Invidia

Eyfira I-Seosha twirls around for me to see. The moonlight breaks through the curtains of the palace, draping across her bare, round shoulders and the glowing pearl necklace that rests on her creamy collarbone. She wears a royal gown, dyed with a rare purple that calls to mind a dusk fading into the night. They match the shade of her eyes perfectly; eyes that glitter because she knows how beautiful she looks already. To her, it is not vanity. It is simply the truth. At her hips, the fabric takes flight, gracefully fluttering around her slender legs like ribbons of mist. A silvery-white, ornate pendant in the shape of a butterfly adorns her waist. The insignia of the Monarch. The Empress. Her mother. She confidently tosses her dark auburn hair, clipped with a sparkling diamond ornament I bought her at the local market. She looks back at me, the corners of her full lips curling up ever so slightly.

I smirk appreciatively at her and nod slowly in approval. Eyfira blows a kiss at me. I manage to wink, but then I snort loudly with laughter instead. She turns away and bursts into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. A bright pink flushes across her cheeks. She's flustered. Only I can fluster her like this.

"Raiju, quit teasing me," she whines.

"Well, my apologies for liking what I see, princess," I reply, raising a brow at her.

"It's fortunate that we've known each other since we were children," she scoffs, rolling her eyes, "else I would slap you full across the face." She plays coy, but the pink blush darkens to a rose red. She flops down on the ornate carpet on the floor of her bedchamber, lying on her stomach and kicking her legs up into the air. She tugs at my sleeve, beckoning towards the curtain again. I shake my head childishly, just to spite her. I can't help it. Her expressions are the best when she is annoyed. As I expected, she scowls petulantly at me. It makes my heart sing with joy.

"Come on, you said we would take turns!"

I slap her hand away and begrudgingly get onto my feet. I fling my arms out and spin lazily, akin to a doll on display at a toy shop. A tie hangs loosely from the collar of my dress shirt. A black vest is buttoned over it. Suit pants hug my hips. My weight leans to one side, courtesy of my clubbed left foot, which remains in a stocking. A strapped sandal clothes my right. My fingers stay on the tarnished, engraved lion's head on the handle of my uncle's cane. It helps me walk, but I value its style just as much as its functionality.

My family, the Medane family, prides itself on being fashionable. Fashionable, but not showy. Appreciative of the handiwork of the kingdom's finest seamstresses without excessively flaunting our wealth.

My wavy, dirty blonde hair brushes my upper back. Eyfira gasps in wonder and claps her hands appraisingly. Then, suddenly, she stops and her brow furrows a bit.

"What is it?" I ask, my face falling with hers. She doesn't respond for a while. Then the twinkle in her eye returns as an idea begins to form. She grabs a pin off her dresser, dashes over to me, and begins combing her fingers through my locks, expertly separating them into strands. My heart skips a beat at her touch. She hums cheerfully as she works. Her warm breath tickles the back of my neck. Then she winds the smooth braid, curling it into a chignon. She carefully tucks it into place and steps back. She jumps up and down on the tips of her toes in excitement. I make my way over to the mirror beside her bed and take it in.

"So...what do you think?" she asks shyly.

"I think, my friend," I chuckle, tilting my head from side to side to admire her handiwork, "that I will be even more stunning than you at the summit tonight."

"Perhaps you will finally make a move on Magistrate Osson," Eyfira suggests. For the hundredth time. I scoff at that.

"You jest."

"I do not," Eyfira retorts. "Both your families' businesses are wildly successful. He has great influence in court. And he's very, very handsome. I can already see you two, each with a cup of tea, exchanging sharp banter over a game of Jaelyra by candlelight - "

Jaelyra. Also known as imperial chess. The rules are the same as the version the lower classes play, except the king has the same moves as the queen and your opponent loses if you steal all their pawns. Some variations have multiple players.

Eyfira and I challenge each other all the time. She never wins. But she comes close. Closer than anyone else I've struck up a match with. Not that I've struck up a match with anyone else for a very long time. As far as I'm concerned, my board only has room for two. And the other spot will always be reserved for her.

"Magistrate Osson is a flighty turncoat whose disposition is as false as the gold on his skin." I force a smile. "But if you find him so favorable, why don't you marry him yourself?" Eyfira exasperatedly places her hands on her hips.

"Don't fret. One day, I'll set you up with a nobleman so fine and honorable that you simply won't be able to resist." As she speaks, my gaze drifts to her lips. Lingers on them. I break my stare before she can notice.

"I don't want a nobleman," I mutter.

Someone knocks at the door. Eyfira hurries over to open it.

"Princess Eyfira I-Seosha," The maid bows at her. Eyfira does not have to return it, but she does so anyway. The maid repeats the gesture to me. "Lady Medane." I curtsy.

The maid carries a shining Circlet with a jade stone on a cushion. She places it down on the dresser and reverently places the jewelry on the crown of Eyfira's head.

"You may rise," Eyfira commands. Her voice is not harsh, but it is composed. Graceful. Her posture is regal. Rigid. Too rigid. Not the joyful, joking girl I know.

"The Empress requests your presence," the maid says timidly, doing as told. "The negotiations with the king of Eilhun will begin shortly."

A shudder runs through my body. Eyfira stiffens as well. I doubt that there is any Seoshan citizen that does not feel cold rushing across their spine at the mention of him.

Khaides Ilrex. The conqueror. The Thronekiller. They say his skin can seep the power out of the most formidable ruler in the blink of an eye. The left side of his face is so hideously scarred that he can turn the fiercest warrior to stone with a look. His limbs are weapons; weapons that could slaughter a god as if they were merely a defenseless lamb. The highest of all demons stirs in his soul. To say that he is barbaric would be an understatement. There are rumors that he eats the flesh of the hundreds he beheads. Then he sacrifices the victim's children to idols. He has thousands of concubines in his harem to satiate his lust. There is a reason he is referred to as the Bane of Empires. Xinzhong, Seohung, Taeju, and Ilion crumbled before him.

Seosha and its subjects cannot fall next. We must not provoke him. We will do whatever is necessary to avoid his wrath. But under no circumstances, can we give him the Circlet. If we do, all our men are slain, all our women are defiled, and all our children are burnt on a pyre.

But Eyfira is not a fool. She is aware of this. She will not kneel to him. She will guard her mother and her kingdom with her life. She will guard me with her life.

"Tell the Empress I will be there immediately," she responds.

Eyfira's fingers are laced with mine as we march down the corridor together. Her knuckles have whitened. Her hand trembles. I squeeze gently. Eyfira shoots me a brief, grateful glance. The intricate chandeliers cast dappled light on the paintings lining the walls. I only recognize two.

The first is an oily white panther in the Empress' menagerie. When Eyfira and I were ten years old, we snuck out into the vast courtyard after dinner to see the animals. It was a jungle frozen in time. Monkeys, deer, peacocks, and even leopards. The panther was last. It jumped at the glass, startling me. I tumbled backward into Eyfira's arms. To this day, she is always there to catch me if I fall.

The second is a meadow dotted with soft, colorful flowers of pastel. Songbirds perch on the matte branches of the blossoming trees. When Eyfira and I were fourteen, we had a picnic there. We caught the spoiled daughter of a neighboring clan gossiping about how ugly my uncle's cane looked. She invited Eyfira to have a sandwich with her instead. Eyfira refused. Then I "accidentally" hit the brat in the shins with the said cane. To this day, nothing and no one can keep us apart.

I snap out of it when Eyfira lets go of my hand. She pushes apart the silken, beaded veil marking the entrance to the throne room. I follow her, but a robust longsword extends to block me.

"Halt," the Queensguard says. She's a stern woman with bronzed skin and short, curled locks. Her armor is black, with a wolf engraved into her chest plate. She nods towards the rest of the knights flanking her. "Search her." Their metal boots clank and scrape against the tiles as they surround me. It takes all of my willpower not to groan in disdain as they begin to pat me down and mess with my clothes.

"For the Monarch's sake, Tahn," Eyfira snaps as another knight takes out the pin in my chignon, dutifully inspecting it and ruining my hair. "Lady Medane has known me since we were nine. If she wanted to assassinate or poison me, she would've done it years ago."

"Or she's only waiting until she earns your trust," the Queensguard retorts.

"You're unbearable," Eyfira grumbles.

Tahn yanks the cane out of my grip. I glare at her as she twists off the lion's head and peers down the piece of wood, making sure that it's not hollow or hiding anything inside.

"You're clear," one of the knights tells me, handing my pin back. Eyfira snatches the cane and takes me by the elbow before Tahn can interrogate me any further. She fixes my braid again and tightens my tie.

"Sorry about that," she murmurs into my ear.

"Honestly, at this point, I've gotten used to it," I whisper. We both snicker. We quickly stifle it when we see the Queensguard glowering at us.

"Princess I-Seosha." The silhouette's words are deep and honeyed as he emerges into the throne room next. Strong and sweet. Sickeningly sweet. Eyfira's expression brightens at it. I pretend not to see it.

"Hytur Osson," she greets him. "It's a pleasure." He gently takes her hand and presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm glad to see you're in good health." His black hair is neatly parted in waves. His dark skin contrasts beautifully with his golden vitiligo. He is lean but wiry. His eyes flit to me. I grit my teeth and curtsy to him.

"Magistrate," I say curtly. I keep my hands tightly tucked behind my back so he can't grab them. He gets the message and doesn't pry. He's an intelligent man. A cunning man.

"Lady Medane." Hytur dips his head politely as he addresses me, but his eyes are ice cold. He knows he cannot seduce Eyfira into doing his bidding while I'm here. He despises me for it. The feeling is reciprocated.

We stand in front of the golden stairs leading up to the throne. An ink-drawn tapestry showing the geographic distribution of Seoshas' colonies hangs behind it. Two stone lions with lanterns in their mouth sit on each side of the armrests. The trumpets sound, signaling the Empress's arrival. Eyfira kneels on the bamboo mat. I do the same. The Queensguard and all her knights turn their backs to her. The Empress is a goddess. A benevolent one, but a goddess. To soil her divine aura by looking her in the eye would be disgraceful. Only her heir can see her face, and even then, they still need permission. The only glimpse I get of her is her slender shadow and the hem of her billowing, black and orange-red robe gliding across the ground.

"Rise, my daughter," she says. Eyfira obeys, tilting her chin up. She beams and I know the Empress is beaming, too. She has a contagious smile.

"Is the king of cannibals here, Mother?" she asks dryly. The Empress smacks Eyfira's wrist with her scepter, chiding her.

"You would do well to hold your tongue."

"Is the king of Eilhun here, Mother?"

The Empress's tone grows grave.

"Go to the balcony and see for yourself."

Eyfira's eyes darken. She leaps up, bolting towards the opening. I am right on her heels. The air in the throne room seems to weigh on my shoulders. My cane taps rhythmically on the floor as I race to Eyfira's side. Then something breaks through the heavy silence. Goosebumps prickle on my skin. The blood drains from Eyfira's face.

It is the sound of thousands of banners waving in the wind. Red banners with a striped, fanged beast painted on them. The shadow of five massive fleets looms over the palace. Ten battalions of masked warriors and a behemoth of a mothership hover over each one. And that's not even counting Xinzhong, Seohung, Taeju, and Ilion. This is just Eilhun's armada. Seosha and all its colonies combined only have two fleets, five battalions, and one mothership at most.

One man walks before them. Khaides Ilrex himself. He raises his flag to Eyfira and me on the balcony.

"Queensguard, let them in," the Empress says grimly.

"Move out!" Tahn hollers at the knights, still averting her gaze. Her knights file into rows behind her and she leads them out of the throne room.

"Magistrate Osson," the Empress continues. "Go with them and inform the king that he enters alone and unarmed."

"Of course, your Majesty." Hytur places a reassuring hand on Eyfira's shoulder. She relaxes. It sends fire surging through my veins. The Magistrate shoots a triumphant glance my way. I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He bows graciously and makes a quick exit.

A few tense minutes pass. Then the floor rumbles beneath my feet. Loud cranking echoes through the corridors as the drawbridge lowers. There is eerie quiet again. The knights' footsteps sound like thunder as they and Hytur escort the king down the hallway. The Queensguard enters first. Then the knights. Then the Magistrate. The king of Eilhun is right behind the veil.

Eyfira exhales shakily. My heart pounds as I offer her my elbow. She accepts. Her breathing deepens and steadies. Every step brings her nearer and nearer to the monster behind the curtain. I talk to her softly, hoping I can give her a sliver of comfort.

"You are Princess Eyfira I-Seosha. Heir to the Monarch. Daughter of the Empress. The Circlet is yours and yours alone." Then I gently let her go. Her radiant eyes meet mine. She smiles earnestly.

"Don't fret, Raiju." Her thumb ghosts my cheek as she tucks a stray strand of dirty blonde hair behind my ear. "I will guard you."

The veil parts.

The Thronekiller strides in. He's younger than I thought he'd be. He can't be more than two years older than me, but he's a full two heads taller. His stature is strapping. Battle attire covers most of his body, but I can tell his torso and abdomen are taut with muscle. A traditional Eilhunite half-mask conceals the left side of his tanned face. His short hair is a mix of dark brown and black. Foreign markings run down the inside of his defined arms. He has five rings on his fingers. One for each domain he has laid waste to. Kohl lines his angular, slanted eyes. His irises are scarlet red, blazing with something primordial and inhuman. For a split second, I think I see four pupils instead of two.

He glances at me. A glance. That is all it takes. Pure, primal instinct boils in the pit of my stomach. A survival instinct. I am prey. He is an apex predator. I am mortal. He is a god in flesh. My knees buckle on their own. I have no control over my own will. I bow. I bow to survive.

The scarlet irises shift to Hytur. The Magistrate's legs wobble. He caves as well.

The pupils hone in on the knights. They kneel reflexively.

The Queensguard is next. There is no blood spilled, but it is torturous to witness. Her stormy grey eyes burn - no, they sear with the urge to fight, to stop herself from dishonoring her Empress. She can only stand for so long. Her hands are strained as she involuntarily sheathes her sword. Then the leader of the wolves gives in. She is not the alpha here.

Khaides Ilrex prowls toward Eyfira last. His irises flash expectantly as he looks her up and down. A python sizing up his target to see if he can swallow her whole. Eyfira stares back evenly at him. He stalks closer until their foreheads are nearly touching. He towers over her. She doesn't budge.

"Bow," he says. Eyfira can't. If she does, she submits to him. She admits that this kingdom is not hers. That the Circlet is not hers. But I know she's frightened. No sane man wouldn't be. The conqueror is unarmed, but the subdued brutality with which he moves and the authority with which speaks is enough to convince me he could still kill us all with ease.

Eyfira does not cave. She does not kneel. She does not give in.

"You bow."

My eyes widen in horror. Hytur pales. Tahn's breath hitches.

The Thronekiller laughs, low and hoarse. Then it is cut off as abruptly as it began. He tilts his head to the side, the edge of his mask grazing Eyfira's lips. He grins at her. One of his teeth is sharpened.

"Why should I?"

"Because you are in the presence of Princess Eyfira I-Seosha. Heir to the Monarch. Daughter of the Empress," she seethes. "This is my land. This is my palace. This is my throne you stand before. So bow."

"And what if it isn't your throne for much longer?" Khaides shoots back.

"Enough of this drivel, king of Eilhun," the Empress interrupts. "Take a seat and we will commence the summit."

"I do not need a chair," Khaides Ilrex says dismissively.

"It wasn't a proposition." The Empress slams the end of her scepter down on the ground. I flinch. "You will take a seat or else we will not commence the summit."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Khaides sneers. "It's a nuisance, maybe, coming all this way for nothing. But you've seen my armada. I could conquer this kingdom in half a day. You need this truce more than I do."

"You arrogant bastard -" the Empress spits.

"Arrogance is pride without the prowess to back it up," Khaides laughs harshly. "I have an ego, yes, but I have five countries under my belt. Countries that all flourish under my reign."

"Under your tyranny," the Empress counters.

"Do not lecture me on tyranny, Empress. You call my people barbaric for our sacrifice, our idol worship, our prostitution, our homosexuality, and our polyamory. You teach your youth that our beliefs are evil. That we are child murderers and cannibals and rapists. All the while, you neglect your own realm," the Thronekiller hisses. "Those at the top of your hierarchy prosper in estates, indulging in spices, fabrics, and precious stones, all at the expense of those below them. Beneath all your lush forests, rollicking rivers, and shimmering, crystalline pools, the very colonies you owe your decadence to rot in poverty, crime, bloodsport, illegal sex trade, and disease."

"The fact that this disparity exists does not mean I'm not putting the effort in to remedy it," the Empress argues.

"Liar," Khaides bites out. "You've sat on your throne for thousands of years and there has been no change. You accuse me of being a tyrant, but my empire suffers from none of what I've listed. I did more for my own subjects in four years than you have done in more than a century." His malicious, canine grin widens. "Now, your holiness, this arrogant bastard will leave you, so you may look from your pretty balcony as I put Seosha out of its misery."

Hytur, the Queensguard, the knights, and I gape helplessly as he turns his back on the throne and ambles towards the exit.

"King Ilrex, wait!" Eyfira cries. Her gown flutters as she races after him. She collapses in front of the veil, holding him back. She throws her arms around his waist. "I'm begging you."

"I'm out of patience," he answers bluntly.

"I'm sorry we insulted you. I'm sorry if you refuse to negotiate with my mother because of what she's said, but I will not do the same." Her voice breaks with desperation. "I'm bowing. I'm bowing. I'm begging you."

Khaides looks down at her. His scarlet irises gleam with interest. He is fixated on the Circlet around the crown of her head.

"Negotiate with me," she rasps.

"Name your terms," Khaides says reluctantly.

"You have nothing to gain from massacre, so you will spare my subjects. We will establish a trade route to Eilhun and provide you with any commodities that your colonies cannot."

"Such as what?"

"Porcelain for cutlery and plates. Knives for you to sharpen your teeth. Ink for your markings. Marble for your idols and altars."

"Go on."

"You will not sacrifice Seoshan citizens. We will not interfere with your rituals. With your financial aid, I will rid Seosha of all its filth." Eyfira pauses. "If you're willing to make a small donation, of course."

"Of course I can make a small donation," Khaides says scornfully. "Not every realm is as poor as yours." His pupils glint. "I only ask for one thing in return."

"Name it," Eyfira says.

"Your Circlet."

"You won't have my Circlet," Eyfira rebuts. The Thronekiller's eyes flare with rage.

"Then our negotiations are over -"

"I will give you the next best thing." Eyfira's eyes glisten as they land on me. She doesn't need to say it out loud. We've known each other since we were children. She knows I'll catch on.

Who will catch me when I fall?

My vision blurs. I shake my head furiously. She can't. She can't. But if she doesn't, then I am dead. And she promised she would guard me. I already know what she is going to do.

Who will braid my hair?

Most things and most people can't keep us apart. Except this.

I don't want a nobleman.

"Eyfira," I mouth, choking back a sob. "Eyfira, you can't." As if that will make a difference. As if that will rescue her from this fate.

I want you.

She cares about Seosha too much. She cares about me too much. She looks over her shoulder at me. A tear trickles down her cheek. Then she turns her eyes upward at the conqueror.

"You can have me."

Eyfira is not a fool. She is aware of what she has accomplished. She has not just arranged a marriage between herself and a cruel, murderous devil of a king. She has signed her death warrant.

And I let her.