The Prince of Ilios

Ellora sat on the bed, nodding to herself. The early morning sun was just beginning to rise. She twined her fingers for a moment, thinking of what was taking place at two-thirty, a wedding. Not the one she had ever dreamed of having, but it would prove to work to her advantage. Left alone with her own thoughts, her planning side took over. Alyn was right, if they waited, it was only a matter of time before Cyrus's tyranny led him to take over the Southern Isles as well. As well, the people of Ilios were already suffering under his rule. The poor at the gates, who came everyday seeking food soon learned they would be killed on sight. The people were struggling outside the castle walls, and Cyrus was doing nothing about it. However, she could do something about it. She breathed and began seeking the waters. She would need to be able to tap into every available water source nearby. If the fight took too long she would tire and fail. If it was too short, the prisoners would not have enough time to escape. She felt for the underground springs. A few were under her room. One under the stables. Three under the East Wing, two near the kitchen, several by the dungeons, and all of them fed into the main spring, under the throne room. It would not be hard to get there. However, there would be many armed guards at the ceremony. She would have to think of a way to distract them, make them leave the room. Cyrus had completely underestimated her by taking her cuffs off. He had overwhelmed her with fear. He had repeated to her that she was meager, worthless, and powerless in her actions and words. But, he was wrong.

She wasn't a nobody. She had education, morals, joy, a sense of wonder and curiosity. She had ingenuity on her side, and had been trained to think on her feet and how to defend herself by those she loved, by her parents, grandparents, and friends. She did not stand alone, their skills and generations of hopes, dreams, and power passed through her. She was surrounded by these generations of love. Her power and control did not rely on something within herself, rather something outside herself. For the first time she let go of the worry to control. It was time to trust that what she had would be enough.

A gentle rain began to pour outside the window. Ellora hummed, reveling in the release as her thoughts and emotions came to peace.

Ellora awoke the later in the morning refreshed and ready. She had not slept that soundly since she was nearly five. She had never understood how much the weight of expectations she carried until this moment, when she had given up control. She felt light. Before she knew of all the expectations she would strive to meet, and before all of life's worries and troubles had reached her. For the first time in her life, Ellora felt free to be who she was as she was. Stretching momentarily, She pulled the bell and three servants came into her room. She ordered tea and a bath. A large tub came to her room. The servants pour oils and flower petals into the steaming water. She soaked away all hint of her previous doubts. The rain continued to drizzle happily outside as Ellora's determination grew. She dried, letting the maids ready her. Today was her wedding day after all. They twisted and twirled her hair, pinning it with heavy silver barrettes and combs. She sat patiently as they decorated her face with makeup and her limbs with fine silks and jewelry. She ate the small snack of fruit and meat presented to her.

At last, it was time. The maid placed the veil over her face, Ellora nodded her thanks. Four guards led her out of the chamber. It was two-thirty. They walked down the darkened halls. The castle had been redecorated in such a short amount of time, it was almost unrecognizable.

Ellora kept pace easily with the guards. A maid outside the throne room handed her a bouquet of blood red roses. She touched a soft petal and chuffed sardonically to herself, "How fitting."

The guards at the doors stood waiting. She took a breath and nodded. The doors swung open and she was left to walk down into the throne room alone. The golden carpets were now dyed black and heavy red curtains hung from the walls. The gleaming marble had been purposely dulled and the golden chandeliers were now black. Each change had insured more of her determination. Cyrus was living in the lap of luxury, buying expensive cloths and metals to furnish his home, rather than helping the people of Ilios. As she made her way to the end of the mostly empty room, each step confirmed her fervor.