The day starts off as usual, its routine monotonous.
Wake up.
Wash up.
Dress up.
Shove a small pre-made breakfast down her throat.
Follow Ildra to the audience hall to prepare for addresses of state.
Markesh is standing to one side of the throne, awaiting his aunt and the Empress. Cue the nervous side-glance the boy pays to the body in the glass displayed above and behind the dais. The apprehensive twist of his features as he mutters that he is almost certain the Corpse-eater has shifted, maybe grown a small bit in its tight enchanted confines.
It's the same, day after day, week after week. Time starts running together and at this point, in the middle of the day and in the middle of another dispute between farmers over their land, she is almost positive that she is replaying the same day over and over and over again, stuck in a loop that she is trying to convince herself won't cease repetition until she does something different. Something drastic enough in the carefully-laid schedule some deity or another has set in place to make her believe it isn't all just a recurring dream.
All of the subtle attempts to change something have failed, though succeeded in making it look like the otherwise-graceful and splendorous vision of the Isles' ruler is more insane than usual. All it really accomplishes is a stern admonishing cough from Ildra before once again, she falls into the monotony of presiding over all affairs in public and politic in her empire.
Right as defeat is beginning to take her at midday to change the flow of time, a lesser Oracle hears her futile pleas and takes pity. The last session drains her, leaving her to flop with all the floating grace of a beached whale to the cushioned marble throne on the dais. A moment to breathe before the next address, though this one will end differently.
Ildra has swept after the last party, Markesh has fallen asleep standing up; she's more than sure of that, with the glazed look in his eye and his head lolling slightly forward. Sad that her apprentice Regent can nap so perfectly and she would fall flat on her face. She envies the boy, really…
"Psst."
The noise catches her attention, faint chime as her head snaps around to locate it, ear tips flicking about to seek the source.
"Psst. Over here."
Abyssal gaze turns to zero in on a young man, hidden just inside the shadowed hooded doorway to the private apartments behind the audience hall. That wasn't there the last run of this day, and she immediately sees it as a way out of this, even if for a few hours.
She recognizes him; Ansel, the Admiral's son. He beckons with a hand to come join him. It takes little more than a second to make the decision to follow, one more to check on both her charges. Ildra is still not present, Markesh is doing anything but paying attention.
A shuffling jingle sounds as she rises from her seat and strides as though floating across the white stone floor to him. He is beaming, smile across his face pleasant and cordial. He disappears through the door, she is close behind. Already, he is aiming for the servant's entrance, going down the sloping hallways instead of up into the lofty private quarters above. She follows his brisk pace with expertly-handled swirl of heavy brocades ruffling out a cadence to move by, keeping in perfect sync with the excited young Sidhe captain. She knows that he will explain himself once they are out of the main palace complex, more by experience with Ildra than any hive-connection she may have to the boy leading her away.
Through the door onto the grounds, through lavish gardens and out the side gate to the slightly less-tamed outer walls. His is a contagious energy, looking over his shoulder from time to time to make sure she is in step with him. Finally, when they are both a sufficient way from the Imperial palace and all its woes and tribulations, he turns to face her.
"Father sent me to get you. One of the university's dance troupes is doing public demonstrations. He thought you could use a break, since no one has seen you outside the palace for a few weeks now."
She looks mildly concerned. "Has it really only been a few weeks?" she inquires, then adds as he nods his head, "And here I assumed it was the same day over and over."
He chuckles, nodding his head toward the stables. "If you think that, then it's a good thing I got you out. I don't think they'll miss you for a few hours."
He's off again, she's close behind, keeping her eyes and ears on the palace. Vigilance stays until a small mare is chosen for her and she and Ansel are riding on the bridge to the next Isle over. People in transit move out of their way, some openly wondering why their Empress in full court regalia is in their midst. She can hear the muttered confusions, but it doesn't phase her much. This is the respite she asked for. The daily schedules can wait.
It's not long before the music begins to waft in the air, above the ambient rambling of the crowded market square on the third largest island. It isn't hard to pinpoint where they are, horses turned to aim for it. Sure enough, in the middle of the square is a substantial-sized dance troupe with accompanying musicians. They swirl, they twist as one entity, displaying bejeweled gowns and robes between masculine and feminine. Beautiful and ethereal, unearthly in their finely-tuned movements, from the synchronized steps to the way they all sigh in emphasis to the story they tell through motion.
She dismounts behind Ansel, following him to the tall and striking Sidhe that is his father, Eyrol. The old Admiral is watching the rehearsal, though turns to look at the pair of newcomers, his face breaking into an amiable smirk. "I see you finally managed away from your duties, High Empress."
He keeps his volume low. Not everyone is aware their shimmering Imperial is among them, and the sudden knowledge of such can cause disarray.
She smiles back at him, with the same friendliness he has shown. "It took some doing, but I did find time to join the festivities." A sweep of her gaze falls across the crowd and the performers. "Which university was this? I did not have time to catch who it is."
A glance from father to son, the latter shrugs, before the answer is given. "I believe this is Southern Wind."
She gives a stern nod at that. "To be perfectly honest, I should have known from their style."
Eyrol chuckles at that. "Yeah, but I won't blame you for it; you've been cooped up in that palace for a fair while now."
She scoffs playfully at that, though the smirk plastered across angled face tells of her own amusement. She has missed the bantering, made to uphold the grace, patience, and elegance most befitting to a presiding Imperial. "Well, if it was not for a certain captain, I might still be deliberating over why there are no set territories for fisheries."
The joke is taken in stride with the elder Admiral and both he and his Empress look mock-sternly at the younger. Ansel looks only mildly perturbed at the double-turning on him by the other two, shrugging again and crossing his arms. The slow of the music to a close draws attention back to the entertainers, calls into the crowd for those who would wish to dance with them.
She takes a moment to reflect on how she feels at ease and at peace to know her people are so much alive and flowing that she barely registers when exactly the eyes have turned to her. The way the faces alight to see the unintentionally-reclusive Empress down and mingling with them once more.
The lead of the troupe is beaming most of all, a surreal light emitting from her as she reaches a hand forward. "Perhaps you can teach us something new, Imperial Grace." she chimes, a melody in that voice akin to that of the Empress' own.
She recognizes it, though the manipulation will not work on her. She is far too advanced in the vocal magicks to be swayed by it. However, she goes willingly forward to the sounds of cheering and light applause from the crowd. She has not noticed that Ansel stood behind her, pointing her out to the recruiters in retribution to the joke played earlier.
Standing with the troupe, the applause in the crowd dies down. Their recruiter moves to stand next to her, the rest of the troupe scattered at predetermined positions about on the upraised platform what acts as an outdoor stage. A quick glance is given the considerably taller Sidhe woman, a look of smug satisfaction on the recruiter's young face.
"Can you even move in that?" She indicates the ensemble. The layered heavy skirts and metal- and jewel-encrusted hems seem unwieldy to those who would not be used to it, and there is a flicker of laughter across the spectators below.
The look is returned, metal-gloved hands reaching down to grasp the hand-embroidered fabric at just above her knees and pull them up enough she has free range of movement. "Better than you can."
Mock scoffing insult and louder laughter greet the return poke. Part of the show; audience participation and appeal are always the showman's weapons.
Silence as she steps forward, the troupe moving with her. A step back, a step to one side to the next. Pause.
"…Is that all?" The hesitation sells it, alongside the incredulous look on her fellow partner's face.
Sly little smirk is offered from the Empress at that. She was never very nervous about performing in front of a crowd; that was earned and trained from a young age. A socially-anxious Imperial makes it difficult to build a successful empire, after all.
"No. That was me warming up."
More laughter, speckled with a small bit of applause. A few of the troupe have started laughing, too. It's almost rehearsed, the way it's played so far. Charisma is a wonderful and sometimes devastating tool. After a moment to let the crowd calm itself, she finally begins.
A click of weaving footwork, a swirl of the gown's skirts and veils. She may as well have been trained by the university themselves, utilizing all elements to her down to the chime of jewelry and shining hems. Those keep the time. Still, it is impressive to watch as she makes two rotations of the particular dance used by the court, making use of the sheer weight of her wardrobe to add a more pronounced flair. After the second rotation, the troupe finally joins in.
Step, step forward one way
Bend down and twirl
Step, step forward the second
Bend back and twirl
Sweep across the front edge of the stage, follow the arc
Twirl, moving back toward where you start
She is caught in the moment, with the singing metal adornments, the glitter of the clothing worn by her and the troupe. The energy is contagious, a few folk in the crowd breaking away to try and keep up; they get better with practice as it goes along.
There are a total of three cycles of the customary dance, the musicians having found the beat and beginning to add a hint of music behind. Magic practically crackles through the air, though eventually, she catches sight again of Eyrol standing on the side of the stage, vying desperately for her attention with a hurriedly beckoning hand.
Everything comes to a jingling halt, a small bow given to the appreciative crowd and to the dance troupe, who bow back with their own thanks. They go on to call on others in the audience while she runs to the old Admiral.
"Freedom or slavery?" he asks before she even has a chance to slow to a stop.
She gives him an odd expression as he helps her down. "Freedom, of course."
He keeps a firm grip on her hands as he begins to pull her away from the stage. "Good. Because I heard Ildra out and about. Obviously, she's looking for you."
They begin running as she replies and drops the high-speech; "Oh, don't let her drag me back just yet."
He lets her go to give her better freedom of movement as she follows him, old friends more than a commander and her soldier. All that is left of them is a blurred shade of shimmering white and faded dark blue and a shared laugh, like a pair of children knowing what they've done will get them in trouble.
A/N: Writing these as an attempt to keep my muses in full steam ahead. No rhyme or reason to scheduling, just writing these prompts as I will and want to develop some on both Fae and her empire. Worldbuilding makes the world go 'round, character-building much the same. I kinda miss writing in second-person, so I'm just gonna do that here.
Starting off with some of her relationship with her Admiral, Eyrol, and his immediate family.