrobe. Hopefully she would get use of it before she had to leave for good.

The sun was starting to peek over the trees now, and Jin knew her time was up. She headed back inside the palace slowly, taking several hidden routes that Sulhana had found ages ago. Still, her ladies in waiting were all… well, waiting for her when she entered her room. Also waiting was a steaming hot bath and the perfumed soaps she hated.

Still, she was dunked in the bath and scrubbed clean. They clucked and fussed over her calluses and muscles, implying that her future husband would not find her soft enough for the night. She wasn’t fully sure she cared.

All too soon, she was headed downstairs to her father and sisters, in a gown the dusky pink of a rose, and about as soft. She smelled faintly of roses too, and the scent wrinkled her nose.

She smoothed out her expression, and dipped into a low curtsy in front of her father and older sisters that had arrived.

“Good morning.”

Loreena had been up since the gray light of dawn. She knew it was Uriah's favorite time of day, before the sun illuminated the colors of the world, and life would begin to rouse and stir. The Court Mage would be found in the gardens at this hour, and Loreena herself was in the kitchen, warming a pot of tea for them. Today was a big day, the castle all in an flurry of preparation and excitement. Despite all of the pomp and circumstance, her teacher refused to release her from her lesson for the day. If she was to apply herself to magic, it needed to be a lifelong passion and pursuit. Loreena had shown no disappointment in his decision, despite his gruff mannerisms.

Uriah had been her teacher and companion since she was 14 and her abilities had begun to manifest. He had tested all of the princesses as they came of age, but as of yet, only Lore had shown any aptitude for it. He had taken her education very seriously, and had done his best to impress on her the seriousness of the power she could wield. She had been an apt student, but magic was hard to master, and it had taken nearly a year for her just to find a focus she resonated with, and another half year after that before she could begin to weave the magic into the web of spells. Uriah had been infinitely patient with h, pushing her when she felt lazy or overconfident, and comforting her when she grew frustrated and discouraged. Through it all, he never lost his temper, was ever patient, and always emotionally solid.

Lore brought the tray of tea out to the garden where he sat, meditating, preparing to greet the dawn. The older man smiled as he saw his young charge, gratefully accepting a cup of the steaming brew as the princess took a seat next to him. "A big day, milady. You meet a potential husband in a few hours. How does that make you feel?"

The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Nervous....excited....uncertain. I have never thought about a future with someone else. I don't know what to expect, nor if I should even expect anything at all. What if none like me? What if I make a mistake and embarrass my family? What if things don't work out?..."

"And what if the sun turns purple and the birds swim and the fish fly...?" Uriah cut in, the absurdity of the statement bringing a smile to Loreena's face. He continued. "You have never needed anyone before, and you do not need anyone to continue. That being said, having a companion for your future can be a comforting and adventurous event. Yes, there is a business aspect to this, a chance for something strong and powerful to come of this, but you have a sensible mind and a romantic heart, milady. Do not waste it on someone who will not walk beside you as friend as well as lover."

Loreena sipped her cup. "Is that why you never married, Uriah?" The older man chuckled. "I am married, child. To my work, to my learning, my teaching, and my magic. I love what I have learned, and I know it as intimately as any lover. I cannot expect everyone to walk the path I have, but I am content with my books. You, I sense, will not be content until you have filled volumes of books with your own stories. Now come, we will have your lesson early so you may be with your family when the guests arrive."

A few hours later saw Loreena being the last of her sisters to enter the meeting room, Uriah in tow. "Sorry I'm late!" She said, bustling in, greeting each sister and their father with a kiss to the cheek before taking her place along with the others.

---

The journey from Afdan had been a decently uneventful one. People on the roads avoided the small group, which only consisted of the half-orc Prince, one large orcish guard, and a slightly smaller half -orc shaman. as well as five large oxen sized boars. Three ridden by the individuals and two carrying the luggage the group brought with them. Which, in retrospect, was not a lot. As they approached the capital city of Astalia Gil couldn’t help but marvel at the city on the cliffs. The sun glistened off the sea as they approached. It was a sight that Gil hadn’t known he was missing out on. He stopped for a brief moment to admire the view from a distance.

“My Prince, we must continue. We must arrive this day.” The guard who accompanied him said as he turned to look at the young man. His voice was gruff, one that many would find intimidating. The blue eyes of the prince landed on the guard and he sighed.

“I am very aware of this Aldar. I was simply admiring the Sea. I have never seen it before.” Gil replied, kicking the boar to start walking again. Travelers on the road would not know what the men were saying as they were speaking the language of the Orcs. His gaze remained on the ocean as they continued. If there was one thing he could say he was happy about, it would be the chance to see the ocean. It was a beautiful sight, one he would not soon forget.

It took about an hour for the group to enter the city. The city itself was something to marvel at. The buildings much more permanent than many in his kingdom. Being built of stone, some even build into the cliff faces. The Prince examined the buildings as the group traveled through the city toward the castle that sat directly on the cliff. It took him a moment to notice the murmurs as the group traveled. He knew that many of the other races were distrustful of his people. Orcs were seen as brutes by the rest of the continent. He was sure their arrival was one that would be met with a mix of emotions. It didn’t help that though the Prince’s clothes were rich in color, they were nothing to marvel at. His country did not use clothing to show status, in fact it wasn’t uncommon for Cheiftans to wear clothes similar to the people they commanded. Their status was instead represented by threads and ribbons braided into an individual's hair. Something other countries would not understand.

After a short walk through the city they arrived at the castle gates. Where they were stopped. Aldar, dismounted and presented the Prince in broken Astalian. “Prince Gil Jalal of Afdan.” Was all he said. Which seemed to give the guards all they needed. Gil and the Shaman who accompanied the two dismounted as well, and their mounts were taken elsewhere. The group now traveled on foot, being ushered toward the main hall. Aldar took the lead, with Gil behind him, and the Shaman behind him.

---

The King sat on his throne long before any of the daughters made their way to the main hall. He was sitting, deep in thought about the events that had led him to this moment. “Tiana, if you were here what would you say?” He rubbed his temples then ran his hand over his salt and peppered beard. He had spent many nights since his decision thinking about if he was making the right one. It was too late now to call it off, however, he still wondered. He had remained like this until his daughters slowly started to file in. Sulhana was the first to enter. Not surprising for his most resourceful daughter. Of course she would like to get the jump on the day, gaining information was her favorite pastime.

“Greetings daughter. I am sure your mother would love the alliances being formed.” His statement was half hearted. It was very clear he only half believed what he said. The next to enter was Annalise, as per usual she held herself with grace. She reminded him of Tiana in this way. She too greeted him, as well as her sister before taking her seat beside him. Her soft voice had not gone unnoticed by the older man. She usually made herself smaller than what she actually was, using her fragile appearance to her advantage to see how people treat her when they perceive her as weak. He nodded in acknowledgement to her but remained silent.

Next to enter was Jinayah, of all his daughters she reminded him most of his late wife. Sometimes it hurt to look at her. He loves his daughters and felt bad that she caused him so much pain. It wasn’t her fault he knew this, but the pain in his heart has never stopped. “Good morning my daughter.” He greeted her as she joined her sisters.

Finally Loreena joined them followed by Uriah. Late as always. He smiled at them as they entered. He nodded to greet her and then turned to his daughters. “My lovely daughters, I know how much the events about to transpire affect you. As much as I hate to ask you all to do this, it is the best chance the remaining Kingdoms have of surviving the Empire. Alone The Empire would swallow us one by one, united we may just stand a chance. I am not going to give you a lengthy speech, just know that I love you all dearly and did not make this decision lightly.” He stands to kiss each of them on the top of the head before returning to his throne as the Princes who had arrived slowly filed their way in.

Each Prince was accompanied by their own group of officials or guards and the room now housed each, not only the Astalian Royal family, and the country's court, but members of four other nations. This alone was something that hadn’t happened in quite a while in Astalia. The larger Kingdom had kept to itself for centuries so this site alone filled King Harold with joy. He greeted each of the parties as they entered in their native language and waited until all parties involved had entered the hall before motioning for everyone to quiet down. So he could speak.

“It has been many years since envoys from the other countries have graced these halls. So it is with great pride that I welcome you all to Castle Aeli. I understand the journey to get here was long and I am sure you would all like to rest so I will try not to take too much of your time. To start I would like to introduce my daughters. Starting from my Eldest, Annalise, my second born, Loreena, my third daughter, Sulhana and the youngest, Jinayah.” He motioned to each of the girls as he introduced them but gave the girls no chance to say anything as he did so. It was clear he was trying to finish this quickly so that the Princes could take their leave if they wished.

“Tomorrow night there will be a ball in this very hall to celebrate your arrival. No decisions will be made on this night or the next. The afternoon after the ball the courts will assemble and there is where decisions on who will marry who will be made. Keep in mind that my daughters have just as much say in which of you they marry as you all do. In other words I expect you to treat my daughters with respect.” There was a warning in his tone when he spoke this last sentence. He would not tolerate any mistreatment of his daughters, though he knew they all could take care of themselve they were still his children. “The rest of the day is yours to do as you please. Converse with my daughters, explore the castle, sleep. If you have questions there are many servants around the castle who would be more than willing to assist you, you need only to ask. There are some final preparations I need to make so I may be unavailable most of the day. However, I will remain here for the next hour. You are all dismissed.” With that he looked around the room and several of his officials moved out of the side doors to go about their duties, as well as a few of the guards who had been posted in the room. King Harold himself remained standing, he was sure some if not all the Princes would wish to speak to him so he waited. He nodded to his daughters, signalling that they were free to leave if they wanted. He hoped they stayed and at least attempted conversation with the men that would end up being their husbands.

Vyarin was shuffled awkwardly through the grand halls of Castle Aeli, flanked on both sides by a small host of his own loyal men. He, wisely, had dismissed the majority of them, allowing them leave to retire to inns and taverns. It was perhaps for the best. His own host and the local garrison were eyeing each other up the whole time, a few even daring to rattle their swords in their scabbards. These Astalians were not men of the League, but nonetheless Vyarin was not the least bit interested in such a demonstration of Prozdy strength. Better to appease their host now, and enter into the castle with only a token guard. After all, it was not as if Astalia was plotting his death. Vyarin grimaced and rested his hand on his shashka, now pondering the thought. A flick of his eye met with those of the castle guards, none of which were particularly friendly. A look back revealed that his own men shared this sentiment. Were they truly itching for a fight, right here in the seat of one of the great realms of the world? It must be their insular habit coming through, having never known the world on the far side of the Drizima River.

"Send word to my father," Vyarin whispered to his shaman, who nodded, with a hand to her chin. "I am in the land of Astalia, I am in good health, I await your orders." The shaman needn't hear more, peeling off from the group. With a wave of his hand, two of his loyal men turned to follow her, nodding at the command.

At last, the what remained of the warband entered through the doors into the main hall, wherein stood the King of Astalia, surrounded by his daughters. As one, Vyarin and his loyal men brought themselves down to both of their knees in his presence and tipped their heads downward. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot the other princes, strange figures in stranger dress. Oddly, they did not prostrate before their hosts as he did. Slowly, Vyarin stood back up, realizing his instinct had led him astray. That, perhaps, was not the custom of the land.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to think much of the Prozdy mens' display. The king had granted them a greeting in Prozdy, thickly accented and pockmarked with grammatical errors. It was to be forgiven, Vyarin supposed, knowing his own relationship with their language. He then raised his arms and gave to them a speech, slowly and clearly, with a booming voice that carried itself naturally within the bounds of his hall. Vyarin could understand not a word of it, save a few phrases here and there seeded between lengthy strings of gibberish. At last, when he completed his thought, Vyarin visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping as he exhaled. One of his loyal men surely must know more than he regarding the Astalian tongue.

Barely seconds after, he was tapped on his shoulder, leading him to whirl and nearly strike one of his own. It was, now seeing him, one of the men he had sent to escort his shaman. Vyarin gave him a hard look with the eye remaining to him.

"Word has returned quickly," the man whispered, pressing a scrap of papyrus into Vyarin's hand. Without delay, he opened it to reveal the glowing Gluzic runes within. They read curtly and without prose, a manner common to the renowned Zarrir.

"My son," it began. "The land of Astalia is of a foreign ethic. Their succession prefers consanguinity to strength. Daughters in this land are more legitimate than brothers with large retinues. Your choice here will dictate the future of Prozdy itself. I am recommending to you to demand from the ruler of this vulnerable realm his eldest daughter in marriage. By the laws of this land, your son by her is eligible not only to our lands, but to their crown. Such power, concentrated into a single hand, will be doubtless the most powerful in the continent, and the combined wealth of the new realm shall raise armies uncountable. Do not disobey me." Vyarin blinked up, his eye jumping from one daughter to the next. Which was the eldest? A second though manifested for a second, before his own iron discipline squashed it out. It mattered not how he felt about things.

---

Alliances. Pacts formed by such a bond are strong indeed but Astalia will be torn apart by so many claimants that I fear for what will happen to its walls and bastions in the near future. Astalia's King will fade away soon, and from his grave shall soon rise the ambitious and the selfish while the voices of his daughters will be buried beneath the whims of men.

The third princess' thoughts were occupied by such grim ponderings that her mood soured in an instant when her father acknowledged her. Her mother jumping for joy at these developments couldn't be farther from the truth. But, the king was slowly becoming a broken man, the fragments of the benevolent ruler buried with the queen who he loved more than all the stars in the night sky. She felt sorrow for her father but the girl who had worked so hard to heal the forlorn monarch had given up on that endeavor many a winter moons ago. Sulhana had become a woman who now knew that every single one of her sisters needed to play a part to keep their land from being torn to pieces from enemies both within and beyond its borders. Her eldest sister, Annalise, was to become its face and maintain its reputation with her gentle hand in diplomacy. Loreena's role was to strengthen its might and reign with her magical awakening. Jinayah was to become its sword should the need arise, and to rally all of its people as proof that even a woman could lead when a man failed to do so.

Hers... was to become the web that would keep all the shadows together, the brighter their rule would become.

But, for now, she needed to slide between the sunbeams unnoticed. Her plan for a shared rule among her sisters would be kept hidden under the darkness of night lest the prying eyes of these suitors shatter years of her plotting. So, with a sigh, Sulhana settled down in her assigned seat with back straight and hands clasped firmly upon her lap. When her sisters started appearing within the hall, Sulhana greeted them warmly with a smile.

Her heart lightened at the sight of her better siblings, knowing that she must protect the innocence that each of them possessed from those that would do them harm.

Her father never truly knew the price she paid to cultivate the seed of her whispers until its roots ran deep into the heart of Sahas. She bartered everything she could to obtain control over her spies: threats, promises, pleasure. All of it she sacrificed upon the altar of her father's rule. She had harmed many. Most more deserving than some, but it went without saying that the voices of those she wronged lulled her to sleep at night and greeted her at first light on the morrow. Sulhana knew that the hem of her dress dripped red with the tears of those she had harmed to realize her ambitions, and wherever she walked, the stains marred the ground in her wake. She was beyond redemption, this the third princess knew. However, just because she was adorned in the filth and muck, did not mean she would track the mud stains of her deeds to the parapets of Aeli. Her secrets, and all who would know them, would die with her, if need be.

A game of secrets. Yes, this would be the name of such a ploy. To know the secrets of each of these men who stood in front of them, all dressed in the cloths and colors of their cultures, so he could pull them by the strings and ensure that the Four Daughters of Astalia maintained their grip over the kingdom's power.

When Sulhana stood up, she beckoned to the shadows which prompted a large man to peer out until he stood in full view. The robes he wore were emblazoned with the spymaster's sigil: an ashen snake coiled around a pair of white antlers. His dark eyes were dull, cast down as if the vibrancy of life had escaped such a husk of a man. But, with a single wave of Sulhana's wrist, the man scurried off to her side as she walked down to the line of princes. The spymaster stopped a few respectable paces in front of them, and she offered a traditional curtsy as a sign of respect. Then, as she spoke, the man behind echoed her words fluently in the Prozydian Tongue. Her whispers had informed her of that the Tongue of Astalia was not so well spoken beyond the mountain ranges. It was better to come prepared to hopefully send a message that Astalia's web had latched on to the walls of their nations, and to tread carefully lest the spiders heard.

"As a member of the King's Council, allow me to also extend my greetings and my gratitude to you all for gracing our halls. We are honored to be hosts to such nobles. I am Sulhana, third princess of Astalia," Sulhana greeted them. She offered a small bow and a smile, clasping her hands in front of her waist as she looked up at them. "My lords, I am sure the journey has been hard. The sun harsh and the roads long," With a wave of her hand, the servants filed out with jugs of cooled water and golden chalices. "A little offering to relieve your thirst, should you need it."

Her eyes swept over the suitors, and she tried to study them and uncover whether the whispers were true. First, her eyes settled on the large man who easily dwarfed the spymaster of Astalia just as the woman looked up at him. The clothes he wore framed his well-toned physique. His clean-shaven appearance and his lone eye informed the princess that this man had known nothing but physical trials and manual labors his entire life. He was, in all fairness, easy on the eyes despite the telltale rag that covered one of his. His scar from the whispers. His armor, worn yet polished, indicated a time well spent on the field of battle. Her gaze wandered briefly to the protective iron, seeing a semblance of his story just within the small dents and chinks in the creases of his vambrace and even the plates on his chest. He was used to a lifetime of duty, it seems. A dog in the servitude of its owner.

"You must be the Prince of Princes and the First Lord of the League, Prince Vyarin, son of Zarrir of Prozdy. The military might of your people is known to Astalia, and your sense of duty is known to us, Prince Vyarin. Much like another dutiful sister of mine," She briefly glanced at Annalise with a chuckle.

Then, to the next prince, she turned to him and with a smile, the princess nodded to Alvaro. The elven people were always of fair appearance, almost enchanting and if Sulhana was any lesser woman, her eyes would shimmer with charmed endeavor. Her heart would pound with wanton desire at the sight of his fair complexion and his sharp jawline. The silvery shadows of his hair would have enmeshed her in a trance, threatening to unravel the naive princess of Astalia into a lovestruck dame. But, Sulhana was past such childishness, and such tales of love were better off locked away in a chest, never to be opened again.

"Prince Alvaro of Lorien. The elves have always proven good friends to Astalia and to all the lands that still remain defiant of the Empire, and I hope we remain allies in the futures to come."

The third prince grabbed her attention though, and it wasn't to his gruff appearance nor his towering stature that her words eluded her. No. Rather, it was with genuine curiosity that Sulhana paused before addressing the orcish prince. Orcs were not unheard of in Sahas, but they were a rare sight. They were feared for the tales of savagery they committed. But, the whispers she obtained from the land of Afdan were nothing short of interesting. They spoke tales of civilized orcish hordes intermingling with humans, dwarves, and elves. They spoke of a gentle prince of the Jalalid dynasty that ruled the kingdom. They spoke of a prince with a white mark on his right eye. They spoke of Gil. The orc in front of her proved quite different to how she initially imagined the whispers to be.

"Prince Gil, son of Dumag," Sulhana greeted him with a grin accompanied by a relieved sigh. "Your people are known to us. Your braid, my lord," Sulhana chuckled as she smiled up at him. "A comforting sight. You must command the respect of your people."

Lastly, her attention turned to the last prince. Prince Erick of Jord. A man who had fought against the Empire time and time again. He and his brothers had paid the price of such conflict. A thousand times did the Empire slam against their walls, and a thousand times they repelled them. Her heart ached in a subtle pang of empathy for she knew the sorrow they endured as whispers from Jord flooded her desk. The princess dispelled the forlorn expression on her face as she looked up at the man. Much like Vyarin, Erick's scars were a tapestry of his past. A glimpse into the tragedies that Jorda endured in retaliation of the Empire's conquests. She seemed to read melancholy from his hazel eyes, and she felt a sense of respect at how he could still wake up and look tidy in the morning. If she had lost Annalise or any of her sisters, Sulhana couldn't even imagine how her wrath would spill.

"Prince Erick, son of King Henrick of Jorda," Sulhana began as she smiled up at him. "Your people have been the bulwark that kept Astalia's enemies at bay. For years, your people have manned the walls of the north and many have paid the ultimate toll," As she took a step back, Sulhana continued. "Prince Andor was a good man. I have no doubt you will be one as well."

The spymaster stepped up on the platform before turning once more to give an announcement to the princes.

"My father and I have arranged these but you and your retinue have been provided with grand chambers to rest your head in at night. Your men are a part of you as you are of them, and I imagine that a commander's worth can only be measured by the respect he commands. Your needs will be attended to by our servants, and food shall be abundant while you are here. I promise you: your backs shall never be cold and your stomachs shall never be empty while here in Astalia," Then, Sulhana cleared her throat. "To my sisters and to the princes, after you have finished resting, I have organized a little... gathering within the Court of Flowers. The courtyard by the sea. Just a simple time for all of us to chat, away from our good father's prying eyes," She chuckled playfully in King Harold's direction. "There will be wine, tea, cakes, and a lot more delicacies I have tried to purchase from each of your lands. My handmaids will give you the invitations and will direct you to the Court when you are ready."

She walked towards her sisters then, a mischievous look of pleading dancing between her eyes.

"Oh, I do hope my sisters can come," She spoke to them quietly with hands clasped in front of her chest. "We haven't spoken much after father's announcement, and I do sorely miss our little chats."

Then, Sulhana turned again to the princes as her puppet sprang to her side in anticipation of her words. And, as soon as Sulhana ceased speaking, he would walk off into the shadows of the castle halls, waiting to be used again.

"My lords, it is indeed a pleasure to finally see you with my own eyes--"

And, not just with eyes I own...

"-- And, I look forward to you accepting my invitation," She turned to her father with a deep bow. "If my presence is no longer needed, father, I shall be off now and prepare the courtyard."

After all, she didn't need to be in the room to hear. King Harold knew this well. The faintest whisper would, one way or another, land on her doorstep under the cover of night. And, should her father see the smile on her face, he would know that she knew as well.

Lore's eyebrows raised some as Sulhana stepped forward and addressed the princes who arrived. What was she up to? She passed a look to Uriah, who simply lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. "The Princess of Whispers speaks loudly and boldly so quickly," the ghost voice of her teacher murmured near silently in her ear. Loreena suppressed making a face at him in response. The elder princess did pull a slightly exasperated face at Sulhana as she extended the invitation. "Everything is going to be safe to eat and drink, right, love? I'm not entirely convinced after that display" she teased gently, only for the siblings to hear. It was no secret to the sisters their various general viewpoints on the matter, Loreena thus far being the only one to openly seem excited about the prospect of experiencing life beyond their lands, even if it was against a backdrop of conflict.

When Sulhana stepped away, Lore approached the princes in turn, Uriah at her heels. From his robes, he produced small boxes, and held them while Loreena selected the ones she desired and moved to each prince. Taking a box, she offered it to Vyarin. "Dro Vyarin," she began, speaking in a passably accented Prozdy language, "please accept my welcome to our home." Within the box was a jewel set into an intricate knot of ribbons, the colors of the house of Astalia. Lore continued in the language, though ot was obvious she was not fluent. "A symbol of strength, unity, and longevity, we are honored you are here." She did not bow nor expect him to, acknowledging him as equal.

She moved on to Alvaro, taking a box and presenting to to him with the traditional elven bow to an equal. Within Alvaro's box was a jewel, wrapped in and set in a backdrop of pure silver wire, intricately curled and twisted in the style of traditional elvish scrollwork. "A symbol of passion and elegance, I welcome you warmly to our home."

Gil was next, and she gave him a respectful bow. "Prince Gil, thank you for accepting our invitation." She offered his box. Within was a braided ribbon of Astalian colors, from the end dangled another jewel, a ribbon for his hair if he chose to wear it. "A symbol of courage and good fortune, I hope you feel welcomed in our home."

And finally, she came to Erick, giving him a proper Jördanian greeting. "Prince Erick, I hope your journey was not too taxing." She offered Erick his gift. Within the box was a dark yellow jewel entwined with black and gray ribbon embroidered with spun gold thread. His house colors. "A symbol of loyalty and trust, it is my hope that you feel welcome here."

Having been carefully inspected by Uriah for accuracy and propriety, the princess had carefully tailored each gift personally for the individual princes in the days and weeks leading up to their arrival. The tokens had been handmade by her, a personal gift to welcome her new brothers and one that would hopefully mean something sentimental to her own potential suitor.

---

Looking around Gil observed the other Princes who had accepted the invite. He had been given a crash course on each of them. As much as possible at least. His country was small, new, and lacked the resources to get certain information. Most of what he knew came straight from the mouths of the people from his Kingdom and he wasn’t sure how much was true and how much were rumors and speculation. Either way he took what he could get with a grain of salt.

His blue eyes also glanced over the Astalian Royal Family. They too were surprisingly different. He wondered how a family who was supposedly all related by the same blood could vary so greatly. He figured it was something to do with the late Queen, who had only been described to him as a beautifully kind woman. Though he supposed his siblings also varied greatly, both in appearance and personality. Gil was lost in thought when the King started his speech and by the time he had focused back in, the man had already finished speaking. He would have to ask Sioban what was said later, Aldar would only scold him for not paying attention the first time.

Before he had the chance to move one of the Princesses was standing to address them. She spoke in a manner that commanded just as much attention as his own mother. As though she knew more than she was letting on. It piqued his interest to say the least and he listened to what she had to say to each of them, hoping to glean something new about the men that stood around him, as well as simply being fascinated by this woman who was addressing them. The Prodzy prince and himself made this woman look like a child and yet her presence was nothing if not large.

When she finally moved to address him directly he couldn’t help but smile at her knowledge of his culture. Most simply chose to believe his people were cruel brutes so the fact that she knew something as simple as how his people showed their status and their achievements made him happy. The small smile on his face persisted when she moved to the last of the Princes. She ended her address with an invitation to an event of sorts and then she was gone. He had but just a moment to think before yet another Princess stood to address them.

She too commanded the attention in the room but in a different way, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. This woman also addressed each Prince individually though from what he could see she offered gifts. When she offered him the box he gently took it, curious as to what it could be. He opened it to reveal the braided ribbon. He looked at the gift and then back to the woman who had offered it. As per his culture he would not be able to add the ribbon to his hair himself but he bowed his head in thanks and passed the box off to Sioban, who would have to look it over and perform the proper rituals before Gil could don the braided ribbon. Regardless, if the ancestors permitted he had every intention of adding the braid to his person.

The princess moved to address the next Prince and finally there was pause enough for him to speak up. He stepped forward to address the King Aldar on his heels, holding a long rectangular box. “It is common practice in my culture, when visiting a leader of another clan, to present said leader with a gift, commonly said gift is a weapon. From my father to you I present this sword crafted by my country's best dwarven smith.” His voice deep and his Astalian mediocre at best. Aldar walked forward presenting the box, now opened, to the King revealing a simple blade with a heavily decorated hilt. The sword itself was very similar to that of a long sword however the decorative hilt was shorter than standard and the hilt also bore a metal guard where the hand would be placed. The box was taken by the King who looked it over and then handed the box off to a servant. The older man nodded in thanks and Gil stepped back, Aldar having already done so once the box was taken.

So it transpired that Erick was indeed the first to arrive at the Astalian palace, the others however, weren’t far behind him much to his relief - he gathered they too had perhaps made camp on the periphery throughout the lands so that they may arrive at the proper time of the invitation. The second suitor, a Prozdy warrior of immense size, heralded his arrival with the battering of metal which indeed caught Erick’s attention, it was not a noise he was unaccustomed to, in fact, quite the contrary. When the figure of Vyarin emerged into the spaces of the palace, the Jörda prince surveyed him with discretion; each and every man would surely be looking to secure their hold on Astalia by means of the eldest daughter as Erick too, had been advised. He wondered if she, in her particular misfortune, would at least have any say to whom she was to be wed.

The third prince, an elf, lean but too appeared to be well trained, moved with the grace and aura that the people of his realm seemed to do so. The elven prince acknowledged him, and Erick had blinked and dipped his head slightly in due response.

The final prince, for there were four daughters of King Harold, was the half-orc prince of Afdan, the desert country at the far-flung reaches of the continent, the climate far different from that of Jörda. The Afdan prince had a handsome appearance, his heavy orcish features somewhat subdued by what Erick assumed was human blood, his demeanour seemed fairer too than what the reputations spoke of the orcish race. Erick it seemed, standing only at an average height for his people, was the shortest in stature amongst the princes; it didn’t faze him however, and he held his space just as the other suitors.

The group of princes, now assembled, were ushered into the main hall where the Astalian King was prepared to greet them, the princesses were also waiting for their arrival. A smaller division of Erick’s entourage had followed with him into the hall, each of them knelt to one knee and bowed their heads to the King, not dissimilar but certainly different from the Prozdy gesture, Erick uttered a bold “Your Grace” before they once again arose. Erick understood the Astalian language fairly well, for they were neighbours across the great river, but he spoke with a thick accent of his native tongue. The Jörda prince regarded the King’s greeting in his own language to be an expression of deep respect, despite the slight falter in pronunciations. King Harold went on to describe the events that were to occur and confirmed his daughters would indeed take a suitor of their choosing, or at least, within the constraints of what little choice there was. Erick feared given the arrangement, that his spouse regardless would have little association with him outside the scope of the marriage contract; would they be the kind of woman, wives that would make themselves scarce save for their nuptial duties, as perhaps their culture and their kingdom demanded? He could think of almost nothing more miserable. He examined the daughters each in turn as they were introduced, all very beautiful in their own way, and noted that Annalise was the eldest.

As the King concluded his speech, giving the guests permission to disperse (this admittedly was a great desire Erick had to resist), one of the daughters stepped forward to speak before addressing each of the princes in turn. She was small and particularly slender with dark features, despite her small frame, her voice and demeanour had a presence that would not be ignored. Erick wasn’t sure how to describe it, besides the creeping feeling of a bad dream that you couldn’t quite remember once you awoke. When Sulhana spoke to him directly however, he could detect the sincerity in her condolences and he received her remarks with appreciation, “thank you for your kind words Princess Sulhana, my brother has brought great honour to our House, he will dine well with the Gods at their table” he expressed, suppressing the flicker that threatened to cross his brow, as such he could not muster a smile for the princess, but tightened his jaw and nodded gently before she turned to take the platform. The Princess made her announcement - Erick would have some Court games to play it seemed.

Another daughter, Loreena, stepped forward. Erick sensed a gentleness in her character and, as she presented the thoughtful gifts to each suitor in turn, also some enthusiasm in meeting with them. He received the gift from her with both palms, meeting her gaze, “Princess Loreena, you have my gratitude, I already feel most welcomed” he bowed his head modestly clasping the gift but not yet examining it, as he was not sure if it was quite appropriate to do so. As the Princess moved on, he passed the item with particular care to one of his attendants for safe keeping - he would open it later that evening.

---

The tip of her needle dug into the cloth, dragging the emerald thread beneath before it raised up again to cross over the initial strand. Over and over again, her fingers guided the needle as it stitched against the fabric and soon, the pattern of the spymaster's serpent shone against the gray antlers. Sulhana breathed out as she cut and tied the threads to keep the embroidery together. Her smooth hands caressed her work just as she looked up to return her attention to one of her handmaidens giving her the current pieces of news around Astalia. Rising food prices as scrupulous merchants started hoarding due to whispers of incoming war and growing unrest at the idea of the Empire treading their greaves over Astalian soil were commonplace within the recent weeks. The princess bit her lip in frustration then, leaning back against the mahogany seat. In front of her, as she sat just by the stone rails of the Court of Flowers where the seas crashed against the great seawalls of Astalia, the golden sun streaked red now against the azure sky in preparation for the incoming blanket of night.

"The Ivalan Duchy has been conquered a few days ago," Sulhana mumbled as her handmaidens continued on embroidering their fabrics. "The Ivalani duke has bent his knee to the Empire, and with it, the Gilthanians have secured themselves a noteworthy port town," She gritted her teeth then in anger. She had tried to lend aid to the Ivalani but their prideful nature and corrupt ways had all spelled their doom. The strings she pulled to eliminate their corrupt officials had amounted to nothing. Like the mythical Eternal Serpents, cutting the head of one only meant that the stump grew three more. And, by poisoning the decrepit Lord of the Treasury, his own sons inherited the duchy's finances and spent it all whoring and drinking until the duke could no longer pay the very guards that kept vigil over his walls.

There was no resistance left in Ivalan by the time the Empire's host laid siege to it.

"A rat indulges in the food inside a small jar, and eats until it bloats. And, by the time the hand returns to the jar, the vermin has found itself too fat to escape," She continued, turning her emerald gaze to the setting sun. "The Ivalani had made their decision, and I have no intention in following them to the grave. This is why, I must do what I must to ensure that these... men do not stab Astalia in the back when we least expect them."

"Do you think they will come, master?" The handmaiden inquired, knowing full well her mistress' preference to be called by such a title.

"I am unsure, but," The princess smirked as she stood up from her chair. "If they choose to attend or not to will allow me to know them a little bit more. As I always say, the worth of a man is in his first actions. Come, we have much to prepare for. Regardless, they should have received the invitations and instructions by now."

Sulhana turned to the final preparations to the courtyard. The most prominent feature of the court was a large half-ring, held up by pillars of marble, that spanned the entire courtyard. The mouth of the semi-circle faced the crystalline seas of Astalia, letting the setting sun reflect against the marbled pillars that towered over the long table stacked with various food and wine. Thick green vines hung from the half-ring, seemingly shrouding the inner circle in nature's veil as flowers of a myriad of colors bloomed around them. Torches were placed in various areas, letting the warm light radiate around the courtyard. Above, the stars of the sky began peeking into view, and soon, when the moon fully hung from the heavens, such starlight would display its full magnificence. The Constellation of the Stag floated directly above the Court of Flowers, and its cosmic radiance never ceased to amaze.

The seas pounding against the seawall was also a calming sound for the princess. The various birds sang their song as they passed above the court and into their homes in the trees. And, Sulhana wished that this could remain the same. But, war was marching on their walls and, unfortunately, this was the most plausible way to avoid it: marrying themselves off.

"Whisper into the ears of the peasantry and the knights," Sulhana instructed. "The Daughters of Astalia meeting their potential suitors beneath a starry, starry night in the Court of Flowers. The light of sun, star, and moon bore witness to these nobilities, and with them, an alliance against the Empire," She said. "Rumors, especially those that involve the monarchy, are often good distractors against the threat of war. People will be more likely to go early into their workshops to gossip regarding the possibility of royal marriages. Taverns will be much livelier with such whispers floating about," The princess turned to her group of handmaidens. "Rather than them talking about the fear of war, let their minds be occupied with the idea of four alliances and their naive princesses meeting their fated ones," Sulhana rolled her eyes then, her flesh prickling as she hugged herself tight. "I shudder at the thought, but tales of childish romance often inspire the blood to pound a heartly pyre. People will be more productive and all shall prosper."

"As you wish, master." With that, the handmaidens slipped into the darkness of the halls with a raise of Sulhana's hand.

With the bards she hired still absent, Sulhana tucked her hands behind her back as she sauntered over to the elevated platform in the middle of the courtyard where the instruments laid neatly in rows. There were flutes, lyres, and many more prepared for the musicians. And, she couldn't help but relieve her childhood memory of learning to play such instruments. It would be a tragedy though, that her first performance would be to play at her mother's yearly remembrance of her passing. She had died shortly after Jinayah's birth, and Sulhana wept at the idea that perhaps her youngest sister might have blamed herself for Tiana's passing. Sulhana had not exactly treated Jin well in their earlier days, but the third princess had learned to move beyond such tragic childishness.

No one was to blame but the cruel hand of destiny that sewed their mother's death into the tapestry of Astalia's fabric.

She sat down on a chair just in front of an ornate zither, and her hands fell against the strings. Memories flooded her eyes then, and each twitch of sadness ran down her mind to her arm, and into her fingers which moved in melancholy against the strings. For everything that she had gained, for everything that she had lost, and for everything that she had left...



Her lips sang the olden song in the ancient Astalian tongue: a story of a daughter's lament for the death of her mother. A melody sang in the olden days of the ancient mounts and when the Astalian seas still ravaged the land. And, yet, Sulhana wondered how a woman could sacrifice her body to a man. To throw one's life upon the breach, all in the name of raising a beloved. Maybe love did make people do stupid things, and she feared for the lives of her sisters. Loreena came to mind. It was no secret that she was the most amiable to this whole affair. But, perhaps, she should be more worried for Annalise. Any capable ruler would know that marrying the eldest ensured the greatest claim to the throne, and it would not be a surprise if all those men had set their sights on the crown-princess. Eager to force her to produce heirs in the name of succession.

The sudden spike of fury throbbed through her fingers, and the strings wobbled in their wake as she plucked at the zither.



Sulhana looked up to the dimming horizon on the seas as the torches enflamed brighter at the coming darkness of the evening. The warm winds brushed softly against her and the princess sighed again, knowing well that those same waters might soon be filled with Gilthian sails. Alliances needed to be made, so perhaps, the only thing she could do now is wait for the right time to set a possible plan in action.

Her ledger dripped with the filth she undertook in the name of securing control and power. What was one more, if it meant ensuring her sisters' happiness?

There was a lot to consider for Vyarin, as he is led along another great hallway by his retinue. His eyes narrowed unjustifiably at the paintings arranged along the wall. Those women, the daughters, had made something of an impression on him. He thought back to earlier in the day, how two of them had approached the assembly of princes. Each was flanked by a man, a loyal guard most likely. They were as the new moon and the full, the two of them. Was it a ploy of some sort? He had seen such a plot before, observing as his father and his uncle would question defectors. Yet all that was years ago, and Vyarin's memory of that now has faded near enough that he cannot recall for the life of him any particulars. He scratched his chin, where the scruff was just beginning to return. Focus, now, was key; it was of paramount importance that he take note of all that occurs within these walls.

The first had introduced herself as Sulhana, before the entire hall. She then approached Vyarin first, her loyal man in tow, and spoke to him, venom in her throat. As she stepped forward, he and his men stepped back. Vyarin looked into her eyes but for a split second, and looked away. Her gaze could only be surpassed in its strength by his own father. He had spent enough time with his father to know; the older man was never shy to display his anger, and very quickly do all who counsel him learn to recognize when they are being spat at. So too was the case with this Sulhana, who although of shorter stature and more slender form, spoke down to Vyarin in the nature of a host to their unwanted guest. Her guard translated, his mastery of the Prozdy speech impeccable, but overly literal, and the language of Astalia did not map perfectly to that of Prozdy, it must be admitted. Vyarin found the man curious, in a way. Did his ancestry stem from the League? Had he served under a prince within? As Sulhana finished, Vyarin gave a nod to her, and another to her translator, and they moved on to the next prince.

The second daughter was the true surprise. Rather than making use of a translator, she spoke to him directly, calling him by the traditional manner and offering to him a gift. The jewel was magnificent, larger than his own thumb by at least twice, cut with obvious masterwork. Vyarin reached out with his hands and took the box.

"I receive this . . . err . . . in your honour," he had said. Poetics did not come naturally to him. Yet, she had made the effort to speak to him as the nomad-chiefs did, so he felt he ought respond in kind. He didn't dare try the same in Astalian; that sounded a path towards disaster.

The crowd, with time, began to depart. Vyarin took one last look at the other princes, then at his own retinue. The loyal men returned his look with their own, some of them quizzical, most of them tired. After a brief silence, one of them approached, and whispered.

"Your orders, superior?"

"Go into the town and collect the rest. We were promised food and shelter, let them feed and shelter us. If any of them managed to get themselves into trouble . . ." Vyarin thumbed the little jewel in his hand. ". . . Pay off their grievances. We have excess coins; not steel." As for him, well . . . the Court of Flowers awaits.

---

---

Annalise stood when the Princes entered the hall and greeted them with her father. She would be lying if she said that each one didn’t peak her interest. Each and everyone of them was so incredibly different. She had known this would be the case however actually getting to see it was something else. She greeted each with a smile and a bow of her head, but said nothing. As soon as her father began speaking she took her seat, observing the individuals as he spoke. Trying to read each Prince’s reaction to the situation. Both Sulhana and Loreena addressed the Princes directly. However Annalise had decided to observe before taking action. She knew all too well that as the eldest at least a few of them, if not all, would attempt to claim her as there's. She has no intention of taking the situation lightly. Whoever she married would inherit both their own kingdom, as well as hers when both of their parents could no longer rule.

The eldest daughter had gracefully slipped out of the main hall when Loreena was giving them their gifts. In the hopes that they were distracted by her sister. The suitors who had joined them seemed to simply be adjusting to what was happening. They weren’t showing their hands yet, and she wanted some time to think before she joined Sulhana in the Court of Flowers. After all she had a whole country to think about.

Annalise soon found herself in the castle’s Library. She would often come here to distract herself. Reading some of the old tales that were here helped calm her down. Though today her thoughts were too strong. No amount of books could distract her from her thoughts today. There was too much riding on the decisions to come. The man she married would lay claim to not only his own thrown, in the case of all the men besides Gil, but also Astalia’s thrown.

As she looked at the many books on the shelves her thoughts wandered to the Princes who had arrived. Logically, if she wanted to ensure that Astalia remained a military power within the continent her choices for suitors were the Prodzy Prince and the Jorda Prince. Both had strong military forces. However there was an unknown with the Elven Prince Alvaro, and the Orcish Prince Gil. Of the two however Prince Gil held no claim to his people’s throne. From what Sulhana had managed to get the young prince had little to no desire to rule. As the third son he had the most freedom among his siblings and seemed content to maintain that status. The likely-hood that he would have any interest in herself was slim to none. Then again, a man who had no interest in ruling would be far more likely to let her take the responsibility of doing so.

Annalise decided that clearly she was not going to get any peace of mind from reading and headed, finally, toward the Court of Flowers. A handmaiden scurried back into the castle from the courtyard and stopped only briefly to curtsy in her direction, then continued on her path. She was about to enter the courtyard when the sound of music reached her ears. She paused outside the door and listened. A tear fell down her cheek as she listened to her sister’s song. They were all so young when they lost their mother, and their father hadn’t been the same since. Annalise only had vague memories of her mother, her siblings were likely the same. Jin had barely entered the world when she had passed. How ironic that the daughter that looked the most like her mother entered the world shortly before their mother left.

It took her a moment, but she composed herself and walked into the Court of Flowers. The veil that covered her slightly discolored right eye was still secured to her hair, she had honestly meant to remove it but had forgotten it was there since she couldn’t see it. Her pale blue eyes hid the difference well from a distance, but up close it was obvious that one eye was much closer to a silver color, and this eye never focused on anything. The obvious sign that she had no sight in her right eye. She worried this would make her less appealing to the suitors and ruin the whole plan but now was not the time. Her functional eye landed on her sister, as she walked to her.

“Why must my younger siblings show me up so extravagantly?” She teased embracing Sulhana in a short hug, releasing after only a few seconds. “Do you think any of the men will come?” She questioned though it wasn’t something she was expecting much of an answer to, she was more asking herself out loud. She wasn’t even sure her other two sisters would join them. Jin especially, this was not her type of thing. She hoped that everyone would turn up. A chance to converse without the prying eyes of their father and the nosey members of the court would be fantastic. They would all get a sense for each other before they had to appear in public, at a ball no less.

---

After it seemed the ruling family was finished addressing them and they were officially allowed to wander the grounds Gil left the Hall without a word to any of the others there. Aldar and Sioban followed behind him as he left, though he quickly dismissed both men to do as they pleased. Aldar excused himself to go make sure the group’s sleeping arrangements were prepared but Sioban continued to follow the Prince around.

Sioban was young for as skilled of a Shaman as he was. Though he looked to be the same age as Gil, Sioban was in his early thirties. He was by no means a master at his craft but he was far more skilled than others at his age. Though there was a decent age gap between the two, Gil and Sioban were pretty good friends so the Prince had no qualms with the Shaman following him around.

“Do you plan to attend that gathering the Princess was speaking about?” The Shaman’s amber eyes landed on the Prince, he seemed he had more to say but kept it to himself. Gil took a moment to think. He was told he could decline but it seemed rude to do so. Not to mention what he would say about his character if he refused to interact with any of the Princesses outside of official functions. Though he didn’t particularly care for marrying any of them, it was for the benefit of his country and his people.

“It would be rude to not attend. Plus the opportunity to get to know them before all eyes are on us would be ideal. So yes, I do intend to attend.” He glanced over to the man beside him who smiled lightly. “Which means you will have to go bother Aldar for a while. I don’t need a babysitter.” Gil’s blue eyes squinted at the half orc beside him, who was chuckling to himself.

“I had no intention of following you to the Court of Flowers. I was going to take the time to prod at the minds of the court mages here, I have never met a mage so I figured it would be fun to compare notes.” Gil gave the Shaman a skeptical look. “Relax Gil when I say prod I mean talk not invade their personal thoughts. You know that takes a while to prepare anyway. Plus I am sure Mages would know how to defend against something like that. Anyway, I am leaving you now. Don’t embarrass us in front of the ladies. Good luck.” Sioban slapped the young Prince on the back before turning on a heel and walking back down the hall he had come from, leaving Gil to his thoughts as he wondered.

It was a short walk from the time Sioban left him to when he made it to the Court of Flowers, after asking a servant for directions. He stopped beside the door, staring at it for a moment. He mentally prepared himself to use the Astalian native language, rather than Orcish. The advantage of having a collection of citizens from every country is there was always a tutor in the languages he needed, so he and his brothers were all and least conversationally fluent in most of the languages spoken on Sahas. When the invitation was sent out Gil’s practices went directly to Astalian and the languages spoken by the remaining countries free from the Empire. With a sigh Gil straightened and entered the Court of Flowers. A quick glance said he was the one of the first here, not even all the Princesses had made it. He should have had Sioban add the ribbon to this hair before coming here, maybe then he would have been the last. It was too late now, so in a heavily accented voice Gil greeted those there already. “Greetings.” He bowed his head a little in respect and then his blue eyes watched the reactions of the others.

Jinayah stood politely in the great hall, waiting for the ceremony to be over. It may have looked like she was bored on the outside, but inside, she was having quite the panic. She had yet to speak a word to the foreign princes. Gifts! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Then again, it’s not like she was one to win over people with fancy presents. Her preferred method of making friends was finding common ground and matching over that. So what if said common ground had been arguments over the best swordsmith and one actual duel over the reputation of the best bowyer in the business?

What was she going to do? For the first time in her life, Jin felt afraid of who she was. Forget falling in love; that fairy-tale nonsense was bound to be impossible. What if none of these men would simply put up with her? What if her natural inclination just scared them off? Then her father would be down one crucial alliance, and there could be an easy weakness against the growing threat of the empire! She had more or less accepted her fate as one of her father’s “pieces on the board”. But now she was rethinking things. What if everything was ruined? Because of her? AGAIN?

The ceremony ended at some point and people began to drift away. She also left in a distracted manner, her feet moving on their own, and her head adrift in thought.

It was no hidden secret in her heart that she felt responsible for her mother’s death. Her siblings had treated her a bit differently in their early years. Sulhana’s cutting remarks had lasted the longest. Unfortunately, some of them had been memorized in the corner of her mind, and burned like a fresh cut. Her father, gods bless him, had done his best to connect with her. But to look at your child and to only see the face of the one you loved, gone because of that same child… It was no wonder they never spoke anymore. She understood it plain – her birth and Mother’s death had put them on this path. Maybe if Mother had been alive, there would have been a different solution to alliances. The four of them wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe if she had never been born at all –

Jin took in a sharp breath, feeling her eyes swim. Suddenly, she just felt so out of place. Her chest seemed to buckle in on itself. The candles in the hall seemed to swirl around her, the very stone closing in. She struggled to breathe. Outside, she had to get outside. Luckily, she was nothing if not fast, and her strong legs carried her to the nearest exit past the Court of Flowers.

It seemed she was right back where she had started, in the training yard. In her ballgown and regalia, she probably looked absolutely ridiculous. She strode to the shed where the training blades were kept, feeling her chest start to loosen the moment she laid hands on the sword set aside for her. Familiar steps drew her into the sword dance, and she quickly lost herself in the motions. She would go the party, and soon, but first she had to calm down, her own way.

Once the introductions and brief mingling came to an end, Erick was sure it was now the appropriate time to leave as did his council concur; they had travelled not too far but the remainder of their journey had taken them from daybreak that morning - enough as such that he sought to refresh himself and his company also would be of a similar mindset. The invitation to The Court of Flowers seemed by all accounts as though it was to be a private affair, Erick knew his men, his council, could not follow him there and he anticipated the event would certainly be a world apart from the halls and tents full of warriors, drinking and rough-housing as to which he was far more accustomed. The Jörda prince had somewhat limited associations with women too, and the kind that might have circulated the camps were unlike this kind, the wholesome women of Jörda also, were unlike this kind - he wasn’t sure what to expect but, he wasn’t the only one he supposed.

Erick had requested he’d be directed to his chamber, his company too, which was modest in number, had some accommodations in the palace grounds and they’d dispersed to eat, drink and rest. “Try to remember, son of Henrick, why you are here” said his council, a much older man with dark hair heavily dusted with grey, it was loosely braided as was his medium length beard; he had spoke in the Jörda tongue, gripping Erick’s shoulder and giving the prince a firm, intense look, before he then patted it heftily. The man passed Loreena’s gift back to Erick, raising his eyebrows for a second and pulling a smile before making his leave for refreshment, the prince watched him as he disappeared along the empty corridor.

When the Jörda prince finally found himself alone in his room, it came as great relief, although he knew it couldn’t last as he’d have to prepare himself for the evening - his belongings had already been delivered here. Erick sat heavily on the bed, letting a deep sigh from his nose, he wondered exactly how soon the marriages were to take place and how long too before he (presumedly) would return to Jörda with one of them, or were the alliances to stay centrally within Astalia for the time being? He hoped this would not be the case. He played with the small box in his palms, pulling a thoughtful pout before he opened it slowly, producing the deep yellow jewel; it appeared almost as liquid gold when the light rebounded upon it, the jewel enrobed within the black, grey and golden ribbon reflected the colours of his house, it was truly beautiful.. ‘a symbol of loyalty and trust’, had the Princess Loreena meant those words, or was it the talk of court? In any case, Jörda needed the military clout of Astalia, and perhaps some mages, too.

Erick, after a short time of contemplation, refreshed and readied himself for the evening to come, for he likely smelled of the horses, speaking of which, he’d be sure to check on Sinir later this evening. The prince had swapped his blue cloak for one much lighter in weight, it had no fur but a detailed golden trim, this was slung and pinned over one shoulder with a formal appearance, and he’d changed into a similar outfit although he’d removed the quilted tunic and wore only a light coloured, mid-length long sleeved shirt, belted, it had some fine and subtle embroidery at its front fastenings at the chest - it was fairly simple but more comfortable attire, as Astalia was comparatively warmer. Erick still wore the variety of heavy golden rings, he had a dense cuffed golden bangle of a serpentine design on his right wrist, whilst on the left a robust leather bracelet with beaded silver charms was wrapped firmly with a few rotations before it was tied, Loreena’s jewel was compact in size that it could be woven and secured into the bracelet, and presented itself as the most illustrious charm amongst the adornments.

The Jörda prince now ready to attend was escorted by an Astalian attendant who led the prince without a word through the maze (and magnificence) of the palace before finally slowing to a halt, they directed him along a hall to the door to the court. Erick arrived in time to see the half-orc prince linger for a few moments before moving on into the courtyard, he could hear the noise of the powerful waves reverberate through the stone. He made his way to follow in the wake of the Afdan prince - into the mild evening air and the setting sun bouncing around a warm, dream-like glow within the opulent surroundings of the courtyard.