[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 7]

This is going to be nigh unbearable.

“It is my great honor to announce the entrance of Her Highness, the Third Princess, the Golden Princess, the Fifth Treasure of the Kingdom, Renner Theiere Chardelon Ryle Vaiself.”

Father, a crier? Why? What an embarrassment. Even holding this ball.

Her chagrin at her father’s actions were part way born from the typical teenage cringes at being thrust into the limelight, but primarily from the actual political setback that she recognized this as.

This event will provide the primest of opportunities for people to mock me. Sixteen and unwed is already a derision. New wordsmith will come tonight, fresh hells of humor cum cruelty. Ah, what a pain.

Renner looked at the crowd, and saw it was blessedly average. Too many people had attended for Noble Faction jesters to sincerely make the argument that her birthday was a picayune coming. This did not entirely abate her anxieties, and she wondered what the night would be like.

Ah. Father intends this as pressure. The size of this event is nominally to inspire offers of marriage. Others will perceive this as a ploy to court suitors, who will seek the King for such matters. However, since he has granted me agency in this decision, this is to allow me to inspect the crop.

Renner flitted through the ballroom for a few moments, seeking her father. Upon seeing Rampossa entertaining one of Blumrush’s men, she confirmed her suspicion.

People are speaking to him as if he’s the one to be bargaining with. I doubt anyone will doubt the true nature of this arrangement.

—

Renner was on her twentieth introduction of the night. Having been caught in the inane conversation of highbloods, she was deep in her persona as princess.

“Eh? So he took the Rose Laurel? What an impressive bout!”

Why yes, I do care about the results of the Tournament held in Re-Pepsel. Please tell me more. Gods, this is brainless.

“Yes, he did. I’m so proud of him. He truly brings honor to our name.”

Renner was speaking to Countess Heyla Bornbrook, a noble whose demesne wound along the eastern coast. She was speaking of the accomplishments of her first son, Grant the Fourth. Renner had not bothered to force a recollection of his full name, although she was perfectly capable of doing so, she felt no need.

Query, why do you say “our name”? Isn’t it your husband’s? Didn’t you lose your name to him when you married? Isn’t that tantamount to losing part of your identity? Horrid.

“Will Lord Grant the Fourth come to the capital? I would very much like to see a performance of his at the Valencia Joust.”

No, I suppose our birth names are hereditary too. The family name passes down through men, and indeed a generational name is not chosen until the firstborn male crowns his way into the world. Even then, everything else about a person is decided before their birth. My name; honorable, regal, first, generational, last were all decided long in advance of my coming. No, we choose nothing of our identity. How utterly fatalistic.

“Unfortunately not, although he will attend the next such Equinox bout.”

Re-Estize was less religious than many of its neighbors, and this was a manifestation of that reality. One of the tired points thrown between diplomats between the Kingdom and the Theocracy, or for that matter the Roble Holy Kingdom was these lunar celebrations. The Six Scriptures considered such astrologic celebrations such as the passing of the Equinoxes as nature worship and ergo heretical, and the literalists of both nations frequently sent stern letters to Re-Estize on this basis. The nobility of Re-Estize was simply uninterested in such worship. The four Gods kept from the faith of the Six - for Alah Alaf and Surshana were declared to be wild fantasies of Slane - were blended with and muted by the culture of the country, and while many accepted the existence of them as fact, it was nearly irrelevant. Renner thought of that now, her mind clawing for any shred of stimulation.

The Empire is similarly apathetic, although the vast range of cultures under its rule necessitate such a lenient approach for effective rule. This has been a conscious choice of its statesmen for the last few generations, not like the simple dismissal of the church as we have done. It is odd to me that Slane has chosen to support Baharuth. It would figure they would be demanding their pound of flesh from the people who actively brew such apostate faith’s. Is Re-Estize truly the greater iconoclast?

Renner was starting to get terribly bored, her mind ebbing into even wilder tangents then she would typically indulge. In contrast, her performance was mithrilclad. She had considered attempting acting as a pastime but had relented without any materialization of such a thought. It would be difficult to not be convincing in her roles, and that may have led viewers to doubt her visage as Princess. Renner dropped the matter in her mind, and she let herself become distracted.

“Sister, pining for the next Lord Bornbrook?”

Ah I was wondering when you would work your way out of the pond scum.

Turning, Renner saw her brother Zanac. He was stouter than Renner, but despite that still exceeded her bodyweight by several stone. His form was corpulent by the standards of Re-Estize, and judging by the specs of foodstuff left on his beardless face, he was by every means a glutton. Renner giggled, deflecting a modicum of tension left in the wake of Zanac’s prod.

“Eh? No, I just get so excited at jousts. They’re thrilling to me! Every pass leaves me at the edge of my seat. What a sport it must be to contend in.”

“Ah but how unladylike? I see you’ve been spending time with Lady Aindra. Be careful sister, don’t let you fill her head with stories of adventure.”

“Her stories are thrilling too. She really ought to commit them to paper oneday.”

Zanac clicked his tongue, his sister refusing to engage in any of the bait he left dangling out for her. A typical occurrence, but he had so mocked her now in the hopes to draw out a reaction, banking on the social exhaustion of the ball. With two such jabs at her, he committed himself to extrication. Countess Bornbrook stood silently, interested and entertained by the sibling squabbles presented thus.

“You don’t jest? Well, I suppose that's one way to spend your time. Still, trying to convince those brutes to write anything seems fruitless.”

Relative to the rest of my family, you count as my favorite. You at least are capable of stringing together an insult, and I’m sure you have your own schemes.

“Ah, well hopefully they’ll do so one day. It would make the talk of the Kingdom.”

Renner unnerved Zanac. He was by her reckoning the most intelligent of her family, and the peaks of his cognition were in some ways penultimate only to her, and perhaps Reaven. He had been the only of her siblings to glimpse what she was. Renner only began to hide herself at age five, partly feeling satiated by Climb, but also in recognition of her role as a Third Princess. For the then eleven year old Zanac, he watched her sister metamorphosize over the course of two months. She gained many social skills in that time, and he had spied on her through doorholes, trying to grasp the flux in her being. In a formative moment for him, Zanac caught her practicing facial expression; it was a sheer and all encompassing horror. By the end of that period, her disguise was complete, and all those adults who surrounded her felt fine in their surety that her words of things nominally incomprehensible to a child were simply a phase, and they forgot her strangeness.

If only you knew what I have planned for you brother. I’m going to plant you on the throne. How wonderful it will be to have a competent king. Father thinks so little of you, just a pig that fattens itself. I don’t disagree that you’re a pig, left to devour all that surrounds you. But pigs are intelligent in their consumption, and you my brother are a prize swine.

“Yes, well, I bid you well.”

Perhaps you would wear your fear less obviously if you knew what I was doing in your favor. No, perhaps that would inspire you to greater terror. Ah, it's refreshing to see you squirm.

“You too brother.”

—

Renner’s feet were beginning to hurt. The ball had now been percessing for around two hours, enough to trigger the instinct of exhaustion in many. Renner had been blessed with that constitution in stature known only to women whose shoes were in themselves endurance tests, and thus dutifully continued to accept dances and greet barons, counts, and marquis. Although wont to such pains, she still desired relief. Out of the corner of her eye, she counted another coming to speak with her.

“Golden Princess Renner, a jubilant birthday to you.”

The man bowed. He was wiry, with a thick though manicured black head of hair. He was sharply dressed, although in garb foreign to the Kingdom.

“Ah, Ambassador Mercat. It is a pleasure to meet you here.”

Ah El-Nix, to think you would send Lucius Argarius to such a minor event. Surely you know the trouble this will stir?

Renner gave her typical warm delivery, although with more intentional tonality than before. This was the ambassador from Baharurth. Despite their frequent war, the Kingdom and Empire maintained shells of diplomatic corps in each other's capital. So frequent came the rolls of iron dice that the diplomats simply stopped exiting the country even when at war, viewing it more as an unnecessary inconvenience. Thus, a person like Lucius Argarius Mercat was tireless and enduring, and he now bowed to Renner.

“His Imperial Highness has thought it necessary to provide a gift for the Golden Princess. Thus I have come to present it.”

You’re sending your head ambassador for such a matter, not simply a counselor? Oh Jircniv what trouble you’ve had will to make. Lucius clearly doesn’t see this as important. Are you willing to earn the chagrin of your corp on such a matter like this? I suppose you have the luxury of such inettiquetes as this, the blood on your hands is effective at that purpose. Ah, and he seems so content to address me by my title. Let me return the favor.

“Emperor El-Nix has provided me with a gift? How splendid, please extend my thanks to him.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Their interaction had already drawn onlookers, and the noise of the ballroom fell several orders of magnitude as people watched Renner and Lucius diligently. Lucius was a hated man, as would any tool of Baharuth be in Re-Estize. Renner was careful, and intentionally let slip a cooler timbre. Lucius, impervious to their stares, snapped his fingers in a stereotypically imperial gesture, summoning an assistant who was actually bearing the gift.

This is delicate. Is this a test Jircniv?

The assistant, who was himself overly young for such a role, knelt and presented a package to Lucius, who gently unwrapped the bow, and opened the lid. Inside was a small handbook tied to a letter with a piece of gilded twine. He inspected the book for a moment, before turning to Renner.

Are you going to try to hand that to me directly? Daring.

The air drew down into a suffocating quiet. Whispered conversations tapered off as the events unfolding in front of their eyes smothered the room. One set of footsteps could be heard, and Head-Knight Jelka advanced towards Lucius and Renner.

Jelka, you’re a shrewd man. Thank you for this interjection. Still, why were you at my father's side and not Gazef? He must have taken a sudden absence. Trouble at the border? Concerning I haven't heard of this.

“If you would please hand that to me, Ambassador.”

“Yes, of course.”

Jelka received the entwined gifts, and began to interrogate their contents. Snapping the twine with the sharpened part of his gauntlet, he twirled the letter in his hands, breaking the seal, although not opening it to read its contents.

Checking for spellbombs inscribed in the wax, presumably on the book too. This whole performance is comical. Whatever those here may think of the Bloody Emperor, to think he would attempt to assassinate the princess of a rival country on her sixteenth birthday is fevered.

Jelka continued his investigation, opening the book and flipping through several pages. With no arcane conflagration or other ethereal danger spitting forth, he closed it. He lay the letter back on top of the book, and handed it to Renner. She nodded in thanks towards Jelka, turned, and curtsied likewise for Lucius.

“Thank you ambassador.”

“I know no greater pleasure than to hand the Golden Princess herself a gift.”

With that, air began to move in the room once more. People broke back into hushed conversation, which soon cascaded into false-faced socialization. Renner, although she did not show strain, felt a twip of relief and posthumous amusement at the afare. Renner walked to a nearby seat. Although normally seats were reserved in strict observance of the hierarchies of the social order, after a particularly enjoyable ball held this spring by Marquis Pespea which flitted the concept all together, it had become fashionable among highbloods who found it an overwhelmingly exciting subversion. Ramposa the Third, who over his thirty-nine years of reign learned the true uselessness of tradition had instituted a similar policy of “hot-seating” at this ball, giving Renner in this moment only a short walk on her aching feet. In a practiced act, she sat delicately in a masterful act of preformative femininity, and began to look at what she received.

What have you given me, Jircniv? In imperial script, that spells “Princepa Kiryptein”, no? A text on cryptography? Ah, a genuine gift. He’s actively attempting to court favor with me. To think we could have never met, nor been within a hundred leagues of each other, and yet he still divines my tastes. Not unimpressive.

Renner paused to consider this, prodding at her perception of him. Her attention turned to the letter. She half-expected it to be constructed entirely of blocks of encrypted text, and so was mildly amused when that turned out to be the case. Enclosed was a single page, front and back plastered with row after row of characters selected seemingly at random from the imperial alphabet. Her eyes snagged on the bottom of the rear page.

Those words are not penned in the same style as the rest of the page. He likely dictated everything else, and only wrote that last part of the note. Ah El-Nix your hand is scratch of a high-note. “Cur vincant te?”. “Why do they defeat me?” No, he means why do I let them defeat me.

Renner leaned back in her chair, parsing the Bloody Emperor’s words.

He means the initiatives I proposed. The ban on slavery suceeded, but that was an exception. Everything else has been caught in the quagmire of this country and drowned. I only had the political capital for such action as banning slavery, and slavery alone had enough popular support. What a strange question.

Renner reset the letter back in its position in the envelope, and resolved herself to warmer things. Looking towards the far wall, she caught the gaze of Climb, and beckoned him over with a gesture. He had been present the entire night, although simply serving a shift as a door guard at the edge of the room. It would have been a faux pas of significant magnitude for him to so much as enter the dance floor to stand sentinel next to her, so he had been relegated to a minor duty where his no-blood ought to have no offense on those around him. This had not stopped him from serving her, and he became the manager of the gifts she received. He was practiced at this, and had done so for her at all prior birthday’s they had spent together. A slow pile of false well-wishes had built itself to his dexter, and he now paced towards the princess with the intention of adding to it.

You’re so endearingly loyal. If only I could have you tonight in place of all these gifts.

Climb entered the appropriate range to engage in conversation, and bowed. Renner felt mirth brew in her heart, caught in anticipation of what was to come

“Your Highness.”

“Climb, thank you for managing this.”

“Without question, Your Highness.”

Renner handed Climb the book and the letter, who accepted them. He looked down at the cover of the book, and his face quickly twisted in confusion as he realized it was written in a separate language. Climb was literate, this through the patronage of Renner who had insisted on his acquiring of an education, although his literacy did not extend beyond the language of the Kingdom.

“It’s a book on cryptographic principles.”

“Ah… alright, Your H-Highness”

His eyes looked muddy, for some reason still trying to pull some meaning from the cover itself. Renner giggled, realizing her mistake too late.

“It's how to write secret messages.”

“O-oh! Thank you, Your Highness.”

Understanding glimmered in his eyes, and she saw him gently reciting the word, committing the definition to memory. As he started to turn away to return to his post, Renner readied herself.

Ah this will be fun, a moment to savor.

“Climb, don’t go quite yet.”

“Sorry, your highness. What do you require?”

“Well, I recently spoke with Lakyus, and I’m happy to say they’ve delivered your armor. It’s quite beautiful, a gleaming white.”

“Really? T-thank you! I deeply appreciate the gift, your highness. Thank you.”

Climb gave a sharp and sudden bow, both in vast gratitude and embarrassment.

“Yes. Lakyus said it was a -oh what was it? Crimson Mithril?”

“Violet Mithril?!”

“Yes that’s it.”

“That's an Orichalcum alloy!”

“Eh? Oh how wonderful.”

Climb had a broad and dumb smile on his face, Renner’s being a more practiced display of mirth, but after a moment transitioned into a pout. She timidly turned her head away from Climb.

“I’ll have to thank her. Still…”

“What do you mean, your highness?”

“...She didn’t have to refuse payment…”

“Ah. Say, your highness?”

“Yes?”

“Where is the plate now? Did you leave it with Quartermaster Luka?”

“Oh I brought it to your quarters with some help from his men.”

“Ah… I see.”

Climb sagged. The thought of any princess - much less one as practiced as Renner - entering the guardhouse was a comical one. It was inhabited by the guards and knights of the palace, and as they were almost entirely men, was a squalor. A woman of the court did not belong in a place like that. Every room therein was rank, doubly so for the bunks.

He feels a little ashamed, no? At having exposed me to such a smell. This is delectable.

“Apologies Climb, I did not mean the guardhouse. I’ve secured you private quarters.”

His face. Gods if only I could still that face in stone and stare at its countenance evermore.

“T-thank you Princess! - Your Highness!”

Climb, no longer feeling capable of standing, dropped into a kneel at this. Looking upward, he thought he caught a flash of wonderment in her eyes, but it passed too swiftly for him to get a sure grip of its existence.

If only I could keep you down there, on your hands and knees. If only I could chain you up and walk you around like a dog.

—

Renner had long since exhausted all such patterns her eyes could loop through on her ceiling, yet still she found her eyes drifting to and fro in the channels of shadow that webbed it. She closed them in partial disgust at her lack of self control. She, for all her trying, had never quite grasped control over autonomic movement, and she regretted this gulf in her bodily mastery.

It must be after midnight. A long day. So many conversations to parse through.

Renner sighed in frustration, she knew it would be a long time before her mind would calm to the point of unconsciousness. Renner had put a little headway into the book El-Nix had gifted, but she only had a thin grasp on the Tutulian language. At the outbreak of the first Baharuth-Re-Estize Annual war, her educational curriculum had been revised, completely excising the Tutulian language on political grounds. Renner had still attempted to learn the language, and whatever reading she could find written in the script became precious possessions of hers. Thus, she planned to use the book not only as a source of cryptography knowledge, but to learn the language too.

It's such slow going. The contextual shifting of some letters makes it a true agony to try and understand the tenses. He thought I already could read the language, or- ah, no he doesn’t. He expects me to learn and respond in kind, most likely for the next well wishes. It’s such an oddity that we maintain that tradition, even as nobles seethe at the mouth for the death of the Emperor. He overestimates how much power I have. “Cur vincant te?” Because I’m a princess, and princesses have nothing in Re-Estize.

Renner could not quiet her mind, and along the flotsam left in the wake of the day, it drifted to stranger shores. It ran aground on the memory of her interaction with Countess Bornbrook.

Heyla, why are you so wonton at the loss of your name? Why are you so content to let things like that be decided for you? Did you even have a say in your matrimony? Not plausibly. I suppose I have little choice too. How restrictive this life we lead is.

What of my name? Renner Theiere Chardelon Ryle Vaiself. I’ll never be coronated as Queen Theiere, nor be beheld by that name. It sits uselessly there, fodder in my title, second of five. Granted, I never much cared for it anyway. Chardelon is equally useless, never to be used outside of Barbro insulting me, although I like the sound. Ryle only serves to tie me closer to my siblings, equally unpleasant. Vaiself simply indicates the blood through my veins, it says nothing of who I am. The only of my names I’ve felt to emphatically embody is Renner. Quixotic.

She could not slow herself, running headlong into the valleys of her being. She was feeling resentment, undercurrents of rage cutting new gashes in her psyche.

Gods! What a damnable fate I must lead. What did you mean Jircniv? I’d compel you to tell me even if it meant throttling the anima from your being. Why am I Renner? Why am I who I am? Why did Lakyus not understand what I meant? How could she not see that our actions would cause paranoia within Eight Fingers, not without? Why can I see these things and no one else?! How can no one tell that I’m scheming my brother onto the throne? Isn’t it obvious? The meetings I’ve had with Lakyus should be known! Why do you fools dismiss them?!

Renner sat up in her bed, seeking to quench herself in the cold dark of the night. Her body beat with abandon, her mind’s screaming sending her blood pumping manically. She felt her veins pound, the drum in her chest audible in her ears. She listened to it, its thumps giving her visions of a nail being pounded; each bang a hammer strike driving it further into her flesh. It was agonizing, and she began to beg internally for it to stop. Her heart harked her, and in time, fell lower. It snatched her mind along with it, her anger slipping into a sadness. The warm black of the night ebbed into her body. Soon, the sadness faded too, and she was left emotionless. This was not an empty void, however, and at its core lay a consciousness which felt stripped bare of all the emotions and turbidites under which it had so cloaked itself. Renner began to ask herself questions, not in ire, but under a dispassionate eye.

Who am I? No, what am I?

—

Insects sung in the depths of the night, what light came from the moon casting the planes ahead in a heavenly glow. Prowling in the field was a single fox, although it was not doing so with the gait of an animal currently hunting. Foxes were not creatures that could give themselves names, for they had no understanding of language, but this Vixin was an individual nevertheless. It was too bright to hunt, rabbits would see her from miles off, so there was no point in attempting to quarry anything but injured prey.

Her back was starting to itch. Casting her gaze in a wide berth, she saw no others, and tasting the air with her snout, detected no smells she was not familiar with. Satisfied she was safe, she flipped onto her back and rubbed into the ground. This was a necessary relief, but also served to mark her hunting ground. This field was hers, and she sought to make it so. Scent was deeply important to creatures like foxes, and was used akin to signposts that humans made to stake their claims. Had she had a mind capable of comprehending the human dating system, she would have known this night as the Seventh of the Upper Fire month, near the nadir of its depth.

Rolling onto her belly, she remarked on the strange feeling. She had met an incredibly attractive male who smelled just so wonderful to her, and they had made love a fortnight ago. She chuffed at the memory. Unbeknownst to her, for foxes had not made the connection between conception and birth, new things were brewing inside her. Come another cycle of the moon and new life would spring into the world, a litter of pups would know her as mother, in the same way that she had known hers but a year before. It would be difficult to safeguard them through the summer and fall, and many of them would likely meet their ends within a few days of birth. This was the natural way of things, animals on the plains knew the surety of death. Her ear started to itch. Annoyed, for she had just quashed one on her back, she got into a sitting position and began to scratch at it.

[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 8]

At the third stroke of her left foot, the rear half of her body ceased to exist. Extreme pain gripped her, and she fell forward with no hind legs to support her body. In the precious few moments before she bled out, she looked back to see what predator had so killed her. In a confusing sight, she saw a wall that had simply superseded the existence of her body when it so materialized. She died, terrified and alone.

Her body, now lifeless flesh to be reclaimed by the earth, was still warm when the first eyes of the beings inside gazed upon this world. Cresting the wall was what outwardly appeared to be a man. He was mature, and held a dignified and terrifying aura. Dressed in an outfit similar to that of a butler’s, he bore an odd poise. He began to circle the wall, moving with inhuman speed. His gaze fell on the vixen. Had the denizens inside those walls possessed the capacity to care for the doings of such creatures as foxes, they would have considered her death an honor; the first life they claimed in this world.