Collaterals

What For?

A two-and-a-half-day ride had them in Arehaq, the capital of Aradia, by midday. It would seem that Aradia knew little of spring, though, as Leila had come to understand through the span of their journey. She'd opted for dresses with more breathable material...which meant she'd been wearing the gowns her mother had picked out: today, a deep purple gown, made of linen, with a shawl of a lighter purple. She'd changed at one of their stops along the way, having moved to sit with Haitham for some reprieve from Zarqa's speeches. It was then that her younger brother had expressed just how much of a shame it was that Leila would see so little of the city as they went through it, what with the earlier assassination attempt making a procession atop a horse too risky. 

"I'd not expected it of our people. I do not know that anyone had ever thrown an arrow at Ali before. I reckon they really do love him." Haitham had said while assessing his nails with the very disinterest he'd donned since Ali's comment before their departure.

Leia had only smirked, "So you sing his praises only when he is not around?"

Haitham had sneered, "It is only an observation, sister."

And despite the laugh she gave, Leila had not been able to help that cursed feeling, simmering at the bottom of her chest as she glanced to where Ali was. Her older brother had a way with their people, always slapping a hand atop the shoulder of one knight or another, commoners having stepped on their tiptoes for but a glimpse of him as their carriages had moved. It was not jealousy she felt. Leila was certain it was not jealousy. But then...what was it?

It was a question she'd left behind upon seeing the large gates of Arehaq, spanning right and left for as far as the eyes could see, and as tall as the trees she'd seen as a child, when she'd traveled with the royal family of Tain to the forests in the Cotish colony. The carriages had come to a stop, and Leila had only sat back, thankful the road had tired Zarqa enough so that the girl was now peacefully asleep, head rested on Leila's lap. She'd had hoped to see more of the city, but perhaps it truly was safer here. Leila pushed at the curtain of her carriage, peaking out the window.

Ali was outside, hands waving as he seemingly gave orders while dressed in formal attire. Leila's brows crossed as she saw Captain Gawain, moving to her carriage with a stormy demeanor. He knocked three times.

Leila's voice was gentle, almost hushed so as not to disturb Zarqa, "Yes?"

"Your Highness," Captain Gawain's voice was louder than Leila had expect as he opened the carriage door. Atop her lap, Zarqa stirred. Leila looked to him, putting a finger on her lips. He looked at Zarqa, almost in irritation, as he took a breath against the heat. Sweat slid down his forehead. His voice was a harsh whisper when he spoke, "I would implore your highness to understand that as Hand, your safety is—"

"Sir Gawain."

Captain winced. Leila watched as he straightened: she was not sure of the story, exactly, but she knew that it had been long since someone had called the Captain 'Sir'. He turned to look to Ali.

"A moment with my sister."

Captain only grit his teeth, moving away so Ali could climb into the carriage. He looked to Zarqa and smirked, sitting on the couch across from them, the door shutting behind him. Though flushed, he did not seem to melt against the heat as Captain did. In fact, in his regal clothes and the swirl of his hair to the side, he seemed every bit the Heir of a kingdom as old as Aradia. He held his riding gloves in one hands, an elbow on his knee as he looked to her, "I'd hoped we could ride through the city: our own little procession. I'm afraid the midday sun is sharper than I'd anticipated, but the wind still carries the breeze of spring."

Leila frowned, glancing to the braid she'd intertwined in Zarqa's hair as she slept, "Haitham had said there was a safety concern."

When she looked up, Ali had donned a face of contempt, the corner of his lips twisted downward. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, before closing it in re-consideration. He shifted, expression schooled into that of mindfulness, "I had not considered...Of course, it is your right to fear your safety, after the incident at  Diastrop. Forgive me, I'd thought you—"