I
The Regent King
Lunar Year 2721
The open doorway of the Telliore Palace welcomed a ceaseless current of spinning waters and tirelessly patrolling soldiers and nobles; each with their own stories playing out in tandem- oft crossing, rarely uniting. In the Kingdom of Lyveria, an iron grip on your aspirations- your goals- the future you wish to paint for yourself- is all but necessary. As without it, you have nothing to hold on to, and will surely be swept up by that very current, trampled by your ever-moving peers, far too shortsighted to notice you were ever even there.
That current was alive and well on every floor of the palace- save for the throne room, which had found its doors and windows shut for quite some time. There, sitting not on his throne, but hunched over a desk covered in paperwork, was Rafael Carretero; the Regent King, and husband of the late matriarch, Genevieve Carretero II.
It had been an unbearable, sleepless few weeks since the Queen succumbed to illness. On top of joining his kingdom- and his daughter- in mourning, he was suddenly thrust upon all the duties of single-handedly ruling the kingdom he called home.
This wasn't right; he wasn't meant to lead. The kingdom was a matriarchy, for gods’ sake. Since he was born, all he was expected to do- all he was taught- was to be a perfect suitor for the Queen. Just like every other noble son, he was locked up inside Seaspring, and guided in the ways of seduction and decency, not- not legislature! He gave the Queen an heir, damnit, he did his job!
The King had his responsibilities- minor as they were, and he had taken over before when the Queen couldn't perform. But those were little incidents- a call to step up while his wife recovered, not this! Not all of this!
Rafael sighed, and laid his head in his palms, when he heard a knock at his door. He had specifically told the guards not to bother him for anything that wasn't urgent tonight. What could have possibly happened that already required his attention? The Queen was already dead.
Rafael opened the door to find his daughter, Genevieve III, looking up at him. He chuckled, and silently cursed himself for not telling his own daughter that he would be busy, too. Though, he doubted that he'd have the heart to ask her not to bother him anyway. Or that she'd care.
His daughter was a remarkably beautiful young woman, at twenty-two years, she was growing every bit into the Queen that her mother was. Her hair, its tint so light the people mistakenly call it white, flowed gently to her shoulders, where it sprawled out like foam on the ocean's shore in a deeper blue. Her skin- as smooth as it was through careful and obsessive grooming on her end- was delicately painted by complimentary whites and pinks.
Her elegance was only accentuated by her attire, the dress she most prefers to be seen in further cemented her hair's motif of water flowing across her body, before reaching its end at her torso, where the fluffy wool padding her chest intentionally resembled sea foam. It was a bit on the nose for Rafael's taste, but he couldn't deny that it suited her.
"Oh, hello Genevieve. I'm a little busy, do you need something?"
Genevieve cocked her head to the side.
"You haven't come down to eat yet tonight, Father. Lotus and I waited, but your food went cold about half an hour ago, and no one's come to fetch you yet. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, darling. I'm just trying to get some rest, and forgot about dinner. That's why no one came to get me- I told them not to."
Genevieve looked up at her father's hands, which were gripping against the throne room door. She gave him a condescending glare.
"Your fingertips are drenched in ink. You've been up doing paperwork, haven't you?"
"Ah." Rafael grunted, and looked at his hands. He hadn't even noticed, but of course she had. Ever since she learned to speak, she had a sphinx's eye for detail. It would have taken a full opera production to convince her he hadn't forgotten to comb his hair in the morning. He should know better by now than to think he could fool the genius he raised.
"You promised me you wouldn't overwork yourself!" Genevieve snapped. "And look at you- you didn't even make it a week! Mother always had paperwork waiting for her, Father, and she knew what she was doing!"
Rafael rolled his eyes. Hurtful, but accurate, as she liked to be.
"You're never going to do everything." She continued. "Try as you might, you'll only end up exhausted and miserable for it."
"Is that what your tutors taught you about leadership?" Rafael jested.
"They taught me that Queens are not goddesses, and we shouldn't pretend to be." Genevieve said, tugging her father into the hall with her.
"And you're even less than that.” She teased. “You're a man."
"I appreciate your faith, daughter." Rafael laughed. "And how dare you recite that lesson to me? I can think of someone else who hasn’t taken it to heart yet."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Genevieve turned up her nose, smiled, and clapped her hands. "Now, I demand that you come to bed with me."
"Aren't you a little old to have your father sleeping in your room?"
"I need you there so I can make sure you don't sneak back to your desk."
"What about food?" Rafael asked.
"Mm, it's already late, and you can afford to miss a meal."
"You're horrible."
Rafael laughed, and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. And gods forsaken, he had to travel to the Land District in the morning, to meet with that damned bird in his wife's stead. If nothing else, he needed to be well rested and prepared for that.
If the stories his wife told him were true, Rey Za-Hel was going to tear him apart at his first misstep.
