The streets were dimly lit, the air frozen in place as it pierced every bit of skin. Yet that did not stop a large crowd from showing much to the young boys dissapointment. Everyone from beggars to nobles stood before them, all looking on eagerly with hungry eyes. Everything was silent even the birds seemed to stop singing to hear what would be announced. Would it be rashions? Where they at war? Everyone feared the worst. They were wrong. He knew it. Nothing bad would come to from his Mother. His Mother was a good person, a kind soul to all. Toa all being, including the humans.

Yet that did not stop him from shifting uncomfortably under the scrutinizing stares. Look forward. His mother told him. Do not show them fear. Your clothes will protect you. If anything his richly garbed clothes were doing, it was not protecting. They were stiff, itchy in places yet, no matter how much he wished to, he could not itch. His tiny hands gripped his mothers overly decorated red dress, tugging on it slightly as he pulled it in front of him, shielding him. His large frightened eyes watched the crowd, allowing his hair to fall, partially covering his face.

Finally his mother spoke, her voice demanding to be listened to. It declared what would happen, and what would not. Who would be executed and who would be spared. She talked of politics, of alliances, of things that made no sense to the little six year-old. His sister on the other side, looking just as regal as himself, looked on with almost bored eyes. Her mouth set in a thin line. She was not hiding away, she was allowing herself to be seen. To show she was not a person to meddle with. 

Alexander's outfit (minus the crown):

His sister's:

His mother's: