Yearn

Destiny. Birthright. Gilded chains encircling a solitary heart, laying claim to a barren future as they smother the dying shreds of desire.

The aged, pale blue crystal walls of the throne room shimmer in the torchlight. Ornate vestiges of a proud lineage, they have borne witness to countless kings. Lives lived in the service of an empire…an unconsented burden, but one shouldered with noble dignity by my family since time immemorial.

I came of age only days ago, but already, I feel compelled toward this sacrificial altar. My life, to be offered to Balthia, Kingdom of the Magi. The impending abdication by my father has hastened my training. His teachings ring clear in my mind: to bear the weight of a nation, I must forego my sense of self. Personal needs and aspirations cloud a ruler’s judgment and must be set aside.

“Cecil, aren’t you pleased to welcome our guests?” My father’s deep voice growls from atop his throne, the vibrations ricocheting throughout my body as I stand at his side.

She is fair enough—no different than the rest. I am sure some would find her sheepish smile and soft features endearing, but to me, she is just another in a long parade of female admirers seeking attention I have never felt an inclination to give. Still, she is no average maiden. Brilliantly bejeweled silk robes and flawlessly manicured locks of rippling golden hair divulge her elite upbringing. She is the princess of Elrus, and after centuries of conflict between our nations, she is here in the name of a long-awaited alliance. We are to be wed.

“It is an honor to meet you. My name is Liira.” She curtsies gracefully, a crescent smile never leaving her lips.

“And I am Tristan Ezrael, her older brother and heir to the Elran throne.” The young man at her side speaks, the power in his voice startling me.

He appears only a few years older than his sister, but his presence commands an entirely different aura. Tall and dominant, he looks the part of an Elran prince. The nation is known for a strong tradition of warfare and honor, and the polished silver armor and crimson silk sash adorning his athletic frame seem more than appropriate. Set beneath a nest of short, messy chestnut-brown hair and bushy eyebrows, his intense, amber eyes meet my own as he gives a slight bow. I can’t help but notice how sharp his facial features are. He too must have no shortage of female admirers. Charming and refined, decidedly masculine, but well-groomed. He clearly cares about his appearance but maintains an air of nonchalance as though it is effortless for him.