Sappho Gula stood before the portrait of her late grandmother, Meröe Gula, in one of the many vast halls of the Sovereign House. This particular portrait decorated the Second Hall, a name given not because of its size, but its adjacency to the Great Hall. Old Meröe was in her prime in this one, newly crowned and upright, looking much less irritated than she did in her latter years.
Sappho took after her grandmother quite a lot. She had the same short dark hair and ink-black eyes, though Sappho often hoped to have escaped the look of haughty irritation that seemed to be permanently pasted upon Old Meröe's face. She chuckled inwardly, knowing she had, without a doubt, escaped it. Sappho was gorgeous. Her skin tone, noticeably brighter than that of many in her family, bore a resemblance to the smooth and almost velvety brown of Kantian Mountain soil. With an almost symmetrical oval-shaped head, wide eyes, dark bushy eyebrows to complement them and straight, bright white teeth, many around her felt she could, and would, be a muse to many a romantic poet. Right under her nostril was a birthmark.
She walked to the large panoramic window a few paces right of Old Meröe's portrait and began to stare at her birthmark in the reflection. Almost perfectly circular, wedged right between her upper lip and right nostril, that mark had always made her feel quite special. Her mother had had the same birthmark, in the exact place as Sappho's. Sappho had never met her mother. Ghana Zara-Gula had been an unfortunate victim of maternal death sixteen years before, when she gave birth to Sappho. Sappho endured the stares of fake pity from the other nobles and genuine sympathy from the aides, but Sappho always felt a deep connection to her mother because of that birthmark. She would often slide into vivid daydreams when she stared at it, imagining her mother's voice and smile, and the various conversations they might have had. Conversations on history, or maybe philosophy. She only had one picture of her mother, one that hung around her neck at all times, in a locket gifted to her by her father. Not many spoke of Ghana Zara-Gula. In fact, no one did. There were no portraits or pictures, except for the one encrusted in the black and shiny valludium locket that was so dear to her.Both her father and Aunt Hagia had taught her, from the moment she could speak, never to mention her mother to anyone ever. And so Sappho knew close to nothing about her mother. She loved to imagine, however.
"It is time, Princess," Sappho snapped out of her reverie to see Tolle standing a few steps next to her. Shifting her gaze back to the large window, high, wide and clear, she could see the castle grounds. Though one would usually see a massive carpet of green stretching out as far as the eye could see, with trees grown in fine patterns, trimmed bushes, and marble fountains here and there, Sappho now saw throngs of people covering almost every inch. Some could still be seen pouring in through the western and southern gates; some in cars, some on horseback, but many on foot. So absorbed in thought, Sappho had not noticed them at all.
She turned back to face Tolle. Even after being Equerry to the Gula family for as long as he had, and treated with fondness and consideration, Tolle forever bore his stiff and formal manner around nobility and royalty. Perhaps that's his charm, Sappho thought.
Tolle Nile was not what you would call young, but all about him said otherwise. He had a lean, though slightly dense, build, like that of a wrestler. His eyes, matching his night-black hair, were always sharp and intent.
"Tolle, must I attend? Is it mandatory?" Her sarcasm had in it just a drip of unease."You are the Sovereign's firstborn. I'm afraid it is mandatory, Princess," his voice was respectfully compassionate. He, unlike most, understood Sappho's frightful position. The Sovereign's illegitimate firstborn. She already knew she had to. With royalty came duty and responsibility. And while she craved respite for a day, today would not be that day. She stepped out of the Second Hall and began for the Great Hall, Tolle following closely behind.
Upon the death of a Sovereign, the Sovereign's chosen heir assumed the throne and became the Supreme Leader of the Kantian Sovereignty. Meröe Gula, a sharp, tough, and demanding woman, had been Sovereign for forty-eight years. Her reign was, as many say, a quiet one. Though its quality was neither here nor there, people appreciated the peace. The events of the previous century had ensured that. Old Meröe chose her firstborn, Sappho's father Sirius Gula, as her heir shortly before her death. It was not uncommon for firstborns to be chosen as heirs, and many were, in fact, groomed from the moment they learnt to walk and talk. However, it was not a law, and the reigning Sovereign could choose any member of the royal family-or, on rare occasions, the peerage-to succeed them.
Old Meröe died, as they say, peacefully, in her sleep. Sappho disagreed. She did not believe death to be peaceful in any way. Two hours after her death, Sirius was crowned Sovereign. Many traditions follow the coronation. Many unnecessary traditions, thought Sappho bitterly, with the concluding tradition being The Reveal. The ceremony where the newly crowned Sovereign was presented to the realm, along with the rest of the royal family and the heads of the twelve noble families and their immediate families.
"Tolle, have you seen Sifa?" She had yet to catch a glimpse of her friend. Tolle glanced quickly around the vermillion-themed Hall, beautifully lit by the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead, organised enigmatically across the vast ceiling.
"No, Princess," Tolle said after a short moment, "but she will most likely be at the Ball after the Reveal. Now, however, your family awaits you."
Finding the Gula Family was a breeze, not just because Tolle knew exactly where they were, but also because nothing called more attention than a royal.
They all, like Sappho, were clad in burgundy robes. Sappho's fit her perfectly, with the tight silk revealing her stunning figure to ostentatious proportions. It was sleeveless all the way up to her shoulders, with the collar rising and wrapping around her whole neck. Golden ear cuffs, decorated with long, black and beautiful falcon feathers, sat wrapped behind both ears, with a set of fang-shaped earrings hanging from both ears.
Her father stood amidst all her family, instantly recognisable. Sirius Gula was a tall, dark and burly man with brown, cognac eyes. He wore a striking burgundy robe with golden vine embroidery curling up all around it. And on his bald dark head sat the Crown of the Sovereign. Dark and smooth and polished, the Crown was crafted from pure valludium, like Sappho's necklace. Sharp, uneven projections rose from it, projections that bore a stark resemblance to the numerous sharp and jagged peaks of Mount Kantia.
Sirius was quite the kind and gentle soul around the family. In the face of duty, however, he was ruthless. Commands were issued with precision. Meetings were chaired pragmatically. And the law was upheld quite strictly. Sappho always prayed to never be on the receiving end of her father's other side.
Sappho's Aunt Hagia stood next to Sirius and was speaking to what seemed to be the Arch-Doque of the Azzlyn Family, judging from his white robes. Aunt Hagia was, as always, immaculately dressed. Her robes looked more like a gown, wrapping tightly around her upper body but spreading out beneath her, like an upturned Mayan flower. Her massive afro sat around her head like a giant spherical mane. Aunt Hagia was short but always stood tall, like she was a Sovereign herself. Her face was the epitome of composure, and in her eyes danced a quiet laugh. She resembled her brother in many ways. Eyes, lips, skin... They even laughed the same way; first a smile, then sound, without the mouth fully parting, as they were doing now with the Azzlyn Arch-Doque.
Sappho's stepmother looked up as Sappho entered the group's borders. She immediately smiled welcomingly, but in her eyes was a carefully restrained irritation only ever evident to Sappho. Rama was a tall, slender, and stunning woman, to whom poise and elegance seemed to be as effortless as breathing. Sappho did not like her one bit.
After the Azzlyn Arch-Doque had stepped away to join his family, both Sirius and Hagia turned at the sight of Sappho.
"What is the necessity of the Reveal?" Sappho asked in mock irritation as she embraced her aunt.
"Tradition, Sappho," Aunt Hagia said seriously as their embrace broke.
"Pardon me for finding that answer not only bleak, but also loathsome in its own unbearable delight." Her tone was still mocking, but began to border on actual annoyance. She turned to face her father.
"You look lovely, Sappho," she said, embracing him, "as do you."
"Traditions might be useless in and of themselves, and actually quite dreary, in my opinion," Aunt Hagia said, looking straight at Sappho. "But, if firmly established in the minds of the collective, they become juggernauts of power." Sappho had heard that countless times, in countless different ways, from countless different people.
"Knowing that doesn't make it any less dreary, does it?"
"I'm afraid not," her aunt said, "it just makes sure you understand the usefulness of dreary traditions."
The massive glass doors of the Great slid open to The Balcony. A mild, albeit chilly breeze poured into the room. The sky outside was a mask of grey, threatening, and yet promising. Sappho loved the cold. It cleared her mind.
The cheers of the crowd below followed the breeze, loud and elated. The peerage stepped out onto the Balcony first, instantly recognisable by their family colours. White for Azzlyn, black for Zuri, green for Nefertari, azure for Dragomir and so on...A chant began to sound, first steady, then demanding. We want the Sovereign! We want the Sovereign! That was their cue. Sappho Gula, Sirius Gula, Hagia Gula and the rest of the royalty and peerage stepped out and onto the Balcony.
*
Shortly after the Ball had started, Sappho had decided to retreat to the roof. Moonlight from four of the planet's six moons bathed her in their demure glow of smooth silver. It never did rain. The clouds had slowly parted and fled, leaving the sky empty. Sappho leaned on the railing, contemplative.
"I've always loved this spot," she spun around to meet the smiling face of Sifa Zuri, clad in a black sleeveless, neckless, backless dress that held her tightly, generously highlighting her lean and athletic figure. Her height of six and a half feet, along with her bald head, dark wood skin and effortless grace, made her seem to be a manifestation of the dark and bizarre reaches of outer space. And she was Sappho's best friend.
"Sifa!" Sappho jumped and embraced her. They chatted animatedly for a long while. Many referred to them as cosmic twins. A label they never disputed.
"You have decided to join, haven't you?" Sifa asked after a rare short bout of silence. Sappho was quiet for a while.
"After this Ball, both my father and aunt will be immensely occupied being the leaders of the realm. Even more than they were before. I'd like to take myself off their hands. Perhaps even craft a world of my own," Sappho said, her gaze drifting to Neves, the brightest and largest moon.
"Well, if you're going, then so am I," Sifa said firmly.
"Sifa, you don't have to do any such thing," Sappho said, her gaze snapping back to her friend."You are absolutely right. I don't have to. I'm choosing to," Sifa said intently, her eyes never leaving Sappho's.
"What of your father?" Sappho asked.
"He can wait," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
They sat quietly for a moment."I've heard a lot about high school. I can't wait to see the real thing," Sifa said. And neither could Sappho.