If you have enjoyed the service so far, please consider donating. All donations are put towards keeping AfterHours up and running. Thank you.Donate
Rynosuke AndrathathVedryae had once been a beautiful realm, a tapestry of life where Humans, High Elves, Dark Elves, Dwarves, animal-hybrids, Kitsune, werewolves, vampires and countless other peoples breathed and traded and worshiped under the same sky. Fields and forests fed cities, and cities fed legends. Yet even the most flourishing lands bear scars—and a cold war had carved its own. For years the werewolf clans and the Kitsune of Foxhaven had bled one another at the borders, and now Rynosuke Andrathath and Alistair rode toward Olaurae in the hope of forging an alliance that might end the bloodletting.
Rynosuke Andrathath was the adopted son of Alistair Kieran, lord of the Kitsune heir apparent to Foxhaven by law and by blood-bond. They had been on the road for many days; the banners of their entourage hung limp with dust, and the men and women who rode with them moved with the slow, bruised weariness of long travel. At last, through heat and stone and the weary blur of miles, the high gates of the human capital rose into view.
They halted before the palace gates, and both father and son breathed the same small relief. Olaurae’s walls were a promise and a gauntlet: safe inside, but crowded with politics. They had come from Foxhaven to ask for a marriage Rynosuke Andrathath was to be wed to Princess Hour and with that marriage, Alistair hoped, would come a treaty to staunch the war.
No outsider had ever seen the princess; her face was a rumor kept behind royal doors. Whispers in taverns said she was disfigured, that she was plain; other tongues went further, calling her slow-witted and dull. Such gossip settled over the road like dust, and Rynosuke Andrathath felt it like grit in his mouth. He did not look forward to marrying a stranger, and the rumors made the idea harder to bear.
“I want you on your best behavior, Ryu,” Alistair said, fingers tightening on the reins as he reined his horse. The old leader’s voice was steady command wrapped in warning. “This alliance matters. Make the impression our people need you to make.”
Rynosuke Andrathath gave no flourish in response. He was not eager how could he be, when he would bind himself to a life with someone he had never met? Still, beneath his reluctance there was a cold, watchful sense of duty. He adjusted his cloak, let the farewell of the road fall from his shoulders, and rode forward into the city whose princess might save or damn them all.
Rynosuke Andrathath was the adopted son of Alistair Kieran, lord of the Kitsune heir apparent to Foxhaven by law and by blood-bond. They had been on the road for many days; the banners of their entourage hung limp with dust, and the men and women who rode with them moved with the slow, bruised weariness of long travel. At last, through heat and stone and the weary blur of miles, the high gates of the human capital rose into view.
They halted before the palace gates, and both father and son breathed the same small relief. Olaurae’s walls were a promise and a gauntlet: safe inside, but crowded with politics. They had come from Foxhaven to ask for a marriage Rynosuke Andrathath was to be wed to Princess Hour and with that marriage, Alistair hoped, would come a treaty to staunch the war.
No outsider had ever seen the princess; her face was a rumor kept behind royal doors. Whispers in taverns said she was disfigured, that she was plain; other tongues went further, calling her slow-witted and dull. Such gossip settled over the road like dust, and Rynosuke Andrathath felt it like grit in his mouth. He did not look forward to marrying a stranger, and the rumors made the idea harder to bear.
“I want you on your best behavior, Ryu,” Alistair said, fingers tightening on the reins as he reined his horse. The old leader’s voice was steady command wrapped in warning. “This alliance matters. Make the impression our people need you to make.”
Rynosuke Andrathath gave no flourish in response. He was not eager how could he be, when he would bind himself to a life with someone he had never met? Still, beneath his reluctance there was a cold, watchful sense of duty. He adjusted his cloak, let the farewell of the road fall from his shoulders, and rode forward into the city whose princess might save or damn them all.
2751
