Of Flowers and Flames | ONC#2020 ((ON HOLD))

Chapter Six

"First, she insults us about her treatment when she couldn't even have the decency to announce her presence when she wasn't even invited, and now that she is invited she doesn't even have the decency to show her gratitude by accepting!"

Queen Laira hadn't stopped fuming since Fiama informed her Ziedas would not be joining them at dinner that evening. Her father remained quiet while he cut into his meet, and Fiama herself had very little appetite as she contemplated the potential possibilities of meeting Ziedas later that evening.

"What did you tell her?" her mother accused from across the table. "What did you say to possibly make her want to be anywhere but here dining with us?"

Fiama only gave her mother a glance before returning her attention to her untouched dinner plate. "Only what I already told you. The day was long and she informed me of her stomach illness just before we parted ways."

"That is unacceptable," her mother continued on. "Where did you take her? It better not have been to those ramshackle taverns you seem to enjoy. That's embarrassing enough— you a princess, lest you forget. And you're going to rectify this when you see her tomorrow. I will not allow Morakar to be seen as anything but hospitable...."

Fiama had years of practice when it came to drowning her mother out. Her father's constant silence and lack of input only solidified her assumption that he had honed the practice of doing the same well before she was born. She dared a glance at the king who continued to eat like he was the only one in the room— without a kingdom watching him he had no reason to care otherwise.

The masks they wore in public were always just that. Her father was a king who cared more about his kingdom than he truly did. Her mother was a queen too quiet to speak out in public until the doors shut behind them. And she was no more than a princess trained to be obedient, living one day to the next just to make her parents proud.

Their masks may come off as easily as shedding a dress, but for Fiama she began to wonder where the mask ended and her true self began underneath. With each passing day, the mask became her only identity, but at night...

Her stomach grumbled and not because she was hungry.

At night, she was who she was truly meant to be. At night, she did something good for her kingdom that had nothing to do with marrying a distant kingdom to improve trade or build Morakar's coffers.

And that night, for the first time, she was not an anonymous vigilante saving the unexpecting travelers from dire straits.

She was now the vigilante saving Morakar from the wrath of the Emissary's daughter.

"Are you even listening to me?" her mother snapped.

The simple answer was 'no' but Fiama would never dare tell her parents the truth to such a question. "Apologies, Mother. I was concerned about the well-being of Lady Ziedas and considering the apologies I would deliver tomorrow."

"Think of that on your own time. Right now we need to discuss the ball at the end of the week. I hope you're prepared."

Fiama swallowed. "For what?"

"It doesn't matter if she's prepared or not," her father spoke without looking up from his plate. "She will be there and that's all she needs to know."

"I—" Fiama's head was spinning. It was only a ball to send off Ziedas. What could they possibly think she needed to be prepared to do that?

"You better have a dress nicer than the rags you wear," her mother sneered.

"Of course, Mother," Fiama said softly.

What would it cost to take Ziedas up on her offer? To accept the clemency of Ithoya, to leave Morakar behind?