“Agel the Pious, descendant of Dael the Conqueror, is said to have built the temple of Pelirise – according to the scriptures, the goddess herself spoke to him during a dream, and foretold that his bloodline would last and prevail for centuries after his death. In turn, he took it upon himself to convert his entire people to her cult. We do know what became of house Agelien today.

-Daeli priest”

* * *

Ezveril

She silently watched and listened to the dancers and singers – both the professional ones, and the drunk ones that fancied themselves so. Some fat bald merchant, displaying his wealth with all his fine clothes and shining rings, trying to get his hands on a lightly dressed girl that was perhaps a few years older than Ezveril herself. On the other side of the great hall, a man caressing the leg of another, and not far from them, a woman being pleased by a young slave, tits out for all to see.

Ezveril Agelien, fourth princess of Dael, grimaced, for she was not enjoying her welcoming party one bit. Savages, degenerates and eccentrics...

As a follower of Pelirise, the Vieran way of life could only shock her, and even though she thought she had prepared herself for this, she was still disturbed. But this catastrophic feast was merely a step along this distasteful tale that was her new life in Ocia. Everything until now had gone horribly wrong.

Upon arriving after a tiring journey by sea, she was welcomed by a large gathering of Vieran dignitaries, all dressed in a fashion she immediately knew she would have trouble adapting to. Some of the girls showed much skin, their faces were painted, and whatever these necklaces of sorts were, they weren't worn at the neck, but around the waist, the thighs, and the chest – and tightly, as to better hint at their anatomy.

The men wore robes and togas, of rich purple, orange and gold, and they all had their jaws shaved, wore their hair with curls and accessories, and also had coloured faces, making them look more like women rather than men. The result was, in the end, quite unnerving.

She knew not the faces of the people present, but from a very young age she had been taught the language, the names, the etiquette, allowing her to build a bit of confidence as she was introduced to them and could react accordingly. A confidence that had been crushed promptly by the lady-regent after the greetings and formalities. The mere memory of it was enough to make Ezveril frown.

“I see this court painter of yours is quite the artist, your highness,” said Atricia of Ocia to her as they walked in the empty great hall. It had been decided that Ezveril would be shown around immediately, as to allow her to get familiar with the palace as soon as possible.

“I must agree,” Vierodel said to his mother, glancing back at Ezveril as he walked in front of them. He was a rather elegant youth, with long dark curly hair, purple painted lips, and aloof eyes. She had been somewhat charmed by the young lord, because he was the only one who bothered to speak clear and slow sentences, while nobody else seemed to care that she still had a lot of trouble with the melodious Vieran tongue. “He certainly captured your beauty with evident skill and grace.”

Ezveril was about to answer Vierodel's compliment with one of her rare smiles, but what lady Atricia said next made her freeze. “On the contrary. Somehow, he managed to paint a portrait of which the model is unworthy. But if you insist she's to your liking, Vierodel, then so be it.”

It took Ezveril a moment to understand what she meant, as if she had purposely phrased it in a complicated way, but the air of disdain in the lady's eyes proved to be a gorgeous help. Atricia had not bothered to hide her disappointment ever since.

The only true friend she had here was, as always, Hilne Neraldes. Sometimes Ezveril wanted to ask her knight to satisfy her selfish desires. She wanted to act like a spoiled princess and command Hilne to behead the lot of them. And the sworn knight would certainly do it, and she would surely do worse things if Ezveril asked her. Worser things even – the worst, vilest things perhaps – if Hilne was forced to, if it was for her princess' sake.

But Ezveril was a daughter of the Agelien house, and therefore she would endure. She would bear with whatever torments the lady Atricia and her court of dumb wenches inflicted upon her. Ezveril would not be selfish.

And since leaving the great hall, where all of Ocia's finest citizens were supposedly celebrating her arrival, would be seen as a selfish thing, she simply shut her mouth and stayed seated at the high-table, next to her betrothed. Endure, because it is expected of you.

“Are you not enjoying the festivities, your highness? This party is in your honour.” Ezveril turned her head and stared at Vierodel for a second. He held a long, fragile cup of glass containing wine between two fingers, and rested his chin on the other hand. His colourful tunic gave a view of his bare chest, and she felt tempted to look.

“I...” she said in a low voice, “I imagined it differently...”

“Perhaps less flesh and more singing about Pelirise,” he said with a chuckle. She didn't show it, but she felt slightly offended that he caricatured the Daeli gatherings in such a manner – a feast was a feast, after all. The princess knew that it was a joyous occasion where people would drink and sing and eat, and sometimes do other things. Still, these other things, Ezveril had never attended a party where they happened. Until now.

“I understand that it must be difficult, as a girl aged of ten, to be here,” Vierodel kept on. “And I understand it must be intimidating, for your betrothed to be your elder by seven years.”

She glanced away and fiddled with her fingers, playing with her purple dress. Not even her own dress, Atricia had criticised so harshly the attires she had brought from Dael that she was too ashamed to wear them now, in front of people who probably had the same taste.

“Yes...” She wanted to look behind and seek refuge in Hilne's eyes. But it would be rude to ignore the lord sitting next to her for the bodyguard standing behind her.

“We shall take all the time we need, and learn about each other. I do sincerely hope you'll have a pleasant life here in Ocia.”

Ezveril nodded, and felt the insistent gaze of lady Atricia, who then acted like nothing and played with her purple dyed hair when their eyes met. Had she been listening? I have to be careful about what I say... and what I discuss, even if I say nothing. There was no telling how the lady-regent's hateful mind would twist Ezveril's words and expressions.

“Ah, lord Segheon,” she heard Vierodel greet, and followed his gaze. “A fine evening, is it?”

“A fine evening indeed,” the lord answered – a man in his thirties perhaps, with short brown balding hair. Despite his tanned skin, his smooth chin and his Vieran clothes, Ezveril immediately knew him to be a Daeli. His name, his accent, his facial features, they told her. Segheon turned to Ezveril and bowed. “Your highness, forgive me for introducing myself with such tardiness,” he said their native tongue. “I am Saerge Segheon, Daeli ambassador in Ocia. It is an honour to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, my lord. My father told me about you.” Finally being able to speak her own language with someone else than Hilne put her at ease and she regained her composure quite quickly.

Segheon glanced at Hilne and gave her a nod. “Lady Neraldes, it has been a long time. I recall seeing you fifteen years ago in Dael – your were already a famous beauty and an excellent jouster.” He took out a letter from under his robes and put in on the table. While Ezveril wondered if it was for her, Hilne stepped forward, reached for it and studied the seal with an indecipherable expression. “May I steal away the princess for a moment?” Saerge said in a perfect Vieran, but he was clearly asking Hilne, not Vieronel.

Atricia's son smiled nonetheless. “Be my guest, but I expect her back.” he said cheekily, while the knight stared at the ambassador for a moment before she gave her silent accord.

Ezveril got to her feet and made her way around the table. Saerge offered a hand and she took it without questions. He led her as they walked slowly and aimlessly in the great hall, observing the shameless whoring, the awful bellowing and the boorish stuffing of greasy, oily food. Or rather, he observed, whereas she averted her gaze from the freak show. At last, he spoke in their native language once more.

“What do you think of the young lord so far?”

“...He appears kind and understanding. The lady-regent does not seem to appreciate me, however. I suppose I may have offended her in some way.”

Lord Segheon chuckled. “Fear not, your highness. Atricia of Ocia is known in all of the city-states for her bad temper and her sharp tongue. She used to be a kind and admirable woman, though I'm afraid she has never been the same ever since her husband passed away.”

“But surely it should please her, to see her son happily married?” Hearing that, the ambassador gave her a complicated look, and it made her realise her own naiveness, even though she had no idea what she was mistaken about.

“Princess, forgive me putting it in such a way, but why do you think lady Atricia has agreed to wed her only son to you, a ten year-old girl?”

Ezveril bit her lips and frowned. “Because...” she began, and paused. All manner of wild guesses popped up in her mind, but she felt they were all wrong. “Because she wants to make an ally out of my father...” she finally said. She knew it was a valuable thing, because she remembered Hilne's words when she had voiced her worries about the lack of dowry on her side.

What dowry? Hilne had replied with her brows raised. Entering an alliance with Arthian Agelien and marrying his daughter is a gift the Vierans are already unworthy of. That's the dowry.

“Hmm.” Saerge smiled. “Not wrong, but it goes beyond that. She indeed wants an alliance with the kingdom of Dael, but why you? Why not, say... your sister, princess Agelle, who is of age and unmarried?”

Ah... That was true. Atricia's son was already old enough to govern, yet he would have to wait until the wedding with Ezveril took place before he could truly rule Ocia. They'd have to wait until she bled – in three or four years perhaps, as the maids had told her.

“My guess,” Segheon carried on, “is that the lady-regent wishes to keep the regency for a few more years... But don't speak a word of it to anyone, of course.”

“Why did my father agree to this, then?” she inquired, lips pursed. The crown-prince was not one to willingly make disadvantageous deals.

“Oh, I gather he certainly knew all about Atricia's secret desires.” They stopped and with a gesture of his arm, lord Segheon motioned toward the guests in the great hall. “This venture has always been about taking control of Ocia, your highness. Lady Atricia probably hopes to groom you into a proper Vieran wife in the years to come, while your father expects you to own the young lord.”

“Own?” she repeated, while he led her back toward the high-table.

“You are a woman. You will whisper in his ear, be the master of his nights. You will bear him children, and if Pelirise blesses you with a male heir, you will make sure he honours his Daeli blood rather than his Vieran ancestry.”

She glanced at him and meant to protest, but they were already at the table. Saerge bowed yet again. “It was a pleasure meeting you, princess,” he said in Vieran before facing Vierodel and Atricia. “My lady, my lord, I shall take my leave. It has been a wonderful evening, but work awaits me tomorrow morning.”

“Hardworking as ever. Sleep well, ambassador,” Atricia said with some cunning smile of hers.

Ezveril neared her seat, but she came to a stop. “...May I retire to my chambers?” she asked. “The journey has been tiring, I feel unwell.”

“Oh, but of course,” Vierodel hurriedly said. He rose from his seat, came next to her and held her hand. “Let me accompany you. Our guests here can surely bear my absence for a second, as you are more important than them.”

Vierodel led the way, Ezveril followed him, Hilne and a few maids right behind her, and then some of the young lord's guards. A bunch of these lightly dressed girls came too, the ones with the golden chains worn at improper places. The princess did not dare to look back, fearing she would be met with lady Atricia's glare.

The sounds of the celebration became muffled as they walked away from the hall. Through the glassless arched windows of the corridors, Ezveril could see the starry sky reflected against the water, and feel the air. The breeze was cool, but not cold.

During daytime, it was possible to see the little bit of land across the strait of Ocia – her kingdom's land. But then again, these parts were so far away from the capital of Dael that she had never been there. They were also barren, and often raided by eastern tribes that managed to cross the border, and so the population was low. It also made for an ideal route for smugglers that wished to navigate between the Middle Sea and the Grey Sea without going through Ocia, at least if they weren't caught by the raiders, or Daeli soldiers.

Still, I've been told it isn't as lawless as it used to be, Ezveril thought. The Sun is currently leading an army and restoring order in the east...

Beyond the horizon, far beyond what human eyes could see, stood the tall temple of Pelirise, said to have reached the sun before the top collapsed. It had been built close to the easternmost borders at the time, so that its priests could worship the morning sun earlier than everyone else, but obviously the borders had moved farther east since then.

They stopped in front of a door that Ezveril remembered as the one leading to her chambers. “Well then,” Vierodel said as he opened the door for her. “This is it. I'll be returning to the feast now, but if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask for me.”

“I give you my thanks, my lord,” Ezveril said with a curtsy. Vierodel kissed her hand and walked away. She gave him one last glance before entering her apartments, when she was sure he wouldn't look back... and saw him stroking the behind of one of the girls, before slipping his hand under her clothes.

Her mouth agape, she wanted to slap herself for not understanding it earlier. These girls were pleasure slaves, she had been told about them, and yet... She had been told that she would have a hard time finding a Vieran dignitary that didn't indulge in such customs, but still, she felt betrayed.

Of course, her betrothed was a follower of Viera. Of course. Why in earth had she been expecting him to behave like a proper Daeli? She was in Ocia now, and bed slaves were merely part of the everyday palace life these people led.

It's all an act, isn't it...

“Is something the matter, princess?” a maid suddenly asked, perhaps alarmed by whatever expression Ezveril may have failed to hide.

“No,” she said, and observed her chambers for a second. The servants had already moved in her luggage and belongings, and while she would have been excited to discover every single detail about her new room, she was in a different mood tonight. “You can go.”

One of the maids was about to retort something but Ezveril raised her palm to stop her. The girls did not insist and silently left the room, while only Hilne stayed.

“What's in the letter?” Ezveril inquired once they were alone, referring to the piece of paper that Saerge Segheon gave her. Hilne did not answer, and though her face was hidden by her dark hair and the shadow casted by the candles behind her, Ezveril knew that the knight was staring at her. “What's in the letter?” she asked once again, in a more commanding voice.

“Information,” Hilne eventually answered, in an unusually detached tone. “Advice, maps, addresses... And instructions.”

“For what?”

“...For your purposes in Ocia, your highness.”

Yes... She had a job to do. A mission. Ambassador Segheon had done a fine job of reminding her. It had never been about her, or Vierodel, or their wedding, or their cultural differences, or whatever else. Suddenly, she wasn't feeling as tired as before. Anger had woken her up and bitterness had taken the place of exhaustion. Ezveril went to fetch candlesticks and lit more of them. Once the room was made brighter, she sat on her bed and nodded to herself.

“Then let's hear it out,” she said flatly. The Vierans wanted to act a play of their own... But she was born amongst liars and flatterers, in the greatest theatre in the world – the royal capital of Dael. Ezveril had received a script from her father, and she certainly intended to be praised for her performance.