The sound of a baby crying reverberates off the white and gold walls of the bedroom, as a woman with raven hair presses the wailing infant against her chest. The palace is otherwise quiet, with only the cries of the newborn baby and the faint sound of lute music drifting in from the window.

The woman glances around furtively, and visibly tenses as the sound of footsteps draws near. She holds the baby closer to her in maternal instinct, fear etched across her sharp features and in her dark eyes. Every part of her stands out against the delicate white of the room, her midnight hair, her black eyes, her pale, moonlight skin, proving that she doesn't belong there. She wears a white dressing gown with gold embroidery across the neck and cuffs: a futile attempt to disguise her differences.

The door creaks open, and a tall man with golden hair walks in. He's dressed in a simple white tunic, with a heavily adorned vest and mantle layered overtop. The Royal Lucerbriar family crest, a lion reared on its hind legs between the two halves of the sun, stares unwelcomingly at the woman in the bed. His posture is regal and authoritative, suited for a king, but there's a glimmer of regret and guilt in his eyes. The woman's shoulders relax and she heaves a sigh of relief as he walks towards her, a glass of water in his hand.

"Ivius.." she croaks out, her voice hoarse and laced with exhaustion.

King Ivius lifts the child from her arms, and hands the glass of water to her. As she drinks, he sits on the edge of the extravagant bed and carefully examines the baby resting on his knee.

"It seems that she is more Eorian than Xeorian'' he murmurs as he takes in the child's white-gold hair and sparkling emerald eyes.

''She is beautiful.'' Lady Lutana says weakly, the childbirth having robbed her of most of her strength. She sets the glass back down ''Have you chosen a name for her yet?''

King Ivius nods. ''Etharen'' he whispers. The baby resting in his lap immediately stops wailing at the sound of her name-to-be, and looks up at her father with huge, shining eyes.

Centuries ago, the land of Faewell was one, governed by King Eoris and Queen Xiaralise. Together they ruled harmoniously, until they found that their views for the future of Faewell were no longer the same. The land and people suffered, and as a result, a war broke out between those who supported the queen and those who supported the king. The War of Stance went on, and Faewell was divided into two: Eoria and Xeoria.

Eoria went on to be governed by the Lucerbriars, and formed the Court of Light, while the Lunabriars ruled over Xeoria with their Court of Shadows. Now, Eorians and Xeorians look at each other with hatred in their eyes, and to be seen with one another is considered treason.

If anyone were to find out that King Ivius had a child with Lady Lutana, one of the most important members of the Court of Shadows, he would be killed, or worse, exiled.

However, the revel in the courtyard was serving its purpose well, distracting the members of the Court of Light from coming into the palace. All the maids and servants were given explicit instructions not to come to the third floor of the palace, and they were too occupied providing food and drink to the revel to question why.

Lady Lutana smiles sadly. "I'll never see her again." She looks up at King Ivius. "Let her come with me, I'll hide her away and no one will be any wiser." she pleads.

"You know I cannot do that. Should she be found, they will connect the dots and I will lose the throne. We had an agreement. She is evidently belonging to the Lucerbriar line, so she will go under my care." He says firmly, although not without pity.

Tears had welled up in Lady Lutana's eyes. "What about her blood? We do not know if it is black or white. What will you do if it is black? You cannot prevent a child from scratching herself, and when she does, our lies will be exposed."

He falters at the possibility of black blood, but he quickly regains his composure.
"Even if it is black, she is safer here with me than in Xeoria with you. Here, she will be royal, and no one would dare question her. With you, she is merely a part of the gentry, and she will inevitably be searched at even the slightest display of oddity. You of all people should know how the Xeorians are. You know that you cannot hide her hair and eyes from them for her entire life."

"But you can hide her blood?" She tries to argue, but it's evident that the fight has gone out of her. Her words start to slur, and her eyelids flutter.

Seeing this, Ivius holds her in his arms and kisses the top of her head, Etharen cradled between the two of them. They rest like that for a few moments, but when he notices Lady Lutana's eyes close and her breathing slow, he carefully lifts Etharen and slides out of the bed to place her in the cradle.

The baby stares as King Ivius walks back to the bedside and presses his fingers against Lady Lutanas wrist. No pulse. A single tear runs down the King's cheek and falls onto Lady Lutana's dead body, leaving a dark spot on her white dress.

He grabs the now-empty glass of poisoned water, and grips it with white knuckles. It smells faintly of ammionis, a beautiful but deadly flower whose seed gives a single drop of poison. The death is painless and subtle, as if slipping into a dreamless sleep. It pained King Ivius to use it on Lady lutana, but he did what had to be done. He couldn't risk the consequences that came with being associated with Xeoria, much less having a child with a member of the Court of Shadows.

He's snapped out of his guilt when the door slowly creaks open and reveals the palace's midwife standing in front of the doorway. Her eyes are clouded and her movements are slow and lethargic. She walks in without a word, hardly acknowledging the king's presence, and begins to attend to Etharen, feeding her from a small cup and examining her joints and extremities.

A strong draught delivered in a roll of bread is to blame for Eleanor's hazey stupor. Drugged to forget the events of the next 2 hours, the midwife helped deliver Etharen without even realizing it. Now, she would tend to Etharen while King Ivius disposed of Lady Lutana's lifeless body.

    Still gripping the glass, King Ivius strides over to the window. Leaning against the sill, he gazes at the lush palace gardens stretching out below. Eorians are littered across the expanse of soft green grass, some congregated by the endless tables of delicacies and others swaying to lute music on the dance floor. The last tendrils of light kiss the tops of their heads as the sun starts to set, and King Ivius notes with satisfaction the drunken way most of the guests stumble across the lawn.

King Ivius walks back over to the bed and slides a hand under Lady Lutana's corpse. Hositing her over his shoulder, he supports her deadweight with one hand and holds the incriminating glass with the other. Walking out the door, he makes his way towards the other side of the palace, and soon reaches a room whose walls are adorned with hanging tapestries. With his one hand, King Ivius pulls aside a large tapestry depicting beautiful naked naiads to reveal a gaping passageway in the wall. He steps inside, each footfall sending an army of small black spiders scurrying and a cloud of dust flying. It reeks of mold and dampness, illuminated only by the faint glow of torches holsted to the walls, but he trudges onward, Lady Lutana weighing on him both physically and mentally. After a minute of walking, he approaches a narrow set of stairs leading to the wine cellars underground. Maneuvering to prevent brushing against the sooty walls, he begins to descend down the curling staircase.

Crossing over the last few steps, King Ivius reaches the wine cellar. Cold and damp, hundreds of oak barrels filled with the richest and most exotic of wines line the walls and cross the room, creating a labrynth. Ivius slides the body off his shoulder and props her up against an oak barrel. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a shovel thrown carelessly to the side. He grabs it and begins to dig a large grave, shovel after shovel, scoop after scoop of damp brown dirt.

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    King Ivius stepped out from under the ornate tapestry, brushing dirt and soot from his fine clothes. His fingers were caked with dirt and small crescents of brown shown from under his fingernails. He began to make his way back to the bedroom with the intention of scrubbing his hands clean of all incriminating evidence before his path was interrupted by a pale and completely lucid Eleanor. Her eyes shone with startling clarity, filled with worry and panic, and her hands flitted about like small hummingbirds. When she saw him, she let out a little scream and all the blood from her face drained away. At first, King Ivius's heart dropped to his feet. The draught must have worn off, and Eleanor must have found herself cradling a strange child with absolutely no recollection of how she had gotten there. He could almost imagine her terror, but any empathy he felt had been stamped down by an innate need to protect himself.
    Ivius opens his mouth to order her away, to chastise her for roaming where she wasn't supposed to be, but something cuts him short. A miniscule smear of ink-like black blood stained the palm of Eleanor's right hand.

"How did that happen?" he demands in a loud, booming voice, pointing at the almost imperceptible detail.

Eleanor trembles under his gaze. "The baby..she cut herself..the feeding bottle...a shard of glass...when i dropped..." she mumbles, her words tripping over each other. "What...what is happening? Who...whose child is that?"

King Ivius ignored her last questions, and ran towards the bedroom. Everything looked the same, crumpled sheets, window ajar, Etharen babbling in her cradle. The only difference was the shattered feeding bottle before the rocking cradle, shining in the last rays of sunlight.

Urgently reaching into the cradle, King Ivius lifted out Etharen and examined her hand. Gripped into her tiny fist was a small shard of glass, stained with black blood. A heavy weight settled onto Ivius's heart. It was foolish to think that Etharen would be Eorian through and through, but that didn't stop King Ivius from wishing for it. The reality of the monumental task of raising a child all alone whilst hiding her blood hit him with a blunt force. He looked over at Eleanor, who stood shaking in the doorway. Though she was meek and timid, she was skilled in both childcare and medicine, and could be a great asset to King Ivius.

He acknowledged her presence by motioning for her to come closer. She shuffled in slowly and shut the door behind her. She turned her gaze upon the King, waiting for chastisement and punishment, but what King Ivius said next shocked her.

He brought himself to his full height. "The child is mine. Her name is Etharen, and she was born from a Xeorian consort. As you already have seen, her blood is black, and therefore must be concealed from others. I realize that I will not be able to raise her on my own, so I require your assistance in her upbringing." The king spoke in short, clipped sentences, showing that what he said was not a request, but a demand.

"Yes, my king. I am at your service."

"As part of your service, you will be expected to take an oath of silence. Kneel." At his demand, the 30 year old midwife bowed upon quivering knees.

King Ivius extended a ringed hand out in front of her, and allowed her to take it. She kissed the top of his hand, and if she was bothered by the dirt, she did not show it.

"King Ivius Lunabriar, ruler of Eoria, I swear myself into your service, and will act under your will. I take an oath of silence, and vow to never utter a single word about the happenings of today or the child's blood to anyone other than you." She had stopped shaking, as if she had realized that what she was doing was of utmost importance, and was no time to be scared. Or maybe the shock of finding that the King had a child with a Xeorian had worn off. Either way, a steely look of determination filled her eyes, looking out of place in her soft features and brown doe eyes.

"Thank you, that will do. I must now retreat in order to wash my hands of dirt." He dismissed Eleanor and walked towards the bathroom.

Flicking on the light of the washroom, he immediately began washing his hands, trying to ignore the ugly weight of murder that was settling over his consciousness. He tried to convince himself that it was something that had to be done, a natural instinct to protect one's skin. But with each drop of muddied water that swirled down the drain, his heart seemed to ache a little harder, and no matter how hard he scrubbed, he could still see the traces of dirt lined under his nails.

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