Collaterals

Foe, Fiend, or Friend?

It was when she was mere steps from her room, feet light atop clouds of a lingering dream that she was stopped. Captain's hand clutched the door handle, blocking her from entering. The sight was a bucket of cold water, drowning the butterflies and washing away any remaining warmth so that there was only a dull dismay, twisting the corners of her mouth in disgust.

He glanced behind her, where the Diviner remained, before looking at her. She raised a brow at her mentor. The golden hue of the torchlight gleamed on his face so that Leila could see, clearly, every wrinkle, every etch of disappointment. "I wish to speak to you. Alone."

She looked him up and down, mouth fixed into a pronounced frown, "No."

He gripped the handle tighter as she moved to it, enunciating his words, "It is a matter that concerns the Empire, Honorable Hand."

Leila bit the inside of her lip. She was bound by duty to listen to him. If she were to turn him down now, Leila could be made to answer to the Emperor. She could be whipped for a deliberate evasion of duty, or executed upon claims of conspiracy. Though, the latter was often tedious, the need to procure and train a new Hand rather daunting. Leila sighed, gesturing for him to open the door.

She moved inside, hearing the door click shut behind her.

"Thrice you've missed our sword practice."

"You know well I was not sleeping in the comfort of my bed," she amended, sliding her fingers along the soft edge of a couch.

"Oh yes, I'm aware, you've replaced your valuable training to play with fire in the temple."

Leila turned. Her voice was calm, collected, so much so that it was a little eerie when she said, "I can see much value in calling to fire."

The Captain did not speak. For a moment, neither of them did, breath spanning between them in a sort of silent exchange as Captain Gawaine raised his chin, meeting Leila's gaze.

A knock sounded at the door. Leila did not look away as she spoke, "Enter."

"His lordship was gracious enough to gift you another vassssseeeee with the flowerssssss!" The lady-in-waiting sang as she rushed in, seemingly unable to see the Captain with the flowers blocking her view. "Shall I set it by the others?!"

Several vases sat atop either end of the fireplace, flowers in full blossom within them.

"Just here will be fine," Leila answered, finally looking to the flowers. Even now, the princess could not help the smile tugging at her lips.

"Just hereee, thennn!" The lady sang, bending forward as she set it onto the low table in front of the couch. She spoke as she rose, straightening a few flowers here and there before she began to turn, "Oh, and, if I may be so bold as to say that his lordship has much aided my lady's development in Aradian, I mean, one would almost never tell you'd spent so long abroa—Oh!Oh! Hello! Pardon me, then, I was unaware my Lady had a guest, oh, pardon me indeed!"

And with that she backed out the room with a bow, the door shutting once more behind her. In a few moments, when the Captain was finally gone, Leila would sit on this very couch and smell the flowers. In the next meeting with her young lord, as Khaled had in every previous meeting, he'd ask her what she thought. And, as he had in every previous meeting, he'd present to her a bottle of perfume from his personal creation, one not yet commercially available.

"Leila," The Captain's voice was softer than she knew it could be. It sent tremors of irritation up her spine. 

Leila fisted her hand atop the couch's soft posterior as her head snapped up, "What?"

His voice maintained its soft lull when as he said, "If you think, for a moment, that they will allow you out the cuffs when we return, which we will in a mere three or so months, then you are a fool."

And the words held such a finality to them, such a...caring, that Leila could not help but grit her teeth and look away. 

"He says pleasant words," The Captain began. "Pleasant words you've not heard before. It is natural for you to—"

"He is a good match," Leila did not let him finish, but her voice no longer held that same vexation.

"He is," Captain Gawaine agreed. He took a step forward, placing a hand on the back of the couch by him. "His coffers are full, his lineage ancient and noble. Enough men upon his lands to offer a small army to your father or brother in times of war. A fine match to any princess. Not to a Hand."

There was a turbulent feeling in her chest, one she wished would simply go away. She looked up, her voice a tremor as it evaded the lump forming in her throat, "Why?"

"Your Uncle. His aunt before him. Every Hand the Empire has ever employed. Do you not think they had their own romances?" He stepped even closer. "Leila, you will marry in the interest of the Empire. Kah-led..."

"I could write," the words tumbled out of her in the very same manner with which a tear now did down her cheek. "I could write to the Empress. I could, at least, ask."

"There is no reason for them to accept, Leila."

"And no reason to reject." She sniffled, all the sudden feeling like a little girl. Leila swiped angrily at the tear on her face, looking to the Captain once more.

He gulped, beginning to nod slowly, if only to placate her. "Even still. He could not stop the cuffs from returning onto your hands, Leila. You must continue to take your swordsmanship—"

"Your Highness," She hissed. "You are to refer to me with the respect I am due, Captain."

The older man did not waver. He only pressed his lips into a thin line. Here he was, and Leila could not tell what, exactly, he was: mentor, murderer, guard? Was he foe, fiend, or friend? Leila did know. She knew only that— as she watched him straighten, bow, and leave— a small pinch twisted in her heart, and tightened till she could only look up, mouth ajar as she took gulp after gulp of breath.

The door's knob twisted and she turned, her back to the flowers still gleaming in the candle light. Leila did not need to turn to know that a female Diviner had entered, silent as night as the door clicked shut behind her. She did not need to look in the mirror to know the Diviner sat at the foot of the bed— watching, always watching— as her ladies changed her into her night dress and left her for the night. 

And as Leila settled in bed, she did not need to look ahead to make out the Diviner's silhouette, watching as the Princess blew out her candle and shifted in her bed.

It truly was some cruel twist of fate—Leila decided as she moved to her side, praying sleep would claim her before the need to bawl did— that after a lifetime of solitude within the walls of her quarters, she'd not be allowed a moment alone— to crumble into pieces under the cover of night— when she needed it most.