The Six of Cups

Clara's lungs burned for open air, the perfume and heat of the ballroom smothering as a silk shroud. She slipped through a side door onto the terrace, the stone flags cool beneath her slippers and the wind snatching at her hair with icy, welcome fingers.

Beyond the balustrade, Solaria spread in a velvet quilt of lanterns, the city's laughter and quarrels rising in fugitive threads before the wind swept them away. Clara braced her elbows on the balustrade and let her head drop, the gold pins in her hair suddenly too heavy for her neck.

Clara was still there, eyes fixed on the slow procession of clouds over the city, when Celia arrived. Her twin's dress was a petal-soft pink, so gentle in hue it seemed impossible she'd once bloodied Clara's nose in a garden wrestling match.

"You're not hiding very well," Celia observed, gliding to Clara's side. "They sent me to look for you." She said as her shoulder bumped into Clara's.

"Who's 'they'?" Clara muttered and raised an eyebrow as she casted a glance at her sister.

"The line of rejected suitors, the Queen, the entire kitchen staff…" Celia counted off on her fingers, voice light as the wind. "And Prince Eveon, who claims you're the only one who hasn't introduced herself to him properly tonight." She added with a slight smile.

Clara groaned. "Tell the prince I'll be sure to paint his portrait on every chamber pot in the castle," Clara replied and rolled her eyes as she leaned her head into the palm of her hand, her elbow on the railing.

"He's right behind me," Celia said, tone almost apologetic. Almost.

Prince Eveon, the heir to the kingdom of Meridia, was stepping up towards Celia and Clara. He wore the Meridian blue, every edge of his suit as crisp as his manner. He walked with a confidence just on the healthy side of arrogance, but the moment he spotted Clara, he halted, his smile drooping a notch.

"Your Highnesses," Eveon said, bowing to them both. "May I join you, or is this an urgent council of war?" He asked in respect, though his tone hinted that he might have overheard Clara's comment.

Celia shrugged. "That depends. Have you come to beg forgiveness or to challenge her to arm wrestling again?" She asked with a smirk. She didn't look towards him, just towards the fluttering lights below the city. Celia looked towards Eveon, then at Clara again. She wouldn't intervene; she never did.

Eveon's smile faltered. "I was told the story would never leave the breakfast table." He huffed and stepped closer to the twin princesses.

Clara lifted her head, a predatory smile curling on her lips. "Still haven't forgiven me for the boar's head, have you?" She asked with a wide smirk. She was fond of that memory, for next year's birthday party, she was sure she could top that prank.

Eveon glanced at Celia, then back to Clara, uncertainty creasing his brow. "I would have found it funny—if it hadn't still been bleeding," he said, and then, softer, "How did you even get it past the guards?" He was genuinely curious. He was sure Lue would not have allowed Clara to carry around a bloody hog's head through the palace.

"A princess has her secrets," Clara replied, biting back a real laugh. "But if you want a rematch, I'd be delighted to ruin your next birthday, too." She stated with a wider grin as she looked back at him. Celia let out a sigh.

Eveon hands raised in surrender. "Consider me warned." He responded with a slight smirk on his lips.

They fell into companionable silence, each watching the city in their own way. Celia plucked a blossom from the trellis and twirled it between her fingers. Eveon let his eyes wander over the rooftops, perhaps considering which ones he'd like to own.

After a minute, Celia leaned close to Clara and murmured, "Are you all right? You look—" She paused, searching for a word.

"Like I'd rather be cleaning the stables than dancing," Clara supplied, a huff left her lips.

"Like you're running out of air," Celia finished. She placed a hand on Clara's shoulder.

Prince Eveon leaned against the railing next to Celia and peered over at Clara, watching with curiosity.

"I just hate being watched." Clara shrugged, letting her fingers drum the stone.

"You've always hated it," Celia said. "But you're better at handling it than you think." She pointed out and squeezed Clara's shoulder.

"Easy for you to say. They love you." Clara replied and huffed. Her cheeks puffing out. Celia was everything Clara wasn't; she knew Celia would make a much better queen.

Celia barked a soft laugh. "They love the idea of me. The real me still prefers frogs and mud fights." She nudged Clara. "They're afraid of you because you never pretend." She spoke, trying to calm Clara's nerves.

Clara almost wanted to believe it. But the memory of the ring's cold fire on her finger, the way everyone in the ballroom kept glancing at it, stole her breath again.

Clara forced a smile. "Frogs don't judge you. They just stare and hope you're not going to eat them." She said with a smirk as she looked down below.

From the doorway, a new shadow slid over the threshold with a silent and almost ethereal presence. Zarek Starforge stood in the opening, his tall silhouette framed by the dim light of the corridor. One hand gripped the doorframe with a casual ease, while the other rested naturally at his side.

The conversation that had filled the area evaporated. Eveon straightened abruptly, his posture betraying a sudden tension as if the air around him had grown sharp and brittle. Celia's body tensed ever so slightly, a subtle shift that was enough for Clara to notice.

Zarek's eyes, a pale blue, swept across the terrace with an assessing gaze before settling on Clara. "Am I interrupting?" he asked in a low tone. His voice was deep and gravely, intense.

"Yes," Clara replied, surprised by the intensity of her own words.

"I'll be quick." Zarek nodded, acknowledging her with a slight tilt of his head.

Zarek moved with a deceptive grace, embodying the predatory elegance of wolves in the childhood books Clara had read—a creature of stealth and power. He stepped to Clara's side beside the railing. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was nearly two feet taller than she, so he towered over her. It was unsettling.

Eveon and Celia exchanged a brief, knowing glance, and then, as if through an unspoken agreement, they excused themselves with murmured pleasantries and slipped away, leaving Clara alone.

Now, Clara stood on the terrace with Zarek, an unexpected heat climbing up her wrist. The ring on her finger pulsed insistently, the green stone embedded within it throbbing rhythmically in sync with her racing heartbeat, a tangible reminder of her heightened awareness.

They stood there for several long seconds, the only sound the music drifting through the door and the city's low chorus below.

"It's a nice view," Zarek said at last, gaze still fixed on the lights below. "Reminds me of home. The snow reflects the moon, and you see every lamp in every window for miles." He commented in a low tone.

Clara did not say anything; she just nodded. She didn't know what to say, it was easy to scare off the other men, since most were squimish, and easy to read. Zarek was a different kind of man, one she knew she could not easily scare off with frogs and bloody boar's heads. He reminded her of a beast, one that could easily rip her up if she took the wrong step without mercy.

Zarek waited, then turned to her. "You did well tonight. I counted three men who left in tears." He commented.

Clara blinked, her eyes flitting up to meet Zarek's intense gaze. A small giggle escaped her lips at the amusing memory. "They were too easy," she remarked, recalling how a few of the men had flushed with embarrassment and hurriedly retreated.

Zarek's lips twitched ever so slightly, a rare expression of amusement that was the closest she had seen to a smile. "Your plan is to frighten off every suitor?" he inquired, though the tone of his voice made it seem less like a question and more like an observation.

"Is it working?" Clara retorted with a raised eyebrow, her voice laced with playful defiance.

"Mostly," Zarek replied, his eyes unwavering. "But not on the ones who matter." He added in a serious tone.

Clara felt a spark of irritation, though she was not sure why. She kept her composure and asked, "And which ones are those?" She questioned with a slight bite to her tone.

"The ones who aren't afraid to lose," Zarek responded sharply. He studied her, his gaze steady and unblinking. 

Clara shifted her gaze downward towards the railing, and her hands were on it. The hem of her dress fluttered in the wind. "You don't strike me as the sentimental type, Lord Starforge," she remarked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

"I'm not," he affirmed, his voice as steady as the earth beneath them. "But I respect the game. And I have no patience for cowardice." He stated in a tone that was dangerously low.

Clara absently toyed with the ring on her finger, twisting it in circles. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice softer than she intended, almost lost to the rustling leaves.

Zarek studied her for a moment, then turned his gaze skyward. "I want you to stop sabotaging yourself. The north doesn't have time for games, Princess. Neither do I." He replied simply. He was not going to play her games or allow her to run rings around him like the other suitors.

"It's the only power I have left," Clara confessed, her voice a whisper of vulnerability. She did not want to rule, nor did she wish to assume the responsibilities that came with the crown. There was so much expected of the crown that she could not control. The best she could do was scare others away.

"You have more than you know. Use it." Zarek shook his head slowly, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity.

Clara wanted to say something witty, to conclude the conversation on her own terms. Still, for once, the words failed her, leaving her in a contemplative silence. She knew she had power, but she didn't want it. She felt the pressure, and it was overwhelming.