Chapter IA Chapter by gnarlymThere are tales whispered across pillows and passed from grandmother to granddaughter for numerous generations. She was beautiful, with hair black like the depths of the sea and eyes that reflected the sun’s warmth. She was known for her mirth, and the way her eyes crinkled against the wind and the sound of her laughter mixed with the ocean’s gentle hum. She was strong, her arms those of a woman that could navigate the sea, and not cave beneath the pressure of angry waves. She was strong, but by no means coarse. Her beauty and intrigue attracted many suitors, and much to her father’s dismay and her mother’s amusement, she denied each one, with a curious little crinkling of her nose and a single condemning glance to her father. While she was kind, and had the capacity to love greatly, she left many men forlorn with unrequited love. It was one of these men, injured and angry as a wasp, that would foster the beginning of her legacy. Eudoxia, he wheezed, breathless and flustered, his hands thrown in the air, why do you turn every good man away, cowering like chastised dogs? His hair was turning gray at the temples, giving him the appearance of a fire going out in a little puff of white smoke. His hair was once the red mane of a fearsome warrior-king, but these days he looked deflated. He would pin this fact on his daughter, who he would argue was his most daunting enemy. She would laugh at this, and toss her head back, allowing the chiming of her joy to bounce around the room and come back to her again, faithful as any pet. He would furrow his brow in mock anger, and shake his thick, calloused finger at her. Don’t laugh, he would say, his chin ducking into his collar to make his voice deeper. Don’t laugh, you can make any man’s shoulders shake with cowardice. They do not appeal to me, Papa. Well one of them has to someday. I wouldn’t fret, Amyntas, she is young yet. There will be plenty more suitors. Maybe one as determined as you were. Her mother rose from her place at the dining table, which was long, with intricate carvings of a ship’s journey on the length of each leg. She glided around the table to where Amyntas was seated, and she rested both of her slender hands upon his shoulders. How many times did you request my hand before I consented? Amyntas grinned, his eyes crinkling at the memory. Amyntas had once been handsome, and young. He had broad shoulders and a red beard that accentuated his strong jaw. He was a strong looking man, he looked like a king. Agathe, her mother, always said that he looked most like a king when he was trying the least. She finally consented to marriage after stumbling upon Amyntas in the guest room of her own castle, his brow furrowed deeply, his shirt dirty and rumpled, hanging loosely on his thick arms. She said that his armor sat neglected in the corner, and instead of the sword that she had seen in his hands so frequently, he held a shabby scroll, the edges frayed from frequently being unraveled. What are you reading, Prince Amyn? She had said, startling him. Rather informal, are you not? He had laughed, running his thick fingers through the flame of his hair. But if you must know, this is a history of Sparta. They say they have the fiercest women of Greece, and I wonder if you are Spartan? You have arms strong enough to box a soldier’s ears fiercely, I’d say, he grinned at her, toothy and bright. It was then that Agathe hit his arm with her slender palm, white against the stark brown of his weather-worn skin. Does your proposal still stand, Donkey King? She had asked it so suddenly that Amyntas had dropped his scroll, and while trying to retrieve it, he had caught his sleeve on the arm of his chair and torn it. Agathe would laugh at the memory. Some king we have, eh? King of donkeys and fools! Amyntas reclined in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him and tucking his hands beneath his heavy head. He sighed, long and loud, and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. She won’t be young forever, Agathe. He smiled, and if she is as stubborn as her mother, she might not ever marry. Eudoxia sat serenely beside her father, her knees almost touching his long legs. She was not smiling, but there was an amused glimmer in her warm eyes. Amyntas looked at her from the corner of his eye, and while he surely thought he concealed it well, there was pride in that glance. Eudoxia was growing to be strong and resolute, much more like her mother than he would likely care to admit. She would make a fine queen. Father, I will marry when I find a man that impresses me just as you impressed Mother. It was then that Chloe, one of the hands of the castle, knocked on the dining hall doors, and poked her head in. My King, there is a man here to see you and the princess. He claims he’s come on important business. Chloe was breathless, and her hair fell in messy curls around her kind face. She was always breathless, running about in a frenzy everywhere she went. She was a frazzled type of person, and always looked lost. He would like to see you immediately if you would be willing. Amyntas heaved a sigh and rose with some difficulty from his seat. He had seen the passing of many seasons, and his joints felt the ache of his age. It was then the Eudoxia could see her father was no longer in his prime. She saw the crow’s feet creeping from the corners of his eyes, and the weary darkness under his deep brown eyes that perpetually gave him the appearance of being mildly uncomfortable and very tired. She saw the wrinkles in his fingers and the loose skin of his earlobes. His gut hung slightly over his belt, and he patted his stomach with a grunt. Yes, her father was aging. Eudoxia stood, and adjusted her dress so it no longer hung above her knees, but instead hung at its full length around her ankles. The linen of her dress hung loosely over her hips and thighs, and one could see clearly why many men pined after her. She was long and slender, the waves of her figure rising and falling in just the right places. She was intoxicating to look at but all the while humbling. While her figure was gentle, her arms and hands were not. From a young age her mother and father required that Eudoxia learn to sail and to fight. The lean muscles of a warrior rippled beneath her gentle skin. Thank you, Chloe. Now if you could alert our guest that the king will be with him shortly? Agathe inquired. The Queen presented everything as a request, and a gentle one at that, which had earned her the respect and compliance of every servant in the castle. Furthermore, Eudoxia could not name another queen that knew the name of every servant under her rule, let alone a queen that used those names so kindly. Chloe gave a quick downwards jerk of her head that one could only assume was her rendition of an affirmative nod, and disappeared behind the large wooden door that separated the dining hall from the main corridor. Agathe strode to the door, her skirts all swirling around her ankles as she moved, the iridescent fabric catching the light and casting it away again, and she rested a single pearly hand on the large brass knob, engraved with what one might consider an absurd amount of lilies for such a small space. I wonder, she murmured, what it is our guest has come for? © 2015 gnarlymAuthor's Note
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gnarlymNJAboutI am a dazed and confused english major with a desire to know all things. I'm a cranky individual but that might just be me becoming jaded by the college experience more..Writing
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