I
In the royal bedchamber, beneath a cloud of crimson drapes, lay Queen Cassiopeia of Theraklese. She yawned, listless, and languidly adjusted her position amongst the silken pillows. A commanding woman, she possessed a fierce and haunting beauty, the sharp planes of her face highlighted by the jeweled diadem which rested in the ebony waves of her hair. She wore a scarlet silk stola and a draped azure shawl, its surface embroidered in gold-tinted thread.
She reclined further, easing herself backward, and raised pale, kohl-rimmed eyes to the slaves that attended her. There were four, two on each side, their arms proffering platters of fruit and goblets of wine. She beckoned to the youngest, a girl named Ptolema, and plucked at the figs on her plate. In a number of hours, King Cepheus would return, his military duties complete. He would be weary and desirous of her company, his dark eyes intent on her face.
The Queen smiled, enamored of his passion. Cepheus was easily controlled, his need of her eclipsing all else. Like a siren, she had learned to bewitch him, her words shaping the very depths of his mind. It was a surprising weakness, for the hard, battle scarred lines of his form implied strength. It was a truth known only to her that beneath the power of his outward physicality lay a boneless man, duty driven but wavering in will.
Still, she loved him.
Her eyes glowed on the sudden recollection of their betrothal. It had been a hopeful time, not only for the kingdoms they'd united but for the legacy they'd meant to create. Their marriage in those years had been idyllic and filled with dreams. The Queen's eyes dimmed and she sighed, drinking deeply from her goblet. She was impatient for his arrival. In the light and laughter of the feasting hall, all sorrows were soon forgotten.
She closed her eyes, envisioning the moment. As he entered the palace courtyard she would be waiting, aglow in her red stola and framed by the marble pillars which graced the castle doors. Her beauty would enthrall him, as it always did, irrevocably tightening its hold on his heart.
She frowned, suddenly reminded of their daughter. She had deemed Andromeda's attendance to the feast a necessity, for it was imperative that the courtiers in attendance witness the girl's arrival. Still, the girl's presence remained an irritant. She was such a frail child, so pitifully feeble and uncertain.
The Queen smiled, reclining again. Only the best laid plans led to glory. There had been many difficulties in the journey, but those had simply served to convince her that even in darkness, legacies could be rebuilt and faltering hopes restored.
The Queen drained her goblet and glanced impatiently at Ptolema. "Bring me Andromeda," she demanded flatly.
The slave girl bowed and departed.