Morning found Kate awake and alert, sitting silently beside a crackling
fire with quill and parchment in hand. She was pretending to go through
her sums, lest a servant walk in to find her staring blankly at the wall
and assume she was doing something sinister. which would a correct
assumption.
'And he thinks he's so awesome and powerful,' she glared at the parchment and scribbled upon it, 'as though he were the Heir because of his all mighty strength and intelligence.' The truth was, Pyrte had been nothing more than the only surviving son of the family, leaving her father with the Crown. Kate's uncle had been slaughtered at the age of 25, having gone gallivanting off into the wild blue yonder on some self-decreed quest for power. That left Pyrte next in line. In her opinion, the coward didn't deserve to see the end of the week.
She brushed the quill-feather against her nose in thought. She had to rid herself of her father, but how? 'I could hire someone,' but that wouldn't work, for although Kate was the Heir, she wasn't given a cent of her own money. 'I could poison him,' and there, again she had no money, and poisoning required her to be within close range. Kate would rather not be in the same room as her father if she could avoid it.
This was frustrating. Very frustrating.
Kate glared at the parchment angrily and sneered in delight as the edges began to curl under her unfaltering stare. Smoke curled from the singed paper, and Kate got an idea. 'I'll burn the bastard.' Standing, she tossed her 'sums' into the fire and left the quill in her chair, leaving the room with a determined air.
Every person in her father's family had the ability to conjure fire with the simplest of thoughts, but Kate doubted that it had ever been used against someone before. And there was the pitfall. How could she be so sure that it would actually work? Who was to say that the attempt would even work? No one knew, and neither did Kate. So, what she had to do was be sneaky, sneaky and clever like the little black feline she kept as a pet.
By mid-day, the palace was stirring as servants made ready for Court. Every day her father held Court, something Kate seldom attended, and sat in his exalted chair amongst his exalted friends, drinking royal wine and eating royal food. It all made her sick. 'He puts on a play, and every one of us are his puppets, stringed and hinged, moving to his every whim. I'm sick of it.'
She clenched her hand into a fist and marched down the empty hallway that led to her father's stateroom. Shoving open the door with enough force to send it slamming into the wall, Kate stood and glared at the man near the window.
"Ah," he said, oblivious, "coming to Court today, are we?" Before Kate could reply, Pyrte traversed the room and gripped her arm, his jaw clenched in an act that Kate knew meant there would be serious repercussions if she didn't comply. "Not by choice," she retorted, and allowed herself to be shoved toward the banquet-hall.
'And he thinks he's so awesome and powerful,' she glared at the parchment and scribbled upon it, 'as though he were the Heir because of his all mighty strength and intelligence.' The truth was, Pyrte had been nothing more than the only surviving son of the family, leaving her father with the Crown. Kate's uncle had been slaughtered at the age of 25, having gone gallivanting off into the wild blue yonder on some self-decreed quest for power. That left Pyrte next in line. In her opinion, the coward didn't deserve to see the end of the week.
She brushed the quill-feather against her nose in thought. She had to rid herself of her father, but how? 'I could hire someone,' but that wouldn't work, for although Kate was the Heir, she wasn't given a cent of her own money. 'I could poison him,' and there, again she had no money, and poisoning required her to be within close range. Kate would rather not be in the same room as her father if she could avoid it.
This was frustrating. Very frustrating.
Kate glared at the parchment angrily and sneered in delight as the edges began to curl under her unfaltering stare. Smoke curled from the singed paper, and Kate got an idea. 'I'll burn the bastard.' Standing, she tossed her 'sums' into the fire and left the quill in her chair, leaving the room with a determined air.
Every person in her father's family had the ability to conjure fire with the simplest of thoughts, but Kate doubted that it had ever been used against someone before. And there was the pitfall. How could she be so sure that it would actually work? Who was to say that the attempt would even work? No one knew, and neither did Kate. So, what she had to do was be sneaky, sneaky and clever like the little black feline she kept as a pet.
By mid-day, the palace was stirring as servants made ready for Court. Every day her father held Court, something Kate seldom attended, and sat in his exalted chair amongst his exalted friends, drinking royal wine and eating royal food. It all made her sick. 'He puts on a play, and every one of us are his puppets, stringed and hinged, moving to his every whim. I'm sick of it.'
She clenched her hand into a fist and marched down the empty hallway that led to her father's stateroom. Shoving open the door with enough force to send it slamming into the wall, Kate stood and glared at the man near the window.
"Ah," he said, oblivious, "coming to Court today, are we?" Before Kate could reply, Pyrte traversed the room and gripped her arm, his jaw clenched in an act that Kate knew meant there would be serious repercussions if she didn't comply. "Not by choice," she retorted, and allowed herself to be shoved toward the banquet-hall.