Come
Startica Next
Come Startica next, she would be married, and none of this would matter anymore.
Misaki pressed her cheek against the cold crystalline window of the Royal Palace as gently, flecks of falling snow brushed past her eyes, sweeping past the warm, living wood of the palace. Only the finest H'lari silk draped her body, the long form-fitting gown shamelessly caressing her curves, flowing as smoothly as water over her skin.
It was the only time in a noblewoman's life when she could wear something like this publicly, in that twilight period when she was no longer under her father's guardianship but not yet claimed by another man, before she had to fulfill her roles as a dutiful, modest wife. The intricate royal emblems and symbols of her lineage had been hand-embroidered on Durance, in a fanciful array of stars and flowers nearly indistinguishable from one another, melded onto the imperial blue. It had been especially commissioned by the court for her official engagement to the Emperor, and could have bought out a mid-sized colony.
Privately, she would have preferred the green and violet of her school uniform. Wearing galaxies was not to her taste. Neither was wearing colonies.
Around her lay a massed disarray of boxes and containers, another sign of her impending engagement - she had been moved into the palace. All her life she had known that she was privileged, for her family had lived in a palatial villa of their own, near the seaside where as a child she had swum carefree in its pure waters. But the stylized elegance, the lavishness and grandeur, the fleets of servants and the vastness of her suites intimidated her, just a little bit.
Really. Misaki's lower lip trembled. Just a little bit. Misaki wondered if she should have tried running away when she had the chance.
He didn't love her. He said so as much, fighting the Court of the Nobles with all the grandeur and might of one who was born into the imperial clan, one who was born the emperor true. Misaki had been there when he had made his proclamation before all the Court. The nobles had insisted that he take a wife of suitable lineage from a proper noble Juraian family - after all, had he not gone against their will and married not only a commoner, but a non-Juraian? Did not the Emperor's powers rest upon the will of his people and the sanctity of divine right as imposed by Tsunami? Did not the ancient scriptures foretell sorrow for those who strayed from the Law and the Way?
He had fought the Court to a stalemate. Yet in the end, the will of the nobles had prevailed, and Misaki was picked out from among a dozen other suitable girls, choice blossoms from the flower of Juraian nobility. But it wasn't fair. There were others that would have actually wanted this. Misaki was not one of them.
He already had a wife. Their love was famous throughout the civilized galaxy, celebrated in ten thousand songs and ten thousand paintings.
He already had an heir. Juraian succession laws forbade the Emperor's second wife from bearing sons.
He didn't need her. He didn't love her. He didn't want her. He had Funaho. She was all he had ever desired. He had said so himself.
She didn't love him either. She didn't know him. She had never met him before in person. All she knew of him was that he was the Emperor, a distant, unapproachable stranger, whose strong voice filled the chambers of the Court of the Nobles with a presence that commanded armies.
And come Startica next, they would be married.
Misaki let her eyes wander over the wintry landscape as tears blurred the white flurries of snow into indistinguishable blots. It was the height of the mid-winter festival, when lovers traditionally exchanged their vows amidst the snow-shrouded groves. She herself had dreamt of a day when she would clasp the hands of the unnamed, unknown love of her life, and promise him her heart in the falling snow. Now it looked like that could never be. A hot tear slid down her cheek.
A soft knock on the door startled Misaki out of her thoughts. Quickly, she brushed away the tears, and hastened to compose herself.
"Lady Misaki, her majesty the Queen is here to see you."
Misaki's pulse quickened. She had never met the Queen privately, not like this. Would she hate her? Would she be jealous that another was intruding on her territory? Misaki's hands fluttered nervously, and she clenched them to quell any stray movements.
For a few, heart-pounding seconds, nothing happened. Then she remembered that she had to reply. "Please invite her in."
The door opened, and Lady Funaho, the Queen of Jurai, entered the room; her long flowing robes gracefully swept around her like long grass in the summer wind. She had no attendants with her, but merely carried a simple woven basket in her hands, filled to the brim with iceflowers and other blossoms that only flourished in the heart of Jurai's winter.
I might finish this some day.