Day after day, as dawns pass by, there was a God who held his heart above his soul, above his mind and life—he loved a mortal whose beauty was incomparable.
The mountain where the deities lived would stalk the God. He, out of good heart begged their blessing to marry the mortal, but they were unkind to him and turned the mortal into a flower which the God could never find, eons it took and there were no leads.
In the God's rage, he plunged the world into an awful disease—The Nightshade. A devastating curse that stirs inside the bodies of men. Wounds in shape of roses would appear on their skin, then flowers would sprout—draining their life, eye sockets become hollow in place with thorns, and a black blossom would bloom from their chests casting a mirror of what remains in the heart of the divine. Absent from light.
The heavens thought it nothing, but when it rotted their temples, and brought upon calamities, famine, and war they striked the God down, skinning him from his divine robes. Now he wanders around the mortal world in search for the flower...the mortal, who went by the name of Iris...
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
In a sunlit pavilion adorned with delicate lace curtains and vases brimming with wildflowers, Daphne adjusted her silk garments as her father, King Hygor, poured steaming tea into fine porcelain cups. The scent of rosemary and lavender wafted through the air, mingling with the faint melody of a kithara playing.
Daphne's reflection in the teacup rippled as she reached for it, her verdant eyes tinged with an inexplicable melancholy she could never place.
She had felt it all her life, a strange emptiness, like a fragment of her heart was missing, despite having all things a young princess could wish for—a loving family, a flourishing kingdom, the admiration of many.
"Daphne," her father's voice broke through her thoughts, soft yet firm. "You seem distracted today. Is something troubling you?"
"No, father," She replied smiling, though the expression seemed practiced—perfected by the teachers she called her friends, but didn't share the same sentiment. "I was merely lost in thought."
His father studied her, his sharp gaze lingering for a moment before nodding. "You've been doing that more often lately. Perhaps you should visit the temple; it always seems to lift your spirits."
Daphne chuckled lightly. "Perhaps I shall."
It never did, yet she goes only to please his father's anxious heart. Politics in Antherion was just as cutthroat as it is in the frays of the divine disease, and as king—the turmoil is there. He masks it so nicely that it warps into something his followers mistake as grit and conviction. But Daphne could see it—right through everything.
The garden bloomed in a riot of colors. Yet among the sea of lilies, Daphne's attention was often drawn to one particular patch—the hyacinths. For reasons she couldn't explain, they just fascinated her. Their beauty felt familiar, as if they lingered in her soul like wistful sorrows of ages passed.
"Daphne," his father called again, only this time he used the tone he'd normally use for council meetings. "Did you hear what I just said?"
She didn't. Her eyes were far too busy enjoying themselves, and her ears slept as they did so. She smiled first then she shook her head making her father sigh—though it wasn't the kind that the aristocracy despised to hear. It seemed more of a calculated reaction—as if he knew Daphne wasn't listening.
"The Archpriest has been sending me a plethora of missives."
Daphne sighed, placing down her drink before her lips could touch the gloss. Fixing her laurel crown, she looked up at his father, a brief flicker of annoyance in her gaze. "What does he want this time?"
The old goat, the priest, never liked Hygor. He was stern, criticizing every move the king made. Which was puzzling since he felt the opposite about Daphne. He liked her, and maybe he liked her too much. Her visits to the temple were his favorite days. She never talked to him, but he always tried—the kind of persistence only a man could make when they were thinking with their loins.
Hygor folded his hands neatly in his lap, eyes briefly tracing the garden's vibrant colors before returning to his daughter. "He is just concerned. The disease is already making its way near our kingdom's borders, and we have already issued a mandate for all citizens to be evacuated nearer to our capital."
Hygor pushed his hair back, frustrated. It was fear—Daphne could tell. When there were only three of you in the family, one would already memorize how they would elicit their mock scowl of ferocity or what it meant when they exercise their blistering stare.
Daphne found it irritating—irritaring was an understatement. This rule allowed privacy only when it was time for her bath. Daphne was relentless with protests, yet she understood—she had to live with it if she wanted to live passed her twenties.
"As you know, Daphne, our kingdom—"
"Is bound by prophecy," she interjected. It was a mantra she was told a few days after she left her mother's womb. "The one that is rebirthed is destined to rise as the savior, leading the way to salvation for all. I know, Father. You never let me forget."
"Right, I don't," the king chuckled storing his cup before he crossed his legs. "Two kingdoms have already come forward asking for help. Unfortunately, the Nightshade has already consumed most of their territory."
Daphne paused, her mind reeling. The Nightshade had always struck one kingdom at a time—its slow, unrelenting march never taking more than a single landmass at once. But now, it was consuming two kingdoms? The curse was brutal but orderly; its spread could be predicted, its pattern followed—Has something changed? Did...someone—
"How could that be?" Daphne beetled into a puzzled frown. "This shift of behavior is...concerning, should we be worried about the state of things at the next attack?" She continued.
King Hygor's expression softened, the worry lines on his brow deepening. "It is in our best interest to prepare. Whatever it is the divine calls forth, Antherion should match their will."
"But...this change might backpedal years of knowledge! Wie do not know what might happen after a few months—should there be another shift concerning the disease," Daphne voiced. Her father paused, gesturing for one of the servants to dispose of the priest's ghastly letter.
He let out a breath relieved by the absence of official documents from his sight—a simple thing to pluck the king out of him, and enjoy as if he were just any other man. It was something Daphne wished it would happen frequently. The same sentiment goes to her brother—that man never got along with time, he was far too agile for it.
"A mandate shall be issued to our scholars and theologists. While I take care of such matters, I suggest your devotion to the festivities for the coming months." Hygor managed a small smile. The weary kind that made Daphne pity him. In his hands lies the fate of two kingdoms on a cliff beneath ruination—a mantle only a man like him could take.
"May I know which countries are afflicted?" It was a natural question. Hygor have her the benefit of an earnest stare that subtly told her to leave it alone for now. "Faaaather?" She drawled, coaxing an answer out of him.
He shook his head, grinning like a man at ease, it felt like he was—after all, he reserved this hour to do just that, but it seems this tea seemed like a meeting draped in confectioners and bread.
"Morvalis and Lyrion," Hygor answered which made Daphne's eyes widen subtly, a slice of flatcake freezing a few inches away from her lips.
"I see," now she understood why the priest was uneasy. Antherion knew Morvalis more than it knew Lyrion yet ubiquitously it was acknowledged that the two were close allies. The only difficulty, perhaps, was Antherion's position—the territory lied at the center of the two-plagued masses.
"The border—"
"Let us move past such heavy discussions. It is languishing this fine afternoon." Hygor voiced, cutting dismissing Daphne's further attempts of diplomatic dialogue. Though it seemed more like a demand rather than a polite notion, so she silenced herself—waiting for her father to recompose himself.
"The season of lilies is fast approaching," Daphne groaned. The last thing she wanted was his father reminding him of such a chaff. As if she hadn't spent the last three weeks trying to scrub it from her mind with literature, music, and desperate, sleepless distractions.
"Aristocracies and nobilities would once again flock to the capital like a swarm—of course, that also meant more diplomatic waves," Hygor added, which made Daphne's eyes twitched, as she unceremoniously drank from her cup.
It was an exhausting venture, the kind that made one tempted into a hermit's life. It was Daphne's life—a princess's duty. To keep pleasantries amongst the same dignitaries who only sought, to their advantage, allegiances. Alas, there was merit to such part of culture.
"It is also a time where our God crowns the vessel for her divinity, the Lily of the heavens," She smiled, her eyes like a hearth while Hygor gently stared at her as if she were the only flame dancing in the witching hour. "This could also be an opportunity to put our people at ease..."
"And what of the representatives? Would they be joining the procession?" Daphne already knew the answer, but she had to ask—it had already been an hour ago. Hygor feigned innocence of the fact. His crown gave him less for family, and even lesser for himself, which is why, like his son, time was never his friend.
"They should be," He replied, drinking from his cup before he gave Daphne a flinty expression. "I expect you to clench unto your wits during their stay. Especially, when we'll greet them upon their arrival." Daphne stopped, her tea-cup freezing midway below her chin.
"I do not see why I should be there," Well she shouldn't even be there if it was some spokesperson or a flimsy noble from abroad, but no, they were—
"Of course not in the immediate reception," Hygor sighed tossing himself unto the seat as if he had just came home from hunting—as if his title didn't exist as king. "I meant during state banquet."
"The people coming are royalty. Unfortunately, customs dictate—" Hygor paused seeing Daphne's eyes agape. "It's natural for a dying country, Daphne. I fancy the choice—sending themselves in earnest rather than some peevish aristocrat."
The castle barely had any guests, anything, truly. The ballroom was just a sorry sight, some servants even find the odd thing petrifying as if they were looking at the cadaver, ancient ruins from a once splendid utopia. It should've served the gentry, aristocracy, those who dabbled in the arts or the upper echelons of their country, but no.
It wasn't on the king's accord. Her entire social circle consisted, if not, only populated by her brother and her father—have hours guzzled by the fear of the next Nightshade.
"It would be interesting to meet the kings. Perhaps I would be able to ask about their—." Hygor raised his hand, his brows creased into a steely expression.
"They have princes, Daphne."
"Princes? But I tho—"
"The kings, as the princes have stated in their letters, had to lead what's left of their territory," With one feet after the other, Hygor stood up. It was slow—he wanted to stay, he wanted more hours passing by without thinking of anything, but he couldn't—shouldn't.
"And I... Well, I should do the same." Hygor solemnly stared at his daughter. Daphne didn't look at him, her eyes pretended to be enamored by the hyacinths, her father followed it. It was a note her father knew even if he were remarkably absent from her life.
She was unhappy.
It wasn't solitude that made her that way. It was an imminent possibility—her brother a knight, her father a king—they carry with them swords and battalions wherever their feet might lead them. Death seemed to follow their light like a shadow that just looms over them behind every subtle disaster.
"I pray you return home swiftly,"
"...If the gods allow it, then I shall."