Riend (prime)/Vignette: The World He Promised

Early morning light filtered through the tall windows, tinted green by the silk curtains that veiled the glass. Riend stirred awake, stretching languidly before turning to the figure beside her. A smile softened her lips as she studied him. His raven black hair spilled across his face in unruly strands, and when she brushed them back, they slid forward again as if resisting her touch. Not wishing to disturb him, she slipped silently from the bed and prepared for the day.

In her dressing room, handmaidens bustled with precise, almost mechanical efficiency. A rack of gowns stood waiting, each of emerald silk, each identical. She frowned as she searched through them and at last plucked one at random, unsettled by the neckline’s daring plunge. Silent and compliant, she stepped into place, allowing her attendants to dress her as though she had always done so.

Gold and nephrite gleamed against her skin as her hair was coiled and crowned with a peacock-feathered headdress. Last came the slippers. She hesitated, recognizing her own handiwork in their stitching. The thought unsettled her, but before it could root itself, it slipped away, fragile as mist.

She left the dressing room and entered the corridor linking the palace’s wings. Along the wall stretched panes of jewel-toned glass in a sprawling pastoral mural, light streaming through to scatter color across the floor. She paused at one window where seeded panes formed the sky, yet could not say why the sight made her uneasy.

Beyond the keep, the city unfurled in shades of green and grey. The rooftops blurred together in perfect rows, each building identical to the next. In the marketplace below, townsfolk went about their business in the same garments of green and black. The uniformity caught her attention, then slid from her grasp before she could name the wrongness of it.

The great hall loomed, bright with golden pillars inlaid with ruby bloodjewels, walls of silk and gilt, vaulted ceilings painted with forest scenes, their colors dulled by chandeliers heavy with crystal.

Two golden thrones waited on the dais. She sank into the smaller, her weight pressing into crimson velvet. The chamber filled with merchants and nobles, peasants and courtiers, every face turned toward her. She held court in his stead. She knew his will, his mind, his desires, and he trusted her to see them carried out.

Her eyes moved over the assembly, their poise perfect, their silence absolute. Yet now and then she thought she saw something stir beneath the skin of a raven-haired woman in the crowd, a flicker that unsettled her. Before she could hold onto it, the thought vanished, dissolving like smoke.

She beckoned, and the first petitioners stepped forward. Their clothing was modest but faultless, their shoes unmistakably her own design. The sight caught her off guard, a ripple of unease that made her stomach tighten. She looked again and saw it everywhere. Every figure before her was draped in her fashions, every seam and stitch cut to her taste.

The thought clung this time, fraying her composure. The couple spoke, but their words were muffled and distant, strange sounds she could not understand. She leaned forward, asked them to repeat themselves.

A kiss brushed her cheek. She turned into a pair of sea-blue eyes, her heart fluttering with a rush of warmth.

“Good morning, my Queen,” he said, pressing his lips to hers.

“Good morning, my King,” she whispered, cheeks flushed.

When she turned back to the couple, their words had shifted into flawless Sylvan. She understood them now, yet their faces startled her. Human. Entirely human. The strangeness pulled at her, and she cast a questioning glance at Grishom.

He smirked, his brow arched in amusement. “Not to your standards? Would you rather they spoke something else? I could make them mute, if that pleased you.”

Her hand rose to her throat, eyes wide. “What have you done?”

“Done?” he murmured, drawing her close, his lips brushing her neck. “I remade this world as you willed it, my love. They are your playthings. You have made them beautiful.”

Her breath caught. The chamber blurred. The hall dissolved into shimmering glass and color.

Riend woke drenched in sweat. She bolted upright, heart pounding, the barrack's walls swimming into focus around her. For long moments she shook so hard her teeth rattled, clutching at her bedding as though it might anchor her to the waking world.

Whether it had been vision or nightmare she could not know. What she did know was certain. Sleep would not return again that night.