She had been more than a little surprised when her brother had come with an invitation to the traveling markets. She'd thought he'd been angry with her and her last attempt at escape. As a matter of fact, she knew he was beyond doubt, and yet he wouldn't simply let her go either. She had refrained from further drawing hus ire. It made no sense to her. The disdain he fixed her with despite her best attempts to not be a burden, and yet he heeded their father's word. It was admittedly difficult to escape the piercing attention of his stare, regardless of her efforts.

She only hoped the sway of a crowd would aid her endeavors.

She had eagerly accepted his offer, any excuse to free herself from the eaves of that damned prison. However, she had found actual joy in the outing thus far. It reminded her of something. Something like you. The smell of various food and drink drew her attention, but it was ultimately the hymn of music that reigned her the most firmly. She would toss one of the precious few coins she had into the fiddler's hat, clapping as he finished his last song. The gentleman bowed with a theatric flourish, bidding a soft bubble of girlish laughter from her lips. A sound that would fade, along with the pluming simper upon her mouth as she glanced for the brooding blonde over the lithe curve of her shoulder. "C-can I learn th-that? Mother said y-you were looking for m-me a tutor."

Arabella’s room had been a wintry terror devoid of life save for the baskets of peonies that somehow flourished at her bedside.  They filled the room with floral perfume, a delicate scent that the sickly girl quite enjoyed in their youth.  Sheer lace billowed at the window doing little to defend against the arctic gales that swept throughout the room and pierced the skin, feasted on the bones beneath and left a shiver wracking the entirety of my body.  Per my mother’s request, I dare not venture further than the doorway.  I remember her fingers squeezing my elbow tightly when she noticed the tears that bit at the edge of my vision before they began their trail down the shaven curve of my cheek.  I felt her finger without feeling it sweep away the river of my lament.  “The cold keeps away her fever.”  Mother would murmur and it felt as if I heard her through a fishbowl, a tunnel - anywhere that wasn’t here.  Was this disassociation?  “We try not to disturb her.  She needs as much rest as she can get, Aethelos.”  That’s why I wasn’t allowed to approach her bedside, to hold her hand in mine, to kiss her forehead and let her know that I was still looking for a cure, looking for something that would end this nightmare. Since that night, I hadn’t felt myself.  Even now in the bustle of the growing market, the threat of Crue Efros soldiers breathing down my neck, I felt... nothing.  There was no joy in walking with the pretender, no disdain that I’d shown her at every turn.  There was only my existence and a mournful one at that. Her bubbling laughter was the first thing I felt since seeing the real Arabella.  It roused a faint smile to my mouth, its curve arching with attempted conviction that fell short of its delivery.  Often I had to remind myself that she was - as I hated to admit - naive to the schemes of the Beleveron’s.  When she spoke I piqued a brow towards the musicians who gathered their tips and began to prepare for another ensemble.  “I’m sure you could.”  I started to tease with a slanted, smug smirk.  “If your fingers don’t stutter like your tongue.”  In an attempt to ensure that she wouldn’t flee my guarding gaze, again, deft fingers reached for hers in an attempt to entwine them in an ensnaring embrace as I began to lead her through the market stalls.  Truthfully, however, it was I who followed her lead instead.  “What...”  My voice took on a quiet tone, curious, and prying.  “What was your life like in the desert?  Before they brought you here.”

He'd been quiet. Distant. Not that he'd been close since she could remember. Not that she remembered far. Her expression nearly faded until she caught the faint quirk of his mouth upwards. However, it didn't catch in his eyes. She didn't allow that to deter her. She'd made up her mind. Up until she would attempt to escape once again, she would try to brighten his spirits. He had seemed utterly miserable, and while she largely blamed herself and his charge of being her glorified baby sitter, she would try to alleviate any added displeasure. It wasn't his fault. No matter how she wished he would save her. No matter how she wished she had that bond displayed in the paintings with him, she simply had to face the fact that she did not.

He thought her greedy, and if she had been in the past, she could only make her efforts to remedy such a curse. Honestly, gold was at the back of her thoughts. It mattered painfully little to her, and she had a hard time swallowing his accusation that she was gleeful to be married into the cardinal sin of it. She merely had to prove it to him. That she had changed. That she had shed that shackle. Besides, there was no sense in the both of them being miserable. In the end, she would leave the home they shared with their parents and he would only return to the battle field. While she stayed away.

It was another thought that occurred to her. She couldn't help the way she caught some of the guards staring. Not entirely hatred, but a clear disdain. They boasted different colors than those of Odersten, and as he came closer, it was only his voice that distracted her from the way her skin crawled at their presence. “I’m sure you could.” His smile returned, the cruel one that she had become somewhat familiar with. “If your fingers don’t stutter like your tongue.” Before she could quip back, his hand found hers. His fingers not simply clasping her wrist, but intertwining within her own. Quicker than she could avert her stare, her features reddened. Unable to hide her embarrassment regardless as the flush found its way to heat her ears and all the way to the collar of her dress. She opened and closed her mouth several times, the only sounds garbled beyond recognition and merely punctuated with the occasional I.

Giving up in some sorry attempt to save herself from some of the harsh teasing she knew would come, she merely began walking. He didn't offer resistance, merely following behind her, and it left her occasionally glancing at him from the very corners of her eyes. She was certain he'd have a very set route to take, that she was only being taken since Father had forbidden her from leaving his sight upon her return to the estate. Her free hand found its way back to her jaw, the one he had stuck with enough force to make her ear ring for hours, making her fear she would never hear from it again. The red stains of shame remained upon her features until he would break his silence once more. “What...” She would halt, momentarily in her directionless march. Stopping to look at him cautiously. She had to think of something, assuming that he was about to inquire about her target. She had yet to find anything that caught her eye. Instead, came the softer inquiry. “What was your life like in the desert?  Before they brought you here.”

Oh. Her stare would fall, as if searching the path at her feet would give her some answer to give him. One that was interesting. "I-I...." She shrugged, dismissive, her fingers going limp within his own. "I don't remember much." The frown that etched her mouth was deeply ingrained in her words. For no reason, she felt almost like she had to bite back bitter tears. The very same that occasionally dampened her lashes in the mornings when she woke."I remember waking up. And I went... I-I went to the city by the p-port." Her free hand would again raise from her side, but this time it only brushed away the stray droplet that traced down her face. "I went there to wait f-for someone." She laughed, the sound light, incredulous at the recollection, or rather the shattered and broken remnant of it. To remember it would mean she knew who and why, but she didn't. Only that it was the only thing that her fractured cerebrum could focus on. Cling to. Like a light in the depths of an overly long tunnel she'd been plunged into. "But I don't rem-m-member who. Maybe Mother and Father. I guess." Another shrug. "J-just that they would c-come back for me."

She shook her head, ruefully. Brushing aside the poor explanation with another light laugh, as if it made her more of a person. As if it didn't just make her an impressionable shell easy to mold when there was nothing remaining of its former inhabitant. As if the horror of it hadn't been crushing her recently. She just smiled. She smiled. And she laughed. "Stupid, isn't it?"

It was almost mechanical the way I trailed behind her, here but not truly able to experience the warmth of her smaller fingers, the softness of her skin, the contrariety between that feminine flesh and the battle-torn callouses marring my pale derma.  Akin to an immaculately trained hound tethered on its leash, I followed without question towards our uncertain destination.  I figured if she wished to stop, we would, and she would gawk at the wares the merchants were keen to sell with their practised pitch and smooth delivery.  The pretender stilled only when my voice broke through the haze of this drowning soul to inquire more about her past. Fingers that had once held mine grew limp in their embrace and I would tighten the hold as if... as if I actually wanted to reassure her.  As if my touch could be the lamp in her darkness, a guiding beacon away from the misty shores of cerebral torture.  Part of me wanted to treat her as if she was that sickly girl laying in the cold room.  The darker, sinister part of me - the Aethelos I wanted to bury - desired to leave her at the will of the assassin's blade.  Graciously, that part of me was locked away.  My hand gave a gentle squeeze almost as if it were endearing - as if it could chase away the frown that made its way to the pert jut of her glistening lips.  I'd say nothing of the tears that began to fall down the powdered curve of her cheek and I simply listened to memories that were not memories.  "Stupid, isn't it?" My free hand found its way to her cheek where the pad of my thumb chased away another stray tear loosed from the line of her lashes.  I nodded my denial with a void expression when the dawn of a memory approached me, one that I'd dare not speak aloud. "What's stupid about it?  Stupid that you waited, or stupid that you left?"  I heaved a shaken sigh before giving her hand an encouraging tug for us to keep walking. "I suppose you wouldn't remember us going to the desert with Father,"  Of course, there'd be no recollection of a memory that did not exist for her but, rather, for the true Arabella.  I continued on with a soft fondness reverberating in my voice almost akin to muted happiness.  "when he was attending to his business with the natives there."  My pace slowed as I made sure she was able to keep up.  "Sometimes I miss it.  There was something about that place... it called to me back then.  Do you ever wish you could go back?"  Then it was my turn to stop on our trail and turn to her, to study her face, to wait for that answer.

There was surprise as his hand tightened around hers. She was not so dull as to believe that she had yet made any worthwhile progress in proving that she was not as gluttonous as he had so cleanly cut her out to be. Regardless, it made her want to remember. Even if they were just like everything else in that house, she wanted to recall what they had in paintings. She had studied them closely in her time alone, and after consideration, she could not fathom that simple artistic liberty could recreate the fondness in their gazes when they beheld each other. She wanted that back, she wanted the bond of family to return to her that had been stolen. That sentiment had her throat tightening painfully, as if it went far deeper than the surface of her skin. She had been robbed, wronged. It wasn't fair. 'Many things in life are not fair, Arabella.'

She shivered, a light shudder that rolled down the length of her spine, though it was not from the cold. It was more like a phantom pain, but it did not trace the ugly scar that marred the whole of her back. The hand he so gently squeezed reverberated with the sensation once again. Her brow furrowed and the gracious beam of her smile faltered, not all at once, but like it was being dismantled slowly. It wasn't until he reached out a hand towards her face that she realized she was crying. Not the same wailing sobs that had possessed her when she first awoke among the dunes. This was quiet, unnoticeable. He brushed away the stray path of another trekking tear. "What's stupid about it?  Stupid that you waited, or stupid that you left?" She simply stared at him, her eyes wide, her countenance empty otherwise.

Perhaps both. Though she could give no answer now. The path she had blazed for herself there, the simple existence of an empty husk would have lead to death's arms, but at the same time, she'd have died free. She wouldn't be plagued by brief flashes, images of a life she no longer lead and could not remember. She wouldn't be haunted by ghosts that only appeared in reflections of broken mirrors. When she thought she would finally reach them, it merely turned into another twisted fragment rather than truth. Always present, but so consistently dancing just beyond her grasp. One that was presently being guided forward once again.

Now it was her turn to follow, but she wasn't left to silence. "I suppose you wouldn't remember us going to the desert with Father," she looked up to him, falling into stride next to him with a slight hurry to her steps until she walked by his side. Her fingers finally finding themselves once more and lightly gripping his. "-when he was attending to his business with the natives there." Was that it? Why she was atimes there, standing among the dunes? Proudly defiant of the elements? Fond was the kiss of the warm breeze, pleasantly gritty with the occasional caress of sand granules. "Sometimes I miss it." She swallowed hard, her stare flickering to him. It was unnerving, as if he had read the notes of her mind scrawled on a piece of paper. Was she that transparent? However, it gave her strength, it gave her certainty. They weren't just dreams. Perhaps they weren't just dreams conjured from a frenzied throe of her cerebrum trying to piece itself together like their parents claimed. She had kept them so quiet lately, afraid to share them with anyone, anything. Because when she remembered, she was sent away to see the doctor. So that she could be fixed. It was a relief to simply feel validated finally. "There was something about that place... it called to me back then.  Do you ever wish you could go back?"

He stopped, and she did as well, but she didn't meet his stare at first. Her heart raced, thrumming violently within her chest until she feared it would force its way from betwixt her breast. She wasn't alone in those recollections. hardly ever was she cast to solitude in those dreamscapes, but no matter how hard she tried, their faces would not come to her as easily as their words - and even those were skewed and sprinkled with disarray. "Yes." Her reply was soft, and she wasn't certain at first if she had spoken at all. Finally, her eyes found his, her expression a mixture of furrowed brow and slight simper. "I think... I think I-I miss those days." Her free hand, the one lingering in her pocket would lock around her treasure. The only thing she had brought with her across the sea. The only thing that her mother couldn't force her to part with. She squeezed it until she thought the edges might break her skin. "The natives. T-tell me more. What were they like?" Despite herself, she couldn't keep the note of urgency from her tone.

There was a moment of lingering eternity between us, a daunting silence that held us captive, deafening despite the boisterous clamour of the market and its excited patrons.  We stood like frightened fawns.  Our gazes interlocked in a battle of patience waiting to see who would shatter this fragile glass that metaphorically divided the space between us.  I hadn't realized that my lungs refused to breathe until she finally spoke, breaking the tension, loosening the strings of my nerves that had begun to grow taut beneath the haze of her simper.  Mine was a cruel reflection, a familiar savagery she'd become accustomed to since our meeting just days before. How could she miss days that didn't belong to her?  How could she miss the memories that I cherished in the razing heat of that desert sun?  I went to berate her for it, my mouth parting only to quickly close when I caught a glimpse of silver between the tightening clutch of those dainty fingers.  "What is that you have?"  I'd question with a tilted head moments before adjusting myself properly to address the urgent curiosity that drew from her mouth. I started us back on the path, waiting for her to pick one of the shops that caught her eye while reliving a time that I'd almost forgotten.  "There was a girl that Ar-"  For a second I froze, catching myself before the name could slip.  "Arranged accommodation for us."  I cleared my throat.  "This girl, Daesn'yri, was their princess and we had grown very close with her and her people even though Father didn't approve of it.  Compared to us, they were... feral, I suppose, but not at all cruel.  They were welcoming and excited when they saw us.  Did you not see them at the docks?"  I'd regard her from the corner of my vision with a flickering hint of suspicion.  Was it possible that she knew the tribal princess, a knowing that was locked behind this barrier of memories?

It was wrong. Her answer was wrong.

Her heart fell as he looked at her, her features following suit as she nearly shied away from him. She knew what that malicious grin meant. He would verbally lash out at her again, perhaps even grab her once more as he had in the hall upon his return. Adrenaline flooded her veins. Her answer may have been wrong to him, but she knew now that she was not. That her mind wasn't as broken as her parents would have her believe. That resolve strengthened within her stare, her brow, the clench of her jaw. She wouldn't go back to the doctor again. If he told her secrets, those she had thought she'd been right to share with him, no force on this earth would make her darken that doorstep again.

But it didn't come.
The lashing she had braced for was absent.

Instead, it was worse. He had apparently glimpsed the bauble that she had lolled within her hand, and it currently held his attention. Their parents knew of it, for even as her mother had stripped her down to her bare and visible bones below the deck of the ship that bore her back, it was the one thing the woman could not force her to toss to the embrace of the sea. The ragged and stained garments of her attire had drifted from her sight as it was thrown from the window. She had watched the glimmer of decorative chains wink their final farewells to the sunlight as the silk had waved with the ebb and pull of the tide and the currents that lurked below. Until it was gone. Until the gold no longer sparked and ignited. Until the plum became one with the darkness of the fathoms. Everything, she surrendered. Everything but this one small thing.

"What is that you have?"

They knew of it, but she was still mortified to let any of them see it for the fear that they would try to rend it from her as well after all. Cautiously, she would allow the band to slip along her finger, which in turn clutched into a fist. Only then would she reveal it to him, ensuring that if he also wished her to part from it, he could not snatch it from her with ease. "It's the only thing I have." Her words were even, but slow, a guarded emphasis that it was hers. That it belonged to she and she alone. That he would not take it.

However, he would begin to move again, and she was quick to redeposit her free hand into her pocket. "There was a girl that Ar-" She would tilt her head, her stare narrowing upon him. There was something there in her chest like coals, not yet a burning flame, but stoked to become one. It was a dangerous feeling, one that warred with the tenderness that co-existed in that very same place. Part of it had been fed to the embers, an instinct for survival. "Arranged accommodation for us." He cleared his throat, and her eyes left his, trailing to his mouth as he spoke again. "This girl, Daesn'yri, was their princess and we had grown very close with her and her people even though Father didn't approve of it.  Compared to us, they were... feral, I suppose, but not at all cruel.  They were welcoming and excited when they saw us.  Did you not see them at the docks?" She didn't miss the way his stare ghosted to her and she would avert her own, a flush coloring her cheeks.

Her brow furrowed. Her temples seared as she tried to force herself to recall. Such a thing seemed true, and she could undoubtedly remember time being spent there. It was all that ever plagued her in the terrors of the night. But that was always blood. Blood and gore painting those gilded dunes red. The recollection jarred her, and she would turn her eyes upwards to the darkening skies. "Tents." She murmured the word, nodding reaffirmation to herself. "I-I remember the huts. The b-bonfire. The bonfire!" She released a giddy laugh, one that seemed overbearingly loud in the hushed babble of the crowds and she gripped his hand tighter. "A b-big man! A big man with such long hair. Like s-starlight!" She spoke as if this was a great accomplishment, the greatest discovery of her time, and her simper was one of satisfaction. However, as she tried to think of if she had seen any of them at the port, she would shake her head. "I did n-not." Her expression turned thoughtful. "I only heard rumors as people w-walked by on the pier. P-people said the wolf queen was dead. Apparently that meant something to them."

There are many a thing in this world that elude the frail understanding of children who did not understand the measures of society or the propriety of it.  Marriage and rings, flowers and dresses, a proper curtsy or a polite bow.  They didn't understand why their parents could wed, but they could not.  All of it is misunderstood by a mind still soaking in the world around it, still learning about the cogs that make it turn.  I still recalled the wild giggles on the maids' faces when I asked about Mother's ring and why she always wears it.  To show the world her promise to your father.  They explained it best they could to a child of seven.  That she will stay with him forever.  So then I saved what I could by working for that man, hauling things to and fro like a worn-down mule without a word of complaint.  There was only determination to earn enough to buy her a pretty ring so that we could also be friends, forever.  She'd become my wife - what I understood of the word, anyways. Imagine the surprise that marred my brow, the rise of my eyelids, when that same ring was curled around the fake Arabella's finger.  At first, there was a well of disdain from which I drank heavily, my mind instantly assuming that she'd stolen it from the firey princess and our promise.  But as I gazed upon the ring - as revelation began to take its hold - my features softened into the frail likeness of a smile.  There were no words to explain how this could happen, how a lost princess could find her way here, how a long-lost friend could once again appear, but I realized that she was none other than the Daesn'yri from my childhood. "Ah."  That was all I could manage in this state of shock.  A soft, almost whispering sound that was foreign to me. Then I listened to her excitement as a memory resurfaced and I couldn't help but offer a solemn smile.  In me, there was a savage struggle between two thoughts, each violently thrashing for victory.  One that longed to tell her the truth and the other that warned against it.  Would it shatter her frail psyche to hear it so suddenly?  In the end, I chose a resolution that would, inevitably, garner her hate.  Was it the right choice?  Instead of the truth, I offered her a slight chuckle as I, too, recalled the aegis of a man that lead the tribal people.  Once upon a time, I had aspired to be more like him than my own sire even if he'd threatened my life too many times to count all for the sake of his precious daughter.  For her, there was no love greater than that of her father.  I knew with a certain clarity that he would have razed cities, smouldering them to embers and ash, if it meant keeping her safe.  Quietly I wondered what happened to the man that his precious child would be here rather than beneath the shield of his watchful eye.  Hardened digits gave hers a firm, yet tender, squeeze in return to her own as if it were a quiet plea for her to recall more of those lost memories, to remember that she didn't belong to the Beleveron's and that she was destined for a better fate.  "Chief Ravsk'yri was a terrifying man."  I nearly shuddered.  "But he loved you very dearly.  Ah, you and Daesn'yri."  I corrected myself and continued to listen as she mentioned the beginning of the war that would rake over her lands.  "I imagine it meant a lot to them,"  My gaze shifted to her once more.  "because the king had begun capturing the tribespeople en masse to serve as slaves."  There was a quietness in my voice as if those overhearing would somehow use the information against us.  "Father originally went to sell weapons to their king but realized that helping the tribespeople was more profitable in the long run." My mind ceased its wandering as we approached one of the stalls, one that sold beaded jewellery and other more exotic pieces.  I'd lure her towards it without a word and run my free hand over one of the dresses that were made of thin material, a two-piece intricate outfit that reminded me of the desert people.  It was a lovely colour - dark mauve with hints of gold - that I'd take from its place and hold up against her lithe frame even despite the quiet protest of the stall's keeper.  I'd look it, and her, over before placing it back in its rightful spot.  "Pick one of these."  I'd almost command of her while looking over the rest of the stalls wares.

He didn't try to take it from her, much to her relief. Not even a word escaped his lips, a simple soft sigh that eluded her in meaning. He seemed.... surprised. Perhaps he was, or maybe it was just the masquerade of interest put on display to placate her of her most precious possession. Regardless, it mattered not to her as her thumb ran along the smooth band in seeking comfort.

She couldn't bear to part with it, not for any reason under the sun that she could fathom. Not when it was the only warm thing in a place so cold and seemingly foreign. It was somewhat comforting, the acceptance that came from him that their parents had been void of. It was almost like what she had wanted in that first visit he had come home in. What she had wanted since she came here. It was hard to describe, to experience with clarion thought and rationality. Those first several days, perhaps a week after she had been found had been, by far, the worst. Her voice had been raw, cracked from lack of use and even though she could understand what people had been saying all around her - from the docks til now - she had been unable to answer.

Was she still waking up?

He offered a slight laugh as well at her recollection, recalling the fondness of the man he finally gave a name to. "Chief Ravsk'yri was a terrifying man." His hand squeezed hers, gently, reassuringly. However, her eyes would fall slightly, searching the dirty street between their feet. That name was one that had always been fresh upon her tongue, and yet unwilling to move forward. Knowing it now was like a weight upon her shoulders rather than one being lifted and she heaved a sigh as if she was going to say something and then thought better of it as he continued. "But he loved you very dearly.  Ah, you and Daesn'yri." She looked back to him then from under the scrutiny of a furrowed brow. Then they had spent quite a bit of time there, it wasn't simply a place briefly encountered, or where she had been mystical whisked off to. Then why was it that was the story so insisted upon by their parents? Why did they lie to her? Or was this just some manner of cold, cruel joke he was playing on her?

"I imagine it meant a lot to them," he continued, and she would meet his stare, "because the king had begun capturing the tribespeople en masse to serve as slaves." Yes, a part of her knew that to be true, though she didn't remember it, the instinctual disdain that it brought with her was enough to garnish it as fact. It was the very same as the disgust that welled within her chest at the thought of being sold off into marriage. One that he allowed, one that he did nothing to stop and even aided in keeping her prisoner under the guise of safety. Though, his next words would somewhat explain the very situation. "Father originally went to sell weapons to their king but realized that helping the tribespeople was more profitable in the long run." She scoffed, the sound one that would have made Miss Babington flinch and wail of her unladylike behavior. Perhaps she would have even washed her mouth out with soap. "Good to see that little has changed." The comment was accompanied by a snide simper, one that narrowed her eyes and crinkled the bridge of her nose with obvious disdain.

Her earlier suspicion of his venomous humor faded, at least somewhat. No, he seemed far too genuine about this, and something was off about him as well. Something changed from the young man who had come home so malicious to her at each and every turn. She cleared her throat, lips parting once more before shutting in consideration. It wasn't until she settled on what she was going to ask him that she finally piqued once more, her tongue laced comfortably with the language she had heard so freely on the pier. If they had spent as much time there as he claimed, and if she knew it, surely he would know it then too. Otherwise, she would take him to be a liar. "Whui ceri- hain lie na nin?" She would tilt her head at him, observing from that still pulled brow and thinly veiled gaze, her arms crossed over the swell of her chest as her hip cocked slightly - annoyance bleeding from her every fiber as they stopped.

Her demeanor shifted as he held the outfit up against her frame, however. Her cheeks flourishing a striking pink as he allowed his eyes to wander the veil of the thin material in line with her. Her stare averted, losing some of its harsh edge in light of such a strikingly different observation. It wasn't like the one he had given her in the estate hall before making the comment that she could do without a meal or several. A recollection that had her pursing her lips. She wouldn't allow her sights to drift back to him again until he placed the garment back. "Pick one of these." She would blink at the issued command, allowing her head to tilt once again as she truly looked at the outfit. It reminded her vaguely of the filthy fabric her mother had peeled from her bodice when they had bathed her on the boat. "He won't like it." She informed, her voice soft. "F-father, I mean." Her fingertips rubbed the silk betwixt them as the shop keeper eyed her with as much suspicion as she had Aethelos previously. The very same that she would cast her attention to again, a slight smile painting her expression, curiosity lining her vocals as she pulled one of the strap towards her.

"Did you think this one would look nice?"

I could have told her everything that the Beleveron's didn't want her to know now that we were far away from their harrowing scrutiny, now that the truth of her identity was exposed with a single sterling band.  A truth that only I could know.  There was still some doubt that she hadn't simply plucked the ornament from the corpse of the feral princess but her memories - fragmented though they were - fit perfectly with the life of the princess I'd known.  Such conflict warred within me; tell her, tell her, tell her!  Let her know, free her from the fate that Lord and Lady Beleveron decreed - set her free.  But I knew, logically, selfishly, that I couldn't. Arabella's life depended on it.  They are monsters willing to murder their own child in favour of fortune.  But Lady mother had promised that the funds would go towards Arabella's care.  I questioned it - as I did all things spewing from their mouths - in the secrecy of my room.  Why would they go to such lengths when they already had the money to spare?  Or, was it simply not enough? My musings stilled when the feral princess drew her hand away to stare through the furrowed crest of her brow and the annoyance glimmering behind those eyes.  I'd seen that stance many a time before.  It's as if she wanted to look through me, see every secret laid bare.  I simply stared back at her, a brooding sentiment.  She spoke a language that I'd not heard in years and for a moment I was quiet in my cerebral translation.  Was she testing me?  My mouth twisted into a crooked, arrogant smirk. "Cin did ú- stutter."  Then my face fell away from the former tease and into a more serious nature.  "Hain..."  I began almost hesitantly.  "Lie na ammen ui-?" But I wouldn't elaborate more. Instead, I watched her rub the silk between her fingers and listened to her speak.  I followed it with a scoff. "Do you intend to wear it for him?"  I reached for another garment that seemed more fitting but she reached for the former and questioned its beauty.  I looked first to it, then to her, a single brow raising in bemusement followed by the rare urge to tease.  Like we did back then.  "Oh, I see.  You want to wear it for me then?"  Deft fingers held my chin as I looked over the vibrant cloth, the way the threads were ceremoniously pushed and pulled through the silk fabric and the beads that were sewn throughout.  It was a quality product as if it had come across the sea from her homeland, crafted by their most skilled tailors.  "Did you think this one would look nice?" I gave her a casual shrug.  "I suppose but it looked a little... big for you."