Golden sunlight poured over the sovereign spire, glowing bands of pure honey flowing like rivers across the glass and steel.
Layla sat at the window again, her nightgown stirring in the morning breeze. Another sleepless night, another night of trying to avoid the inevitable.
A knock came at the door, breaking her away from her thoughts.
"My queen," a voice called from the doorway. She scrambled from the window, throwing on her mother's robe. "Come in," Layla said as the door cracked open.
Lord Vermillion stepped into the room, his golden eyes weathered but still handsome. His emerald and golden tunic caught the morning light. Even after all these years, she could still see the shadow of that terrible day lingering in his gaze—the day he'd stood in the great hall with tears on his bronze cheeks and changed her life forever.
"My Queen," he said again, bowing as he approached her. "Breakfast awaits in the great hall, and a caravan is assembling in the courtyard. We should be ready to depart soon." His eyes stayed close to the floor, the same deference he'd maintained since her parents' death, no matter how many times she'd asked him to simply call her Layla as he once did.
"Thank you, Lord Vermillion. I should be down in a moment," she said, giving him a bow of her own. As he exited the room, Layla slowly found her way to her wardrobe, her hands slightly shaking at the thought of where they would be by nightfall.
The Nexus Sanctum. The central location for the festivities of the Long Night—a culmination of kingdoms and power for seven days where alliances are forged and kingdoms broken, where power can be won or lost. The place she had dreaded for nine years.
She found an emerald tunic and trousers and threw them on before leaving the room, bound for the breakfast table. She could smell the toasted meat and honey cakes as she moved down the spiral staircase, a smell that she could always count on, the one thing that never changed about her home.
"I thought I would find you here," Layla said, pulling up a seat next to Dara, who was scarfing down a piece of glazed ham. Dara was hunched over the table, her blonde hair tightly braided against her scalp, short blades hanging at her sides. Layla always thought Dara was beautiful in a warrior sort of way—she never wore gowns or dresses, just leathers or the occasional armor for ceremonies. Her green eyes always seemed to be on fire, shifting from emerald to jade depending on her mood or the way the light hit them.
"I'm preparing for the journey," she said, still chewing the fatty meat and slicing into another portion with practiced efficiency.
"Is that what you're doing?" Layla laughed, pulling some steaming honey cakes onto her plate. The familiar sweetness filled her nose, a comfort that never changed about home. She poured herself a glass of wine, watching her friend's methodical eating with amusement.
"Don't judge me," Dara snorted, pausing mid-chew to point her knife at Layla. "You never know what can happen on the road. I'm simply making sure I'm full so I can stay focused. You want me focused, right?" She punctuated the question by tossing another chunk of meat in her mouth.
"Of course," Layla smiled, taking her first bite of honey cake. The warmth filled her mouth, and with it came unbidden memories of her mother and father watching her eat in this very room, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.
"I'm serious. I can't protect you if I'm half delirious from hunger, now can I?" Dara's voice softened slightly, though she continued her assault on the ham.
Layla knew the real reason behind Dara's eating habits. Dara had grown up in the Outer Reaches of Ashmark, where most orphans go after their parents die if they are not royalty. Food was used as a training mechanism—or rather the lack of food when trying to force soldiers to perfect magical training or sword play. Ever since she had appointed Dara as her personal guard, eating seemed to be her favorite habit aside from scaring anyone who came near her.
"No judgment, as long as you don't pack any more ham this time. The smell was awful last time. Hours of smelling rotting meat," Layla said, laughing as she tasted the sweet honey cakes.
"Hey... It's not my fault we were stuck in that caravan. I tried to get them to go around the bog, but no, they knew better, didn't they? Besides, even though we were stuck, it was nice to get out of the spire for a change," Dara smiled, shoving yet another chunk of ham in her mouth.
"We'd better get you ready. Vermillion is going to start pacing through the floor if we sit here much longer."
Layla took another bite of the sweet breakfast and laid her fork down, gently wiping her face. Dara grabbed another portion of ham, and Layla smiled as she tucked it into the leather pouch that hung at her waist. Her friend, she thought, her only real friend in this entire place.