His Little Heir

Apartment Three Thirty Five

      "Bertha?" Daya tapped her shoulder in the evening's darkness, "Sorry to bother you, but, do you know where Ahmad's apartment would be?"

      She turned around, "The number's three thirty-five, but I don't know which complex. Sorry, pr-"

      "No, no, no! It's fine! Really, I'm early anyway; plenty of time to figure it out."

      "Try A, maybe?"

      Daya looked up at the worn down building. Why a general would choose to live in such a place lived beyond her realm of understanding, yet somehow, existed on the same street like a distant neighbor.

      She peered up at the windows; some layed firmly in their frames as they reflected the newly freed moonlight, and others looked to be dangling there by comparison. Daya smiled, though. She thought of Quill scrambling to work under Ahmad's tense gaze, his shaking, but otherwise careful hands.

       Her thoughts wondered back to last night, where she had asked him if he wanted to return to hospitality. Something in Quill's eyes had flickered then, something that made them dilate and sparkle, something that made him respond that he didn't, but with a smile.

      Could love do that- make you change your interests and desires all for one person?

     Was it worth it?

     "I will," Daya turned her attention back to Bertha, "How have you been, anyway? I haven't seen you since... the wedding, right?"

     "Well, when you get old like me, all the days seem to run together. If you can't remember, I'm afraid that I don't have a shot in the dark either!" She let out a stout laugh, "But besides that, I think I'm well; what about you?"

     "Oh, I-I don't know. I think I'm okay, just... stressed I guess."

     "You know he loves you. That doesn't give him an excuse to hurt you, no dear, but when you love someone, you- you fight for that person, you know?"

     One of the windows came to life with a sudden jolt of light with its curtains pushed aside. What looked to be a man started to walk past the glass, but stopped midway. Their eyes met, and Daya swiftly adjusted her gaze to the ground.

     She scolded herself. Tonight wasn't a date! It was a fight for their lives! But why did the idea distract her so much?

     Daya shook her head, "You're right.  Maybe we both have some fighting to do just... not tonight."

      "Well, whatever happens, I hope it goes well!" She gave a wide smile.

      "Me too! See you later, Bertha! Thanks for talking to me!"

     She mirrored the princess's goodbye and walked back towards the east end of the castle. The courtyard's lanterns shone bright against her pale skin, her easy smile, and the greys in her hair.

     At least, Leon had a mother. Maybe not the royal fantasy that her family stole from him, but a mother nevertheless. A mother that held and rocked him when he cried, wrapped his hand in hers among the crowds, and in everything did her best, but never for herself.

     For him.

     Daya would have to thank her for that one day.

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         "Hello?" Her fingers traced the apartment numbers in the half done darkness.

     Three hundred thirty-five A: just as Bertha said it was.