"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?
The wrath of her parents, the sake of her people, and a secret she'd have to withhold from Ziedas for the remainder of her existence.
A secret that was in desperate need of maintaining as soon as she could excuse herself to meet her.
A glance out of the window above her mother's head indicated the sun had set and dusk was falling.
And Fiama's time was starting to tick away.
"Is there something wrong with the food? Are you too good to eat what we provide you now?"
Fiama finally looked to her mother. The queen, for all her beauty, was nothing short of horrible. She never smiled and when she did, it was insincere and often at Fiama's expense. That smile, uncaring and cynical, graced her red lips as her kohl-lined eyes pierced through Fiama like a dagger in her heart.
She shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with the food. I'm afraid it's me. I have been feeling somewhat ill and I fear I have the same ailment that has befallen Ziedas-- "
"And what do you expect us to do now with the food you have chosen to waste?"
"Perhaps you can donate it," she offered, knowing well charity was the last thing her parents would consider.
Her mother's answering cackle was answer enough.
"Begone," the queen ordered with a flick of her wrist, "and don't think of being late in retrieving Ziedas tomorrow."
"I would never consider it, Mother," Fiama said as she stood. She gave both parents a respectful nod of her head, neither of whom returned the gesture.
Even as she left, she could feel her mother's judgmental stare, and she did all she could to not run from the dining hall as she prepared the mental checklist of all she needed to do before she snuck out to meet Ziedas.
"All I'm saying is that a little forewarning would have been appreciated," Jeraf groaned where he stood outside his bedroom where Fiama changed for the third time since her arrival at his cabin.
Fiama waited just long enough for her parents to finish their dinner before taking the long-deserted stairwell that led to the no longer used servant quarters with a direct exit from the castle. When money became harder to handle, her parents immediately released half of the castle staff, regardless of their needs or importance. It was unfortunate for the families who suffered, and Fiama promised to herself every time she passed through the dark empty hallways that she would, one way, make Morakar the beauty it once was.
"I did what I had to do with the time I had," she informed him as she pinned her braid into a tight bun at the base of her neck. "I panicked and I knew I could rely on you."
"Be that as it may, you're lucky I was able to rid myself of Timin when I did. He still insisted on escorting Ziedas to the meeting, even as she was leaving."
"Maybe Timin has finally realized there were much better opportunities out there than me," she mused.
"That will never happen. He was just being a gentleman. A concerned gentleman, which, I may add, is not a bad quality to have."
"And what about your qualities?"
"The ones that cover your ass when you make stupid decisions?"
"Those as the ones."
She heard Jeraf sigh and he leaned against the hall's wall. "So what's your plan?"
Finished with her bun, Fiama cinched the bindings around her chest tight enough to knock the wind out of her before she tied them off. "She wants to meet... so we'll meet."
"You and I both know that's not all she wants."
"And you and I both know I'm more than happy to entertain her in any way that will benefit Morakar."
"And what about Fiama?"
"What about Fiama?"
"C'mon Fi... how long as you going to keep this up."
"As long as I have to... or until she leaves at the end of the week. Whichever comes first."
"And if she doesn't leave? Or worse.... If she asks the vigilante to leave with her?"
She scowled towards the bedroom door, knowing well he couldn't see her but glared at him all the same. "She will... and she won't. This is only one meeting. Her mind is still in a haze since the events of the attack. She'll realize this vigilante is nothing important and she'll return to Ithoya sooner than later to escape personal embarrassment."
"I think you're missing the point. And an opportunity you may never receive again."
"I suppose that depends on who you ask. If you speak to my parents they'll be the first to tell you I can leave at any time."
"Once you're married off and become someone else's problem."
"Exactly." Fiama threw her shirt back on, tucking it into her pants before belting them. "Besides, I'd rather stay a little longer and remain your problem."
She swore she hear another groan before silence followed. Concerned, the stepped out of the room to see Jeraf leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.
"What's wrong?" she asked, unable to hide her concern.
Slowly, Jeraf opened his eyes and met her inquisitive stare. "I want to see you happy, Fiama."
The care in his tone sobered her. "I am," she lied.
"One day, I want to believe you when you say that. But until then..." He pushed off the wall and faced her. "You know where she'll be waiting for you."
She didn't notice her scarf and cloak in his hand until he offered it to her. She gave him a small smile. "Thank you."
"Just remember this."
"For when?"
"For when everything turns to shit."