Júlia

You know that and accepted it long ago… but you never anticipated the sacrifices you’d make for someone else’s power; for Farah’s. None of which she asked for, but all of it you’d give again.

Being a figurehead and projecting strength was always important to Farah. She wanted to be the image of a leader young Fairies could trust and believe in. 

You told her once, You don’t need to be strong for me to believe in you. She had given you a fond smile and shake of her head, squeezing your hand where she held it in her own. 

Somewhere along the way Farah got lost. Headmistress Dowling became all of her. You love all of her, but you couldn’t love only a figurehead. 

“If you interrupt me one more time—so help me god.” The headmistress had snapped the last time you saw her, “Pull yourself together.” 

Her words had been meant to strike and strike they did; you pulled yourself together and left Alfea, vision blurry as it faded behind you. Your home… isn’t yours anymore. 

“I’ll risk it,” You smile, “I might be able to help out. At the very least, I’ll distract her for a few minutes.” 

Roy nods and you step out in front of the Elias Clarke building. You weave through the crowds and inside without a hassle. The attendant stands up straighter upon seeing you, even after all this time. Nodding in greeting, he lets you through. 

The crowds seem to part as soon as you’re past the front desk. Tall, rail-thin models step out of your way, some even stepping out of the elevator when you get in. You want to shake your head at the treatment. 

It’s a short ascent to the Runway offices and you can see why Emily is so stressed. Models and staff scamper past, barely looking your way. The front desk is in shambles as several men in suits hound the receptionist. 

Milena, the poor girl, looks absolutely beaten. You check your watch and find you have a few minutes before Miranda is expecting you. 

“Is there something wrong here, gentleman?” You ask smoothly, stepping in beside Milena like it’s your rightful place. 

The tallest and meanest of the bunch turns on you. His suit is rumpled like he’s been tugging at it nervously, face red and splotchy with anger. 

Milena cuts in softly before he can throw anything your way, “They keep saying Miranda is expecting them, but they’re not in her schedule.” 

You pat her shoulder. 

“We do have an appointment!” He almost shrieks. 

You look him up and down, raising a brow. It shuts him up long enough for you to dial a familiar number. You hold up a finger to the men while the line rings. 

His fists clench at his sides. He looks like the lawyer type, which means he’s not used to being made to wait, let alone by a woman. 

“Miranda Priestly’s office.” Emily’s clipped voice comes down the line. 

“Hi Em,” You say sweetly, “I’ve got three men waiting with Milena, claiming they’ve got an appointment on the books. Is there anything in her schedule?”

“Of course not. She has lunch with you.” 

“That’s what I thought. Thank you, Em.” You return the phone to the cradle and give a sharp smile, “You’re not on the schedule, gentleman. I trust you know where the elevators are and if you’ve forgotten, security will be more than happy to escort you.” 

“I’ll have your job, Miss—” One of the other men says. 

You grin deviously, “It’s Mrs, actually. Mrs. Priestly.” 

All three men blanch. Milena tries to cover her grin as you step around the desk. She discreetly dials the security line, watching you with bated breath. 

The tallest doesn’t look so mean now. When you step up to him, he takes a half-step back. You almost regret Miranda not being here to bear witness; you learned it from her, after all. 

When the elevator sounds and the doors open, the head of security and two of his burliest men step out. Milena nods in the direction of the three men you’re staring down. Tearing your eyes away for a moment, you nod.

“Clark.” You acknowledge the head of security. 

“Mrs. Priestly,” He says, “Is there a problem here?” 

“No problem. These gentlemen just need some assistance finding the lobby.” 

Clark nods and his two men step forward and usher the red-faced men from Runway. You watch them go with a satisfied smile. Folding your arms over your chest, you turn to the man at your side.

“Do we know how they got up here?”

“Front desk says they had an appointment with Mr. Ravitz this morning. They must have come straight from his office.” 

Your lip curls, “Irv. Of course.” 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

“That’s all, Clark. Thank you.” 

He leaves without further fanfare. You watch as he sends a warm smile Milena’s way. Her responding blush makes you pause. Interesting development, you think, trying not to let your thoughts show on your face. 

Collecting your bag and accepting Milena’s heartfelt thanks, you continue back towards Miranda’s office. You wince when you catch sight of a clock. You’re five minutes later than you should be, but all you can do is hope your wife isn’t too upset. 

Following the familiar pathway to the offices, you try not to shake your head when nearly a dozen models and staff members scare upon seeing you. Honestly, you think, I wasn’t nearly as bad as Emily. Must just come with marrying the Editor-in-Chief, you decide. 

Speaking of Emily, the brit is boredly explaining something over the phone. You offer a small wave and she sends you a surprisingly-genuine smile. 

Miranda isn’t alone in her office; you can hear her soft voice bickering with someone else. Peering in, you see Nigel standing in front of her, hands motioning this way and that as he explains something. 

Knocking on the office door, “Uh, am I interrupting?” 

Both look up. Miranda’s severe expression softens slightly. When she checks the watch on her wrist, her lips purse and you know you’re not getting away with your tardiness, but she doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Not at all, darling. Come in.” Miranda stands. 

You meet Nigel in the middle of the office and exchange air kisses. He pulls back and looks you over, nodding approvingly. 

“New boots?” He asks. 

“They’re last season, actually.” You say, then stage-whisper, “Don’t tell Miranda.” 

“Oh honey, I wouldn’t dare.” Nigel winks. 

He gives Miranda a small nod and takes his leave. You cross around the desk to accept your usual kiss on the cheek. She’s a little slower to grant it today and you lean back, raising a brow.

“You’re late.” 

“There was a situation at the front desk,” You answer easily, “I would have been early, but Milena needed the help.” 

“If she needs help doing her job then perhaps she’s better suited for employment elsewhere.” Miranda says. 

“You know that isn’t what I meant.” 

“Do I?”

“Miranda.” You glare, “If you fire Milena I’m going to be extremely cross.” 

She rolls her eyes. Pulling out a few paper menus, she hands them over, and you peruse today’s selections. Smith and Wollensky rests on top and you try not to laugh. Miranda always puts her preferred option on the very top, but lets you have the final choice. 

You could go for a steak. And you should probably tread carefully with your lateness. 

Handing over the Smith and Wollensky menu, she nods, looking pleased. She calls Emily in to rattle off your orders while you move over to the couch in her office. 

Emily takes the notes dutifully. You wonder where the new second assistant is, having heard some interesting murmurs about her over the past few days. Emily was suitably frustrated with her—as was Miranda—but Nigel and Serena had been a little more kind. She was out of her depth, but meant well, that was the final verdict. 

You hardly notice when Emily leaves until Miranda sits down next to you. Leaning back against the couch, she eyes you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re trying to figure me out.” 

Miranda chuckles, “Darling, figuring you out will take more than my lifetime.” 

“I can never tell if statements like that are a compliment or insult.” You narrow your eyes. 

“For you?” Miranda raises a brow and pretends to think on it, before her face softens infinitesimally, “A compliment.” 

“Miranda Priestly, are you going soft on me?” You tease, but lean into her space, “Imagine what that’d do to your reputation.” 

“I have.” 

There’s a look in her eyes you can’t decipher. You try not to think about it too much, stealing a quick kiss, trying not to badly damage her lipstick.

“So, tell me about today.”

Time is an illusion inside the Hex. Some days pass quicker than others; if Wanda gets bored, she can speed up the clock, and usher all of her little ‘side characters’ to bed. It can take a week between decades or sometimes Wanda flips between them. One day you wake up to jeans and a sweater, the next an obnoxious pair of yellow leg-warmers. The show she’s made you part of captures only minutes of the months you live. 

You’d give anything for time to be linear again. Unfortunately, that seems to be a luxury, and you’re not very high on the totem pole. 

The saving grace is you’re not alone. Agatha bears the weight with you, staring right down the barrel of the gun Wanda’s unknowingly loaded just to get an understanding. You thank the cosmos everyday for how powerful she is. Were she a lesser witch, your hair would be falling out from the anxiety. 

What Wanda lacks in time, she makes up for in characterization. You’re a background character, but a sweet, organized one; your adherence to a schedule is impressive. So she allows you a hell of a lot of freedom and some sense of normalcy. You could almost grow to like her for it. 

First thing in the morning, you make a pot of coffee for you and your Hex-husband—you can barely recall his name anymore—and check the mailbox. Among the typical bills there is always a folded sheet of paper, typically blank, but sometimes bearing the elegant scrawl you know and love. 

Unfolding the paper today, you smile down at the ink. 

Eleven. 

It’s cryptic and succinct and it warms you from your head to your toes. Finally, a bright spot. Agatha’s been too busy being followed by cameras to see you. Everytime you watch her pass, just barely making eye contact, you nearly lose it at the distance between you. 

You go through your routine normally all day until night rolls around. Making sure your Hex-husband is suitably knocked out, you wait by the door. 

Tap Tap, Knock Knock. 

In your eagerness, you practically rip the door from the hinges. Agatha pushes inside. 

“Miss me?” She teases. 

“More than anything,” You say genuinely, pulling her into a kiss, “I’m going crazy in this place.” 

Fingers scratch at your scalp and comb through your hair. She looks so damn kissable in her purple sweater, hair pulled up into a messy updo. 

“It’s not that bad, dear.” 

Your temper flares at her dismissal, energy crackling at your fingertips. She absorbs it. 

“Agatha, sweetheart,” You drawl, voice dripping with venomous sweetness, “If I have to take another pilates class, I’m going to kill the instructor.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

You push away from her, “I’m your wife, you’re supposed to love me. Instead, you’re letting me go mad here, because of some other which. Should I be jealous?” 

“Against my better judgment, I do love you. We’re almost through here.” 

When you pushed away from her, you’d taken up pacing. It’s an awful habit that you didn’t develop until coming here. You’ve likely worn out the tread on your shoes from all the hours you spend walking back and forth, like a tiger trying to escape its cage. 

You pause. 

Turning and staring hard at your wife, you can see the moment she realizes her mistake. It’s only a twitch of her eye, but you’ve been with her for almost seventy years. She’s hiding something. Agatha has only told you she loved you three times; when she asked you to stay with her, when you married her, and that one time in Brazil that you almost died. 

“You’re stalling.” You accuse. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“What is it that you’re waiting for, Agatha? Maybe if you told me I’d be a little less inclined to blow the place up. If I know what I’m working for, I’ll play along.” 

Agatha takes your face in her hands, voice calm, “We’re almost done.” 

You hate her. 

You love her. 

Gods, she pisses you off. But she’s all you want. 

“Speed up the timeline, Agatha.” You say, “Or I will.” 

You’ve never been one to bluff. Back in the day, that’s what drew her to you; you always made good on your threats. It intrigued and worried her. So much power in the hands of a seemingly-unstable wielder almost got you killed, drained of all power in New Hampshire of all places. Instead, you ended up with a wife; you’re still not sure what changed her mind. 

Now, though, it’s a point of contention. Agatha is secretive and you’ve never pushed, but the Hex is driving you mad. You weren’t prepared for this. So either she moves up the timeline and ends this twisted daydream or you will, and she’ll be in the doghouse for the next decade. 

She sighs. 

“Fine.” 

You kiss her and she kisses back, reluctantly. Her body is taut with frustration. 

It isn’t your fault she’s hiding the truth from you. You’ve been together too long for it to bother you at this point, but things would be more straightforward if she didn’t insist on keeping everything locked in her mind. Sometimes you wonder if she does it to drive you up the wall. 

You forgive her many things; that’s what a wife does. Agatha, though… she has a different definition of what being a wife entails. Grudges are held frequently and for longer than necessary. But you love her and forgive her for it anyway. 

But loving and forgiving doesn’t mean you enjoy the separation. You hate the absence of her. Since your marriage—a quaint, quick thing in a courthouse in Massachusetts, made possible by an old contact of her’s—you’ve spent little time apart simply because you dislike the space. 

You feel the distance now and hate it. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” You say, though you’re not, really, you just want things to be okay again, “What do you need from me?”

“More time.” She says immediately, tone clipped. 

Trust your wife to ask for the one thing you can’t stand giving. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can handle this. I’ll go mad.” 

Agatha smirks, “You’re not already?” 

The fondness has returned to her eyes. You hate her for wanting more time—for needing it—but you love her, so you forgive her.

“How much time?” You ask softly. You can bear the weight of madness a little longer. 

“A few weeks.” 

You wince, but nod. Glee floods her eyes and you wonder how you could deny her in the first place. You hate how she holds your heart. You love her for making you feel. 

Agatha kisses you and there’s no reluctance. She’s all teeth, tongue, and desire. She’s darkness and anger and corruption. 

An echo through the halls touched your ears. It bounced from the walls, still decorated in their ornate golden filigree, boasting violent splashes of color. You paid them no mind. The voice haunting the halls called to you. It wrapped around your wrist, a thin red thread drawing you forward.

“Keep smiling through, just like you always do…” It called.

The husky timbre crooked a finger beneath your chin, leather on flesh. Your lips pulled up in a smile. Measured steps came to a halt, though your torso leant forward, chasing the warm feeling around you. It retreated and forced you back into action.

Your skirt brushed to and fro at your ankles. Bits of torn lace caught unpleasantly, you knew better than to let it stop you. How long had you been moving through these halls, following the calls of a familiar voice? You couldn’t remember where you’d begun.

“Tell them I won’t be long…” Your siren’s crooning continued.

Is that how the song went? Surely there’d been a few lines before that—a beautiful collection of lyric and pitch you must have missed.

The halls dragged on before your eyes. Too long and yet, just as you remembered. That couldn’t be right… hadn’t you felt that something was off? A miniscule detail only you’d pinpoint? You shuddered like a chill passed through you, but you weren’t cold.

A draft always traversed the Castle, yet you felt only content. Not too hot or cold. The lack of consistency caused you to stop short, eyes darting around.

At your feet lay shattered porcelain. Lifting your left foot, a shard protruded from the arch. No blood decorated the would-be wound. Though there were red stains against the edge of your skirts. Pools of the same substance dotted the carpets, smeared against the walls. A limb lay discarded beneath a chest only a few feet away.

You should feel the icy grip of fear, a tense stirring in your limbs. It never came.

“We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when....”

Looking up from the shattered vase, a door stood closed a hundred feet before you. You didn’t remember it being there before. Despite that, you knew the owner of the honeyed tone lay beyond it. Your chest finally ached in want. You moved, unseemly surroundings forgotten.

The knob turned beneath your palm with ease. As it drifted open, the faint strum of strings grew in volume, a comforting light encasing your view. There she was. Your siren, the trilling goddess you’d searched for.

You stepped through the door and found yourself surrounded in color. Her eyes never left your own. Before they’d been dull, not quite the vibrant golden they were now. How long had you wandered alone, devoid of the warm color only her presence could bathe you in?

Alcina.

Her hand was outstretched, lips moving, though you couldn’t hear what they were saying. The porcelain skin of her palm beckoned you. She was a beacon of warmth, safety, love. Your most dear Alcina—your sun, casting you in an unbending glow.

Three forms sat with their backs to you before the stage where Alcina stood. You recognized their outlines, stopping only for the briefest of moments, running a gentle hand over their heads. Teeth glinted back from beneath dark hoods. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela—safe.

Alcina’s finger crooked in your direction, her perfect crimson lips pulled into a smirk. Still they parted around words you couldn’t make out. It didn’t keep you from her as you rushed forward, nearly tripping over your own feet if not for the invisible force keeping you upright. Perhaps it was her gaze. Her strong, glowing eyes, so full of love. Did she see the same reflected in your own?

You placed your hand in her’s, her large fingers curling around your smaller ones. Wetness pooled in your eyes. She curled you into her soft frame, burying her nose in your hair. A single kiss was pressed to your temple.

The trip there was long and boring, but you had to admit once you got there....it was totally worth it. Your eyes were wide and a childlike glee began to fill your chest as you bounced on your heels, dragging your suitcase behind you through the streets. You saw the record shop, the grocery, along with a few others (it wasn't a huge town), and finally the pride and joy...or so you assumed; Angel Bay. You paused across the street from it, looking the building over. It seemed very elegant for a fish canning company, but okay.

Before you could turn away and head to the Inn where you'd be staying, you heard the sound of a horn, and you spun around to face it, since it seemed startlingly close, only to see a candy red car coming down the street towards Angel Bay. If your slim knowledge of cars could pay off, then it looked to be a Barracuda, aka a very expensive vehicle. You could only ever dream to own something like that, but before you could think about it too much you caught sight of the driver. Everyone seemed to know her, as she passed the townspeople called out "Morning Angie!" and other greetings. So her name was Angie, you guessed, and god was she gorgeous. Just from what you could catch of her, she seemed like the town good girl, and your breath caught when she slowed to a stop in front of you.

It made you stumble back a few steps, the woman's attentions suddenly on you. You didn't have the chance to say a word before she was asking "You're new in town?" though it sounded less like a question and more like a statement. Nearly shocked into a stupor, all you could manage was a choked "Uh--yeah." A smirk twitched at the woman's lips, and your eyes lingered there for a sinfully long moment before looking back at her eyes, which she revealed a second later, taking off her fancy sunglasses. She checked you out for a minute, looking you up and down before her smirk grew a tad and she said "What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?" The flirtatious tone in her voice was...palpable, and you but your tongue before responding; surely someone as perfect as her couldn't be calling you pretty?

When you didn't respond, Angie hummed and called out "I'll see you around, sweetheart," throwing you a wink before she put her sunglass back on and sped off towards the canning building. It left you completely awe-struck for a few minutes, unable to move until finally you began walking, still in a trance. You didn't even realize you had arrived at the Inn until you practically ran into the building, at which point you finally snapped back to reality with a yelp. Shaking your head at your stupid gay brain, you repositioned yourself and walked through the door and up to the counter. The inside of the place wasn't fancy, it felt homely and cozy. And the lady at the counter gave you a sweet smile when she looked up from her papers, making your heart flutter the way it always did when older people gave you that look. You'd always been a sucker for old people.

She was friendly, greeting you with a warm "Hey sweetie, what can I do for you?" The little endearment almost made you pout, inwardly berating yourself for being so damn soft. Clearing your throat, you replied "Hi, could I have a room for...three weeks?" The woman nodded with another smile and turned around to get the papers, which you signed and worked out the details of your stay before taking the proffered key with a quiet "Thank you, ma'am." The old woman scoffed playfully and said "Oh please, just call me Lydia. Now you enjoy your stay, darlin'." You chuckled, nodding and saying "Alright. Thank you then, Lydia. And I will, thanks," before heading up to your room with a smile that refused to leave your face.

-

The rest of the day was spent exploring, learning the ins and outs of the town and some of it's residents. They were all quite accommodating and friendly, asking where you were visiting from (somehow they knew you weren't from there, maybe it was your accent) and making nice conversation. It was, over all, a very productive day.

That is, until she showed up again. The blonde woman, Angie, sauntered her way into the diner you were eating at, sending smiles to the customers who all greeted her with polite "Hi Angie"'s. It made you frown in confusion, but you figured it was just...a thing that was done around here. Apparently every single member of this community knew the woman, so whatever. You went back to your food, picking at your mostly-eaten burger and taking a sip of your milkshake, a delicacy you didn't often indulge in buying. You didn't even realize you'd caught the eye of a particular woman until she was sliding into the booth across from you. It made you start, a little noise leaving your mouth as you nearly knocked over your drink.

You didn't thank gods because that would have been quite embarrassing, but still it caused the woman to smirk in amusement. You pouted slightly before clearing your throat yet again and looking up at the blonde, saying "Hello. Angie, was it?" The woman hummed in confirmation, saying "That's right. Perceptive, aren't you." You swallowed roughly, also humming since you feared your voice would crack if you spoke. "So, what are you doing in these parts? Surely you can't just be visiting for the thrill, Collinsport isn't know for it's tourist attractions." Trying to keep your voice even, since the effect this woman's icy eyes were having on you was quite a bit, you said "Oh, um...I think that some of my family lives around here. It's like, distant family, but still family, yknow? Plus I heard that Maine was nice this time of year and I'm taking a break year before college so I decided--" You realized you were rambling a second too late and quickly snapped your mouth shut and dipped your head in embarrassment, a bright flush burning your cheeks.

It clearly amused Angie as she leaned her chin on steepled fingers, which you noticed when you looked up were tipped with sharp, red acrylics that your sinful thoughts immediately took way out of context before you forced yourself to look away again. Trying to rid yourself of the blush that remained on your skin, you choked out an apology, muttering "I ramble when I'm nervous." But Angie couldn't just leave that, so she asked "Do I make you nervous?" You choked on air, eyes snapping back to hers which were watching you carefully. You simply nodded, once again not trusting your voice. "Good. You're cute when you're flustered," she purred, and swiftly stood up, sliding out of her seat and extending her hand towards you. Shakily, you took it and she said "Angie Bouchard. It was lovely talking to you." In return, you mumbled "Same. Uhm, I'm y/n by the way. Just...in case you wanted to know."

Over the horizon, the first rays of morning light peeked into the windows. The bright light did nothing to combat the emotions festering inside, but did everything to illuminate the objects before you. Maybe the embers were blackening the edges of your heart more than you thought.

Maybe this isn’t the right thing to do.

You shut down the thought instantly. There was no other choice. It was you or her, simple as that. You were getting a head start on what she’d inevitably be planning. It was the right course of action… right?

Feeling the beginnings of stress pull at your nerves, you put all of that emotion into the canvas before you. The beautiful, insufferable canvas that you couldn’t figure out. Something was off and it nagged at you - more than it should have.

“You’re putting too much focus on the shadows.”

Jumping slightly, you whipped your head to see Agatha standing in the doorway. She wore her signature smirk, her eyes on the painting before you; the painting you’d spent the past ten minutes staring at. You glared.

“Would it kill you to announce yourself?” You hissed.

“Yes,” She said without missing a breath, pushing off to stand at your side. Her hand fell to your shoulder and you shook it off immediately, “Your strong suit is the highlights. Too many shadows and you’ll suffocate the scene.”

That’s not the only thing I could suffocate right now.

Shaking off the menacing thought, you leaned back on the bench to get a different perspective on the piece. You wanted to growl at it; Agatha was right. You’d been too liberal with your darker tones and constricted the piece from what you wanted.

“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with advisors this morning?” You asked, mixing a lighter shade on the canvas.

“I did. They proceeded to tell me things that I already knew, so I left.” She responded.

You let out a scoff. A particularly harsh stroke of the brush distracted you from her words, but only for a moment. Her eyes followed your motions and you resisted the urge to tense at the attention.

“You’ve been queen for a day and you know everything already, do you?” Your voice was carefully neutral, but the note of steel in it gave you away.

“It’s not nearly as complex as you make it out to be, dearest.”

“How would you know? The people you ruled never chose you. It’s easy to think you know everything when fear keeps them silent. You’re nothing without your fear tactics and they don’t work here.”

The words slipped off of your tongue easily, but they weren’t received with the same ease. A pair of eyes burned into you. Mixing tones onto the canvas was far more interesting than meeting them.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” She observed.

“Every side is the wrong side when you’re near.”

A hand gripped your chin, turning your head abruptly. Your paintbrush jerked unpleasantly against the canvas as you were forced to meet cold blues. Purple lingered at the edges.

“I don’t care for your tone, dear.” Agatha said in a whisper, her hold so tight you worried it would bruise.

Apologize.

That little voice of reason prodded at you. You didn’t trust Agatha on a good day, let alone in moments like this. The only certainty is that she wouldn’t leave your death so obviously pointing to her. It would be calculated, thought out.

You mean like we’re doing?

“Nobody said you had to, dear.” You spat.

Her jaw clenched and her magic encroached on her eyes, but she released your face. You followed her with your eyes as she moved towards the door. You didn’t know where she was going, you didn’t care.

“Will you be joining me for lunch?” You asked casually, turning your attention back to your art, intent on fixing what Agatha had disrupted.

“Looking to make up with me already?”

Her tone almost tricked you into believing that she was amused, but a quick glance at her face told you otherwise. She had a fist clenching and unclenching at her side and her eyes were like vibranium.

“I need to know if I’m sending for two meals or just one.”

“One.” Agatha said, forcing a smile, “Enjoy your lunch, dear.”

When she swept out of the room, she left you with a whirlwind of feelings you couldn’t understand. You didn’t want to feel them, but you couldn’t push them away. Suddenly the painting wasn’t so interesting anymore.

Was I too cruel?

How could you be? Agatha had destroyed everything and everyone to fulfill her goal, just to get to you. She had ripped apart centuries of history in your castle and killed everyone in front of you. It did nothing, made her feel nothing. So you would feel nothing too.

Lunch came and went, dinner did the same. Agatha never reappeared, despite the fact that you’d been working in her chambers all day. A sense of relief had washed over you when she didn’t show for either meal. The vial in your pocket felt a little lighter without an immediate purpose to fulfill.

As the last bits of sunlight vanished, Agatha appeared. She looked no different than she had earlier in the day.

“Where were you?” You asked, carefully cleaning the object in your hand.

“Intent on being my keeper, I see,” Agatha said with a smirk, her humor having returned, “I haven’t been in anyone's bed, dearest, no need to be so jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, giving her a glare. She walked to your side and plucked up the clean brushes, dropping them into their respective places without fanfare. A glance at her showed that she was looking intently at the painting you’d worked on - the same painting that’d been your focus during that morning's quarrel.

“Jealous is the last thing I would be,” You said evenly, “If you do find yourself in bed with someone, all I ask is that you’re discreet. This is your illusion after all.”

She settled into the chair by your desk, turning it to face you. Her eyes scanned your face as you worked. You offered her only a glance, earning you a small smirk.

“There is nobody interesting enough for me, dearest, but I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” Agatha said.

You raised both of your eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing. All you could do was turn back to your previous task and attempt to ignore Agatha's presence.

It’d been so nice to work without her stares or unnecessary comments. When you worked, the idea of being watched made you tense and made truly working impossible. You were always aware of the way you were being perceived which you chalked up as an unfortunate side effect of being royal.

Agatha’s gaze was different though. She didn’t look for the flaws in your mask, you realized early on. She just had a staring problem.

“How do you do it?” Her voice drew you from your thoughts, making you look up curiously.

“Do what?”

“Make the paintings so… bright? No matter how dark the room, they seem to glow.”

You looked at the painting with curious brows, hoping to see what she did. Her statement was somewhat correct, but you felt she was overstating how luminous it was.

“It’s the pigments, they’re the purest money can buy.” You said.

She let her eyes settle on the painting and she hummed, her eyes tracing the details. You kept your eyes on it in hopes of seeing what she did. Nothing jumped out at you.

Finishing your task, you had the distinct desire to get away from her. Your day had been relatively task-less, but come tomorrow your court duties would resume in full force. It would be a long day in which you couldn’t escape her.

“Try not to be late for court in the morning,” You said, drawing her attention back to you, “Despite your disdain, there is a purpose to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She said.

You threw her a look that clearly said you didn’t believe her, but she let it roll off her back. Shaking your head, you stood.

“Goodnight.” You said quietly.

“Goodnight, dear. Sweet dreams.”

And there were dreams all right, but not of the sweet variety. Instead of the usual blank mind while you slept, color began to seep in, until you found yourself in the same place as the day before.

This time you could hear everything around you. The sounds were distorted, though, slower than they should have been. It was like what you were hearing didn’t line up with what you were seeing.

A rustle of something behind you made you turn, staring directly into the face that haunted you. Agatha’s face grinning far too wide, eyes completely black. You felt your heart beat harder in your chest.

“Scared yet?” They spoke, before their hand shot out towards you.

Before it could make contact with your body, you lurched up from the bed. By the way the moon was hung, you’d only been asleep for a few hours. You turned over and ignored the frantic beating of your heart, letting yourself drift back into sleep.

After many hours had passed and the sun had begun to rise, you felt almost completely rested. Your dreams had replayed themselves as you slept, but rather than frighten you, they just made you angry. You couldn’t escape her hold, even in sleep. It ignited the desire in your chest to see her fall.

Rather than call for your lady’s maids this morning, you dressed yourself. You wanted the time to think. Court would take all morning and the two of you would split in the afternoon before lunch, making dinner the time when you’d be together again. The vial in your pocket would soon fulfill its purpose.

It hadn’t been easy, deciding how to end things. There were so many options to choose from. Few of them had been as discreet as you needed, until the elixir drew your attention. It was a potent blend of rather ordinary herbs that turned volatile together.

The halls and kitchens were empty, it’d been a breeze to collect all of the materials. You felt surprisingly triumphant creating your little concoction - it was invigorating to think that someone as powerful as Agatha would be eliminated through mundane ways.

Storing it in your own vial had been a personal touch. You previously used it to store perfumes, but this felt like a more worthy purpose.

Setting said vial on your vanity, you took in the placement of the sun. It was nearly time for court. With one last glance over your appearance, you rapped on the heavy door between your room and Agatha’s. It opened within moments.

You couldn’t stop the look on your face before it happened. Her dress was a lighter shade than you’d ever seen on her, with pieces of black silk and lace accenting it, but the real showstopper was the extremely low neckline. It made your eyes widen before you looked away.

Agatha let out a low chuckle that you could feel in your chest, stepping over the threshold and lifting your gaze to hers, “No need to play shy, dearest. It’s for you.”

“For-For me?” You choked out.

“Of course. After my little… slip last night, I thought you might enjoy a proper display.” She purred.

Blinking harshly, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Any sense of composure you had wilted. You were an intelligent woman, but she was extremely attractive, no amount of hatred could make you deny that.

“Agatha, you-“ You stopped to lick your lips, “You can’t wear this to court.”

“Mm, I never did think you’d be keen on sharing.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t worry, dear, I have no intention of letting anyone see this but you. We have time if you’d like to savor it.”

You took in a harsh breath and forced a laugh, shaking your head. Turning away, you continued to shake your head in disbelief as you moved across the room.

“Absolutely not. Now please fix your dress so that we can be on time.” You asked.

When you turned, your eyes landed on the now-altered neckline. You blushed at the laugh it earned you from Agatha. She crossed the space and pressed a kiss to your warm cheek.

“You are too easy.” She purred.

Agatha moved out of the door, laughter trailing behind her. It made you grit your teeth. Casting a glance to your vanity, the small glass glittered menacingly. Not now, your mind whispered, have patience.

Against all of your best judgement and desires, you followed her from the room. She held out an arm, which you took reluctantly. The touch of her skin felt searing against your own. The only thing that kept you from ripping it away was the eyes following you. Everyone was watching.

Outside of the court, there was a line of nobles awaiting your arrival. They bowed low as you passed. You kept your gaze straight ahead until the two of you were seated. Then the floor was open for discussion.

The majority of the discussion was based on mundane things you’d already covered; how to handle the drought in the west, rebuilding the eastern border counties, etc. You mentally lamented how much easier things would be with an all-female court, who didn’t seek to test your knowledge in order to prove you were fit to rule.

Agatha watched most of the chaos at your side, glancing over to gauge your emotions when there would be a particularly placed jab. You denied everyone the satisfaction of acknowledging them. She had yet to speak, which filled your body with relief.

It wasn’t until one of the more abrasive lords stepped up and bowed that you sat up straighter. Sir Hayward was a notorious pain in your side. He had gone so far as to openly question your will, before rescinding his comments each time, only serving to test your nerves.

“You have the floor, Sir Hayward.” You said neutrally.

“Thank you, your majesties,” He said, offering the two of you a low bow, “My business today focuses on the southern border, your majesty. It seems before the peace talks there was a battalion stationed there that left the area ravaged. They have yet to receive any help.”

Casting a glance towards Agatha from the corner of your eye, she looked entirely at ease. The urge to shake some semblance of humanity into her lurked in your chest, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Sir Hayward. Have you personally assessed the damage?”

“I have, your majesty.”

“And how would you describe it?”

“Two small villages were leveled and the people have been left completely bereft. No homes, a scarce water supply, and their source of food is quickly dwindling.”

“Within a few days, a financier will be out to offer the people aid. In the meantime, it would be wise to move everyone to nearby villages and set up a temporary situation for them there.” You said, giving him a nod to allow for the next lord to speak.

“And what of the battalion?” He asked, ignoring said gesture.

“What of them, Sir?” You asked.

“No matter what the situation is, these savages must be dealt with swiftly. We must track down those who committed these sins immediately.”

“I’m not leading a witch hunt, Sir Hayward. It’d be unwise to devote the resources to such an endeavor when they could go to rebuilding the affected areas. Those who were involved will soon come to light and will be swiftly punished when they do.”

“Your majesty, I must protest-”

“A key clause in the peace talks was that helping the people would come first, punishment second. Adherence to these clauses is important to the kingdom’s stability,” You said strongly, “We will proceed as planned. That is my final word, Sir.”

“Of course, your will is law, your majesty,” Sir Hayward said, bowing low before muttering under his breath, “unfortunately.”

His face was completely neutral when he stood, making you think that you misheard him. Either way, you scarcely had the energy to deal with him now. A sudden sense of exhaustion left your mouth feeling heavy. You let it slide this time.

He turned to return to his place across the room, but he’d barely taken a step before stopping. Your eyes narrowed in confusion. Then you noticed the familiar purple tinge around his body. Turning to Agatha at your side, she had her gaze focused entirely on Hayward, hands poised in front of her as she controlled him.

With a turn of her finger, Hayward spun. His wide eyes and red face almost made you laugh. A nervousness crept into your chest, you had no idea what Agatha was intending to do.

That was becoming a recurring theme; having no idea what Agatha was up to. Every moment you felt like you understood her, she would prove you wrong. The only thing you could ever be sure of was the devious look in her eyes. It would spell trouble for anyone on the receiving end, but you always leaned forward in interest anyway.

A part of you liked watching what she would do, what extremes she’d go to. She would take actions you couldn’t dream up. Even in the darkest pits of your hatred, she fascinated you.

Before Agatha spoke, you guessed that she was enjoying an opportunity to toy with the men of your court. There was an obvious disdain there when they stood up to speak. Sir Hayward had always been a thorn in your side, but never any more than the rest of them.

“You’ve been exceptionally rude, Sir Hayward,” Agatha said, cocking a cold eyebrow, “I believe an apology is in order.”

Your eyes widened as you watched her, but she never looked at you. Her stony gaze was focused entirely on the man before you. He spluttered indignantly, Agatha never wavering from her conviction. She drew him closer after a long moment had passed.

“Either you come up with an apology yourself or I’ll force it from you.”

His red, angry face turned to you, veins straining in his neck. You were too shaken to speak, waiting to see if he’d comply. You had no doubts that Agatha would make good on her words if not.

“My apologies, your majesty.” He grit out between clenched teeth.

Inhaling sharply, you moved to speak, but found yourself cut off. It seemed Agatha was taking on the heavy lifting for you.

“That wasn’t so difficult,” She purred, releasing him from her magical hold, “Don’t let it happen again.”

A shockwave of whispers spread among your court. You cared little for what they were saying, still focused on watching Agatha. Hayward’s steps echoed in the room as he moved away and she finally turned to you. The icy look in her eyes dropped, replaced by one of amusement. She took your hand in hers and pressed a kiss to the back of it, eyes never wavering from yours.

You never would have done such a thing or caused such a disturbance, but seeing Hayward put in his place satisfied a small part of you. The urge to thank her was on the tip of your tongue, you ignored it.

The rest of court was mundane, but it was clear Agatha’s actions hung over everything. Everyone was more intentional with their words than before. Shooting looks at the witch, you knew she noticed as well. Laughter lingered in your chest, though you wouldn’t let it out.

After everyone had cleared out, the two of you moved quietly back to your chambers. The silence lingered between you. When she reached the door separating both of your rooms, she stopped. The action made you watch her with interest. She only half-turned, meeting your eyes with an unfathomable expression.

“Everyone is entitled to an opinion, but don’t let them disrespect you.” She said seriously.

An odd feeling lingered in your chest, but you dismissed it easily. You gave her a single nod. She gave you a nod in return and disappeared through the opening, closing the door between you.

You wasted no time in rushing to your next meetings, but not before plucking the poison from your vanity. It glittered sickeningly in the light and a strange pride surged through your chest. You stuffed in your dress, before rushing to your next meeting of the day.

It was decidedly less interesting than court, but it was still productive. You did your best to hide the overwhelming urge to yawn every five minutes. When you all dismissed, you made your way to dinner early, taking a seat at one end of the long table.

When the food and drink arrived, you offered up your best smile, before sending everyone away. You wanted a private evening with your wife, you’d said. They were in no place to argue.

There was a perfect two minute window and you took advantage of it. You walked to Agatha’s end of the table and took in her steaming cup of tea. A black tea, no cream and sugar.

Producing the vial, you stared at it for a long moment. With this liquid, your problems would fade; the nightmares would subside and you could live the life you wanted, no Agatha lurking in the corners. It would take only a few drops to stop her heart, you emptied the entire thing into the cup.

The level of the tea rose, but the color didn’t change. You smiled as you stirred it in. By the night's end, you’d be free. Everything would return to normal.

This was your will.

Agatha arrived a minute later. By that time, you had returned to your seat and sipped leisurely at your own drink. She offered you a curious look, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips as she sat down.

“You’re in an amicable mood.” She commented, cutting into the food on her plate, “Something at your meetings impress you?”

“Mm, not quite. I suppose a good meal is just a balm for the soul.” You said around bites of your own meal.

“Isn’t that comforting.”

You watched her over the rim of your tea cup, gaze flickering between her and the tea. She was invested in her own meal. The anticipation that built up over the course of minutes was nearly driving you insane.

When she finally reached for the cup, you nearly leapt forward, but her finger only traced the rim absently. It inspired a deep impatience and rage. You were so close, she was continuing to hold you back. She was the one thing standing between you and true joy.

Finally, she lifted the cup to her lips, tipping the rim and letting the dark liquid flow down her throat. Her face was the same - that carefully neutral expression that you waited, wished would crack. She lifted her eyes to your watchful gaze. The cup was returned to the saucer, the clink making you twitch.

Then her face scrunched and a chill ran through her form. Your heart was in your throat as you watched her. She coughed roughly, unpleasantly into her arm. Then she took a sip of water and it was over.

“Your staff need a lesson on the proper cup of tea.” Agatha rasped, shaking her head.

You just nodded, every bone in your body feeling heavy, yet hollow. Had you done something wrong when creating the elixir? You swore that you followed the recipe to the letter. Anger and defeat rattled through your brain.

It didn’t matter if you’d followed the recipe, you had failed. The game had begun and Agatha was the victor of round one.

When you saw an opening in the conversation, you excused yourself from the table. Agatha watched you curiously, but didn’t make any move to stop you. She offered an uttered ‘goodnight’ as you moved from the room.

Out in the hallway though, there was no reprieve. Rather than the empty space where you could think, a servant was waiting patiently outside of the dining room doors. She perked up upon seeing you exit.

“Your majesty?” She said, stepping forward.

“Yes?” You sighed.

“General Rambeu sent me to fetch you. She says you’re needed urgently.”

Nodding, you gave her your thanks, turning on your heel towards your destination. It was curious that Monica didn’t come to fetch you herself, but she was often just as busy as you were.

When you arrived, a smile tugged at your lips seeing Darcy and Jimmy also in the room. The two looked slightly haggard from their journey, but nothing a good rest wouldn’t fix. You offered a bright smile when they turned and opened your mouth to speak, before the sight of the open war-room door stopped you.

Your eyes widened and your pulse raced. To you, it had been mere days since the door had been open, but you had no idea how long it’d been to them.

“Your majesty,” Jimmy said first, bowing in the wake of your surprise, “thank you for joining us so quickly.”

“Of course. What is going on here?”

The three shared a look and Darcy stepped forward. Her face was absent and tense, setting you even further on edge. She held out a bulky scroll for you to take.

You noticed a man first, one you knew well. Then you noticed a woman holding him by the neck. She was beautiful, you noted, but it mattered less than how she was mishandling your friend.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You demanded.

For a brief moment, the woman hesitated. Her eyes met yours and she glared heavily. She wasn’t so beautiful in this moment, she was terrifying. You looked into her eyes and saw only death.

“Removing a threat, your highness. Return to your room.” She said in a brisk tone.

The way she addressed you left you stunned. The rich fabric of her skirts, the golden armor said she was someone who should be important to you. Someone under your father’s thumb. Though she was different. There was more confidence in her shoulders than you’d seen in any of your father’s men. What made her different?

“I will not. This man is my friend, let him go.” You said.

Moving closer to the two of them, there was a beat when you expected her to obey. They always did. Your rank forced them to, whether they cared for you personally or not. The moment never came. Instead, she moved further away from you than before.

This wasn’t a random order. Your father had put her up to this.

“Bahman, tell me you’re not what she says. You’ve been my greatest advisor for years. Was it all a lie?” You asked, realizing that the woman’s favor would be a dead-end.

“No, princess, I swear it. I’d never betray you.” He said.

There were many things you could reasonably say you were good at, others not so much. You were miserable with a bow and arrows and even worse with people at times. But you could always see when someone was lying.

“I believe you,” You smiled, placing a hand on his arm as soon as you could, “He’s innocent. Let him go.”

“Those aren’t my orders, your highness.”

“Will it appease you if I get new ones?”

She stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. There was something curious in her eyes that drew you in. You had a task, however, that you wouldn’t be swayed from. She finally gave you a nod.

You gave Bahman’s arm a reassuring squeeze, folding your arms over your chest and walking away without so much as a glance to the woman. You only cared about getting her away from your friend. Nothing else mattered in this moment.

There was no effort in convincing your father. Despite being a hardened king, he still fell victim to the wants of his little girl. Even if you weren’t so little anymore.

You rushed back to the woman and Bahman with a smug look on your face. Now she’d have to listen to your commands and let your friend go. It’d wipe away some of her overly-confident demeanor. When you returned though, the woman was there and Bahman was not.

“Where is he?” You asked, looking around quickly, panic setting in.

“Your father’s will has been fulfilled, anything beyond that is unimportant.”

“He had a wife and a daughter, what have you done with him?”

“I wouldn’t advise troubling yourself with actions that can not be undone, princess.”

A cold, sweeping emotion covered you. Almost like a veil. It gave you chills, every nerve of your body standing on end as she stood before you. Cold, hard anger was all you could feel. And it would not be tamed.

It wasn’t that she had obviously killed your closest confidant, it wasn’t even that she’d unknowingly disobeyed your father’s order to let Bahman live. It was that she stood before you and had the audacity to look proud of her actions. Of murdering a good man with a beautiful little girl and stealing away the closest thing you had to a true friend.

In a move that was unlike you, you ripped her dagger from its sheath and rushed to plunge it into her chest. Your motions were unplanned and sloppy. They would have made your mentor furious, to see such a lack of form, but it was unimportant to you now. All you wanted was to make her hurt as you did.

She caught your arm swiftly, not moving a muscle otherwise. Her eyes were trained on yours. There was no anger as you expected, though maybe a little surprise.

“I will not fight you, your highness.” She said bluntly.

“I never said you had to.” You ground out.

“I will not allow you to murder me, either. Doing so would not suit you.”

“Don’t ever presume to know anything of me.” You snarled, wrenching your arm from her grasp.

Deep in your heart, you knew she was right. No matter how badly you wished to avenge Bahman, he hated killing, and so did you. It wouldn’t be right to take her life even if you could. But you refused to give her the satisfaction of understanding you at all.

“Stay away from me.”

Your command was harsh and even a bit childish, but the overwhelming emotions in your gut had left your mind blank. Wanting never to see her again was the only thing on your mind. You heard her say something in return. The slamming of your bedroom door made it difficult to hear, not that you cared to in the first place.

Reaching the window, you let out the bitter tears that’d been threatening your composure. Not only had she killed your closest friend, she’d stolen your sunrise too.

----

That afternoon during your court duties you sought to lay out the situation for your father. You’d barely gotten a word in edgewise before he ordered the doors opened and the very person you hoped to avoid led the common people in. A scowl settled on your face.

At your side, Xerxes noticed your expression. His eyes flickered between you and the woman, then between you and the common people. Some of them were beginning to shy away from you as a result of your scowl. He elbowed you hard.

Immediately, the scowl dropped and was replaced with a look of confusion. You turned on him with furrowed brows.

“What was that for?” You hissed under your breath, doing your best to remain quiet and not interrupt your father.

“You are creating unrest.” He said shortly.

“Unrest?”

“Your emotions are too plain at times, sister. The common people thought it was meant for them.”

A response was poised on the end of your tongue, only warded off by your father sending a glance towards the two of you. He was still speaking to the people, but the two of you drew his attention anyway. You’d drawn the attention of the people too if only for just a moment.

It was too public for him to say anything at the moment, so you were both spared from what was sure to be a severe reprimand. You carefully refocused your attention on the task at hand and only occasionally threw glares in the direction of the woman. Who, no doubt seeing them, didn’t once acknowledge them.

----

“If I gave an order and it was fulfilled, I will not punish one of my servants for it. Least of all my Naval Commander.”

“You had given another command by then.”

“One you were too slow to deliver, my dear.”

Anger was building in the pit of your stomach. It couldn’t be so hard to realize that what happened was wrong. That at the very least, he deserved to be mourned.

“He was innocent, Baba. Is this the precedent we’re setting, that the royal family murders innocents?” You asked.

His gaze turned cool and you felt the urge to shy away from it. You knew what you were doing - you were no fool to his weaknesses, to the weaknesses of any king. Xerxes had frozen as you spoke and waited for any reaction.

“I’ve said my piece. You may feel as you wish, but that will not change.” Your father said.

“Can we… I’d like to take care of his family at least. Ensuring their prosperity is the least I can do.”

He narrowed his eyes before nodding slowly. The grip he’d maintained on the arms of his throne loosened. You let go of some of your anger, relaxing your shoulders and letting them fall back.

“You may give them as much as they require,” He allowed, “But as the threat has not been located, we will have to be extra careful of those we trust.”

You nodded, simply feeling content with having made some sort of progress. Something was better than nothing. The first step was sending for Bahman’s family and breaking the news, not that you were looking forward to it. From there you could help them to remain stable. And if you couldn’t bring your friend back, the least you could do was take care of his family in his stead.

----

“Good morning, Baba.”

You pointedly ignored a new presence at your table, leaning in to place a kiss on your father’s cheek. He didn’t return your greeting except in a low hum. The hearty meal on his plate was more interesting at this early hour.

Xerxes was seated at the other end of the table, far from you, your father, or your guest. His face was drawn and he made the barest hint of eye contact with you. You couldn’t help but let a look of confusion cross your face, though you didn’t pursue any questioning.

The only open seat was next to the one person you wanted to avoid. You refused to look at her, even as you felt her eyes on you. It took all of your composure not to break out into an angry blush. Instead, you focused intently on the tablecloth, only looking up when one of the servants brought your plate.

“Daughter, you know our Commander, of course?” Your father’s voice finally addressed you.

You resisted the urge to tense your shoulders or roll your eyes at the question. How could you possibly forget her? She was one of the pride and joys of Persia. And a murderer. One that you could never get too far away from.

“Yes, Baba.” You said, offering up a tense smile as you speared a vegetable rather violently.

“She’s here on my request,” He said slowly, making your shoulders finally tense. You knew that tone too well, “The threat has still not been eliminated. I’ve asked her to shadow you as a protective measure.”

The scoff that left your mouth was purely accidental, but you felt the situation called for it. You’d been trained in self-defense since you could hold a knife. Any possible threat to your body was something you could handle, you didn’t need any help on that front. And you certainly didn’t want any from the Commander.

“I’m more than capable of handling myself. The Commander has more important tasks than looking after me, perhaps like taking her fleet to any of the furthest possible shores and doing something productive there,” You stood abruptly, though you had just sat down. Giving your father and brother a tense half-smile, “I believe I’ll finish my breakfast in the library.”

Your servants scrambled to clear your space, as you walked quickly out of the room. A sigh left your father’s mouth while passing, inspiring a fresh pang of guilt. He was only looking to maintain your safety. But you refused to make yourself need Artemisia of all people.

Closing the door to the library, the guilt subsided, though you knew an apology would be warranted later. For now, you felt safe surrounded by the smells of leather and fresh ink. None of the inconveniences of the outside would bother you in this room.

After quite some time of flipping through pages and taking in the information there, the door opened. You assumed it was your friend by the way the sun was hanging in the sky.

“Good Afternoon, Amani. I’ve gotten an early start, so you don’t have to transcribe nearly as many chapters today.” You called out, attempting to clean some of the ink off of your fingers.

When the chair across from you scraped against the floor and there was no response, you looked up curiously. Directly into the amused gaze of none other than Artemisia. Instantly, your body tensed and the smile you wore dropped from your face.

“Commander, I wasn’t sure you knew where the library was.” You commented.

“I took the liberty of figuring out, your highness.” Artemisia responded, your jab not seeming to affect her as she propped open a random book.

You glared openly at her, not caring in the slightest if anyone walked in and noticed. You refused to hide your dislike. Her disregard for anyone but herself was completely at the forefront of your mind. The only time she does anything for anyone else, you thought, is to better her reputation.

“How fortunate for me.”

In an effort to get away from her, you rushed between the high shelves. Fortunately, it allowed you a break, and aided your purposes. You’d finished transcribing an old book of Persian poetry. It was a passing hobby you’d taken up to fill your afternoons. You thought that by transcribing the palace library, it’d make Persia seem more welcoming to those who spoke different languages.

Plucking the next book from the shelf, you eyed it slowly. It would take some time to properly do the work justice. When you turned to move back to the table, Artemisia was standing there. You jumped and let out a slight noise.

“What the- Go back to the table and stop frightening me.” You demanded.

“I have to ensure your security. The threat could be lying here in wait.”

“In the library? That’s unlikely.”

“It’s unlikely until someone runs a sword through your chest. You spend most of your time in the library, making it the perfect place.”

“Nobody is in here, I unlock the doors myself.” You grit out, shoving past her.

“Locks can be picked and doors can be locked from the inside,” Artemisia sighed, showing the first sign of emotion besides pride, “If this is to work, your highness, you must stop fighting me.”

You bit back the words on your tongue. If you allowed yourself to speak in anger, you’d come off differently than you intended. Your anger made you foolish, daresay childish. That was the last demeanor you wanted to project as a royal. Especially to someone who’d likely enjoy the glimpse into your anger.

“Fine,” You said finally, “But I have terms of this… arrangement.”

“Name them, your highness.”

“One, we don’t speak unless I choose to speak with you; I’ve had enough conversation with you to last a lifetime. Don't get friendly. Secondly, don’t hover, it’s distracting. You can watch me and keep me safe at a distance. Understood?”

“Perfectly.”

The unaffected air of Artemisia’s demeanor was perilously close to testing your nerves. You’d lost so much at the extension of her reach; your dearest friend and now your freedom. Part of you wished she’d give you something more to despise. The knowledge of what she’d done while fulfilling orders didn’t feel sufficient.

Anything she did was carefully devoid of emotion. Almost to the point where you began questioning if she had emotions at all. You would glance at her more than proper, searching for any clues. A part of you began scheming on how to make her react.

Artemisia only moved when something else around her moved. Servants or advisors would enter the library and she’d watch them critically, scanning them for anything she deemed to be a threat. If you moved, she would watch then too, following at a safe distance if you moved out of her original range.

Nothing caught her off guard. The opening of the library door didn’t startle her, neither did the moments you’d abruptly stand up. It was like she’d been trained not to have reactions. The cold, empty expression she wore was driving you mad; you wanted to know how to break it. You wanted to know how to break her.

Your father had many soldiers of a similar bearing, but you’d even seen them break before. A surprising command or swift punishment would warrant the slightest change, their eyebrows would lift higher on their faces or they’d make brief eye contact with one another.

Artemisia, you unfortunately kept realizing, was entirely different.

So caught in your thoughts, you failed to notice someone else enter the library. There was a buzzing in your ears until it took a familiar shape, forming words.

“Your highness?” A voice broke through, making you look up. From the expression on her face it hadn’t been the first time he called for you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could swear that you saw Artemisia glance over.

“Yes?” You asked, clearing your throat and sitting up straighter than before.

“Fairuza, wife of Bahman, is waiting for an audience in the throne room.”

His words sobered you up. You had called her from her home to tell her the news in person, now you wondered if you’d made the right decision. Sweat formed on your palms.

“I’ll be with her shortly.” You said, wincing slightly at the weak thread in your voice.

He nodded, bowing before you and then taking his leave. The silence felt heavier as thoughts went through your mind. You felt wholly unprepared to give her the news, even more unprepared to handle her reaction to it.

You stood slowly, ignoring the weak feeling in your legs. The walk from the library to the throne room felt painfully long. So lost in your anxiousness and fear, you didn’t have any feelings towards Artemisia following at a distance. If things were different, you mused, you might feel more angry about it.

Upon entering the room, you scarcely had time to breathe before a body slammed into yours. You stumbled, righting yourself just before you fell. A warm hand on your lower back aided you briefly before it was gone.

“Anahita, my love, be careful. We don’t wish to injure her highness.” Fairuza’s voice admonished.

“It’s quite alright,” You said, finally gathering your bearings, “I’m very excited to see her as well.”

You hesitantly ran a hand through the girl’s hair, watching as she beamed. It broke your heart. You didn’t want to taint her heart with the news, to dull her smile when she learns her beloved Baba wasn’t coming home to her. A shaky inhale was all you could do to fortify yourself.

“Your highness, I’m sure you’re busy so we won’t keep you. What have we done to earn the honor of your summons?”

Fairuza meant well, but you wished you had more time. You had no idea how to break such news to someone. In the past, when someone was executed, they had been guilty of a crime. How do you tell a loyal woman that her innocent husband was executed in your service?

“I’m afraid this might be something too… sensitive for little ears.” You said.

“That’s alright, your highness. Anahita is a big girl now.”

You wanted to argue against that statement, but knew it wasn’t your place. You may be a princess, but you were in no way a mother. Faruzia’s judgement was absolute in regards to her daughter.

“Fairuza, Bahman...  Bahman won’t be returning home.”

A pin dropping would have felt painfully loud. The silence dragged on, like a punishment for a crime you hadn’t committed. Fairuza’s face crumpled and you wanted to reach out, but she regained her composure just in time.

“What happened?” She asked.

“He was suspected of being a traitor to us.”

“And was he?”

“No. No, he was innocent.”

“Then why was he... “ She tried, but was unable to finish when she looked down at Anahita, who was oblivious to the entire situation.

“The order was carried out before anyone could vouch for his innocence.” You said.

“Who carried out the order, your highness?”

There was a deep, overwhelming emotion in her eyes that you’d never seen. It made you feel ill to even meet her eyes. You couldn’t imagine the pain this brought her, the pain she’d live with for the rest of her life. At your side, your fingers twitched with the desire to point behind you.

“I don’t know.” You said, the words spilling from your mouth unchecked.

Behind you, you heard a sudden inhale. You hated that she’d choose now to show any sense of emotion. It stole any sense of satisfaction you had. You’d caught her off guard, but at what price?

Fairuza nodded slowly. Her fists gripped at her skirts, knuckles turning white with the force of it. You felt for her, but you were also in awe of her composure. You were sure that if you’d been in her situation, you may have reacted much differently.

“Thank you for bringing me here and breaking the news, your highness. We won’t trouble you any further.”

The quick turn-around surprised you, catching you off guard long enough for Fairuza to have collected Anahita. You blinked at her hurry. You were in no such rush to urge them away from you or out of the castle.

“Fairuza, wait,” You called as your mind finally caught up, “This can’t be easy in any way, but I would like to help your family. That way you can all live as you have.”

“I couldn’t accept that, your highness, it-”

“Please, Bahman would want you to be secure.” You interrupted, reaching out and taking the woman’s hands. She stared down at them, not daring to make eye contact with a royal.

A set of eyes felt as if they were burning holes into your back. You wanted to turn around and say anything right about now; tell her to mind her own business, to know her place, anything. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to even acknowledge her at the moment.

You couldn’t ignore that you’d lied on her behalf, protected her against the family of the man she’d killed. Some instinctual part of you had spoken before your brain could tell you not to.

“Thank you, princess, that’s very kind of you.”

Fairuza’s hands squeezed yours before they pulled away, resting on the shoulders of her daughter. You offered what you hoped was a convincing smile. A glinting caught your attention, your eyes drawn to a beautiful necklace resting at her throat. It boasted a beautiful blue pendant, though you couldn’t figure out what it was made of. You snapped back into the moment, feeling embarrassed at how much time you’d let pass.

“No thanks are necessary. The resources you require will be delivered to your home by the morning’s end tomorrow.”

Two of the palace guards escorted them from the room. Before they were completely out of sight, Anahita turned and offered you a small wave goodbye. You returned it instinctually.

As the doors closed, you felt exhausted. Would that be the last time you saw the girl so happy? You wrapped your arms around yourself while the thoughts swarmed. You could have done more, your mind insisted, you could have saved him.

A particularly heavy breath from the woman behind you reminded you where you were. In an instant, you stood completely straight, turning away from where you’d just been. You avoided any and all eye contact with Artemisia as you walked away.

——

The next few days following the meeting found you struggling and throwing yourself into a self-induced isolation as a result. Besides your chambers, the only place you wandered to was the library. You would reside there until long after the sun had set and you had to squint against the candle light to read the pages.

Artemisia bid you a goodnight long before then, in accordance with your father’s new rules; since the threat hadn’t been eliminated or even found out, he wanted the Commander fully on her guard. Every night as the sun touched the horizon, she would excuse herself quietly, and one of your father’s personal guards would replace her until the early morning.

This change gave you what felt like a break from her. From trying to decipher why you couldn’t get her out of your head. Every thought was consumed in some way with her, whether it meant figuring her out or figuring out your reactions to her. It also meant that you were allowed to seriously overwhelm yourself without anyone stepping in. The personal guards were made to be seen, not heard, and they certainly wouldn’t go beyond their bounds to advise you in any way. Only the Commander had the courage to do that. But then again, only the Commander had the advice the crown needed.

Around the middle of the morning, your head would finally drop to the table, and you’d sleep blissfully for half an hour. Then your misery would creep back in and torture you, plaguing you with nightmares. You were lucky to wake up before they went too far.

You’d throw yourself back into your books, content to pretend nothing had ever occurred.

——

One of the following nights, Artemisia did not excuse herself like normal. You worried that maybe you’d misjudged the time until the sky turned black and she was still present.

“Commander,” You asked, “Isn’t it past the bed-time my father set for you?”

You couldn’t help a little tug at the corner of your lips, thinking yourself rather clever.

“Yes, but your father could not spare any of his guard this evening.” She answered neutrally, though you could swear she’d looked the slightest bit amused.

“Why is that?”

“I’m afraid that information is not for anyone's ears but my own.”

“Did my father state that explicitly?”

“Yes.” Artemisia said, raising an eyebrow. She was clearly waiting for you to fight her on this.

Grumbling for a few moments, you went back to your work. You wanted to challenge her on this point and say that as a royal, you were one of the few the rules didn’t completely apply to, but you didn’t have the energy to form such an argument. Your brain felt like it was running in circles. The amount of mistranslations you’d written and scrubbed away to a testament to that.

It wasn’t until you knocked over a vial of ink that you truly felt something besides exhaustion. A large wave of anger slammed into you and as a result, you finally slammed the book shut and tossed it down the table. Unaware of the ink covering your hands, you dragged them down your face, staining part of your cheek.

You let your head rest in your palms, barely fighting against the heaviness of your eyelids. Sleep was beckoning and you went willingly.

When a hand gently shook you awake, you had little idea how much time had passed. You didn’t care at the moment. Your only focus was on who was touching you.

“Princess,” Artemisia’s voice finally whispered into your ear, “You should return to your chambers.”

“Hm?” You asked, blinking as her face blurred and unblurred in your vision, “No, I’m content to stay here. My book…”

“Your book is halfway down the table and you’ve spilled your ink. Half of it went to fixing the basic mistakes in your work. It will be here in the morning.” She said, leaving no room for argument.

Staring down the table at the book, you had absolutely no desire to retrieve it. The thought of your plush bed was sounding more enticing with each passing second. You nodded, standing up slowly, not paying too much attention to the warm hand on your arm leading you from the large room.

The walk to your chambers passed in a haze and you only realized where you were when the Commander opened the door for you. A small pang of shame hit you in the chest, but it was quickly overtaken by your exhaustion.

You went to throw yourself in bed when Artemisia’s hold on your arm tightened. Turning just barely, her other hand gripped your chin and turned your face. The hold surprised you and stirred up a peculiar feeling in your gut. Unbidden, your gaze dropped to her lips for a moment before you caught yourself.

“You’ve covered your face in ink. It will stain if it isn’t removed.” Artemisia said, eyes focused on the spot, rubbing at the blemish with her thumb.

“I can take care of it.” You whispered.

She nodded, dropping her hold on you and stepping back. Your body felt much colder than before as she went to stand guard outside.

“Goodnight, Commander.” You called out before she could close the door.

You’d caught her off guard and she looked back with an indescribable look. She nodded, one hand on the door pulling it shut, though not before returning the sentiment, “Goodnight.”

——

Recovering from your brief stint of sleeplessness, you felt a mortified feeling settle in the next morning. You despised the way you’d left yourself vulnerable to so much by not properly caring for yourself. Anyone could have posed a threat, but you wouldn’t have known.

Another part of your mind was refusing to acknowledge the kindness Artemisia had shown you the night before. If she hadn’t forced you to return to your room for a proper night of rest, no one would have. You felt you owed her.

Your gut still twisted with an unpleasant anger at the thought of her, but it couldn’t be said that you were unreasonable. She’d shown you a great deal of kindness and you intended to repay her. Then the two of you would be even and you could go right back to despising her.

“Good morning, Commander.” You said, pulling the doors open and offering her the smallest smile you could without seeming overly warm.

“Good morning, princess,” She greeted you.

Her eyes squared in on your cheek, piquing your curiosity, before understanding flooded you. Visions of her hold on you, her face an inch away from yours only hours before made your face hot. You were ashamed that she’d flustered you without trying.

“I hope your night was quiet.” You said, clearing your throat loudly in the quiet space.

“It was.”

You were walking towards the library slower than normal. Her presence at your side drew your attention, staring into her face rather than at the path ahead. She guided the both of you with ease.

“Have you gotten any rest?” You asked.

For a moment, her eyes moved away from the hall in front of you, meeting yours. She narrowed them as if searching for something. As quickly as she’d done it, her focus was directed back away from you.

“Guarding you is not an opportunity for rest.” She answered finally.

“I wouldn’t have minded. You need your rest as much as I do, if not more.”

“Leaving you unprotected would be irresponsible.”

“So is attempting to protect me with no rest,” Turning her eyes to yours, the two of you locked your gazes in a silent battle, “Lack of sleep impairs judgement, Commander.”

“For you, that may be.”

The two of you arrived at the library doors and you dug into your pocket for the key, only to find your pockets empty. Instead, the intricate brass tool was being held out in front of you. You took it but found yourself distracted while sliding it into the lock. You had no recollection of giving Artemisia the key or of locking the doors. The thought of how many details you were missing nagged at your mind.

Seeing the layout of the library, it remained the way you remembered. Your book laid crooked on the end of the table nearest to you, the spilled ink sat in a half-dried puddle. The fact that it was still wet proved how recently you’d actually been in the room.

You wordlessly settled into a routine, Artemisia standing just inside the door as always. Removing the ink from the wooden table had been easy enough, but you were glad you hadn’t dressed nicely, as drops of ink had colored your skirt.

The door opened and you looked up, watching curiously as one of the castle servants came to clean up the ink. She flushed when she realized you’d already taken care of it.

“My apologies, your highness,” She said, looking at you in worry, “I should have arrived sooner.”

You heard what she was saying to you and your brain was processing it, but your eyes were focused entirely on Artemisia. When the library doors opened, you caught on to an unconscious system; in quick motions, her back would straighten and her hand would fall to the sword on her hip. This time she’d been clumsy, hand missing the hilt of her sword at first. To anyone else it would have been nothing. To you, it spoke volumes to her exhaustion.

More time than appropriate had passed since the timid servant had spoken and you gave her a kind smile, “It’s not a problem, but would you be kind enough to dispose of the rags for me?”

“Of course, your highness.”

The situation was taken care of in no time and the doors shut once more, leaving only you and Artemisia in the room. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, even though yours were focused directly on her, “Commander.” You called.

“Your highness.”

“You’re tired.”

“I’m perfectly rested-”

“Commander, I’m not blind. Lack of sleep will topple even the most formidable leaders. I’m not going anywhere, lay down.” You motioned to a couch just at your left. It wasn’t the most comfortable seat available, but it’d do the trick.

“I will not leave you vulnerable.”

“Will it put you at ease if I lock the doors until you’ve gotten enough rest?”

She looked to be mulling over the idea before she gave you one slow nod. You were on your feet and locking the doors in an instant. Gently, you pushed her over towards the couch. The touch only lasted a few seconds at most, but it was enough to earn you a grumble from the other woman. She didn’t enjoy being handled, it seemed.

Her move to the couch was slow and hesitant. At any second, you expected her to abandon the pursuit and return to her post. She surprised you by actually taking a seat.

Artemisia never looked anything less than composed at all times, but there was something in her form speaking to her discomfort. You avoided looking at her for longer than a moment. If it were you, you reasoned, it’d make you largely uncomfortable to be watched in your sleep.

It didn’t take long for her to fall into sleep. You only knew because her breathing grew heavier in sleep, a fact you tucked away in your mind. Despite your focus on the book before you, you found your eyes drifting back to her. The lack of a blanket rubbed you the wrong way.

You remembered one from the previous day, tucked in the back of the library among the unorganized books. Quietly, you tiptoed back to the area, locating it rather quickly. It was a rich blue color almost like the sea.

Before you could reach for it, a hand clapped around your wrist and made you yelp. You whipped around to see Artemisia was the perpetrator.

“Why in the world are you sneaking up behind me?” You snapped.

“You moved out of my sights.”

“You were asleep, I was out of your sights no matter where I was! Was it so terrible for me to get you a blanket?”

“It was when you’re oblivious to the threats around you.”

“What the hell are you on about, Commander? I’m in no more danger now than I am at the table.” You rolled your eyes, leveling a glare at her.

She didn’t react to your words or your glare, seemingly as if she hadn’t heard them. Her eyes focused behind you before landing back on your own, “Look at the blanket, your highness.”

“What?”

“Look at the blanket.”

“You’re losing your mind, Commander. What in the world am I going to see-”

When you looked back at the blanket, movement caught your eye. You squinted at the object curiously. Then it came again; only this time you made out a bright, lithe form moving among the fabric. The light reflected off of the blue coloring of the body. You backed away, right into Artemisia’s form.

“What is that?” You whispered harshly, looking up at her.

“A snake.” She answered, eyes never leaving the spot in front of you.

“I’m not stupid. What is it doing in my library?”

“I’d gather that it’s the work of whoever wishes to harm your family.”

A chill ran down your spine at the images in your head. You would have grabbed the cloth, completely unsuspecting until a pair of fangs sank into your arm. Only then would you have noticed what had happened. By that point, no matter what you’d done, Artemisia wouldn’t have been able to help you.

You leaned back against her, your legs feeling heavy. Your wrist felt cold as she finally released it, wrapping her arm around your waist to keep you standing.

“I need to dispose of it, your highness.” Artemisia said, the words soft against your ear. You could only nod. With no small amount of composure, you moved to a nearby seat, not trusting your legs.

She drew her sword from the sheath at her hip, nudging the blanket with the sharp end. The snake slithered around it before a mean-looking face appeared. It’s forked tongue shot out, the mouth opening entirely as it hissed.

Not held back by any fear, Artemisia swung up with her sword, ending the threat. You couldn’t watch and looked intently at your feet.

A hand came into view; palm up, waiting only for your own. You took the offered appendage and stood with her help. The threat had been only that, a threat - until now. Now it wasn’t truly a threat, but a promise. They were coming after your family--after you--and it was only a matter of time.

“Thank you.” You whispered weakly.

“Of course.”

Absentmindedly, you wondered if she meant it. She was doing a duty to someone else, always acting as if it was nothing beyond that. You had to think that some of it was. Not everything she’d done for you could be orders, could it? The thought that it very well could be left a hollow feeling in your stomach, though you couldn’t fathom why.

She took the key to the doors from your hand and opened them, yelling something you couldn’t make out at someone you couldn’t see. You sat there as she closed it and glanced over to you, before taking care of the scene behind you.

Within a few minutes, the door burst open and your father marched in, a number of guards at his back. He moved to your side, glancing you over.

“How did this happen?” He asked clearly, in a tone that you knew wasn’t meant for you.

“Someone must have access to the library, your majesty. I locked the doors personally before leaving last night.” Artemisia answered, voice as stiff as her form surely was.

“Who frequents this room?”

“Besides multiple servants, the most frequent visitor is Amani, who helps transcribe the books here.”

“It’s not Amani.” You said immediately, “I’d know.”

“With all due respect, my daughter, you have no way of knowing any of this. None of us do. We need to follow any lead we may have,” King Darius said, looking away from you, “Commander.”

You didn’t have to look at her to know she’d given a nod. The heavy material of her skirts and the clink of her armor alerted you to her movements. If her father was sending her, you knew it wasn’t answers she’d come back with, but blood.

“Commander, don’t.” You said, catching her arm as she moved past. She stopped and looked at your hand on her for a long moment, “Please.”

Only a sharp inhale let you know that she’d really heard you. Placing a hand atop yours and removing it from her arm, all she offered was a squeeze. You looked away with a sinking feeling of acceptance. Your father’s orders came first.

She left the room to fulfill his wishes without so much as a backwards glance. Your father pressed a kiss to your temple, before following after the Commander.

----

You waited in the library for the rest of the day with your father’s guards remaining inside of the door. A part of you couldn’t help but despise them, not for being there, but for being where the Commander should have been. Every time the door opened it was only a servant. Though you jumped up just the same with each entrance.

The hours passed in a blur. You couldn’t focus, every movement around you catching your attention. The doors remained closed for so long that you wondered if they’d ever open again.

Then they did.

You sat up straighter, but it wasn’t the Commander who walked through the doors. It was Amani. She looked shaken, but didn’t have a scratch on her.

“Amani? Are you alright?” You asked softly, standing to greet her.

“I’m… Yes, your highness, just shaken.”

“What happened?”

“His majesty and the Commander came to question me about my time here and… a serpent?”

The woman’s voice was full of enough confusion to confirm your initial thoughts. She hadn’t been the one to place the serpent. You were triumphant in that, but shocked to see her in one piece. Mercy in any form wasn’t Artemisia’s goal.

It seemed she’d made an exception.

----

When you saw her, it would have been all too easy to let the act slide, but you couldn’t. It meant the world to you. You couldn’t imagine it was easy to go against her nature, the habits of battle she’d formed, but she had. She’d done it for you.

“I saw Amani this morning.” You commented offhandedly. Just barely glancing from the pages of your book, she gave you a knowing look.

“I would hope so, your highness. You do work with her.”

You gave her a glare, though there was nothing really behind it. It’d be easier if she wasn’t so cagey about the kind things she did. Though you reasoned they were few and far between. They were certainly not in line with her character either, but that’s what made it so satisfying.

“Thank you... Artemisia” You whispered softly, finally meeting her eyes. You didn’t need to specify what you were thanking her for.

She blinked slowly as if she hadn’t heard you correctly. It made you wonder how long it’d been since anyone had spoken to her and not the Commander. Your heart ached in sympathy. It was one thing to be proud of your rank, but it was another to be completely defined by it - to be nothing else.

For once, her stare was filled with something else. Some emotion you couldn’t decipher. Had you made a mistake, being so informal with her? You opened your mouth to apologize, to do anything to relieve the tension, when she beat you to it.

“You’re welcome.” Artemisia returned in the same soft tone.

Her voice sent a chill through you that you couldn’t decipher, but you wrote it off as the quick change in your own emotions. You shared a nod before returning to your duties. Though you couldn’t help but glance back at her, surprised to see her still watching.

----

“Commander?” You said, immediately opening the door to your chambers to ask her a question. The thought of impropriety didn’t bother you much, but she was sure to keep her eyes away from you.

“Yes?”

“Is General Ahmand going to be part of tonight's celebration?”

“I believe so, your highness.”

You groaned, letting your head fall against the doorframe with a thunk. Artemisia raised an eyebrow, hazarding a glance to you from the corner of her eyes. She looked away as you raised your head.

“General Ahmand has a misguided belief that I harbor affections towards him and seeks to gain my attention at every celebration. I have no desire to interact with him, will you remain close to me?”

Asking the question felt like forcing daggers from your throat. It felt uncomfortable, asking her for help, even though she’d offer it anyway. You’d never willingly let yourself need her before. It was why you’d opened the door in only a slip, so she couldn’t look through you and see such thoughts.

“If you wish it, then it will be so.” Artemisia answered.

Nodding, you lingered there. You wished that there was more to say. More to offer her so she understood your gratitude, but nothing came to mind. None of it felt good enough.

You disappeared back into your chambers as quietly as you’d first appeared.

----

Just as you’d requested, Artemisia stood at your side stoically. One hand rested on the hilt of her sword with the other folded behind her back. Those who approached you did so with visible hesitance, casting multiple glances in the Commander’s direction. You felt relieved that she warded off any unwanted attention.

At least, she did until the drinks began to flow.

You’d had a drink yourself, as was customary. But only one. Any more than that and you would have regretted it later. Experience is the best teacher, as you unfortunately learned years prior.

Everyone laughed louder when they were intoxicated. It was a pleasant sound to cover up an unpleasant thing. Most of the people in the room would be perfectly behaved here in the palace, only to turn later. Normal hands would become rough, melodic voices would go rough. It dissolved any composure that evolution created.

“I believe if Lady H has another drink, she may fall into bed with the wrong person.” You muttered softly to the Commander, hiding your amusement behind the rim of your glass.

Artemisia’s mouth turned up in her version of a smile. You couldn’t help the satisfaction it rendered to know you’d caused her reaction.

“I’m afraid I must disagree.” She said in return.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Her husband won’t allow her enough freedom to do so.”

The two of you made brief eye contact and you gave her a nod. She was right, you had to admit. Despite the past of Lady H, her husband suffered from too much insecurity to let her out of his sights.

“It feels like such a shame for her talents-” You started, only to be cut off.

“My dear princess,” A sickly sweet voice came from behind you. You rolled your eyes, watching as Artemisia tried to hide a smirk, “What a pleasure it is to see you.”

“General Ahmand,” You turned around, plastering on a fake smile, “What a surprise.”

“I had hoped you would be in attendance, your highness, but I didn’t dare expect. You have many worthier prospects.”

“That I do, but it is a celebration worthy of my attendance. The conquest of Athens is no small feat. I would never dare to slight those who’ve had such a victory.”

“How generous and wise of you, dear princess. Might I trouble your generosity for a dance?”

From beside you, you watched Artemisia clamp her teeth down on her lip. A smile threatened her composure. You wanted to throw a glare her way, but the General’s gaze didn’t waver enough to allow it.

“I’m flattered, General Ahmand, but I am saving my dances for those we’re celebrating tonight. You understand, of course?” You asked with a smile.

His own smile faded, but he wouldn’t dare argue. Not nearly enough alcohol had been consumed to loosen his sense of propriety.

“Of course. Allow me to release your attention, your highness.”

You gave him a nod and tried to maintain face while he left. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that you let the pleasant smile drop and released a low groan.

“How generous you are to reject me, your highness.” Artemisia mocked under her breath, smirk firmly in place.

“Hush.” You whispered.

“But of course, your highness. Your spotless wisdom is law, your highness.”

A laugh erupted from you unbidden, which you covered up with a cough. The action drew the attention from those around you, but no one questioned it. You only offered a smile to relieve their suspicions.

“You’re terrible.” You said, swatting at her arm once all eyes had left you.

“Am I? If there was an altar dedicated to you, he would live upon its steps.”

“Is it so horrible to be admired, Commander?”

“Not at all. Though I wouldn’t take pride in the admiration of General Ahmand.”

“Come now, who wouldn’t want the attention of a man whose only goal is to gain my father’s favor? He may be more in love with my father than I, but what man isn’t these days?” You said, earning a breath of laughter for your efforts. You tried not to look overly proud of yourself.

The two of you remained side-by-side, Artemisia standing at attention when others came to speak with you. She had little to say and only spoke when prompted, offering nothing beyond pleasantries. Her true humor only revealed when the two of you stood alone.

You had to admit you were enjoying the event more than you expected. The music was pleasant and the atmosphere was calm, more so than any previous night like this. You’d never felt so at ease.

Eventually, to your utter dread, the heroes of the night called on you to claim their dances. With a swift hand, you had been dragged away from your protector before you could realize. Now you found yourself being passed through the group, one dance each, as was custom. They told you stories of battle as you danced, leaving you in awe of many tactical feats.

Much to your dismay, you were joined in a dance by the last hero. You wished to relive all of the dances and hear their stories over again. It must have shown on your face, as the man quirked an eyebrow at your demeanor.

“Is something wrong, your highness?”

“Oh, no, I’m quite alright,” You assured him, “I’m only regretting that the dances are over. Your comrades have wonderful stories.”

“That they do. A life in battle makes you rather skilled in retelling your battles. They’re much better than I, unfortunately.”

“I find that hard to believe. You must have your own way of telling a story that they do not.”

“Not a way that is completed in a single dance, your highness.”

Disappointment flooded you as the song drew to a close and the man bowed. You offered him a nod, making your way back to the Commander. Curiosity gnawed at you, made you wonder if the Commander had similar stories of her own battles. Warmth blossomed in your chest at the thought of her animatedly recounting such a story.

When you returned to her side, you offered her a smile. She didn’t return it, she never did, but neither did she offer any sign of amusement or pleasantness. You felt the warmth in your chest wilt slightly.

“Do you ever tell stories, Commander?” You asked, hoping to break away from whatever was happening.

“Stories?”

“Yes, of your time in battle. Your triumphs and conquests laid out in detail. Our guests were offering me a brilliant retelling of their most recent battles. I was quite enchanted.”

There had been a spark of interest when you first began to explain, but it vanished shortly after. Her eyes were unbearably indifferent. Anything you had experienced earlier, any sign of amusement, was gone.

“I’m afraid I have more important duties than storytelling, your highness.” Was all she offered.

You felt embarrassed that you’d ever asked for such a thing from her and nodded. Silence surrounded you as the music ran down and she escorted you back to your chambers. You tried to ignore the hurt sitting in your chest as you fell asleep.

----

When you woke up, your chambers were still covered in darkness. You couldn’t imagine why you’d woken up until a noise caught your attention.

A soft, hissing noise came from your right. The moonlight coming from the outside illuminated the room enough to give you a glimpse of something. It reflected off of something smooth, but something… moving. You pressed yourself against the headboard as you tried to focus more on it.

Two dark, beady eyes stared back. A forked tongue visible in the sliver of light you had. Cold terror shot through you as you realized what you were seeing.

“Commander!” You tried to call out, but your voice broke, “Commander!”

Complete silence.

The snake moved forward curiously, moonlight catching the scales as it moved. It could’ve been a beautiful sight if it didn’t mean a horrible outcome for you.

“Commander!” You shouted this time.

Nothing.

“What is wrong with you?”

You shrieked as a voice came from your left. Dread filled your bones as Bahman stared back, though you couldn’t figure out why. There was some detail niggling at the back of your brain.

“Why would you call out for her?” He asked, eyes focused unblinkingly on you.

“She… She’s protecting me.” You answered.

“You’ve let yourself rely on her. On the woman who killed me,” He snarled, walking forward. That detail was suddenly crystal clear as you leaned away from him, “You deserve this fate.”

The question of ‘what fate?’ was on your lips, but pain erupted in your body before you could release them. Two razor sharp fangs had imbedded themselves in your leg, leaving you feeling faint already.

“Artemisia!” You screamed.

Two hands on your arms ripped you from the nightmare, barely stopping you from colliding with a strong body as you shot up out of the bed.

“Your highness,” A voice rang in your ears as the hands held you steady, “Your highness, you’re alright.”

It was the Commander. She sat on the edge of your bed, hands on your upper arms, holding you in place. Relief washed over you. It’d only been a nightmare.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” You whispered, throat aching against the action, “What can I do for you?”

Confusion was painted on her face and you couldn’t figure out why. She had come to wake you because there was something she needed, right?

“I don’t require anything from you.”

“Then why did you wake me?”

“You screamed.”

“Oh.” You said, blushing at your own absentmindedness.

A few moments of silence reigned, your mind working in a million different ways. Her hands finally smoothed over you and she released a sigh. You looked at her, but you could only catch a glimpse of her side profile, outlined against what little moonlight existed.

“Rest, your highness,” Artemisia said quietly, standing up and letting go of you. You felt a loss of comfort at the action. But you nodded and turned over, listening as she left the room, and falling asleep shortly after.

----

It was an unspoken decision that the nightmare wouldn’t be discussed. The two of you went about your day as if it never happened, though it was all you could think about. Your heart had felt like it’d beat out of your chest, your mind screaming that you needed the Commander. The Commander would keep you safe. A deep swell of pain had captured your heart when she hadn’t come.

You didn’t like any of it. There had never been a desire to rely on someone so heavily before. You couldn’t--and wouldn’t--acknowledge how it felt. Your work became a much more interesting prospect.

For the first time since you were a child, you were fully engaged in your duties around the palace. You forced yourself to pay complete attention at court, to participate, all of it. You left no opportunity for distraction.

It earned you a surprised, but proud look from your father. You were always well behaved at court though never like this. Normally, you were focused elsewhere. In the library, mainly, though you had other habits— habits you’d been sorely neglecting as of that.

That was how you found yourself out on the training grounds, trying and failing to throw your knives at the targets. You focused all of your thoughts into your movements, but would find them drifting back to the presence behind you.

Ten knives so far, only one hit the target. The edge of it, that is.

“Would you like some assistance?” Artemisia asked. You grit your teeth against the smile you could detect in her voice.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” You said without turning around.

“I see, your goal is to miss the target.”

You turned to glare at her, only to see her approaching anyway with a smug smirk. She turned you back around so that you were facing the target, guiding your arm.

“Start with your arm back here and when it reaches your ear, release the knife.”

Nodding, you did your best to focus on her words and not the sudden way her hands had been on you. Your eyes zeroed in on the target and you swung, releasing the knife as she instructed, but it still failed to accurately hit the target. She let out a curious hum.

“Your form is your downfall. Correct your feet.” She instructed.

You moved your feet into what you thought was the right stance, but she sighed. Part of you wished to give up on the whole endeavor and return to the library. Knives, swords, and armor had never been your expertise -- or even your goal.

A hand grabbed your ankle and you jumped, letting out a squeak. The Commander looked up into your eyes and waited patiently for you to recover. You wished she wouldn’t attempt to move you without warning, but your request was likely to get you nothing but an eye roll. Slowly, you returned to your former placement.

“Are you sure you were trained by the army commander?” She asked, correcting the direction and placement of your stance.

“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“I find it difficult to believe anyone he trained could have such an atrocious stance.”

A scowl replaced what had previously been a curious expression. She made no efforts to act ashamed of her comment.

“You do realize you’re within kicking range.” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Sure it was childish, but it would serve her right, you thought.

“I’m well aware,” Artemisia said, but was unbothered as she also corrected your posture, “Keep your abdomen tight. Don’t slouch. Now, go again.”

It wasn’t often that someone else was giving you orders, but you obeyed them nonetheless. Taking a deep breath in, you held it, and went through the motions a few times as practice. On the third practice swing, the knife flew from your hand unrestricted. It landed just outside of the bullseye.

You clapped your hands together in front of you and turned to her, a triumphant smile playing on your lips. She stared at the target for a beat before offering a nod.

“Not terrible.”

Not the most warm compliment, but you took it. You felt invigorated by the small achievement and collected your knives to continue practicing. Over the course of another hour, you had moved your aim closer to the bullseye, but had not managed to hit it. You called it a day when anger began to build.

It had been your hope to impress the Commander with a significant improvement. When none seemed forthcoming, frustration quickly festered in your gut. Ending the session before you became irrationally upset seemed the best course of action.

You walked away from the target and Artemisia followed behind quietly. She feared nothing, but the set of your shoulders left her quiet. Before you disappeared into your chambers to no doubt sulk, she cleared her throat.

“You’re a quick study. Mastering the skill won’t take much longer.” She offered.

The urge to let your jaw drop was astounding. You held back, not wanting to humiliate her. It was kind of her to offer you that comfort. Instead, you nodded.

“Thank you, Commander.”

And as you stepped into your chambers, you felt a smile break out onto your face.

----

You threw yourself into training after that. For some time every morning and every evening before dark, you would stand on the training grounds and throw countless knives at targets. Only once had you hit the center.

It’d been a complete accident, if you were being honest with yourself. The rhythm of throwing the knives and the frustration of missing created a lull. Your mind detached from your body as it moved of its own accord. In that mindless state, your knife embedded itself into the very center of the target, knocking you forcefully back into reality.

Excitement coursed through your veins and you immediately turned to beam at the Commander. She offered the closest thing to a smile you’d ever seen before. It wasn’t much beyond the corner of her mouth twitching upwards, but it’d left you on a high for hours afterwards.

Since then you had been attempting to recreate that same easy, mindless state; all so you could see her smile at you again.

----

For weeks after you had been steadily improving on your aim with the knives, but none of them had quite earned you the same reaction. Still, your stubborn nature refused to let you quit. You were going to prove you were capable, you thought, that was the only reason you were working so hard.

The two of you had fallen into a bit of a habit. You would leave your chambers after sunrise for the training grounds and she’d follow, overseeing the training with a sharp eye. Every now and again, she’d give you instructions or adjust your stance, but that was all.

Today, something about the Commander seemed different. Off. Her skin was always a smooth porcelain, but today there was a sickly tinge to it. You didn’t acknowledge it as you didn’t want to bother her. Though it became more pronounced as the day went on, until it felt wrong to ignore it.

“Commander, are you quite alright?” You asked quietly, watching her expression.

“Perfectly fine, your highness.” She answered quickly. Too quickly. The set of her jaw told you otherwise.

“Mm. I call bull.”

There was no time for her to react to your statement, before you had stopped in your walk. You invaded her personal space and pressed the back of your hand to her forehead. The searing heat there startled you almost as much as her lack of reflexes.

“You’re burning up. How long have you been feeling ill?” You asked, pulling a handkerchief from your sleeve to dab at the sweat on her face.

“Since this morning.” Artemisia said stiffly.

“And you’ve been ignoring it since then? Honestly, you’re supposed to be the intelligent one here.” You sighed, grabbing her and pulling her in the direction of the healer, “We’ll get you seen to immediately.”

For a moment, you could see the apprehension on her features. But whatever had gotten to her must have been affecting her more than she was letting on. She didn’t argue or attempt to combat your decision, she didn’t even make a comment on it. It’d rendered her almost mute.

Her body was pressing into your side more and more. She was losing the strength to hold herself up after having done so all day. It inspired a wave of fear in you seeing her so weak, but you tried to maintain a brave face.

“We’re almost there,” You said softly, squeezing the hand in your own, “Then this will all be handled.”

All she offered you was a grunt and you took it. It seemed better than nothing.

You let decorum fly out the window as you reached the healer, practically beating on the door in your haste. The Commander was slender, but almost completely muscle. Her weight against you was almost too much for you to maintain.

“Your highness, what are you-” The healer asked, taking in the situation curiously.

“She’s ill. I need you to see her immediately.” You demanded and entered the room without being invited.

A long, comfortable looking lounger rested against the wall and you made a beeline for it. Artemisia’s legs were still moving and you took that as a good sign. She was still fighting against whatever was overcoming her. You laid her gently on the lounger and dabbed at her brow again. She attempted to push your hand away.

“Stop fighting me. I’m trying to help.” You hissed.

“Go.”

Despite the weakness that was clear in her form, her tone was stern. As if she was back to normal for only a moment. It made you hesitate, looking down at her in disbelief.

“What? I’m not going-”

“It may be better that way, your highness,” The healer spoke up, looking at the woman with an expression that you didn’t like, “I won’t be able to do much if you’re fussing over her as well.”

“Go.” She repeated.

Leaving her side was the last thing you wanted to do, but you also wanted her to get better. If it was better for you to be absent, you accepted, then you would go. You wouldn’t have to like it.

“Fine. I’ll go, but I want to be updated every hour on her condition. And you,” You said sternly, pressing your handkerchief into her clenched fist, “You have to return this to me when you’re well. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Now go.”

You gave the healer a nod, before finally obeying the Commander’s wishes. The thought of leaving the room made you feel sick to your stomach. There had been a look in the healer’s eye, some sort of pity, that you hated. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean.

Every place you attempted to go reminded you of the situation. Her presence lurked in every corner, reminding you of her sharp wit and steady presence. As you had declared, an update was brought to you every hour, but nothing had changed enough to put you at ease. You didn’t touch any of the food your servants brought and you didn’t dare look in the direction of your work.

Nothing could ease the feelings in your gut. The feelings of fear and desperation, but also the thought that you were missing something. Some piece of the situation. It nagged at the back of your mind and wouldn’t let you go.

“Your highness?”

Snapping from your thoughts, you looked up into the tired face of a servant. You realized in a moment that more time had passed than you thought. Sitting up straighter in your chair, you nodded for the servant to go on.

“The healer is requesting your presence, your highness.”

That was all it took. Like a shot, you were off, meeting up with the healer outside of his chambers. He looked as tired as you felt. You knew it’d probably be kind to inquire after him, but you didn’t care about him right now.

“How is she, sir?” You asked, casting anxious glances at the closed doors.

“It has been a long night, princess. She seems to be improving, but…”

“But?”

“I wanted you here in case her health took a turn for the worst. It isn’t unlikely in a case such as this.”

“And what is that?” You said, fingernails digging into your arm folded over your chest. The thought of her not making it had sent your heart into a frantic beat.

“From my expertise, I believe the Commander has been poisoned.” He said patiently.

“Poisoned? That’s not possible, she’s been with me. She hasn’t had time to be poisoned.”

“I understand that, princess, but that is what the signs tell me.”

“Are you sure that your signs can’t be wrong?”

The healer gave a deep sigh. You knew you were being irrationally combative, but it was easier than accepting the possibility of what he was implying.

“I would recommend remaining at her side during this time, your highness. I will be close if you need my services.” He said, exhaustion in his voice.

You nodded and rushed into the room. A faint sliver of moonlight illuminated the space aside from the few torches. Artemisia remained on the lounger where you’d helped her sit, but she was asleep now. As you approached, you could see that her pallor hadn’t improved. The sickly tinge remained and pulled at your chest.

A sheen of sweat covered her face that you could see. Unconsciously, you reached inside of your sleeve for your handkerchief. You realized when you came up empty. The cloth was still clutched firmly in her hand even in sleep. You refused to disturb her, as you had charged her with giving it back to you. Either she’d return it or you didn’t want it at all.

Another cloth laid on a nearby table and you grabbed it. Pulling up a chair as quietly as possible, you settled at her side. You made slow, careful swipes across her face with the towel. She didn’t stir.

“You’ve given me a scare, Commander,” You whispered as you went about your task, “And now the healer is saying things could still go… wrong. That’s unacceptable.”

She didn’t stir or react in the slightest to your words. You hated it. She was a notoriously light sleeper as you’d learned; with less and less guards available from your father, you would lock the library doors every morning and let her rest. The slightest shift in your seat and she’d move, however unconsciously. If you moved, she was awake and out of her seat in seconds.

“The healer says you were poisoned, but I don’t know how. You haven’t moved away from me in days. I think we’d both notice if something had bitten you.”

A thought that maybe you hadn’t put you on edge. Surely even if you missed such a thing, the Commander wouldn’t have. She made up for your lack of awareness of your surroundings.

“Anyway, you’ll be recovered soon. You’re far too stubborn not to be.”

There was a noise outside of the window that drew your attention away. You slowly realized that it was the chirping of birds. Moving over to the curtains, you opened them a little more to peer out, and found yourself surprised at the pink coloring the horizon. The sun was rising.

“I… I’ve been awake all night, it seems,” You said aloud, looking back even though you knew she wouldn’t wake. Returning to her side, you maintained your gaze outside of the window, “The audacity you have to be ill now. This is the last thing I imagined for our first sunrise-”

Oh.

You felt as if someone had reached into your chest and wrapped their fist around your heart. It felt like the organ would stop beating at any moment from the pain you felt. This whole time… It was so clear now; you had fallen in love with the Commander. The sharp, aloof woman had captured your heart.

Now she was laying weak and potentially dying at your side. A feeling of total helplessness washed over you, igniting a fury that you hadn’t expected. You vowed to destroy whoever was behind this.

“You’re not allowed to leave me, Commander,” You whispered finally, “Not until we finish this.”

Overwhelmed by your emotions and the lack of responsiveness, you finally let yourself cry.

----

The first thing you registered was a warm hand on your shoulder. Not gripping it, but resting there. You wondered who was bold enough to touch you so casually.

Raising your head, you winced against the bright light filling the room. Squinting against the light, a pair of eyes met yours. You remembered where you were and who those eyes belonged to.

“You’re awake.” You whispered, not bothering to stop your smile.

“I am.” Artemisia nodded, “It’s comforting that your skills of deduction haven’t abandoned you.”

You were so happy to hear her voice that you could almost ignore the teasing. The barely-there smirk gave you the deepest urge to kiss her. It was all you could think about, but you held yourself back.

“Good to see you’re still you.” You said. Though you tried to make it sound sarcastic, there was too much genuine happiness behind it to stick.

She only nodded, her smirk growing a little wider. It started you when she began to shift and suddenly held something out in front of you. You took a few moments before realizing what it was.

“You demanded that I return it.” She said.

You recalled that. In the heat of the moment, you had only wanted to give her something to hold onto. Something to anchor her to life. She was too hard headed to leave with unfinished business.

“Keep it,” You finally said, pressing it back into her hand, “It’s yours now.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead she gave you a nod. Any anxious feelings in your gut melted away. You knew what you were doing, how you were leaving yourself open by giving it to her. You didn’t care anymore. Not after last night.

“Your highness?” A small voice called from outside, before the door opened. Standing there with a tray was a servant bearing a tray of food, “I’ve brought a meal for the Commander.”

The tray was set down in front of you and she took her leave. Artemisia didn’t hesitate to pick at the offerings. That nagging feeling from the day before was back in your brain and without warning, you knocked the food from her hand.

“Don’t eat that.”

“Do you expect me to starve?” She said, looking unamused.

“Did you eat before going to the training grounds with me yesterday?” You asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“By the gods, Artemisia, just answer the question. Did you or did you not eat before we went to the training grounds?”

“Of course, your highness.”

You could see the exact moment that it clicked in her mind. The sickness had rendered a little slower than normal, but she was still extremely sharp. You removed the plate and set it down on a separate table, moving to rush from the area. A hand on your arm stopped you.

“It stands to reason, princess, that if these attacks are no longer exclusive to you…” Artemisia started.

“Then you won’t be the only one in danger.” You finished, your heart dropping. She released your arm after you gave it a squeeze, rushing out of the room.

Stood obediently were two guards. They looked bored when you rushed from the room, before standing up straighter and attempting to look attentive. Their appearance was the last thing on your mind.

“Do not let anyone in that room, do you understand?” You rushed out, barely giving them time to react before taking off at a run.

You paid no mind to the curious looks and the whispers as you ran past. Servants and individuals would move quickly out of your way, staring after you in surprise. You stopped to offer nobody an explanation. Not for the first time, you cursed the placement of the healer’s chambers in the palace. It made no sense to have someone so vital at the furthest point away from you.

It was the least important thing on your list of tasks at the moment, but you’d be glad that it’d finally be fixed. You had been complaining about it for ages.

As you ran, you bunched your skirts at your hips, cursing their length. They were dreadful for running. Naturally, they had no reason to be. You found yourself wishing for one of Artemisia’s dresses. The slits where the legs were would make running and moving much easier. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for a wardrobe change.

You rounded the last corner to the dining hall and found yourself running straight at the doors. Two guards stood outside the doors, exchanging a glance and then looking at you.

“Open the doors!” You yelled, putting all of your energy into the last length towards the doors. Your calf muscles screamed in protest.

The doors were opened just in time. You had been moving so fast that you weren’t sure you could slow down otherwise. It would have been humiliating to run face-first into the stone doors, though you gathered your brother would get a laugh out of it. Artemisia would no doubt find it amusing too.

Your father and brother were seated at opposite ends of the table. The former was just bringing the first spoonful to his lips when you burst in, his head snapping up in surprise.

“Don’t eat that!” You said, rushing to his side and shoving the plate out of his reach, before looking to Xerxes, “You either. It’s poisoned.”

The spoon fell heavily from your father’s hand. He rose with a scowl, taking in your disheveled appearance with a critical eye. Your lungs were burning, but you resisted the urge to take deep gulps of air.

“How do you know this, sister?” Xerxes spoke first, standing from his seat as well.

“The Commander’s food was poisoned yesterday. I didn’t make the connection until her meal was brought to us.”

“Us?” Xerxes questioned, your father cutting in before he could go further.

“Not now, my son. You are sure of this?”

“I’ve never been more sure, Baba.”

He nodded, turning to a guard at his side. There was no doubt that he’d been listening intently, but he offered no sign of it. His visage was entirely neutral.

All of those in the kitchen were rounded up and brought before the three of you. You and Xerxes stood on either side of your father, while he stayed seated. His hands were folded tightly over his middle, knuckles almost going white as they were brought in. The room was as silent as the crypt.

“Is this all of you?” Your father asked in a terse voice.

“Yes, your majesty.” The head of the kitchen said, bowing his head when your father looked at him, “This is everyone employed in the kitchens.”

He grunted, looking up and down the line of shaking servants. Every head was bowed in submission. In a surprising move, your father turned to you, motioning for you to take over. You nodded and tried to keep a level stare over all of them.

“One, or maybe more of you, have betrayed this family. Yesterday someone important to our country was poisoned and now there has been an attempt on my father and my brother; your king and crown prince. I urge you to come forward now and face your punishment with grace.” You spoke clearly, watching them with a sharp eye.

None stepped forward, though you hadn’t really expected them to. One servant drew your attention more than the others though. Her head was lowered, but her eyes were darting every-which-way, and her frame had started to shake slightly. You raised an eyebrow and looked at your family. They had noticed as well.

With slow, deliberate steps, you walked up to stand before the shaking woman. She was only slightly shorter than you were. Her body tensed, but it didn’t stop her nervous reaction.

“What is your name?” You asked, your voice feeling loud in the silence.

“Madhavi, your highness.” She whispered.

“Is there something you’d like to share, Madhavi?”

Her frightened eyes flickered up to yours for a split second. When she saw how intensely you were staring her down, they returned to the floor. She shook her head. You maintained your stare for a long beat and then turned. Ignoring the curious looks of your father and brother, you caught the attention of the guards behind them.

“Take her away.” You ordered and they moved immediately, clasping a hard grip around each of her arms. She tried to fight and pull away from the guards.

“It wasn’t intentional!” The woman yelled suddenly. You held up a hand for the men to pause.

“And what was it then?”

“I swear it wasn’t on purpose, your highness. The woman handed me what I thought was a seasoning and I’ve seen her around here so often that I took her word for it.”

“What woman?” You asked, brow furrowing.

The doors to the room, the doors you’d burst through earlier, opened suddenly. Artemisia stood there in all of her glory, shoving a familiar face ahead of her. You felt your breath stutter.

“I believe this is the woman she’s referring to, your highness.” Artemisia said, forcing the woman onto her knees.

You approached slowly. The world felt like it was spinning around you. Briefly, you met the Commander’s eyes, feeling utterly confused. Then you finally stared into Fairuza’s hardened face.

“How?” You asked, “How could you do this, after everything we’ve done for you?”

“Everything you’ve done for us? You worked my husband like a dog and gave him next to nothing. He may have been too delusional to see your cruelty, but I am not.” Fairuza spat.

The necklace around her neck glinted. Finally you recognized the single, blue scale resting against her jugular. It was revealed as Artemisia yanked back on her hair, attempting to silence the disrespect coming from her mouth.

“Bahman was paid a fair wage that was more than suitable. If he didn’t reveal that all to you, then that is out of my control,” You said slowly, before grabbing Fairuza’s chin and forcing her to lock gazes with you, “What is in my control is your fate. And it is going to be a terrible one.”

You looked up into Artemisia’s face, seeing a look of curiosity there. You wanted to tell her that this was all for her, that every punishment the woman would endure would be for her. Bahman’s death would haunt the woman’s mind, but Artemisia’s near-death would haunt her body.

“You will pay for your crimes over the rest of your days. I hope it was worth it.” You whispered, releasing her face and motioning for the guards to release the other woman, in favor of grabbing Fairuza.

The lack of fight in the woman made you feel uneasy, but you didn’t waver from your spot until she was completely out of sight. You heard your father dismiss the rest of the staff while you stood, unsure of what to do next. Artemisia’s hand on your arm drew you from your thoughts.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

“I’m fine, princess. Though I should ask you that.”

“I’d be better if I hadn’t just condemned a woman to a lifetime of torture,” You said, trying to laugh, but it came out terribly bitter, “Now I have to figure out what to do with her daughter.”

“You will find an answer. You always do.”

----

The wind swept through your hair and rustled your dress. You pulled the blanket on your shoulders tighter around you. Despite the sunshine, it had done little to warm you. You peered around the corner with slight impatience.

“Anahita, stay away from the rose bushes,” You called out, “Come inside, it’s almost dark.”

A little head of hair popped up amongst the plants. You felt a smile blossom on your face, almost rivaling the flowers surrounding you in the garden. Ever since Fairuza had been revealed as the traitor, her daughter had come into your care. They lacked any other family who could take her and you’d been happy to do so.

“Coming!” She called, though you knew it’d be at least another five minutes until she actually came inside.

“Still allowing her to run your schedule, I see.”

You turned to see Artemisia propped against the doorway. Her arms boasted a speckled pattern that you recognized as blood. She hadn’t stopped to freshen up before seeking you out, making you her first stop after returning.

“She’s not the only one,” You smiled, approaching her, “Welcome back, Commander.”

Instead of returning your greeting, she gripped the blanket around your shoulders and pulled you into a rough kiss. You melted into the embrace. Her lips were bruising, telling you just how much you’d been missed. A soft whimper left your mouth before you remembered where you were and pulled away.

Your forehead pressed against hers as you took in a ragged breath. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth and you wanted to kiss it away. Before you could do so, a little pair of arms wrapped themselves around the both of you.

“Hello, Commander!” Anahita said joyfully, looking up at the woman with a bright grin.

“Good evening, Anahita. I trust you’re behaving?” Artemisia said. Her voice was a little more stilted with the girl than with you, but she offered an awkward pat to the girl’s shoulder.

“Of course.”

Artemisia gave her a nod. You wanted to laugh at how uncomfortable the child still made her, though Anahita clearly admired her. She was getting better slowly.

“Alright, you. It’s time for bed,” You said to the girl, pushing her towards the doors. Turning to the Commander, you looked her up and down slowly, “And it is time for you to clean yourself up.”

“Mm. And will you be joining me?” She asked, only loud enough for the two of you to hear.

“We’ll see.”

Artemisia raised an eyebrow, but you only offered a coy smile. You ushered Anahita inside after stealing a quick kiss from the warrior. The excitement settling in your gut made you eager to return to the woman, but you had your duties to the girl first.

----

After getting Anahita into bed and reading her a story, you had rushed back to your chambers. There you found Artemisia submerged in a warm bath, steam rolling off of the water, her arms propped over the sides enticingly. You traced her muscles with your eyes before meeting her gaze. No matter how quiet you tried to be, she always knew you were there.

“Nice of you to join me, your highness.” She said.

“I’m sorry. Anahita wanted a story and I couldn’t deny her. It was hard to get her to sleep, she’ll likely be all over you tomorrow.”

You came to stand next to the bath, intertwining her fingers with your own. Her face didn’t change, but she squeezed your hand lightly.

“We’ll deal with that then. Join me.”

And join her you did. You laid in the warm water with her, exchanging kisses and words, until it had long gone cold. Even after that you didn’t sleep. You propped yourself near the window, watching the stars in the sky as she wrapped herself around you from behind. A pair of lips pressed a kiss behind your ear.

The two of you ventured into more physical pursuits until the morning, leaving you feeling pleasantly sore. Your head was laid on her chest when the sound of chirping caught your attention. Outside of the window, the sun was coming across the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant orange.

“It’s sunrise.” You remarked with a smile.

“So it is.”

“We met at sunrise. Do you remember?”

“I remember you attempting to give me orders, but not that it was sunrise.”

“You ruined my morning. I was so furious with you and I hated you for what felt like ages. Though somehow you wormed your way into my good graces.” You said, pressing a kiss just above her heart.

“We’ve never shared a sunrise.”

“Not on good terms. The only other time, you were… I thought you were going to leave. I couldn’t enjoy it like I wanted, especially since you weren’t awake to see it.”

“I owe you two more sunrises, then?” Artemisia inquired, trailing a hand down the side of your face. The gentle touch left you breathless.

“You owe me far more than that.” You grinned, leaning up to steal a kiss.