The Dragon Chronicles; Aphrodites Fall (Part 11)
A/N: So this will probably be the last bit I post up for a while, since all the pre-written stuff is now posted. I'll actually have to get back to doing some proper writing haha. Also, I'm sorry it's only a short chapter, I'll try and make the next bit much longer. Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Deyanira awoke, it was evening. Reaching her arms above her head, she laced her fingers together and stretched them towards the golden silk canopy above her. Sighing with pleasure, she let her arms fall back to her sides, then swiftly sat up as Canicus nudged her mind. Smiling, she threw the soft covers away from her body, her former energy restored. Down in the stables, Canicus let out a melodious purr. Running over to her bathroom, the Princess relieved herself and washed quickly, the lukewarm water in the bath refreshing her. Scrubbing herself with lemon-scented soap, she began to sing quietly, an old song from the spring festival, praising the Gods for allowing human life to flourish in Isidor.
Once she was dry, Deyanira lightly skipped over to her wardrobe, swiftly pulling on some clean, white underclothes, before slipping into a pale blue dress with long sleeves. She left the neck ties partially undone, exposing her neck and the top of her chest. Around her waist she fastened a slim cord woven from silver thread, to which she attached her purse and a leather sheath, containing a long dagger with a mother-of-pearl handle. Using a thin silver ribbon, she tied her blonde hair back, before putting on a pair of matching sandals.
On her way to the door, Deyanira paused to look in the mirror and gasped with shock. She was no longer the young adult who had abandoned her city and her parents to hunt for the bloodstone. In the six years since she had begun the search, the Princess of Isidor had never once looked in a mirror, scared of seeing a failure, but as she now gazed upon her reflection, she could see her true self. In the back of her mind she could sense Canicus’ amusement.
‘Look at your reflection. Now do you see what I have always seen? Princess Deyanira, future Queen of Isidor.’ Deyanira could only nod her head and agree. This was who she was born to be, and striding out of her bedroom and towards the front door of the palace, Deyanira saw the looks of amazement and awe displayed by the palace staff.. The Princess smiled again. She was going to be Queen. She was going to beat her brothers. She was going to rule Isidor, no matter what.
Reaching the palace gates, the princess was greeted by a servant holding the reins to a tan stallion. Firefell had been a gift from her Grandmother, before she left Araceli to become a full time priestess at the Temple of Hermes. Firefell was a forgotten name from the old language, translated it literally meant ‘the speed of fire’, to describe how easily fires often started and spread across the fell woodland that covered the north and east of Isidor.
Using the mounting block, Deyanira swung herself into the saddle, sitting sideways in order to preserve her modesty. She had been taught to ride as soon as she could walk. Araceli was a big city, riding was the only way to travel across it at speed, as walking around the outside would take most people the best part of a week. At the annual spring festival, there was a contest for the young men in the city to race around the walls, to prove their speed and agility.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Deyanira awoke, it was evening. Reaching her arms above her head, she laced her fingers together and stretched them towards the golden silk canopy above her. Sighing with pleasure, she let her arms fall back to her sides, then swiftly sat up as Canicus nudged her mind. Smiling, she threw the soft covers away from her body, her former energy restored. Down in the stables, Canicus let out a melodious purr. Running over to her bathroom, the Princess relieved herself and washed quickly, the lukewarm water in the bath refreshing her. Scrubbing herself with lemon-scented soap, she began to sing quietly, an old song from the spring festival, praising the Gods for allowing human life to flourish in Isidor.
Once she was dry, Deyanira lightly skipped over to her wardrobe, swiftly pulling on some clean, white underclothes, before slipping into a pale blue dress with long sleeves. She left the neck ties partially undone, exposing her neck and the top of her chest. Around her waist she fastened a slim cord woven from silver thread, to which she attached her purse and a leather sheath, containing a long dagger with a mother-of-pearl handle. Using a thin silver ribbon, she tied her blonde hair back, before putting on a pair of matching sandals.
On her way to the door, Deyanira paused to look in the mirror and gasped with shock. She was no longer the young adult who had abandoned her city and her parents to hunt for the bloodstone. In the six years since she had begun the search, the Princess of Isidor had never once looked in a mirror, scared of seeing a failure, but as she now gazed upon her reflection, she could see her true self. In the back of her mind she could sense Canicus’ amusement.
‘Look at your reflection. Now do you see what I have always seen? Princess Deyanira, future Queen of Isidor.’ Deyanira could only nod her head and agree. This was who she was born to be, and striding out of her bedroom and towards the front door of the palace, Deyanira saw the looks of amazement and awe displayed by the palace staff.. The Princess smiled again. She was going to be Queen. She was going to beat her brothers. She was going to rule Isidor, no matter what.
Reaching the palace gates, the princess was greeted by a servant holding the reins to a tan stallion. Firefell had been a gift from her Grandmother, before she left Araceli to become a full time priestess at the Temple of Hermes. Firefell was a forgotten name from the old language, translated it literally meant ‘the speed of fire’, to describe how easily fires often started and spread across the fell woodland that covered the north and east of Isidor.
Using the mounting block, Deyanira swung herself into the saddle, sitting sideways in order to preserve her modesty. She had been taught to ride as soon as she could walk. Araceli was a big city, riding was the only way to travel across it at speed, as walking around the outside would take most people the best part of a week. At the annual spring festival, there was a contest for the young men in the city to race around the walls, to prove their speed and agility.