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Help[Games] House of Xavia -1
in reply to a message by La Reina
Siân
Monarch: Ciprian Juris Leighton Adelino Xavia
Consort: Dariena Lys [Airelen] Xavia
S: Crispyn Leamon Domenick Xavia
Of the illustrious Royal House of: Xavia
In the Kingdom of: Bejagat
It wasn't until a month after the wedding that Ciprian and Dariena made their first public appearance together. They brought along a handful of capable bodyguards and still managed to rather enjoy themselves. It was an annual festival the city of Alinan had each year to celebrate the national arts (Alinan was known for great theatre and music).
Ciprian kept Dariena by his side almost the entire night and they actually surprised themselves with the amount of fun they had. There were a few cold responses toward Dariena, but most citizens either didn't care or were too afraid to oppose their King's decisions in his presence.
"This is delicious," Ciprian complimented a man mixing drinks as he passed the cocktail to Dariena to taste. "Try this. Would you like one?"
Dariena took a sip and nodded. "Yes, thank you." Ciprian got another for Dariena and another for Finlo and they made their way over to where they would be seeing a production being put on by a highly touted cast of artists from all over the country. Dariena noticed an actor that had garnered much fame in her country years before.
"I know him," she motioned with her cup toward the man. “Jorson Bromilin- he used to perform with a troupe from Menx. He was amazing."
"I look forward to seeing him then. The leading lady did a production of Xylintine's Cradle after the war that was so beautiful it made the whole crowd weep. Together, they should make us proud."
Dariena smiled and turned toward the stage. They were sitting on the third row. (The first two were usually reserved for the disabled and the first on the wings for saved for the children.) Ciprian had requested the seats he wanted and Mácsen had made sure to arrive early and say a nice word to the heads of the production company doing the show that evening.
"I didn't know you liked theatre," she commented.
"Mácsen used to write plays when we were children and force the rest of us to perform in them. I had to play Lady Virilia one time. For the record, I look great in a ball gown," he quipped playfully making Dariena giggle. "And then my father bought us all a marionette stage when I was nine or ten and we made up all kinds of stories for them. When we got older, it became a fun thing to carve and paint our own puppets- each trying to outdo the others. Finlo once made a horse marionette and we gave him a hard time about it, but we were secretly all jealous of his skill. For Mácsen's birthday two years ago, Aquarius carved and painted a marionette of Mácsen and surprised him with it. It looked shockingly realistic."
Dariena leaned toward him. "My father, the summer before he died, took my mother, Ioncu, and me to a festival much like this one and we saw Shaamlu's Trails and Trials. I hadn't ever seen anything like that before. I remember Ioncu and I laughing over it again and again for weeks. My father died a few weeks later. I always wondered if somehow he knew he was ill and wanted to make sure we all had one last happy time together. I was seven and I was so very impressed. Shortly after my father's death, my mother grew ill and I didn't see another play for many years.”
Ciprian tried to imagine Ioncu happy. He’d never seen him smile or laugh. Even after their wedding when Dariena had pulled him up from his seat and made him dance with her, he hadn’t done more than look emotionlessly into her eyes as if granting himself any complacency within the Bejagatian ceremony would ruin him entirely (and Ciprian wondered if in some ways it would).
"The festival will go on for the rest of the week. Would you like to bring your brother to a show?" Ciprian asked. He was always trying to keep in mind the things he and Finlo had talked about at the end of the war. He wanted to treat them as fairly as he possible without allowing anyone to start a revolt. He had kept them alive and Dariena had risen to Queen. It was just so much harder with Ioncu. Ciprian was never sure he could turn his back on him. But his new Queen loved him and he tried to remember that and do what he would want if this were Mácsen or Leolin and the situations were reversed.
"I don't know if he would come or not, but I would love to invite him," she answered with a far away smile. She was clearly contemplating the possible outcome of inviting him.
"No harm in asking," Ciprian told her and they settled down beside one another to watch the show.
The next day, Dariena went out to the gardens where Ioncu was working. He was patting a small flowering tree down into soft soil, but when he saw Dariena he abandoned the tree and stood to meet her. He moved toward her, but then considered his dirty hands and stepped back again and hid his hands behind him.
"Is something the matter?" he asked immediately. She had never visited him while he was working before.
"Ciprian says for you to wash up. He's going to send you something nice to wear. There's a theatre in Alinan where I want to take you tonight. They're having an arts festival."
"Dari," he replied. "You know better than to ask me that." Ioncu's expression looked almost pained. "I know you went and enjoyed yourself and maybe you can enjoy your new life and submerging yourself in their cultures, but I can't just forget everything that came before this and ignore everyone around me in public whispering and staring and saying the things about me that they say about you. Do you know how angry they make me?"
"Ioncu, I just-" Dariena looked disappointed, but also conflicted. She wanted to help Ioncu, but she didn't have the means to if he wouldn't allow it in the first place. "I just want it to be like old times just once. You and I go to the theatre and enjoy ourselves. It's been so long since we've had a time like that."
"I can't let them treat me the way they treat you. It infuriates me," Ioncu told her, anger and frustration clearly marked across his face.
"They treat me fine!" Dariena remarked loudly and a few other workers turned their gazes toward them at the outburst. Ioncu waved them off.
"They treat you fine?" he said quietly. "I take it you didn't see the papers this morning? 'King Shows Off Spoils of War at Alinan Festival'?!"
Dariena's expression hardened a little at the information, but she said nothing.
"Doesn't that bother you?" Ioncu asked. "I could be on a throne by the sea and we both could be ruling Veraseng and yet you're content to sit silently by a Bejagatian's side- a Xavia's side- and let them tell you what to do and not to do. You're content to let them treat me like a slave within these walls. Content with a King that beds you while probably thinking of you as his prize. Spoils of war- that's what we are whether you want to acknowledge it or not."
"Ioncu," Dariena sighed. "That's the papers. That isn't Ciprian. He's not that type of man. He treats me fairly, I promise. I would tell you if he didn't."
Ioncu just shook his head and went back to working on the tree, ignoring Dariena and so the Queen gave up the idea of convincing Ioncu to attend anything.
That evening, Ciprian and Dariena were dining with the other Xavia siblings when a servant stepped into the dining hall and motioned Finlo over. A quick whisper and Finlo pulled back with a questioning look before leaning in and exchanging a few more quiet words with the servant delivering the news. When he pulled back from the conversation a second time, his expression looked a bit taut.
"Sir," Finlo whispered when he had returned to Ciprian's side, "There's a woman here with a small boy. The mother is claiming he's your son."
Ciprian looked bewildered and immediately turned to his brother.
"Mácsen, I need you a moment," he requested before looking at the rest of the dinner party. "If you'll excuse us," he said quickly before grabbing onto Mácsen's sleeve and hurrying with him and Finlo out of the dining hall and into corridor.
"What's going on?" Mácsen piped and Ciprian looked at Finlo.
"Where are they? Ciprian asked.
"Waiting to brought into the throne room," Finlo answered.
"Who?" Mácsen questioned, pulling his sleeve from his brother's grasp. Ciprian immediately reached back for it.
"Sir," Finlo's voice had hushed and taken a very serious tone. He nodded toward Mácsen.
"There's a woman here," Ciprian answered shakily, "She's claiming she has my child."
Mácsen seemed to take that in for a moment before instructing his brother. "Go to the throne room. Invite her in as you would any other subject seeking you. Hear her out. Keep your head about you and your voice level."
Ciprian nodded.
"The child is here?" Mácsen asked.
Finlo looked at the servant who had brought them the news. He nodded affirmatively and they all braced themselves as they made their way to the throne room.
"Announcing Syla Nolwyn and her grandson Crispyn," the herald at the door of the throne room spoke clearly as Ciprian sat as still as he possibly could. Finlo stood a few paces back and to his side. Mácsen sat on the side of the raised platform. They all held their breath.
The lady that made her way into the room was slow-moving, hunched a bit, and had tight grey curls visible from underneath the edge of the shaw wrapped around her head. She walked with a cane in one hand and her other arm supported by the young boy with her.
"Young man," she called out to the King before she ever made it even halfway down the length of the throne room. "Young man, I need to talk to you."
Ciprian waited until she was closer. The boy at her side was maybe six or seven years old and holding her hand, helping to support her as she walked. Ciprian looked him up and down. He looked healthy and next to the feeble woman, he looked positively strong. His skin was tan and hair was dark, falling in loose curls and framing his face. It was obvious he had been bathed recently- his hair was still damp and his clothes, still bearing lines from having been folded, were much cleaner than those of the woman with him. His dark, round eyes reflected back the lights illuminating the throne room as he looked up hesitantly at Ciprian. The two made eye contact for a brief moment before the old Syla Nolwyn raised her cane and pointed it at Ciprian.
"See this boy?" her thin voice asked. "He's what you left my Tullie when you were in our city. You used her up and left her without a thing in the world except this boy. And she has done her best, but she can't do it anymore and I'm much too old. He's your son. It's your turn to take care of him. Now, Tullie said you were a good man, but I know your people. The Xavian Kings have taken whatever they've liked for hundreds of years and so I'm sure my Tullie wasn't even something you had to consider before you just took what you wanted from her, but now it's time you take some responsibility. My daughter is very sick, young man. And we can't keep taking care of this boy anymore. In a week or two, she'll be gone from this world and I'm all he'll have left. But I've lived for many years and I don't have the ability to work like I used to. Now, he can work, but I don't know any six year olds work hard enough to keep a roof over their head and food in their mouth and pay their taxes too. And at my age, work that hard would kill me before a month was out. So I'm bringing him to you to show you we don't want anything from you that we don't deserve. We've taken care of him for six years. And King or not, now we're going to need a little help from you."
Ciprian watched the old woman lower her cane from where she'd been pointing it at him. He looked at the boy again. The curls were from his mother.
Ciprian opened his mouth to speak, formally, but all that came out was, "Tullie's dying?"
Soft, incredulous laughter came from the side of the platform and Ciprian looked up to see the Queen.
"Dariena," Ciprian spoke, raising his hand to explain.
"Is that true?" she asked, striding over to him. "There's a woman in Veraseng who's been raising your child?"
Ciprian didn't say, "There is no Veraseng anymore," but it was immediately what came to his mind. He didn't reply to Dariena and instead returned his gaze to the woman.
"Tullie? What's happened?"
"She has mag fever and has suffered from rithric for three years now," Mrs. Nolwyn said solemnly.
"Three years...?" Ciprian said, surprised. "And no one told me?"
"It wasn't for you to know, young man. She was suffering enough without broadcasting her troubles to half the kingdom."
"You're not going to deny this boy?" Syla Nolwyn was a tough lady even in his old age. She seemed ready for the ruler to put up an argument.
"How can I?" he asked quietly. "He looks like Tullie and he looks like my little brothers."
"He looks like you," Mácsen clarified, voice gentle. "When you were his age. You with curlier hair and wider eyes."
The boy looked a little nervous, eye darting around between everyone on the platform and his grandmother, but always seeming to land back on Ciprian.
"Crispyn?" Ciprian asked the boy and the child looked alert.
"Yes, Sir," he spoke. His voice was shaky and Ciprian wanted to reach out to him.
"Come here. Let me see you," he requested calmly and the boy steadied his grandmother before carefully stepping away. His footfalls on the steps of the platform seemed so small and the sounds they made in the throne room so delicate.
Crispyn came cautiously into the arms' reach of the King and hesitated with his head bowed down. From close up, he looked like so many of Ciprian's family members.
Ciprian reached out and raised the boy's chin gently until they were staring back and forth at one another.
"Are you hungry?" Ciprian found himself asking and the boy nodded.
"Yes, Sir," he spoke quietly.
"Come with me." He extended his hand and the young boy reached out and took it, his whole hand fitting in Ciprian's palm. Ciprian looked at Finlo. "Bring the grandmother. We'll discuss this after dinner."
He extended his hand to Dariena, but she stepped away from him. "I'll be in my room," she said coldly and Ciprian frowned.
"Dariena, please. We'll talk about this."
"Not now," she clarified and turned and walked briskly toward her quarters.
Ciprian and Mácsen exchanged looks and then Ciprian looked down at the boy. Crispyn was leering back up at him.
"Let's get you something to eat," Ciprian said, putting on a false cheerfulness. "You must be hungry after your journey."
That night, the boy and his grandmother were given lodgings in one of the houses on the castle grounds and Ciprian stayed up late hours discussing the situation with his brothers before retiring to his quarter. An oil lamp still burned from Dariena's room so Ciprian took a deep breath and knocked on her door.
"Dariena?"
"We don't have anything to talk about," she said boldly.
"Please, let me explain."
"Explain what, Ciprian?" she snapped as she opened the door. "Explain how you and your family invaded my homeland? How you took over our cities and homes? Do you plan to explain to me how you could just take a woman for your pleasure as then leave her with your child? Was it just one or should we expect more women to appear with more of your forgotten bastards? If she hadn't been dying, would you have ever cared about him or is leaving children with peasant women something you feel comfortable in doing?"
Dariena was so angry she was ready-eyed.
"I, uh, I didn't know about him. Believe me," Ciprian answered. "I didn't know."
"Was it just her?" Dariena asked. "Just this Tullie?"
Ciprian's brow furrowed. "It was- it was- no. Dariena, I'm no saint. I did things that in retrospect no ruler should ever do. I was a boy. I was a boy of power and finance, but still just a boy. I did foolish things."
"How many?"
Ciprian looked frustrated. "Dariena-"
"Answer the question." Dariena's voice was solid and cold.
Ciprian was quiet for a moment as he thought back. He was at war for two years. A lot happened. He was station in Savendir for almost a year and a half.
"Ten," he answered. "There were ten of them. I can name and give details on all of them. I didn't force anyone to do anything. I was kind to them. I just- I shouldn't have done it."
"Ten?" she asked, and Ciprian nodded.
"Every other month or so, I just, found someone new. I'm not proud of it!" he defended. "But it still happened. I didn't force anyone to do anything. I just extended the invitation."
"And they were just so willing to please their new ruler? Was this in the house you took from us?"
Ciprian was caught off guard. He had lived for a year and a half in a palace in Savendir that they had forced Ioncu and Dariena from when the siblings were taken prisoner, but for some reason this had never crossed his mind in quite so horrible a way.
"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, we were there."
Dariena turned around so Ciprian wouldn't see the tears that suddenly sped down her face.
"Dariena, it wasn't anything against you. I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. It was just-"
"Spoils of war," she answered. "I know."
NOTES:
Obviously, Menx is X-Men. I have no idea why that was so hard for me to figure out in the first “chapter,” but there is it now. I imagine it’s pronounce similar to Minsk. Idk.
Savendir is Invaders.
Mag fever was just invented, but Rithric is an old illness that I invented for a story I wrote ten years ago. It rears it's ugly head again, I see. (It killed a mother last time too, but at least she was a terrible mother.)
Monarch: Ciprian Juris Leighton Adelino Xavia
Consort: Dariena Lys [Airelen] Xavia
S: Crispyn Leamon Domenick Xavia
Of the illustrious Royal House of: Xavia
In the Kingdom of: Bejagat
It wasn't until a month after the wedding that Ciprian and Dariena made their first public appearance together. They brought along a handful of capable bodyguards and still managed to rather enjoy themselves. It was an annual festival the city of Alinan had each year to celebrate the national arts (Alinan was known for great theatre and music).
Ciprian kept Dariena by his side almost the entire night and they actually surprised themselves with the amount of fun they had. There were a few cold responses toward Dariena, but most citizens either didn't care or were too afraid to oppose their King's decisions in his presence.
"This is delicious," Ciprian complimented a man mixing drinks as he passed the cocktail to Dariena to taste. "Try this. Would you like one?"
Dariena took a sip and nodded. "Yes, thank you." Ciprian got another for Dariena and another for Finlo and they made their way over to where they would be seeing a production being put on by a highly touted cast of artists from all over the country. Dariena noticed an actor that had garnered much fame in her country years before.
"I know him," she motioned with her cup toward the man. “Jorson Bromilin- he used to perform with a troupe from Menx. He was amazing."
"I look forward to seeing him then. The leading lady did a production of Xylintine's Cradle after the war that was so beautiful it made the whole crowd weep. Together, they should make us proud."
Dariena smiled and turned toward the stage. They were sitting on the third row. (The first two were usually reserved for the disabled and the first on the wings for saved for the children.) Ciprian had requested the seats he wanted and Mácsen had made sure to arrive early and say a nice word to the heads of the production company doing the show that evening.
"I didn't know you liked theatre," she commented.
"Mácsen used to write plays when we were children and force the rest of us to perform in them. I had to play Lady Virilia one time. For the record, I look great in a ball gown," he quipped playfully making Dariena giggle. "And then my father bought us all a marionette stage when I was nine or ten and we made up all kinds of stories for them. When we got older, it became a fun thing to carve and paint our own puppets- each trying to outdo the others. Finlo once made a horse marionette and we gave him a hard time about it, but we were secretly all jealous of his skill. For Mácsen's birthday two years ago, Aquarius carved and painted a marionette of Mácsen and surprised him with it. It looked shockingly realistic."
Dariena leaned toward him. "My father, the summer before he died, took my mother, Ioncu, and me to a festival much like this one and we saw Shaamlu's Trails and Trials. I hadn't ever seen anything like that before. I remember Ioncu and I laughing over it again and again for weeks. My father died a few weeks later. I always wondered if somehow he knew he was ill and wanted to make sure we all had one last happy time together. I was seven and I was so very impressed. Shortly after my father's death, my mother grew ill and I didn't see another play for many years.”
Ciprian tried to imagine Ioncu happy. He’d never seen him smile or laugh. Even after their wedding when Dariena had pulled him up from his seat and made him dance with her, he hadn’t done more than look emotionlessly into her eyes as if granting himself any complacency within the Bejagatian ceremony would ruin him entirely (and Ciprian wondered if in some ways it would).
"The festival will go on for the rest of the week. Would you like to bring your brother to a show?" Ciprian asked. He was always trying to keep in mind the things he and Finlo had talked about at the end of the war. He wanted to treat them as fairly as he possible without allowing anyone to start a revolt. He had kept them alive and Dariena had risen to Queen. It was just so much harder with Ioncu. Ciprian was never sure he could turn his back on him. But his new Queen loved him and he tried to remember that and do what he would want if this were Mácsen or Leolin and the situations were reversed.
"I don't know if he would come or not, but I would love to invite him," she answered with a far away smile. She was clearly contemplating the possible outcome of inviting him.
"No harm in asking," Ciprian told her and they settled down beside one another to watch the show.
The next day, Dariena went out to the gardens where Ioncu was working. He was patting a small flowering tree down into soft soil, but when he saw Dariena he abandoned the tree and stood to meet her. He moved toward her, but then considered his dirty hands and stepped back again and hid his hands behind him.
"Is something the matter?" he asked immediately. She had never visited him while he was working before.
"Ciprian says for you to wash up. He's going to send you something nice to wear. There's a theatre in Alinan where I want to take you tonight. They're having an arts festival."
"Dari," he replied. "You know better than to ask me that." Ioncu's expression looked almost pained. "I know you went and enjoyed yourself and maybe you can enjoy your new life and submerging yourself in their cultures, but I can't just forget everything that came before this and ignore everyone around me in public whispering and staring and saying the things about me that they say about you. Do you know how angry they make me?"
"Ioncu, I just-" Dariena looked disappointed, but also conflicted. She wanted to help Ioncu, but she didn't have the means to if he wouldn't allow it in the first place. "I just want it to be like old times just once. You and I go to the theatre and enjoy ourselves. It's been so long since we've had a time like that."
"I can't let them treat me the way they treat you. It infuriates me," Ioncu told her, anger and frustration clearly marked across his face.
"They treat me fine!" Dariena remarked loudly and a few other workers turned their gazes toward them at the outburst. Ioncu waved them off.
"They treat you fine?" he said quietly. "I take it you didn't see the papers this morning? 'King Shows Off Spoils of War at Alinan Festival'?!"
Dariena's expression hardened a little at the information, but she said nothing.
"Doesn't that bother you?" Ioncu asked. "I could be on a throne by the sea and we both could be ruling Veraseng and yet you're content to sit silently by a Bejagatian's side- a Xavia's side- and let them tell you what to do and not to do. You're content to let them treat me like a slave within these walls. Content with a King that beds you while probably thinking of you as his prize. Spoils of war- that's what we are whether you want to acknowledge it or not."
"Ioncu," Dariena sighed. "That's the papers. That isn't Ciprian. He's not that type of man. He treats me fairly, I promise. I would tell you if he didn't."
Ioncu just shook his head and went back to working on the tree, ignoring Dariena and so the Queen gave up the idea of convincing Ioncu to attend anything.
That evening, Ciprian and Dariena were dining with the other Xavia siblings when a servant stepped into the dining hall and motioned Finlo over. A quick whisper and Finlo pulled back with a questioning look before leaning in and exchanging a few more quiet words with the servant delivering the news. When he pulled back from the conversation a second time, his expression looked a bit taut.
"Sir," Finlo whispered when he had returned to Ciprian's side, "There's a woman here with a small boy. The mother is claiming he's your son."
Ciprian looked bewildered and immediately turned to his brother.
"Mácsen, I need you a moment," he requested before looking at the rest of the dinner party. "If you'll excuse us," he said quickly before grabbing onto Mácsen's sleeve and hurrying with him and Finlo out of the dining hall and into corridor.
"What's going on?" Mácsen piped and Ciprian looked at Finlo.
"Where are they? Ciprian asked.
"Waiting to brought into the throne room," Finlo answered.
"Who?" Mácsen questioned, pulling his sleeve from his brother's grasp. Ciprian immediately reached back for it.
"Sir," Finlo's voice had hushed and taken a very serious tone. He nodded toward Mácsen.
"There's a woman here," Ciprian answered shakily, "She's claiming she has my child."
Mácsen seemed to take that in for a moment before instructing his brother. "Go to the throne room. Invite her in as you would any other subject seeking you. Hear her out. Keep your head about you and your voice level."
Ciprian nodded.
"The child is here?" Mácsen asked.
Finlo looked at the servant who had brought them the news. He nodded affirmatively and they all braced themselves as they made their way to the throne room.
"Announcing Syla Nolwyn and her grandson Crispyn," the herald at the door of the throne room spoke clearly as Ciprian sat as still as he possibly could. Finlo stood a few paces back and to his side. Mácsen sat on the side of the raised platform. They all held their breath.
The lady that made her way into the room was slow-moving, hunched a bit, and had tight grey curls visible from underneath the edge of the shaw wrapped around her head. She walked with a cane in one hand and her other arm supported by the young boy with her.
"Young man," she called out to the King before she ever made it even halfway down the length of the throne room. "Young man, I need to talk to you."
Ciprian waited until she was closer. The boy at her side was maybe six or seven years old and holding her hand, helping to support her as she walked. Ciprian looked him up and down. He looked healthy and next to the feeble woman, he looked positively strong. His skin was tan and hair was dark, falling in loose curls and framing his face. It was obvious he had been bathed recently- his hair was still damp and his clothes, still bearing lines from having been folded, were much cleaner than those of the woman with him. His dark, round eyes reflected back the lights illuminating the throne room as he looked up hesitantly at Ciprian. The two made eye contact for a brief moment before the old Syla Nolwyn raised her cane and pointed it at Ciprian.
"See this boy?" her thin voice asked. "He's what you left my Tullie when you were in our city. You used her up and left her without a thing in the world except this boy. And she has done her best, but she can't do it anymore and I'm much too old. He's your son. It's your turn to take care of him. Now, Tullie said you were a good man, but I know your people. The Xavian Kings have taken whatever they've liked for hundreds of years and so I'm sure my Tullie wasn't even something you had to consider before you just took what you wanted from her, but now it's time you take some responsibility. My daughter is very sick, young man. And we can't keep taking care of this boy anymore. In a week or two, she'll be gone from this world and I'm all he'll have left. But I've lived for many years and I don't have the ability to work like I used to. Now, he can work, but I don't know any six year olds work hard enough to keep a roof over their head and food in their mouth and pay their taxes too. And at my age, work that hard would kill me before a month was out. So I'm bringing him to you to show you we don't want anything from you that we don't deserve. We've taken care of him for six years. And King or not, now we're going to need a little help from you."
Ciprian watched the old woman lower her cane from where she'd been pointing it at him. He looked at the boy again. The curls were from his mother.
Ciprian opened his mouth to speak, formally, but all that came out was, "Tullie's dying?"
Soft, incredulous laughter came from the side of the platform and Ciprian looked up to see the Queen.
"Dariena," Ciprian spoke, raising his hand to explain.
"Is that true?" she asked, striding over to him. "There's a woman in Veraseng who's been raising your child?"
Ciprian didn't say, "There is no Veraseng anymore," but it was immediately what came to his mind. He didn't reply to Dariena and instead returned his gaze to the woman.
"Tullie? What's happened?"
"She has mag fever and has suffered from rithric for three years now," Mrs. Nolwyn said solemnly.
"Three years...?" Ciprian said, surprised. "And no one told me?"
"It wasn't for you to know, young man. She was suffering enough without broadcasting her troubles to half the kingdom."
"You're not going to deny this boy?" Syla Nolwyn was a tough lady even in his old age. She seemed ready for the ruler to put up an argument.
"How can I?" he asked quietly. "He looks like Tullie and he looks like my little brothers."
"He looks like you," Mácsen clarified, voice gentle. "When you were his age. You with curlier hair and wider eyes."
The boy looked a little nervous, eye darting around between everyone on the platform and his grandmother, but always seeming to land back on Ciprian.
"Crispyn?" Ciprian asked the boy and the child looked alert.
"Yes, Sir," he spoke. His voice was shaky and Ciprian wanted to reach out to him.
"Come here. Let me see you," he requested calmly and the boy steadied his grandmother before carefully stepping away. His footfalls on the steps of the platform seemed so small and the sounds they made in the throne room so delicate.
Crispyn came cautiously into the arms' reach of the King and hesitated with his head bowed down. From close up, he looked like so many of Ciprian's family members.
Ciprian reached out and raised the boy's chin gently until they were staring back and forth at one another.
"Are you hungry?" Ciprian found himself asking and the boy nodded.
"Yes, Sir," he spoke quietly.
"Come with me." He extended his hand and the young boy reached out and took it, his whole hand fitting in Ciprian's palm. Ciprian looked at Finlo. "Bring the grandmother. We'll discuss this after dinner."
He extended his hand to Dariena, but she stepped away from him. "I'll be in my room," she said coldly and Ciprian frowned.
"Dariena, please. We'll talk about this."
"Not now," she clarified and turned and walked briskly toward her quarters.
Ciprian and Mácsen exchanged looks and then Ciprian looked down at the boy. Crispyn was leering back up at him.
"Let's get you something to eat," Ciprian said, putting on a false cheerfulness. "You must be hungry after your journey."
That night, the boy and his grandmother were given lodgings in one of the houses on the castle grounds and Ciprian stayed up late hours discussing the situation with his brothers before retiring to his quarter. An oil lamp still burned from Dariena's room so Ciprian took a deep breath and knocked on her door.
"Dariena?"
"We don't have anything to talk about," she said boldly.
"Please, let me explain."
"Explain what, Ciprian?" she snapped as she opened the door. "Explain how you and your family invaded my homeland? How you took over our cities and homes? Do you plan to explain to me how you could just take a woman for your pleasure as then leave her with your child? Was it just one or should we expect more women to appear with more of your forgotten bastards? If she hadn't been dying, would you have ever cared about him or is leaving children with peasant women something you feel comfortable in doing?"
Dariena was so angry she was ready-eyed.
"I, uh, I didn't know about him. Believe me," Ciprian answered. "I didn't know."
"Was it just her?" Dariena asked. "Just this Tullie?"
Ciprian's brow furrowed. "It was- it was- no. Dariena, I'm no saint. I did things that in retrospect no ruler should ever do. I was a boy. I was a boy of power and finance, but still just a boy. I did foolish things."
"How many?"
Ciprian looked frustrated. "Dariena-"
"Answer the question." Dariena's voice was solid and cold.
Ciprian was quiet for a moment as he thought back. He was at war for two years. A lot happened. He was station in Savendir for almost a year and a half.
"Ten," he answered. "There were ten of them. I can name and give details on all of them. I didn't force anyone to do anything. I was kind to them. I just- I shouldn't have done it."
"Ten?" she asked, and Ciprian nodded.
"Every other month or so, I just, found someone new. I'm not proud of it!" he defended. "But it still happened. I didn't force anyone to do anything. I just extended the invitation."
"And they were just so willing to please their new ruler? Was this in the house you took from us?"
Ciprian was caught off guard. He had lived for a year and a half in a palace in Savendir that they had forced Ioncu and Dariena from when the siblings were taken prisoner, but for some reason this had never crossed his mind in quite so horrible a way.
"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, we were there."
Dariena turned around so Ciprian wouldn't see the tears that suddenly sped down her face.
"Dariena, it wasn't anything against you. I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. It was just-"
"Spoils of war," she answered. "I know."
NOTES:
Obviously, Menx is X-Men. I have no idea why that was so hard for me to figure out in the first “chapter,” but there is it now. I imagine it’s pronounce similar to Minsk. Idk.
Savendir is Invaders.
Mag fever was just invented, but Rithric is an old illness that I invented for a story I wrote ten years ago. It rears it's ugly head again, I see. (It killed a mother last time too, but at least she was a terrible mother.)
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