Nychta - The Bloodrose Kingdom

Chapter 12 - Machiavellian of the Raven

After a while of comforting and talking, she finally made me settle in the wooden chair at the front of the mirror. Sunlight was now making its way to the center of the skies, a crowned glory we have yet to study and learn about now. It was a thing of beauty, and it nurtured the lands and the grounds which have been previously only filled with plants that barely needed it. Now, a variety of flowers and vegetation grew.

I looked at it as Rosemary braided my hair with such efficiency and skill.

I looked at the mirror, seeing the wide span of green trees and red and brown roofs, looked beyond it and to the horizon. I saw the Bloodrose, the mighty queendom of Bloodrose, in a flurry of activities to give way to the Grand Parade for the introduction of the people.

I wasn’t a nychta of power and respect. I was part of the scums, the filths of the society. And so I looked at it now above, looked at it like I was never one that leeched off of it back then. And then I realized something.

As the glorious rays of the sun hit, as the flowers bloomed and as the formerly bleak and gloomy backdrop of the town became brighter and given more life, I realized something.

The future of the Bloodrose was to be carried on me, as I claimed it. I now ran to be a queen, a monarch that will lead this queendom back to its glory. And I finally had a vision, a purpose.

I went here as someone willing to just get through the night, willing to get through anything as long as I still lived. But Rosemary nurtured me into someone wiser. Nurtured me to be someone with class, with knowledge, with dignity. I was shaped and honed to be a diamond from the formerly rusty and aimless dagger I once was. I was trained to be a soldier, a scholar, and a queen.

And I planned to do the same for the lands. It was true, that I was merely sixteen, but none of the queens started out old too. They started fresh and wide eyed, and gradually became experienced. Not all of them became wise though, and I promised to not follow their legacy. I was to be different, one that actually gave voice to the poor, one that did not follow whatever wicked intentions the former queens had, as to divide the queendom into one that had different sentiments. Those that she favored flourished and those that she did not… they stagnated.

Bloodrose was the capital of the queendom, one where the queen herself resided in, along with the Illuminae. Silverfang was the sleeping town, the town where the old workers and starting merchants thrived in, where I was given birth to and abandoned. Catquoise was the lands of the biggest merchants, where the industry flowed, given its proximity to the seas. Fawnvuille was where the snow rested, where people of great sorcery and battle came from. They were the soldiers of the land. Aquamearn was the lands of culture, the lands where our ancestors thrived in after separating itself from Gaia, which made it rich in colors and variety.

If Bloodrose was the beating heart of the queendom, then Aquamearn was its soul. Salquine, in the middle, was the queendom’s dessert, where ancient libraries and scrolls were present, where the knowledge of the earlier nychtas was stored. Formerly the center of the queendom, it had turned into a ghost town, with only tribes and small packs of people thriving in its harsh conditions. And finally, Cel, the gateway to the world’s forces. The land of magic and sorcery, the lands where one might enter a youngling and come out a philosopher.

These lands was what the queendom had to offer, and yet, they had varied and branched off to many differing ideals, often starting wars and rage in its wake. But I, as a queen, planned to unit these. I planned to find a common goal, a common ground where the queendom was united. I planned to make it a better place, for everyone.

I finally looked at the mirror. There, my face, in dark but exquisite and balanced powders. My eyes were given attention to, shade framing it to look deadly. My features were contoured, jawline given particular attention.

My hair was held up in a tight and beautifully held bun, adorned with ravens fashioned out of a dark steel. I was the queen of the ravens. I was the queen of darkness. I did not look anything like the thief I used to be before. I was now a woman of power and influence, a feeling of command radiating off of me. My heart was prepared though, as it accepted every part of it. Accepted the new part of my name, accepted the fact that I was to be trialed to be a queen.

Rosemary was now looking at me with a smile on her mouth, her fingers carefully tying the knots at the back again. She was pulling it force, making sure that every part of the well-designed gown clung tightly and perfectly into my frame. The pain of it was worth it, for I had long accepted that everything beautiful came with a price. A beautiful gown, a beautiful house, a beautiful power, a beautiful crown.

As she ties the last one, she looks at me in front of the mirror, its frame designed of wood with carvings of flowers and leaves. She looks me right in the eyes.

“You are to become a queen. A queen has pawns, has influence, and if you can garner it from the contestants themselves, then the public will bow to you and no one else,”

I took note of that, with a knowing nod.

“A queen doesn’t bow down to anyone, anyone except those that needs the illusion of it,”

I nodded again.

“A queen doesn’t show the full extent of her powers to a mere ant. A queen chooses and knows her battles,” she emphasis this especially, giving me a hard squeeze on my shoulder.

I nodded again.

“And finally, a queen, deserves her place with uncontested respect from everyone. A queen doesn’t force her beliefs, but rather, makes everyone agree to it. Her ideals are one of sophistication and unquestionability. Your words are commands. Crown first, friends second,” she says.

I bit my lip at that. I still wanted to have friends, after all. But it seems that the crown is a much heavier thing that anything else. I nodded slowly, my minds barely being able to comprehend it and yet, I understood every part of it. The understanding was easy, but the accepting and applying, that was hard. The hardest part of all, it seems.

She finally made me stand. The gown was heavy, I had to admit, but it gave me an otherworldly sense of command. It gave me an edge I didn’t know existed within me. And so I flaunted it instead, for everyone to look at me later. First impressions matter, and I did not dare humiliate myself at the first possible opportunity for it.

We walked through the winding stairs one last time, this time with her and I dressed in black and ready to rule the queendom. The beam of light that struck the middle of the glass window on top of the library gave it life from within. It gave warmth inside the library, a long forgotten feeling inside a cold but knowledgeable sleeping giant. It was a home of mine now, a place that I had a hard time letting go of. I tried to remember every part of it, its tall and beautiful architecture, the wooden designs, the books I had barely read. I promised to return to it one day.

And finally we stood before the large wooden door of the library. The only entrance and exit. It was also wood designed with flowers and leaves, a motif that Rosemary personally favored. It was the gateway outside, the gateway to the impending danger and trials ahead of me. Rosemary looked at me one last time and squeezed my forearm, giving me some confidence.

I walked slowly, my heels echoing inside the library. Rosemary followed.

It was in those moments when I finally had life thrumming deep within me. It wasn’t only fear and despair now. It was also optimism, and life, and knowledge. Of wit and wisdom that wasn’t in me before.

I took the final steps, my hands finally bracing on the wooden door. It wasn’t anything unique, just wood and age, but it felt like a power was thrumming of my hands as I finally opened it.

In that sudden motion, a blinding light of the warm sun made its way to me, making me close my eyes until it finally adjusted. In front of me, lined on both sides, were guards that wore the Bloodrose armors. They were dressed to the heels in that red and black attire, their postures stiff as they held stood there, waiting for me this entire time. They were to escort me as I would ride an open carriage through the town which had the same name as the queendom itself. I was to be followed as if I was a hold to be worshipped, dragged by black horses, courtesy of Rosemary. I felt their gazes on me.

Finally, one of them announced in a booming voice, “Machiavellian of the Raven!”

And so the raven dressed up in her death gown

And left her nest of wood and flowers

And carried off into the day