*Jane Crakewood*
She sat on a bench several feet from the horse stables, though the smell was still as potent. What her brother had just told her had been true, her future husband Dustin Ball was dead, a cruel way to die indeed, she pondered if in all of my Kingdom I can't find a suitor I'll have to go somewhere else, maybe to the Whitehall's, the young King could be an option or King Reuben Oucstafèr's son Prince Varyon he is a bit older, King Lorcan Riage VIII 'The Redeemer' he was supposed to be the heir to Lorcan Riage I 'The Golden Phoenix' 'The Inevitable' 'The Fallen Prophet' but an heir to a being that was so close to Gods thats what made a shiver run down Jane's spine. Sir Bran Boru but most referred to him as a physco only wishing to incur his wrath upon his foe and friend alike as he allegedly once gauged his brother's eyes out, "what kind of person would do that?".
Jane was the Queen even though many deemed her not fit, "a woman, is not fit to wear a crown and rule" that's what the old mage Yanthor Yulasys had said whilst he spat at her feet. Jane was angry, Yanthor was a mentor, a close friend, maybe even more of a father than her actual father was at times, but it was her to delve the blow with the swing of an axe she had severed his head.
People didn't question her rule from that day forth if she was willing to kill a man without as much of a second thought, that had trained her, her whole life, she was truly heartless. So she had led them to believe and maybe had led herself to believe the same.
She was a warrior not some maiden waiting to be saved, no she was a survivor, she spent years traveling the barren wastes of snow in her youth with Yanthor and other men, some were knights and others sell swords, even some were farmers.
The first time she ever saw a dead body was on those trips, it was an old man he probably got lost from a company, he lied on his side his knees were tucked into his stomach and arms wrapped tightly around them, he was frozen solid they didn't know how long he had been dead but his eyes that was what she remembered the icy gaze of death, it struck a cord in her heart one that was cruel and black, it made her unbotherd by death, Yanthor said "If the heart turns stone in you, may your God strike you down a hundred times". Jane never understood when the old man spoke in riddles it was as if he spoke a different language, well he was from a different continent after all she smiled. "I wish he didn't stand against me".
A young maid with fair blonde hair came running around the stables, "My Queen" she went to one knee, "I've been looking for you all over, we need to clean you up before the ambassador from Yanthus comes to see you".
Guera was it no maybe it was Ceera, no it definitely was Geura. She looked at the maid her cheeks were rosy red and her skin delicate, well she thought, doesn't she look a hundred times more a queen than I do, Jane's hands were calloused from all the training with a sword and shield she did, her hair was knotted and dark brown from dirt, her skin was rough, but at the same time everyone commented on how beautiful she was. Were people just trying to please her, feed her ego, maybe in attempts to get her to talk to boys and men that weren't knights or trainees, but at the same time she wondered how did she look in a dress, one of them tight corset ones with the pattern inscribed, or an elegant gown that she could twirl in, she didn't know but she wanted to, it had been forever since there was a ball not in two years since her father's passing. "Very well, Geura lead the way".
Jane looked out the window as the snow began to fall, her reflection looked back at her, her hair had been untangled and cleaned, her body was washed and freed from the dirt. She looked at Geura, who was entering her room with a dress. Geura placed the dress onto her bed. "Do you need help to-" Guera asked politely "No" Jane snapped, "I mean, I'll do it myself" she blushed slightly. Geura left leaving Jane alone with the dress. It was a pale blue, with a stitch corset to amplify her cleveage, they must think I need to show the Yanthus ambassador that I'm not a boy, she sighed before shrugging the dress on over her tunic. It was a tight fit even if it was tailored that way to suit. Her shoulders were bare but instead she wore the fur of a wolf over the skin. The dress reached to her ankles she twirled it once, it wasn't as exciting as she had remembered, maybe Yanthor was right her heart had gone to stone or was it that she was growing into a woman, no a warrior and wasn't used to soft garments. Jane moved to the window peering over her castle and her servants throughout the grounds as the snow fell heavier. But there was no servants out, it was far too cold and the heavy snow would make it difficult to travel so instead Jane simply turned around and headed towards the fire. It burned bright and warm on the cold day. She winced slightly at the sensation of the flames against her freezing palms. "Hopefully my future will be warm and bright like the fire".
She cocked her head to the sound of the door, it was old and creaking. Grey appeared hobbling in, he looked weak and fragile, he was short for eleven and far too lean. Some mocked him in the courtyard for being too weak to be the heir. But whenever Jane heard them, they'd quiver in fear. "Jane the guests have arrived" he said in his weak timid voice. Jane smiled, she only ever smiled for Grey because others would call her soft or attempt to take her throne if they believed she was weak. "Okay Grey, lead the way".