Chapter II: The Blossoms That Weeped

Mai Wyverlis was not strong, she would not even lay a hand on a fly. Mai Wyverlis was not worthy to live in this palace, to be born a royal girl with such a surname—as Wyverlis, and receive all of the pleasantries one would. In fact, she was so unworthy of her title, Mai Wyverlis was not her name, not the true name given to her upon birth.

Father would never use it. He did at one point in time, when she was a small toddler, but once Mai reached a certain age, promptly at seven, a year after the cousins developed into their own Ark of The Maker, Father stopped using the name as it was much too beautiful for someone like her. Ugly things with lackluster magic did not deserve such a privilege.

Mai often reminded herself that she still did have a true name, even if the members of her family rejected that sentiment.

Perhaps it was for the best that no one called her by it? Father wouldn't be pleased and she wished his wrath upon no one, not even the people who abandoned her at the thought of a useless heir.

Lots of thoughts such as these blew through Mai's mind, often enough to create a perfect schedule of self-deprecation. They were like the soft winds blowing throughout the garden, such a light touch from the mother of gust above, yet these winds were capable of plucking petals from the prettiest flower, no matter how deeply rooted it may have been to the earth below.

Mother gust seemed to mock her internal metaphor, as Mai sat on the stone bench, the cold seeping through the ruffled golden skirt and petticoat which came to her ankles. Droplets of water splashed onto the nape of her neck, heated from the fountain bespeckled with diamond shards, which attracted many feathered creatures, singing their silvery songs to both the sun and the moon. Birds of different breeds bathed in the crystalline waters, tweeting as they were showered with rays of the sun and spray from their bath.

Mai breathed in, the air was sweeter than glaze, but as bitter as honey. Not wanting to miss the show, she refrained from close her eyes.

Surrounding the fountain in a shield, were tall-standing tree guards, oak as white as ash, with petals resembling a blend of rose pink and poisoned apple green. A gift from nature made by the esteemed Monarda Wyverlis and maintained to this day by Grandfather Edan. His Ark of the Maker pertained to living things solely, of nature and greenery. Only the third in the seven generations of Wyverlis to specialize in such a feat, it was truly magnificent.

The garden was once but only one, small marigold and with the green hands of Monarda and her grandchildren, it soon had the opportunity to blossom into everlasting life. Marigolds encircled the porcelain fountain, this time of year brought about the bees from every area of the Clover Kingdom, even from the hive which resided in this very garden. Breaking off into four separate paths, one was a path of white oak trees leading down a trail of stone, opening into a thicket of flowers, a patch of every known to man, with a wide, white wickered arch to both shield the viewers from the blazing sun and expose the flowers, so they could greedily drink up its solar magic. Down another path, the trail was lined of dirt, led to a fishing pond where the cattails grew wildly and the fish danced underneath the lapping movements of the drink, unbothered and slicker than slime. And, the third destination hidden within the trees was a path of twigs, that no matter the weight of the being, they would refuse to snap. It was the path that led to the most treasured gift of all... the Tree of Monarda. After a decade, the thick trunk continued to spread its ashen roots and the branches stretched to the heavens bearing the fruit of all. Bluesea peaches, golden apples, berries filled with cream.

Never tasting any of this fruit herself, it was forbidden for anyone but the High Maker and Maker Mother, not even their children could come close to it. Although, Mai guessed even if she could, Father would not have allowed it, as further punishment for being a faulty air, a faulty daughter.

Mai turned toward the final path, one that was barren and yet to be touched by the Ark of the Maker. That spot had been saved for the fourth Wyverlis who could give the gift of life.

Smiling at the thought, when would that be? The newest addition to Monarda's legacy, for some reason she could not wait.

The story of the first Wyverlis woman was one of many whims. Monarda, who came from nothing, with not even a surname to present to Ferdinand. Monarda only gave him two things, her mind and her heart. When they came together, the pair was unstoppable, Ferdinand brought the physical, anything one's heart could ever desire, while Monarda, someone with latent magic, brought love and life once she was empowered by the joining of her name with his. In the fairytales names had power and that certainly was no different for her family.

Mai found herself staring down at the reflection before her in the pure waters. Ashen gray hair pulled into a tight, intricate updo. Eyes wide, doe-ish, and the hue of seafoam green. Putting a toffee hand against her own cheek, it almost appeared as if someone else were caressing her. Her facial structure was heart shaped, in comparison to most Wyverlis women, even though they were all very much alike. Looking into her own reflection, she told herself that perhaps that was the only thing which made her different. That a simple structure of bone justified why she could not understand the only people she had ever known. Not understand in the way someone learns magic, studies it down to its core, to understand it's inner workings—no. Understand as in the way a wolf finds a mate, as is in the way a mother and daughter braid one another's hair, whilst talking about their deepest feelings. A connection that one only has with the people who share their blood.

Mindlessly, she took a curly strand of hair wrapping it around her slender finger, letting it free and watching in the fountains waters as it bounced back into firm place.

"Perhaps I am in an atrocity, after all." The words floated from her mouth with such ease they sounded natural once they fell on her own ears.

Mother's gust began to blow her winds unto the garden, cold as a touch from an estranged mother, creating cascading ripples on the fountains waters. Birds shook their feathers dry and took flight away from their temporary home. Branches starting to ache, as the trees waved to catch their attention. Sooner than she could look, the pink and green petals were being carried, sprinkling like dust around her. Most of them ended up landing in the fountain, while the rest either slowly fell to the grass or atop her head.

The shower of petals was interrupted quicker than it began, and Mai was so caught in its bliss, that she did not hear the flattening grass from behind.

"Don't tell me you're off daydreaming again it, dear Mai." It was a familiar voice, often coolly controlled and unbothered by the most frivolous of remarks. If Nero was in her position, let it be known that father might have met his match long ago.

Spinning to face the new presence, who's white strands of hair blew in the wind along with the petals, no matter if it was in a ponytail or bun, it always appeared as if he put no effort into neatening his locks. Although, his clothing did not say the same, infact, they didn't have to, Nero's style mirror fathers. Elegantly ruffled collars, and draping cloaks made of black fabrics. As opposed to Father, Nero donned brighter colors of crimson instead of dreary hues reminding her of a bitter death.

The smile Mai once had, fell a tinge. "No," she thought for a moment, "just thinking."

Nero pushed up his circular frames with his middle finger, adjusting his collar while taking steps toward her, not in any sort of rush. "I see. I thought I would find you in the gardens, as always."

Mai hummed a response, missing the canaries as they spoke. "To what do I owe this visit, cousin?"

"My, my. You almost look unhappy to see me, is that any way to treat family?"

"It's just a surprise is all," taking her skirt within her fingers, Mai closing her eyes and dipping forward, "apologies my Lord, I don't mean any disrespect."

Two fingers were placed underneath her chin, lacking calluses from age and pulsating warmth. Nero lifted her head up to face him, their eyes met and even from the kind gesture, he lacked something important to follow through with it. "You treat and gaze upon me as if I were your father. Whenever I address you, there are always formalities. You stiffen at my touch," Nero did not bend down to face her while he spoke. He took his fingers away, caressing a side of her cheek with the palm of his hand. "You should not fear me."

The smoothness of his words attempted to penetrate her guard, drizzled with sugars from the sweetest apple and filled with cream from those untouchable berries.

It wasn't that she feared him, although he was quite formidable, but Mai couldn't help but become tense during his presence. Nero has crafted such an ensemble, not one soul could question his destiny of greatness. Mai almost found herself jealous of her cousin, the early bloomer, who's abilities surfaced at the rough age of five. His sister was normal, while Mai could not even consider herself any kind of bloomer as of late.

"I do not fear you, Nero." Mai breathes a chuckle, "I only respect you. You and Maggie are truly kind to me, I will always be grateful."

Of course Nero and Maggie were both born into the same generation as her, but that wouldn't have stopped them if their hearts were truly black.

Nero pulled his lips into a smile, the corners of his mouth curled. To the women, this made him the devilishly handsome noble he was. "Respect me, as you should. A natural born wife, you are."

Mai crinkled a brow, his smile should have disarmed her, but she instead found herself wanting to move out of his grasp, much like how she wanted to remove herself from Father earlier this morning. "Wife?"

"Yes. I've decided that I wish to take you as my wife once I become the High Maker. I have no interest in my sister."

Nero? As the High Maker?

It was the truth that mother was barren and Mai was without any siblings, therefore she was the heir whether father wanted it to be so or not.

Eyes widening into saucers, Mai couldn't find the correct response for him, or rather, words that she didn't deem too rude to speak aloud.

Nero tilted his head, stroking a thumb against her cheek. "Why the look of distress, my dear? I'm not plotting to kill you or to attempt regicide. From my calculations, the event of you reigning as High Maker would surely bring about the end of our family, and then we couldn't accomplish what our ancestors would have wanted. Mother Maker is undoubtedly infertile and that is irreversible, so what of the title of High Maker once your father's magic begins to dwindle?"

The answer to that question would have been simple, but now that he's displayed the future with such clarity, quite frankly, she didn't know.

"But," Mai started, voice wavering before she even began saying the next words, the look she received from Nero made her decide otherwise at the thought of not finishing her sentence. "You— you aren't the son of the current High Maker. He is only your uncle, you are not in line for the throne. Father would never allow you to succeed him."
Nero made a silent 'ah', tilting his head backwards and closing his eyes for a second. "You see, this is where you are wrong. It amazes me that you even still consider yourself a contender to the position of heir," his tone remained the same, as if he was simply speaking of trivial matters, "a girl who is very much like an innocent flower, or—these flower petals scattered about." Nero plucked a petal from atop her head, twisting it about between his fingers. "Beautiful to look at, but..." Then, with the flick of his wrist, golden particles drifted from the part of his body near his hand, like sand falling in an hourglass. A small dagger appeared in his hand, once they had disappeared, it's size was comparable to a baby bird. Now holding the petal in his palm, he seemingly swiped the dagger down the middle of it, gently but slow. Tilting his hand to the side, in two halves the petal fell to her feet.

Mai was left staring at the pretty, innocent thing.

"Fragile as a consequence," he finished.

Nero's voice remained composed, something he was good at, but the very action made the hairs on Mai's back stand on end.

"Now, don't you worry. I, unlike your brutal father will not treat you with ill will. All I ask is for your undying respect and love, in return, as reigning High Maker, I will make sure the Wyverlis respects my wife. I will even allow them to address you by your true name. If that is what you desire, my dear Mairin."

Taken aback, Mai leaned away, nearly falling into the waters of a fountain that would gladly take her, spray from the sputtering pole dampening the back of her head and dress. An arm with a grip as firm as his will, wrapped around the small of her back, lifting her from the bench with ease.

Mai shook her head a bit, a gesture that went unnoticed to Nero as he continued to pull her closer to him, the distance was intoxicatingly smothering.

"Well?"

Naturally, Mai wanted nothing more than to break eye contact. Turning her head slightly to the side, in a position where their lips did not perfectly line up. "Where has all of this come from? These ideas and such?"

Nero simply let his head tilt lazily to the side, raising his shoulders and letting them fall. "I've been thinking of this for quite some time." He then released her from his grip, brushing off his sleeves the moment they no longer made contact.

The Wyverlis was a family of pride, among other symbols. It was a family with much history and beliefs that led to practices that were kept from the rest of the world, where they could only assume, and even then they would only be written off as rumors.

Being a Wyverlis meant many things, and one of them being preserving thy name. To preserve the name, meant to preserve the very essence which made the Wyverlis strong and the only way to do this was simply to stay within the family.

"I'm giving you a choice, because you have not many of those."

Mai looked to the petals resting on the ground. To say no would have been wrong. How much longer would she continue to sully the Wyverlis name with her incapabilities to grow into one of them? But if, she said yes, it would be a blatant lie and she didn't wish to lie to one of the only family members who acknowledged her in a positive light. It would be a terrible lie, but perhaps Father would praise her for such.

Within the silence, a bell tolled once. A sound that could will all the birds to abandon their nests.

Before a word fell from her lips, heavy doors swung open, creating a light breeze which cleared most of the petals from the entryway.

Frozen, Mai kept her eyes below the woman who appeared before her.

"Children, inside now," she said, with haste.

Nero started to move before she could finish her sentence. Promoting Mai to do the same, as she trailed behind him, somewhere within her, she decided to speak without being spoken to.

"My Lady, Minalisa, we heard the bell. Is something the matter?"

Aunt Minalisa did not stop walking, her head with hair pulled into a tight and low bun, bobbed with every quick step she took.

"Her Radiance has fallen ill."

R&R at your leisure!