Kaetlyn Vexilla

Clear blue skies spread out vastly over the Bellum Kingdom, welcoming all who wished to be disjointed. The Malum Portus seemed to glitter in the bright morning light, its extraordinarily high towers perilously piercing the sky, their silver steeples blinding anyone who dared to look too closely. There was no piece of land untended. No home unkempt. It seemed the perfect place for perfect harmony. Dark green, short grass combed the courtyards, the paths themselves cobbled and swept to absolute flawlessness. The benches that sat by the pathways were made of red wood and polished until they shimmered in their own glory and pride. The palace walls were white with dark purple and sparkling silver embellishments where needed. The gates were wrought iron encrusted with gems and rare stones.
The library was vast, book shelves and vaults surrounding its entirety. With five balconies, books were in excess and the walls that housed no books, laid place to fine jewels and ceremonial weapons: decorative swords, finely carved bows, delicately intricate daggers made of glass, et cetera, et cetera. Light could stream through the many windows that made up the entire ceiling while bright, white, flaming torches lit up whatever remaining darkness lingered. On the second balcony, tables and chairs of fine, carved, red wood were scattered sporadically for the easy access of its knowledgeable citizens.
At one such table sat a young woman and her mentor. The woman wore an elegant surcoat of silver silk that cinched tightly at her waist before continuing to pool on the floor around her slippered feet. The cote shown a dark, glittering blue to her sides, visibly showing up again as a short train. Her mentor, a young-looking man wearing a silver doublet embroidered with dark purple threads that intertwined seemly and flawlessly. A short sword hung from the back of his red wood chair, its white glimmering sheath shining brightly from the direct sunlight it received from the massive sky lights from above. Books littered the pairs table, both large and small, along with papers and quills of every sort. The woman seemed bored as she spoke monotonously to the mentor, her pale brow furrowing whenever she paused in thought. Finally, the woman ceased her speech making and crossed her dark, sparkling blue clad arms over her chest in finality.
“I see no point in arguing over this matter. It has already happened, has it not? You lived it! Father lived it! What does it matter if we continued our war with the Deformaere? They killed our last delegation, did they not? Why should we not fight them tooth and nail? Surely, you feel spite against them? They killed your kinsmen and fellow Guard!” The mentor nodded in slight irritation with his young charge, his sharp purple eyes glinting with pride.
“It is not a matter of arguing for or against war, Princess, but that you can make a well thought-out argument, no matter the subject, as dull or illogical the subject may be. We have gone over this. You cannot use circular logic or fallacies of any kind when you speak. You generalize far too often for your own good. The tir y nymffau will find anger in that, and if they do, you will lose the majority of your Council, do you not understand the threat that that would bring to your soon to be kingdom? The Deformaere are ruled by King Tyrion meticulously, and he knows how to keep his kingdom together and functioning, no matter how cruel.” Kaetlyn leaned back in her chair, rocking it on its two back legs.
“Why does everyone make such a big deal over the tir y nymffau? They had but a single delegate that kept contact with the heir apparent. They act as though it was us that killed Amer-whatever! Swyft will not even talk about it with me, because apparently Lord Waynewood told it would be unwise to do so! I just want to know what she thinks or what the Council seems to think! She practically lives there, you know. Apparently, one of King Waynewood’s allies offered to teach her how to properly use a short sword, and he agreed with the provision that she be allowed to speak in the Councils! Not even I am allowed to speak during their sessions!” Philippe gave a chuff, shaking his head disdainfully.
“She is older and much more experienced than you, Princess. Unlike you, she pays attention to her mentors and elders instead of sloppily trying to complete work assigned them days prior!” Kaetlyn rolled her silver eyes, wrinkling her nose at the comment on ‘work.’
“I see no point in any of it! Father will probably live for centuries more and by that point, I will have picked up many speeches and ways of ‘proficiently speaking to large crowds.’ The archery field is where I belong, not in this forsaken, pithy of a library! And, if the tir y nymffau are so majorly intertwined in the Council when they have their own systems in their own kingdom, why can we not simply expel them from the Malum Portus?” Philippe rubbed his brow irately.
“Do you never pay any form of attention during your history lessons? King Vexilla has expelled the tir y nymffau from the Portus before, when they finally seceded from the Bellum Kingdom. They returned only because your father requested it happen. The Councils failed without their detached, neutrally logical thinking. They keep your father’s taxes from sky rocketing into us into poverty! It might do you some good to stick closer to the Swyft’s side! Maybe you will be able to garner some knowledge from her, because you obviously have no will to learn from me!” Kaetlyn huffed and rocked her chair back to a rest on the floor.
“Fine. Fine, fine. I will listen to your ridiculously boring lessons, does that help your self-esteem rise even a little, itty bit? I hope not, because if you gain any more of an ego, your head will explode. It is way too bright, why does their have to be so much light in here? Why am I not allowed to leave the Malum Portus? Why do I have to wear these ridiculous gowns and petticoats and moronically shiny tiaras like some kind of precious jewel to be stashed away like everything else in this place! Why do we have ceremonial blades if they serve no purpose? Why did the war start? Why does King Tyrion not ally himself with the Njerezor Kingdom that lies to the far North? Why does King Tyrion not simply invade our own borders if he wishes the war to end so badly? Why do none of my questions ever get answered!” She gasped for breath after her tirade, a nonplussed Philippe staring at her in exasperation.
“Perhaps, none of your questions ever get answered because you are so loud and obnoxious. Vexillan ladies are supposed to be quiet and knowledgeable. How do you suppose you will surpass your mother’s ways if you continue to dawdle? If you would like a different mentor, I am sure Sir Slynt would be willing to take you under his dark wings?” The princess gave a horrified expression, disgust crossing her face at the very mention.
“No! Slynt is absolutely disturbed! I swear he could be one of Tyrion’s if he really wanted to! He refuses to tell me what he even is, is not that suspicious? What kind of person refuses to tell another of their lineage? He is a knight of my father’s, is he not? Obviously, he has excellent standing with Father. He acts like a snake, all that hissing of his and his beady, black eyes. It’s unnatural, I tell you! He just sneaks from shadow to shadow and you can never spot him unless he wishes for you to! He can best all of his fellow knights but refuses Captaincy! He does not rise in ranks, and he does not speak in Council. He does as he is told, though not always as exactly needed. He knows everything in the Portus and outside of the Portus, but never speaks to anyone about his findings! He keeps no hawks and carries no sword at his side.” Philippe chuckled.
“Sir Slynt is to be commended for garnering your interest, me thinks. He is excellent at his job. If the war becomes too much for the Malum Portus, he would make for an excellent spy. He probably comes from peasantry and does not wish to reveal himself to be not of nobility. Do not worry yourself about such matters, Princess.” Kaetlyn slumped in her chair, her under gown hiking up a bit underneath her main split, silver gown. She looked around the library. “Do you think you can begin your speech on arguing the war front again? This time with a few less distractions, maybe?” The young woman rolled her eyes in slight defiance before straightening herself out, flattening the dress that covered her lap. Slynt nodded, and she huffed slightly, taking an unnaturally dramatic breath.
“Nobles, peasants, and slaves: welcome. It has come to my attention that the war against the Deformaere has-”