Lawrence kicked the first thing he set his eyes on - in this particular case, a wooden chair.

Behind him, the High Princess Azarya slowly rest her back against the wall. Lawrence couldn't help but turn his head slightly at the sound of the bolt being scraped against the wood on the other side of the door and cursed silently to himself, knowing there would now be two guards outside, taking station.

The two of them said nothing for a few moments - Lawrence too angry to form a coherent sentence and Azarya too shaken to do anything other than maintain her cool, controlled facade, as her training dictated. Never show fear, never show weakness. Always appear to be in control.

Another few moments of silence passed - but it was Lawrence who finally broke it, his voice sharp and angry.

"What the Hell were you thinking?" Lawrence spat, unable to find it within himself to face her. He was angry - more than angry, livid, hatred was coursing through his veins like poison. Hearing no response, he whirled around to face her. "Well? What were you thinking?"

After Casimir had so spectacularly displayed Lawrence's return to King Leopold and the rest of the Jamesland court, the King had demanded that Lawrence and the High Princess should be placed under secure watch whilst the King and his advisors overlooked the terms of the peace treaty.

The two of them being placed under security was no more than convenience - that and, Lawrence knew, King Leopold was attempting to have them decide on their tale. How had they met? How had this peace treaty come to being? Had Lawrence fallen for the High Princess, did this really explain his absence from court, was this all treason or an elaborate plot by the Zabulites to have them all divided?

Neither Lawrence nor the High Princess had said anything upon the King's orders - although Lawrence had angrily shrugged off the guards who attempted to hold him as they escorted he and the High Princess from the throne room, the High Princess calmly murmuring instructions to Casimir before following the guards with a calmness that only irritated Lawrence further.

Was this just a game to her? Did she think his life was less his own, because he wore no crown?

"I am speaking to you!" Lawrence shouted angrily, his fist colliding with the large wooden table beside her. A hastily placed plate of fruit and bread graced it, along with a jug and two hurriedly washed cups of wine. "Answer me!"

Finally, Azarya looked up at him.

She hadn't wanted to see him, in the days leading up to their arrival in Jamesland. It felt too… Real, her purpose too close. She didn't want to see his face. She didn't want to see his face and acknowledge that fate had cruelly destined that was the face she was to see for as long as their respective gods decided.

"I will answer you when, and only when, you speak to me with the respect and courtesy that my status demands." She said sharply, unflinching as the table jumped from the impact of Lawrence's fist. He towered over her, leaning down with his fist remaining on the table - but she kept her head held high, refusing to be intimidated.

"What-" Lawrence forced his voice into some semblance of control, though it still shook with anger. His blue-green eyes blazed. "- were you thinking? Was this your sick plan all along?"

Azarya glanced away.

"No." She admitted reluctantly, before forcing herself to stare up at him belligerently. "But upon finding you at the slave market, an opportunity presented itself. Had I simply appeared in Jamesland with no knowledge of you, of your behaviours or even outward appearance, there was no guarantee of the King's honesty."

"You… Entrap me in your schemes, then doubt my King?" Lawrence laughed once with disbelief - and only because, if he did not laugh, he was unsure of what he would do to deal with the intensity of feeling bubbling inside of his chest. He forced himself away from the table, from her, from those unwavering green eyes. "Why would you do this? Why would you want this?"

At that rather startling accusation, Azarya shot to her feet and stormed towards Lawrence, who now stood by the large stained window, overlooking the market below. Mere minutes. Mere minutes ago, he had stood in the same market, revelling in his freedom.

How had things gone so wrong?

"You think I want this? To be… Here, with you?"

"Oh." Lawrence smiled falsely. "It does have emotion! What happened to your brilliant control? The one you exerted so effortlessly when securing my doom earlier?"

Azarya had to remind herself to not scream. Regardless of how much she hated this godforsaken kingdom and how little courtesy she saw in its people, she could not reduce herself to their baser form.

"What difference would it make, to maintain my facade with…?" Azarya motioned to him, unable to complete her sentence - with you. It sounded much too intimate, too… Familiar. "Regardless of our wants, we are to be forced to spend an inordinate amount of time with one another - at least until one of our kingdoms kills the other." Lawrence's expression became serious at her words - that was not a threat, it was a statement. A statement that made their predicament much more real. Before he could help himself, Lawrence's inner soldier came to the forefront of his mind. In the horrific possibility that King Leopold was to fall to the High Princess' ridiculous plans, a marriage wherein both parties' lives were constantly at risk from the other would be Lawrence's reality. "And unless I am to drive myself to insanity when in your presence, the courtesies taught to me must be disregarded somewhat in order for me to survive."

"If this is so difficult for you," Lawrence spat, leaning down so that their faces were only inches apart. She was unlike any Jamesland wench, arrogant and outspoken as if the words of women were something to be considered. In Zabel, such practices were normal - but not in Jamesland. "Don't survive at all."

They stood almost nose to nose, closer than either had anticipated, which Lawrence noticed now. Something carnal in Lawrence, something he wished wouldn't surface at that moment, reminded him to take notice of her lips - the lips, closer than they'd ever been before but still not close enough for him to quite reach with his own, that were full and pink from her outrage.

At first, an expression of confusion flickered across the High Princess' face, her dark eyebrows furrowing slightly - and then, as her cheeks flushed with indignation at how Lawrence's eyes had fixated on her mouth, and the subsequent wetting of his lips with his tongue. Her eyes sparked with outrage. Whilst the High Princess maintained the romantic notion of chastity until in the face of true love, that did not mean she was ignorant in recognising a man's desire when it presented itself - usually, not subtly.

"You first." She snarled, only more infuriated as Lawrence raised one eyebrow to himself - as the animal longing inside of him noticed how her lips curled with distaste, looking soft and supple.

The air crackled - and not just with the sounds of the fire, but between them. Instinctively, Azarya's hands were clenched by her sides, her entire body tense for a reason she hoped she understood.

It was at that moment that the door was unbolted and swung open.

"I apologise, I should have signalled you first." Sir Louis coughed, glancing away as the soldiers shut the door behind him. Azarya stared up at the King's advisor in confusion - signalled? What for? - but Lawrence immediately understood and, looking down at the small space between himself and the High Princess, jerked away with a reddening face. "High Princess, I beg your pardon."

Despite being surprised at Sir Louis' sudden cordiality, Azarya nodded - before sitting at the table, after Sir Louis motioned for her to do so.

Azarya knew she didn't need to listen to what Sir Louis had to say next - his sudden remembrance of his own manners told her everything she needed to know and now, as Sir Louis motioned for Sir Lawrence to join them, all Azarya could think was that this was the terrible moment when her fate would be sealed.

"I prefer to stand." Lawrence murmured, watching with trepidation as the High Princess of damned Zabel sat down at the head of the table, despite that originally being Sir Louis' direction. Instantly, Lawrence was infuriated; Louis' cordiality, as it had been understood by Azarya, could only mean one thing - and even if Lawrence had attempted to pretend otherwise, Louis' deference to Azarya's higher status at the height of the table, regardless of her being a woman, was telling in itself.

"Having reviewed your treaty-"

Lawrence was ashamed; he considered himself a man enough to admit that. He was ashamed of the almost feral feeling he'd felt at the pit of his stomach at the High Princess being so close, how his most base instincts had screamed for vengeance and the release of his anger in a way that was contrary to his knightly vows and personal values.

But he had to admit, there was a level of begrudging respect at how calmly the High Princess waited for Louis' words. If he looked hard enough, he thought he could see it, her fear - but then it was gone, magically, as if he had imagined it all to begin with.

Although they sought no comfort from one another, although they felt every fibre of their being reject the other with every moment that passed, they said nothing as Sir Louis stated what they already knew; that the treaty had been reviewed by King Leopold and his council of advisors and upon careful consideration, had been graciously accepted. On the Council's behalf, Sir Louis thanked the High Princess, on behalf of her Empire and King, for the extension of friendship after so many bitter years of war; a sentiment King Leopold would be only too happy to announce in public, once the marriage was officially announced.

"Of course, there are some personal matters which the King wishes to discuss with you both." Sir Louis had finally said nervously, put in a state of unease at the High Princess' statuesque demeanour. It were as if she were barely human at all. "Lawrence, the King has sent for you in the Throne Hall at once." Sir Louis referred to Lawrence brazenly, reminding him of his station; yet he turned to Azarya carefully, weighing his words. "Your Royal Highness, the King - Prince? - your… Old friend requests, should your weariness from travel so allow, your company - should it please you."

Lawrence could not help the noise of outrage. She was to be treated like a… Like a queen, almost, a High Princess? Lawrence's knightly valour, rusty from misuse in past months, acknowledged the requirement for diplomacy in such a situation, but Lawrence himself - a warrior, a soldier, a strong-willed young man with a stubbornness born from his youth - was aghast to see his King already bowing to the High Princess' shameless demand for respect. If this were any other Princess, such deference would be unheard of!

Lawrence's only satisfaction came from the flicker of surprise that flitted across the High Princess' face, shown only by a quirked, dark eyebrow. Thoughtfully, she pressed her fingers against those damningly full, smooth lips again. It were as if Lawrence's thoughts died in his very mind whenever he focused upon them, as if some magic had cast away any sense he had.

"Am I to stay in the castle?" She asked, watching Louis carefully. "Am I His Highness' guest at court?"

"A guest of his dungeon, I should hope." Lawrence muttered angrily, ignoring Sir Louis' warning glare.

"Of course, Your Highness. You are a most welcome, respected guest at King Leopold's court - not only as his best serving knight's-" Sir Louis said these words with a scornful look in Lawrence's direction. Lawrence met his eyes challengingly. "- future wife, but also as a friend of both the Great Empire of Amphecilia and the Great King himself."

Azarya had turned away her face, so that Lawrence could not see it, but he imagined her expression was less than elated by the sudden concern on Sir Louis' face.

"And my men?"

"To be housed with our own Royal Guard this very night, my lady."

Those same dark brows lifted again, at the tender term. Even Lawrence was surprised that Sir Louis was so bold, so as to call upon the wretched High Princess as if already a friend.

Then again, Lawrence knew how enamoured Sir Louis was with his King. Regardless of his disdain earlier, if King Leopold truly did consider this… Witch a friend, then Sir Louis would feel so with the enthusiasm of a young mutt.

Sir Lawrence was unhappy.

"I am weary from my travels and the dramatics of this court." Azarya finally replied quietly, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes at the dark laugh Lawrence made from somewhere behind her. "If you would be so good so as to find me a steward to guide me to my chambers, Sir-?"

"Louis." Louis offered eagerly, listening carefully.

"Sir Louis, I would be grateful for refreshment and some rest. I am unaccustomed to the weathers and terrains of the journey to this land from my home." She was careful to remind both Sir Louis and Sir Lawrence of her distance from them; in culture, in home, in station. "However… Upon such a reprieve, being entertained by the Pr-" Azarya furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Sir Louis seemed to hold his breath. "… King, would be welcome."

"Entertained-" Lawrence began to repeat in disgust - as if his King were some court jester! - but Sir Louis was quick to shush him, with yet another warning glare and the raising of one of his thin, bony hands. "Would you truly have me so easily watch the King's honour attacked, Sir Louis? I, his greatest knight?!"

"As the King's subject, Sir Lawrence, I may remind you that you have been summoned to the Throne Hall immediately and only listen upon such matters of politics as that between royalty, due to Her Highness' courtesy in not dismissing you?"

"You would have me dismissed by my wife, Sir Councillor?"

The air stilled; and all that could be heard was the sharp intake of breath taken by that of the High Princess, her shoulders tightening before Lawrence.

For a few moments, there was only silence.

"You would be reminded, Sir Knight, that the woman to be your wife is no ordinary woman, but the key to this Empire's greatest strength." Sir Louis said quietly. "Your King beckons you."

"Then I beckon my wife to join me in presence of my King, and bow to him as I, one of his subjects and her as one of mine-"

"I am of the Royal Blood of Zabel, I bow to no man, nor to your silly notion of subservient wives." Azarya said, tilting her head towards him, allowing only for a colourful shadow to fall upon her face from the glass. Her eyes seemed angry, but her face impassive.

Suddenly, Sir Lawrence realised that the only way to see truth in the High Princess was through her eyes… A fact not particularly useful, unless they truly were destined to wed. Lawrence hoped not.

Fresh rage surged through him as the Princess waved her fingers dismissively at him, as if he were a mere servant. Lawrence scowled.

"Go, Lawrence!" Louis snapped. Then, turning to the Princess with a milder expression, he sighed. "The King will be glad of your presence this evening. If you would follow me, Your Highness, the King has seen to it that your chambers be very close to his own."

"To aid the assassination?" Lawrence asked rudely, already walking towards the large oak doors.

"For the Princess' protection." Louis glared over his shoulder.

Lawrence clenched his jaw and swung the door open, heading towards the Throne Hall.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I did it for my kingdom!"

"You did it for glory!" King Leopold said sharply. Lawrence stood before him in the otherwise empty Hall, save for the guards stationed at the doors and Charlie beside him. Of that, at least, Lawrence could be grateful; the thought of being questioned before the court, rather than being welcomed as a hero as he'd anticipated. "Which - which, ordinarily, I could pardon you for, Lawrence! Our goals often align in such respects, but to declare war on Zabel-"

"Your Majesty, I did not-"

"That is exactly what you did, Lawrence." The King said wearily. Underneath the light brown beard, Lawrence could still see the young man he'd known as a child, one of his oldest friends - thrust into the highest position of power Amphecilia had to offer. "I understand… I understand why." They were speaking as friends now, not as King and subject. "I understand that you thought it would be a show of strength in light of the difficulties I am facing with the Council, but… We cannot afford war with the Zabels!"

"There is more richness in your soldiers' hearts than gold could offer, Your Majesty-" Charlie began, but the King waved him into silence, his kind blue eyes looking troubled.

"What we have, the Zabels have thrice as much on their worst of days." King Leopold murmured, stilling as Charlie huffed. "You are shocked at my honesty, Charles? Do not forget that the days of silent war between our two Empires do not predate my existence. There was a time when the High Princess and I were of the dearest of friends!"

"A courtesy she herself did not think to remember." Charlie said sulkily.

"Enough!" King Leopold shouted, banging his fist on his throne - and Lawrence stared at the floor as Charlie bowed his head beside him. "Lawrence, you have been my friend, but I will not support this behaviour in your men. Before I am your friend, I am now your King."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Lawrence said quietly. "But Charles… He proves himself true. The High Princess does not share your happy memories."

"You would not question my judgement as your King, Lawrence - then I do not understand how you may question another of Royal blood!"

"Because you would have her as my wife!" Lawrence shouted back - and for the second time that morning, Lawrence found the air still around him. King Leopold's cheeks reddened in outrage and hastily, Lawrence continued - "I talk to you not as my King now, but as my once friend. Yes, perhaps taking Salim was reckless - but to punish me for eternity by condemning me to a life with that… Woman-"

"This is not a hasty decision, Lawrence!" The King said hotly, rising from his throne. "Have we not discussed, many a night, the kind of woman you wish to have grace your bed for longer than a mere knight? The kind of woman, as you yourself have once said, is so very unlikely to exist for her admirable qualities? Perhaps this is not ideal for your convoluted notion of romance, Lawrence, but the High Princess is a beautiful and accomplished woman! This is a good match, both for kingdom and your own happiness!"

"My happiness?" Lawrence laughed darkly. "The woman you speak of does not exist in a simple Abe-"

"Enough, Lawrence! You will talk of the High Princess with the respect with which I would hope you speak of me!"

"- you ask me throw my life away, Leo!" Lawrence seethed. "My life is already dedicated to your service and with that I have no quarrel, but to dictate to me whom I should marry? And what of a mere knight marrying a High Princess? Why not one of the Dukes, or Lords?"

"It would interfere with my line of succession, as you very well know." He looked like Leo again - his kind-faced, happy friend, not the subdued King. King Leopold was the Prince who, or so they whispered in the markets and taverns, had killed his own father in cold blood for the crown; but Leo, Leo was Lawrence's friend, who slipped into taverns with him unnoticed and who had played games with in the stables as children. "Do you forget what duty is? Perhaps the Lords are right and I have given you too much freedom, as my kinsmen. I am destined for a preordained marriage. You are not the first man, nor will you be the last, to dedicate his life in its entirety to his kingdom!"

"I already have!"

"On your terms!" Leo said sharply. "You forget that, Lawrence! You serve me in a way that suits you, that asks of no compromise or sacrifice! You fight, as you've always loved, and drink and steal away with women! Well, I ask you now to prove your loyalty - you will either marry the High Princess, and do so with gratitude and respect at such a great match, or you will lay aside the sword you wield in my name!"

The two men stared defiantly at one another, hearts racing.

"You would cast me aside for a once-old friend?"

"I would cast you aside for my kingdom, Lawrence." Leo told him easily, before slowly settling into his throne - and once again, he was King. "Now, I ask of you for the final time, Sir Lawrence - will you do as has been agreed, or will you defy your King?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Strangely, the castle was larger than Azarya remembered.

There were more arches in the ceilings, stronger gusts of wind, more dark stones and carved panels. Her cloak, bright and loud compared to the shadows of the castle around her, whispered against the stone floor as she followed Sir Louis - past the Throne Hall, through a main corridor, through another main corridor and past another turning, up a staircase, down a few steps, into a narrower passage…

Azarya had planned to try and memorise the route, as it had been years since she had last stayed at Jamesland Castle, but it occurred to her that perhaps such a confusing route had been taken deliberately. Whilst Azarya knew Sir Louis' words had been sweet, there was very much a possibility that the idiots of the Amphecilian court would petition for her to be taken as prisoner - no matter how charmingly they presented her cell.

As if somehow sensing the guarded nature of the Princess' expression upon presenting another staircase leading further into the castle, Sir Louis smiled.

"I apologise for the extended journey, Your Highness." Louis said politely. "But… Well, as of yet, none others than those at court this morning know of your arrival, and even less of your intended stay. The fewer that see you, the… Easier your transition may be."

Azarya nodded curtly, holding her cloak as she walked briskly up the stairs. Sir Louis followed her.

"You think I will be unwelcome here, Sir Louis?" Azarya asked amusedly, though perhaps Sir Louis did not recognise it so.

"Well, Your Highness, I- with the current political climate - you are most welcome here, of course, but-" Louis stopped abruptly as Azarya glanced over her shoulder, looking amused. "You are… Joking, Your Highness?"

"Should I not?" Azarya said lightly. "After all, I have just wagered my life away in service of my Empire. Am I not to undertake some form of amusement with which I can distract myself?"

"It seemed you had never laughed." Louis said stupidly, blushing a deep crimson as he realised his words had been said aloud. "I - I apologise, Your Highness, for my utter rudeness-"

"Oh, relax, Sir Louis." Azarya sighed. She was a beautiful woman, Louis could see, with sparkling green eyes and a warm smile - but there was a hardness there, too, well hidden in this current moment, but there and terrifying to Sir Louis' fairly simple mind. "You are loyal to your King and wish to please him, which you must not be faulted for. But I would hope you know I am not cruel. You are anxious and afraid. No harm was done by your comment."

"Thank you, my lady. You are most gracious." Louis bowed, following her as they continued up the stairs. There were a few moments of silence. "Do you enjoy laughter, my lady?"

"Very much." She nodded, staring ahead. "Whilst I have little cause for it currently, its presence would be appreciated. In fact-" She glanced around her. "- I laughed aplenty in this castle as a child, I think." Then, quieter - "It is a shame I feel as if I never will again."

Sir Louis said nothing.

At the top of the stairs, Sir Louis motioned for them to walk down another corridor - large, but smaller than the others downstairs, and more heavily guarded. Azarya heard Sir Louis hiss a quick "bow!" to the first guards - and soon, the others followed.

They finally reached a circular antechamber at the corridor's end.

"That is the King's chamber, Your Highness." Sir Louis told her politely, motioning to a door at his side, heavily guarded. "And these… These will be your chambers." The door was opposite's the King, the antechamber between them. Azarya watched as Sir Louis nodded for one of the guards stationed further down the corridor to open the door for them. Sir Louis walked before her and presented them with a flourish.

She slowly stepped inside.

She supposed these were the guest chambers, or for another of the Royal Household that had died. As a child, she remembered the King and Prince had been placed on opposite ends of the castle - for security reasons -, and then immediately questioned herself. Did this mean she was not trusted by Leopold?

"Are these temporary?"

"That is at your own discretion, Your Highness." Louis bowed. "I am sure you and His Majesty will later discuss the more fine terms of your agreement during your meeting later, one of such terms will likely be where you choose to dwell. If you choose to remain at court, here at Jamesland castle, then yes, this would most likely remain your chambers."

"And of Sir Lawrence?" His name tasted foul on her tongue.

"There are chambers beneath this, Your Highness. This was once the Queen's chambers, and her ladies would often travel from below in the night, should she require anything, though a secret passage locked from the outside in this very room. Sir Lawrence, upon your wedding, will be placed there."

Azarya nodded, glancing around her.

The chambers were, indeed, fitting of a Queen, something somewhat confusing to her. A Queen's room being her cell… It wasn't unheard of, but it had been unlikely in Azarya's own mind.

Perhaps she should have not been so gruff with King Leopold earlier.

No. No, she'd had to be - she'd had to show her strength. And King Leopold's happiness could have been false. She would find out later.

The walls were bare and the stone edges sanded down, though of a lighter colour than those outside, the room itself large and rectangular. A large fireplace, almost as tall and certainly more than three times as wide as Azarya herself, was placed at her side, opposite to the bed before her.

Azarya swallowed uneasily. Her married bed?

It was a beautiful thing, she had to admit - with four posts around it, and a roof of some sort, not so unlike her own back in Anahid. But it was darker and had heavier hangings, tied neatly at the posts. The sheets were ornate too, threaded with patterns of gold - though it seemed as if it had been untouched for a long time.

A large window was at the bed's side, opposite from where she stood, with a small set of carved chairs and a cushion embedded in the stone seat overlooking the window. There were doors on either side of the bed, too. There was a small table near the window, presumably for personal effects.

"It will be remade to your liking, of course, Your Highness, and made suitable for a woman of your stature's presence as you refresh yourself." Sir Louis said hastily, seeing the dust and barren walls and feeling the cold emptiness of the air. "Would you have me send for you a maidservant, or-?"

"I have my own, though I imagine she will require assistance. You would send for her? Her name is Valkyrie. She will be with my soldiers."

"Of course, Your Highness." Sir Louis bowed. "If you would be so kind as to wait here, I will send for her immediately."

Azarya nodded. Within seconds, Sir Louis was gone.

Azarya stood still for a few moments, collecting her thoughts. Her mind wrestled with the truth - that this, this dark room, was her new home. She would refuse any estate Leopold offered her and would choose to only stay here; in Jamesland Castle, in the chambers she was given. She had seen another door, not the King's, in the antechamber. It was not as if she would be moved upon Leopold's own marriage. She had been placed in the heart of the royal apartments.

Sighing to herself, Azarya walked over to the doors by the bed, first choosing to glance at the one by the window. She found another large room, though smaller than the one from which she'd just came, bare save for a worn-out rug. A small archway led to another room, spacious though the smallest of the three, holding a large wooden tub covered with a dusty coverlet. In the corner was another door. Azarya pushed it opens and immediately wrinkled her nose in disgust; a small bench was there, a hole cut in its middle. It did not smell wholly unpleasant, but rather had a nasty edge to the air, waste mixed with dust and locked air. Azarya quickly closed the door.

She walked back into the main bedchamber, testing the other door. Just as Sir Louis had said, the door was bolted from the outside - and when Azarya, with some effort, pulled the bolt from its rusty hold, the door opened to reveal a narrow, spiral staircase leading into darkness below. Although Azarya only peered downwards from the top steps, she could just about make out another door. The tiniest rays of light shone through from underneath it. She could hear noises, like that of footsteps, and quickly shut the door again, returning the bolt.

It was silly for her to be afraid - but until she saw Valkyrie, until she met with Casimir and felt more herself again, she must be careful.

Azarya then wandered over to the window, staring through the glass to below. She had expected a town of some kind, as she had glimpsed in the room where she and Sir Lawrence had been ushered after their reunion - Azarya scoffed at the thought - in the Throne Hall. Instead, she found a garden - not bright and filled with exotic flowers, such as even in the most commonplace gardens in Zabel, but spacious and filled only with shades of green. But that was further away and a stone path led to somewhere beneath the pane that Azarya could not see.

"You have your own private garden, Your Highness."

Azarya turned sharply at the young voice, female, and found the speaker to indeed be a young woman with whitish long hair. She curtseyed awkwardly.

"I'm Emma, Your Highness. Sir Louis sent for me to wait on you."

"I asked for my own-"

"I actually offered, Your Highness, if I may be so bold as to say so." Emma interrupted, her cheeks turning a rosy pink. Azarya stared at her. Was this to be an attempt on her life? In the form of a… Young girl? "Miss Valkyrie will be here shortly, Your Highness. I met her when the soldiers were brought down to the guards' chambers, and snuck her into my room so she may wash in peace."

"And why would you do that, Emma?" Azarya asked calmly, though her stomach twisted in knots. Was Valkyrie in danger? Had Casimir been so stupid as to let her out of his sight?!

But the girl, unfazed by Azarya's stillness, smiled brilliantly.

"You know my-" She hesitated, glancing behind her at the ajar door. Placing down her things - Azarya only now noticed that she had been struggling with a selection of objects, including two pails of water, some folded linens and what looked like small packages of paper -, she shut the door, resting against it, before whispering happily - "You know my husband, Your Highness." She stepped forwards - and although there was still half of a large room between them, the room was so quiet that they may as well have been standing beside each other. "My husband." She repeated - before fishing into her tunic for a charm strung around her neck by a piece of plain black string.

Unable to help her own curiosity - Azarya knew no-one in Jamesland, let alone the husband to a serving-girl -, she stepped forwards… And upon recognising the charm that Emma held triumphantly in the light, stilled.

"William." Azarya whispered, before striding forwards and snatching the silver charm, welded to show the dove, the Zabulite emblem, flying in the circular coin. "You - William is here?"

Before Azarya she could help herself, she remembered - she remembered the messenger presenting himself in her bathing room, back in Anahid, handing her the letter from one of her dearest friends and favourite stablehand. One telling her that he would not return from Jamesland after visiting his sickening aunt, the only relation he had left; that with tensions rising in the realms between Amphecilian and Zabulite lands, he feared he would never again manage safe passage to Jamesland; a letter telling her that he chose to stay because he had fallen for a young girl, a young maid, who he intended to make his wife. A letter thanking Azarya for everything she had ever done for him, a letter filled with friendship and love and affection as he'd said goodbye.

And Azarya could remember, as if she were reliving the very moment - the way her hand had crumpled against the thin paper, the way she had thrust it away, the way, hours later, a single tear had fallen from her face when she was alone because her oldest friend was gone.

She'd learnt, in the long months since then, that William had perhaps meant more to her than a friend, even though Azarya was entirely aware that nothing would ever occur between them. She hadn't wanted it to. But, oh, she'd missed him. Her own horse had been reared by the two of them. They could talk of anything. She had felt betrayed by his letter - he had a home in Anahid, was considered one of the best stablemen of the palace and held in high regard, despite his Amphecilian roots. Azarya had felt that this girl who he spoke of had stolen from her, taking from a Princess when no others could.

"You remember!" Emma said delightedly, as Azarya suddenly dropped the charm as if it burnt. "Oh, William has only spoken of you in the highest regard, Your Highness. He works as a stablehand for the royal stables, Your Highness, he rears the young ponies - he told me of your own horse, he says he's yet to meet a more magnificent creature-"

"Why would you wait on me?" Azarya had wished for her voice to sound strong, authoritative - but she sounded confused and young, closer to her age than she ever allowed herself to sound. "If - if anyone knew, William was stupid to send me that letter, if anyone here knew, they would think-"

"Well, he could not simply leave you, Your Highness." Emma laughed in disbelief. "No, no! He loved - loves-" Azarya winced at the word. The young girl did not notice. "- you, you all, too much for that kind of betrayal. And no-one shall ever know of William's link to you, I shall be happy to be known only as your loyal maid. I wish for no favours."

"I am the Princess of your enemy!"

"You were the kind mistress to my love, Your Highness." Emma whispered, stepping forwards and clutching Azarya's hands. Azarya was too numb to pull them away. "I would be happy to serve you. William has told me of - of your fairness, of your kindness, of your friendship. Would you so have it, Your Highness, I would share that with you myself!"

Azarya had no words.

"You are tired and overwhelmed." Emma said firmly. "No worry. I shall set you your hot bath and you shall warm your surely chilled bones - William talks often of the sun in Zabel and we have so little of it here in this season - and I will make this room fit for you, and Miss Valkyrie will arrive and we shall see to it that you are as comfortable as the King himself here!"

"I - thank you, Emma." Azarya finally managed to say, her voice hoarse.

The girl swelled with happiness, her eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. Such a reaction? At so few words of kindness? What had William said of her, that this girl should already idolise Azarya as if she were her own Princess?

"The pleasure is truly all mine, Your Highness." Emma said firmly, dropping her hands and picking up her things. Azarya was too numb to offer any help. "My only ask of you is that, if it pleases you, you tell Sir Louis that you would be happy to have me wait on you. I am not the most experienced, nor the most refined, but I swear I will be as loyal to you as my William has always been."

With that, Emma happily turned away, into the small set of rooms Azarya had explored before.

Emma continued to chatter happily from the other room, unaware of how Azarya managed to collapse into one of the chairs, clinging onto its arm rest. It were as if the weight of the day suddenly fell on top of her.

Whether it was hours or seconds or minutes, she did not know - but shortly afterwards, the door swung open and Valkyrie stepped inside.

The two friends looked at one another, speaking without saying anything at all.

And then Valkyrie sighed, and kissed Azarya on the head, and then sunnily presented herself to Emma in the other chamber. She was followed by others, too, others wearing the Seal of Zabel, the same seal on Emma's neck, but Azarya could only sit there dumbly; because she was in Jamesland, a world away from Zabel; with William, with William and his wife Emma, and King Leopold of Amphecilia, and she had condemned herself to marry a lecher of a man that she had captured and threatened with his own sword, and now she was in St James' Palace and, for the very first time in her life, knew not of what to do next.