I️ don't, but maybe then again I️ DO (ARRANGE ME UP, LAND)

Natania is the most boring place Shand can think of. He's been here his whole life, and in all that time has never found a worthy means of occupying himself.

He'd tried starting a fake epidemic scare. It had only taken a few short hours of barely satisfactory panic before it had been outed as a con.

Then there had been the time he'd frolicked around in the treasury and tanked the nation's economy to see if that would get his adrenaline going. It hadn't. It sure had made his father's heart race, though. And a lot of other peoples' that Shand didn't really care about.

He'd intentionally and creatively insulted every single ambassador that had passed through the kingdom, and some of the pranks had been more elaborate than others. But he was particularly proud of the time he had accidentally snuck a horse testicle into the food of the representative from that nation that had all those equestrian shrines. Heh. That had been a good laugh.

While these things had somewhat placated Shand's boredom, they only irritated his father more and more as he tried progressively to beat his own previous record of extravagance. There had been that time that he'd been placed on house arrest, but then again, who was going to stop him from leaving? Especially when they didn't know he was leaving?

But today there seem to be no good outlets for all his devilishly creative energy. Maybe the king had just wised up and decided to never invite anyone else to the palace again. The lull in intrigue has been wearing at him.

He's heard a few whispers today, but they're nothing more than that. Whispers. Ladies in waiting gossiping about some princess visiting, one that's always hidden by a veil.

Whatever. It takes more than that to pique his interest.

So when his father calls him into the library for a chat, Shand is somewhat surprised. The informal setting throws him off, but of course that's why his father's done it. So Shand adjusts accordingly and strides into the grand mahogany bookcase-lined room with all the confidence of a peacock.

"Decided to take up reading now, so late in life?"

Shand asks immediately, spotting his father in his ornaments and robes and crown over by the ladder that leads to the second tier balcony of all the antique books. Looks like he's dressed to the nines today, definitely for someone other than Shand.

"Sit down, son."

Dolan minces no words, clearly knowing how to deal with his son and his antics- well, maybe not deal with them, but more like put up with them- by now.

"We need to have a little chat."

The carriage rocks back and forth, gently swaying the occupants inside the royal gold-leafed wagon.

That she hates.

Luna shifts the veil concealing her hair as it digs into her scalp, wanting to remove it and stop the itching but her mother smacks her arm forcefully as soon as she notices.

"Keep that thing on your head, child. Don't let anyone see you."

The older woman hides her dissatisfied frown behind a fan but the glare in her eyes is enough to make her daughter stop, resting her hands in her lap, thumbing the fabric of her dress.

"Would you stop worrying over your clothing. Honestly, you'd think we raised you a peasant. Act civilized for once in your damn life."

As her mother continues, her father only looks on with what she has come to describe as distaste for her very existence. Ironic since he helped create it so he can really only blame himself.

"Why the Prince of Natania? As the Princess of Atorn, aren't I supposed to hate him? We're at war."

The carriage is oddly silent and they just stare like she's the lowest of the low, a peasant before their presence.

"We are at the losing end of this war, the only way for peace is this marriage. So you better not mess it up."

She's a means to an end. At least all her royal training about how nothing she ever did, does, or will do is about her is coming to use. Again.

"I don't know why I couldn't show up in my armor. The royalty of Atorn always wears its armor out on official business. Why am I stuff in this dress?"

Her metal pieces, her chainmail, all of it is long gone in exchange for a long, floor-length trap of a light blue dress with white and silver embellishments, all matching the detailing on her silver veil tied around her hair, falling down her shoulders and back. It's tight and the cage skirt under it is... Well, actually a cage.

"Because a future father-in-law and husband to be don't want to see some dirty female warrior that doesn't know her place. It shows a lack of submissions, a fatal flaw for any queen."

Honestly, her mother's voice is starting to grate on her so she opts to keep quiet as the Natania palace comes into view. None of this means she didn't pack her armor. No, her loyal guard had helped her stash it away under the rest of her clothing. Trita was nothing if not helpful, that's for sure. The one good thing to come out of living in that tall Atorn castle for so long.

Shand frowns at his father, falling into one of the plush, ornate black velveted chairs along intervals at the bookshelves. He doesn't like it when Dolan talks like this. Like he's got the upper hand already.

Shand doesn't reply, just pulls some grapes off the silver tray on the marble toped side table and start plopping them unceremoniously into his mouth, seeing how many he can make fit. Maybe if he can be annoying enough quickly enough, his father will just kill that thought and order him out of the room.

It doesn't seem to be his lucky day.

"It's about time you stopped acting like a child and started acting more like a man."

The king thumbs through an old volume disinterestedly, as if talking to his son here is more of an afterthought that can't hold his full attention.

"See this is where you confuse me with the double standards, because a lot of ladies in this castle would tell you I️ do act like a man, so do you mean you want me to grow up only in ways that specifically suit you? Because that's pretty childish of you."

The words come out a bit garbled for all the grapes but still clear enough that the king shoots him a daggered look without bothering to address the argument.

"This war with Atorn is growing tedious. It ties up too many of our forces that could be otherwise expended on new conquest."

"You're the one who started the war, not me."

Shand holds up his hands innocently, although if he had had the idea of starting the war first, he certainly would have acted on it. It's been entertaining, at least.

"Right you are."

Dolan's eyes are gleaming with some mischief now, a look that Shand hates because he uses it often enough to know what comes next.

"I️ started it, and you are conveniently going to end it for me."

Shand just cuts his eyes over to his father with a half questioning, half hateful glare.

"Delegates will arrive escorting the royal family of Atorn before the day is out. The princess will be among them. We'll forge a treaty, sign some binding documents, and our countries will merge, right after you marry her, of course."

Shand chokes on the grapes. All fifteen of them, all at once. He chugs some water straight from the sweat-beaded glass pitcher by the grapes as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes squinted and his voice strained.

"You've lost your mind. That's the most insane thing I've ever heard."

"Well Atorn agreed to it, and between you and me, we have them over a barrel and I️ can't imagine any other scenario in which a respectable woman might be roped into marrying you. So this is killing two birds with one stone."

Shand scowls as Dolan slaps the volume shut, waving away some of the dust that swirls into the air. Shand has never wanted to be king of this country, much less this one and some militant place where everyone walks around with sticks up their asses.

"Doesn't she smite people? Like incinerate them with fire?"

He asks incredulously.

"You want me to roll over in the night and get burnt to a crisp. That's really sweet of you."

"Maybe you'll electrocute her and make it even. Don't try me, boy."

Dolan's voice is getting thin and irritated and Shand just rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, no way. You're bluffing. Whatever."

Shand stands, dusts himself off because everyone knows everything in the library is dusty and boring and dull, including his father the king. He strides to the open, grandly carved marble entranceway, thinks for a moment, and smiles to himself wickedly, turns back to face his father for one moment before stomping out.

"Mom would have never made me do anything like that."

She hates when the carriage stops and how she can see the castle outside the windows of it. One birdcage to another. A little canary passed along from one house to the next. You'd think she'd be used to it by now considering how often her parents handed her off to maids as a child and how those maids handed her off to other ones.

Really, the only consistent in her life had been Trita and she hadn't come into the picture until the past six years. But it was long enough to know who the only person she could actually trust was. Speaking of...

"Mi'lady."

Trita, in all her tall elegant glory, stands by the step down of the cart, hand extended. It's not fair, Trita somehow managed to be able to show up in pants and a shirt. Granted, it's still not armor, it's more of a showy silver military suit designed to show off wealth, rank, and dignity, but it's far more comfortable than what Luna has to wear. And the smirk Trita shoots her as she helps her down says that they're both completely aware of the fact.

"I know you're not happy, but blue suits you."

It's a genuine compliment but it's also a tease like any friends would do.

"You're lucky I have to act all damn prim and proper right now."

"I'm sure I am."

The two share a quiet laugh but it doesn't last long as the mother queen clears her throat, glaring and demanding the two step out of the way so that her guard can assist her out. Luna steps first and Trita follows.

"Should have known better than hiring a damn rabbit for you. You're fortunate you can fight, rodent."

"Mother."

Luna hisses sharply, earning her a sharp smack on the arm with the fan again but Trita just bows her head politely in acknowledgment of the truth behind the comment then bows again as the king passes, nose turned up, looking at the kingdom before him in disgust.

"I swear and they get on me about manners."

"Well, maybe you can use some of what you've learned for your future husband. I've heard he's quite the handful, could probably use a lesson in proper etiquette."

A deep frown crosses Luna's expression. Something about those words out of Trita's mouth makes the situation all the more real, all the more inescapable. This is actually happening, isn't it?

"I've heard he's a prankster with little regard for the well-being of his kingdom. Selfish."

She clicks her teeth, trying to mask her growing fear and dread with annoyance for a man she's never met.

Shand savors how his comments sticks on his father's face, makes him look genuinely offended, hurt even, as he strides with long legs down the hall.

There's no way that all that can be true- what the king had said about this arranged marriage nonsense. Natania has been coming out on top of this war for quite a while now, so there's probably no credence to the idea that they'd have to enter into this kind of a treaty.

Unless, of course.

Shand blows air out of his mouth at the thought of his father's ambition. He'd do anything to have that land, to expand his own borders and absorb another country. He'd done it with Karingar to the south, although that had been on far more violent and less amicable terms.

It would make sense, now that Shand thinks about it. Dolan's been trying to pawn him off for as long as he can remember. For so many reasons. Chiefly, he's never been a good son or a dutiful prince, or even a marginally acceptable one. Not the kind who smiles and waves in parades, or sits and minds his manners at state dinners. Nothing even close.

And beyond that, Shand has always reminded Dolan of the late queen. If not for his own miserable birth, she'd still be alive, and Shand knows as good as he's walking down this hall that his father had much rather have his wife back than lay eyes on his regrettable son one more time.

Shame that couldn't be arranged. He pushes open the plain, unadorned service door and slides down the bannister of the servants' steps that lead directly to the kitchens.

Sure enough, things are moving double time down there, the head cooks cranking out dish after dish, loading the butcher block island table with plates and plates of steaming things.

And they all smell good. He slips by with his head down, ducking shoulders past the busy maids and kitchen boys, reaches his hand out to grab one of the stuffed mushrooms that are still piping hot from the oven.

And he gets his hand smacked.

"Stealing from your own engagement party refreshments?"

The redheaded kitchen maid, with her long dreadlocks tied up in strips of cloth, clicks her tongue at him with a playful frown.

"Whatever would your father say."

Shand scoffs, pulls his hand back to rub it, imitates his father using a much higher, much more effeminate voice that accuracy calls for.

"Go marry some veiled fireball crone, Shand. Go get me a country that can't even make wine right, Shand. Go bow down and kiss my fucking boot, Shand, and then go away forever like a good son."

He makes an especially nasty face, complete with sticking out his tongue, wrinkling his entire face disdainfully.

"Oh it's that bad, is it?"

She nearly laughs at him, wiping her hands on her apron, loading the table up with more dishes freshly prepared, multitasking as she talks to him.

"It's that bad. God, Dakara, why couldn't I️ be a kitchen maid. Can I️ steal your apron?"

She swats at him with her towel.

"You've done that before and it didn't end well, remember? Never again. Friends."

She pokes him in the chest, eyes wide and earnest, for good measure.

"Yeah yeah, I️ remember, I️ was there."

He rolls his eyes and watches the commotion, feeling his foul mood growing, sneaking a stuffed mushroom anyway when her back is turned.

A page boy in deep red trimmed with black and gold, the royal uniform, runs into the kitchen and pulls on the head cook's apron, whispers at him.

"They've just arrived, people, look alive!"

The lead chef calls out, and the lunacy increases, everyone buzzing around like bees in a hive.

"You better go freshen up."

Dakara has to basically yell for him to hear her now.

"Do something with that god-awful hair, or she'll turn right back around and leave."

He turns his nose up, pretending to be offended.

"Even better! She doesn't deserve my god-awful hair."

Dakara snorts in her throat at him, an almost laugh, before she gets caught up completely in her work, leaving him standing in the middle of the chaos.

"King and Queen Estenor of Atron."

A man in a funny, over the top outfit announces her parents and it takes everything in her not to roll her eyes at how absolutely regal they sound on paper.

"Now listen her, you spoiled little bird, go off and don't get into any trouble. Keep your awful hair hidden and your flame in check. Your father and I have work to do with the King of Natania."

As her mother belittles and commands, her father looks over to Trita who is wearing a calm a face as ever, watching the interaction with little reaction of her own.

"Make sure she doesn't cause a scene, Ears. Last thing we need is her ruining this."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

She bows again and the royal couple walks off into the study, large doors slamming behind them. Through the last seconds, she can see a man stand from a chair to greet them but that's about all she gets.

"Do I not get to meet my future in-law?"

Luna scoffs, rolling her eyes, fighting the urge to fold her arms. That's not what proper ladies do. It's what generals do, but not ladies. And a lady is what a future husband wants.

"I'm sure you'll meet King Natania later this evening, but there are a lot of negotiations that have to be made first. For now, let's explore your future home."

Trita nudges her with her elbow, tone light, smile playful and, despite the idea of this being her future home, the idea of exploration does please Luna. So she nods and the two run off, getting lost down the halls, staring at paintings, laughing to each other and making comments on what they see.

"I was thinking tonight I change into my armor and we spar. You know, before I can't anymore and I have to get tied down in miserable dresses for the rest of my life."

"How is that your main concern of all of this?"

The guard laughs as she follows along, watching her princess float about, stopping at different exhibits of wealth along the way, touching them curiously with soft fingers, making sure not to disturb them.

"Well, excuse me if I was raised all my life to lead an army and now I'm having to settle down and play quiet submissive queen and housewife to a man I've never met. It sounds miserable."

The two move on, finding a large flowery courtyard, servants fluttering about. None stop immediately to acknowledge her and she's glad that rumors of her image haven't been made popular here yet so she can have this freedom but, eventually, one servant does notice and calls her to attention. The rest stop and blow and do all the usual respectful things that servants do... That she hates. If anything, she'd prefer a salute, but she'd much rather have nothing.

The sudden flurry of activity in the kitchens loses Shand's interest. And it had seemed so very hopeful.

He huffs, taking a different back passage up from the kitchens back to the main back hall that runs behind the throne room. His great, great, great- and several times over again- great grandmother had built this castle during much more tumultuous times, and he'd never stopped being thankful for the tunnels and back passages and all the interesting features that had kept him occupied over the years.

Occupied is certainly important, but informed is even better. Shand comes out through a wood planked door, careful to open it so it doesn't creak. He's behind a row of impossibly heavy curtains, creeping in shadow, listening to only dim voices made undistinguishable by the heavy fabric between him and them.

He continues on until he finds the wooden support beam long since discarded for a more beautiful marble substitute. It's still ridiculously functional, though.

The outer portions of the throne room still have arching, carved, gold gilded wooded rafters wide enough and strong enough to support more weight than they look like they can.

To support Shand's weight, at least, and for as long as he can remember.

He shimmies up the support beam more or less like a monkey, feet falling in all the carefully notched holds he's worn down over the years. At the top, he careful tiptoes across the horizontal timbers until he comes to a convergence of multiple arches, a wide, flat ledge he's always considered like a crows nest.

From here, if he stays mostly still, he can sit without being seen, and can see and hear everything.

What he sees now is his father on his ridiculously ornate black and gold throne, the one he's expected to sit in one day. In smaller, portable thrones that only grace the marble floors when dignitaries visit are two more obviously royal figures, a man and woman each wearing a crown less ornate that his own father's.

And his father certainly has gone all out. He's got the orb, the scepter, the fur-lined cape. Shand wants to roll his eyes and potentially vomit. If he ever has to come even close to wearing that cape, he will vomit- right on it.

"We're so please that you can be here."

Dolan is saying, his voice sounding light and airy from up so high, but Shand knows that is just a facade. The couple is doing that thing that royal people do when they beat around the bush, and do everything in their power to puff the other party up while still doing everything possible to appear powerful in their own right. It's exhausting to watch.

And somehow, if this marriage is a for real thing and not just a hoax designed to scare him straight, it's going to push him right into this role sooner than he'd ever wanted. And that is not in any way acceptible.

"Princess, you're going to get lost if you keep wandering and that was very much against what your parents instructed."

Trita still follows after, keeping the shorter woman in her sight at all times as they wind down servant passages which the servants clearly have no clue what to do about. This isn't how royalty acts, royalty doesn't parade around, through, and with the peasants, the work, the help. Yet here she is, Princess of Atorn waltzing around, taking in every sight not even their own entire royal family has seen.

"I know, but it's not like I'm doing anything wrong."

"No, but you're causing a scene."

"Relax. I smell something delicious so I'm going to investigate. Sue me."

"You better hope your in-laws don't after disrupting their palace's functionality."

Sure enough, the two find themselves in the kitchen, looking around at all the hanging herbs, stacked spices, and cooking ingredients laid out on the counter for use.

"Oh wow."

"Looks like they take cooking as more of an art form here."

The two move from station to station, observing every little thing each servant is doing like it's a completely new sight and experience to learn about... Because it is.

In the throne room, Queen Estenor keeps her head bowed, letting her husband do all the talking, a far cry from the exchanges she had previously been having with her daughter.

"Thank you for having us and thank you for agreeing to meet about our offer. I realize you're probably anxious to meet our daughter, Princess Fengari, but we thought it best to work out the terms of the engagement first."

His wife elbows him suddenly and he coughs up an addition to his greeting.

"I-It's not that we're trying to hide her from you. From what we can tell, she's a pretty girl so we assume-"

The queen sighs and her husband has to backtrack again.

"I'm sorry. Our kingdom doesn't place high value on beauty so it's hard for us to know what you would deem attractive here. We ordered she be raised under a military mindset, just as we were and all the other kings and queens before us, so we can at least say she's good at taking commands and that she is a very skilled tactician and warrior. She would fight for your kingdom while also submitting to her future king. We've raised her as the ideal queen and wife, we assure."

He nods, as if satisfied we his own explanation now but Queen Estenor feels the need to add on one small thing.

"If she isn't as beautiful as you are hoping, we're sure these traits can make up for anything she lacks. I think whatever terms we agree to will be fair in that regard at least."

Shand rolls his eyes but feels himself getting more and more apprehensive about this by the moment.

If they're already defending her beauty so adamantly, she must actually be an ugly hag. What a waste. And what is all this shit about their kingdom not valuing beauty? What the hell actually is this country that his father is so intent on practically owning? It's clearly not worth it.

"I'm sure she is everything we could hope for."

Dolan's voice is calm, steady, assured, gracious. Everything it is not when he speaks to Shand. Shand can hear the bullshit practically dripping off his voice. There's no way that the royal Estenors hadn't heard the rumors about him, just like he'd heard them on their daughter. They have to know they're saddling her up with a bucking bronco and effectively ending her life.

But then again, it's not like Shand's father cares much about that kind of thing, so maybe the countries have more in common than Shand is giving them credit for. They both suck ass.

"Once we come to terms, my son the prince will also be available to meet with your majesties."

Shand is so bored, and his boredom is starting to be tinged with restlessness, the kind a cornered wild animal gets. He starts pulling grapes that he'd stashed before out of his inside jacket pocket.

From where he's sitting, the way the extra fabric at the top of the curtains hides him, no one can tell what's going on when some small flying object hits Queen Estenor in the back of the head.

Her husband looks at her horrified, as if she'd done it. Dolan just immediately puts his head in his hand.

Shand just keeps throwing grapes.

"So, the terms then."

The King tries desperately to ignore how his wife is cutting her eyes every which way, trying so hard to control her growing annoyance and rage, trying to remain calm and dignified.

"Should you accept our daughter, the Kingdom of Atron will align itself with Natania and become part of your rule and borders. Seventy-percent of all our taxation will go to you and your house, thirty will stay with our family and our servants. Our armies and training facilities will be yours to use as you please and you will, of course, have the final say on any doings involving Atron and be the sole representative of it."

In reality, Dolan and his kingdom really are getting the better end of this deal. This basically leaves the Estenor name with nothing.

Well, nothing but their lives. So much for military tact, they're willing to throw their hands up as soon as an opportunity to live presents itself.

"In turn, you let what's left of my family live, your son gets our daughter's hand and sole heir to the Atron throne, and this near century-long war finally comes to an end."

"I️ find the terms acceptable."

Dolan is smiling, in that gracious and understanding way, like he's not cackling on the inside and thinking about how stupid these people are, just like Shand knows he is.

And just like that, Shand watches himself get bartered away like a dumb cow or a pig. It all starts to sink in. He hurls a grape hard at the King's head, too. He gives an especially accusing look to his wife.

"My royal priest will perform the ceremony and consecrate the marriage here in my family's personal cathedral."

Dolan nods as if it's an already agreed upon term. Shand hates that stuffy old cathedral. Bald old men, probably eunuchs, let's all be honest, going around in ridiculous robes anyone could trip over, making cross signs everywhere, dabbing water on anything that moves. And people say he's the crazy one.

"My servants are preparing for a feast to celebrate the negotiation of this treaty between our countries. In the meantime, while the paperwork is drawn up, I️ would encourage you both to rest and relax."

Dolan stands from his throne and the other two bow their heads slightly. Shand knows he has to be high on this power trip. A king and queen bowing and playng into his hand, rolling over for him like Shand had always refused to do. God, maybe he could adopt them as his kids instead and they could avoid this whole nightmare ordeal.

"We'll send for our daughter to come meet you at once."

They bow and leave, both quietly arguing amongst themselves over who was hitting who on the back of the head the entire meeting.

It takes several minutes to actually find her, having to send for multiple servants to tract her down, finding her in the kitchen trying to get a red-headed woman to explain what she's doing though the woman seems hesitant to speak at length.

Which bothers Luna. Again: She hates it.

But the other servants manage to pull her and her lady knight away, allowing the poor woman to breathe and get back to her work without being watched like a hawk under the curious eyes of a foreign princess.

Her parents have choice words for her, her mother smacking the side of her head with the fan, her father going over, in detail, all the ways this could have ruined everything for Atron and the Estenor name. Honestly? She doesn't care. These are her last moments of freedom and she wants to enjoy them.

They point her back to the throne room, explaining that they'll wait here in the garden and they'll want a full report on how things went, just like reporting to higher-ups in the military.

Against their wishes, however, Luna demands that Trita come with her and the two set off to the throne room together.

"Announcing Princess Fengari Estenor and her Royal Knightress Trita Airin."

Luna pauses, mostly as her form of a bow and respect for the king on the other side of the room, but also in hesitation. This is her future father-in-law? The man responsible for marrying her off and ruining any prospect of a bright future? The man taking over her country and absorbing her family name? This is him? She's standing before him more a prisoner than a guest.

Trita nods her head, nudging Luna with her shoulder ever so slightly. Luna's hands shake so she folds them, one over the other, on the front of her skirt like any lady of the court, taking controlled paced steps towards the center of the room before the throne, Trita always two steps behind for support, posture stiff like the guard she is.

"Your Majesty."

The princess finally curtseys in full and the motion doesn't settle well with her but it is still smooth and poised, clearly practiced for years on end.

"We finally meet."

Trita cuts her eyes at the back of Luna's head at the choice of words, clearing her throat a little. She was most definitely supposed to add something about it being a pleasure in there but it's too late now.

As soon as the Estenors leave, Shand hurries down from the rafters, the gravity of the situation sinking in, realizing that his father is not joking about this and he's going to have to marry this foreign princess.

He slips through the back passageways again, using them this time to make his way unhindered to his chambers, a sprawling group of several rooms connected.

Most of them are orderly and kept, a sign that the servants have free reign at Dolan's orders. One room, though, they're not allowed to touch no matter what. Shand had pitched an awful fit at a very young age when maids came in and cleaned up all the toys he'd been playing with.

So now no servant is allowed to pick up around his bedchamber unless specifically invited by him. It also helped the fact that sometimes he did invite maids into his bedchamber, and would rather keep those invitations secret.

But now, all it means is that the room is messy and disorganized, things strewn all about. Old maps spread out across the floor, things from the capitol marketplace, interesting things found in the woods and on the seashore. Common things he shouldn't be allowed to have.

Well, allowance has nothing to do with it. With his beloved secret passageways, he can sneak in and out of this place without anyone noticing, and he takes full advantage of that ability whenever he feels like it.

And he thinks he's about to feel like it. He's felt pressed by his father before. Often when he does, he leaves to blow off steam for a while in a small town far enough from the palace that no one knows what he looks like.

But this time feels different for sure. He doesn't just need to blow off steam. He starts shoving things into a common, dusty looking knapsack, not being choosy at all about what he's grabbing.

"Hmm. Yes, finally."

Dolan looks the princess over from head to toe, although not much of her can be easily seen, what with the long, thick veil and the fussy gown. He can tell she looks uncomfortable in them, and if what they say about her military training is true, she seems like the perfect candidate to make Shand just as uncomfortable in the way that Dolan thinks will most likely make him into a king one day.

"Princess Fengari. Negotiations with your parents have proven successful. In a week's time, you will be married to my son here on the castle grounds and then you will live here at court until you ascend with my son to the throne of our joint nations."

Dolan watches her as he speaks, judging her reactions, the stone expression of her face.

"What do you say to this?"

"You don't really care what I have to say to that."

Her eyes drop to the floor for a brief moment, defeated, just as defeated as her country is in all of this, just as helpless as her desperate parents.

"Princess."

Trita hisses quietly from behind her. You know, maybe this is worse than those two examples. Those two were caused by things and people beyond her control and now she has to pay the price for their actions. A debt she didn't charge and a gamble she never took yet the consequences to pay it off in full and then some are on her petite shoulders.

Her hands clench onto each other tightly, thumbing away at the fabric balled up into the one closest to her dress.

"If for a moment we're assuming I'd finally have that freedom or any freedom: I'd say this is unfair, I'd say I wish I actually had a voice in all of this, I'd say my parents are fools are you're a fool to enter into a deal with two people as selfish and shallow as they are."

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry. The Princess is under a lot of stress right now."

Trita interjects, bowing on behalf of her royal charge to beg for forgiveness.

"It's just the stress, yes? I'm sure under any normal situation, you'd be delighted for this opportunity, right Princess Fengari?"

The hybrid stands, patting Luna's back once in a way to get her to relax but also as a silent way to tell her she's gone too far, that she is dangerously close to tiptoeing on ruining everything just like her parents have told her over and over not to do.

"... Of course. Forgive me."

"No harm done."

The king's lips play with a smile, one that he never lets fully form across his face.

"I️ think you'll do just fine."

He turns for a moment to gather up his long robes before sitting back down on his gilded throne.

"Now I️ know you've never met my son before. But I'm sure you've heard the stories. In case you're wondering, they're all true."

A scowl replaces the almost smirk that had been on his face only moments before.

"You've been chosen as a match of course to bring peace to our countries, but this treaty also hinges on your ability to perform your duty as a queen and a wife and rein him in. Settle him down. Keep him more or less under control. Should you not be able to hold up that end of the deal, I️ have lawyers who were schooled solely in finding loopholes in contracts."

He holds his hand off to the side, examining his nails like this is the most boring conversation he's ever had, and that he's annoyed that he'd even have to demand this from her.


Once Shand has filled his knapsack, there are only a few more things he has to do before he can be rid of this place for good. Gold talks anywhere and everywhere, to anyone, so his first stop is the treasury. He's had a copied key ever since he was eleven, and somehow none of his father's officials have ever been able to figure out how the books never quite line up.

Their loss. He quietly heaves open the heavy store room door and slips into the right wing of the treasury. Gold is great, of course, but it takes up a lot of space and it's heavy. Precious gems, on the other hand. Much more bang for the buck.

He pulls out a cotton sack from his bag and fills it with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, until it can't really hold any more, then he shoves it back down in his bag, pulling clothing and blankets over top of it.

Of course, he takes a few handfuls of gold coins for good measure too, because flashing around gemstones everywhere he goes could raise a suspicion or two.

Now, the only place left to go is on another visit to Dakara.

“I’m assuming execution would be too nice. Publicly shaming me for your inability to raise a proper young man fits right in with the story of my life, guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Trita chokes on a laugh, losing her own composure, having to turn her face from the two of them and stare out a window to collect herself.

Her princess is fiery, she’ll give her that.

“So I babysit your son and try to mold him into what you want and, if I fail, you send me to the concubine house and hire another nanny, yes?”

Luna, on the other hand, looks far less amused than her guard, staring at Dolan unblinking, that stoic expression locked on her face, staring everything as a matter of fact.

“I’m not debating your terms. I just want to know how my life will eventually end. Get all of my facts straight so I can move towards the inevitable. Once I get these, I’ll leave your presence since I appear to be boring you, oh gracious host, wonderful King of Natania.”

Things grow quiet and even Trita doesn’t dare speak now, eyes flicking back and forth between the two royals. Dolan has every right to lash out right now, she’s mocking him on his own land, but that doesn’t mean Trita is going to let him without a fight. Her hand rests on her sword at her belt, finger twitching.

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The king chuckles softly to himself, considering whether or not the proposed couple could even make it back down the aisle without killing each other.

"You should be glad that you amuse me. And that I've grown accustomed to dealing with insolent, disrespectful brats. I'd really count it one of my chief pastimes now."

He folds his hands under his chin now and looks at her, not riled or flustered, but he narrows his eyes to focus on her, to watch her stare get harder and colder. Maybe she would be the more natural ruler out of the two.

"I️ could end your family line with a snap of my fingers. You all are in my palace, my land, and are here at my request. To comply with my demands, to avoid my slaughter of your people. If it helps you feel better about your current situation to prattle like a spoiled child, then by all means continue. Just know that I️ am in control of what happens here, and especially of what happens to you."


Shand sneaks back down the servants stairwell and peeks into the kitchen before entering to see that the craziness has died down a bit, leaving a lot of food mostly unattended.

Dakara's also nowhere to be seen, which may be to his advantage in this moment.

He slips into the kitchen and grabs a huge wooden bowl absolutely overflowing with warm slices of bread. He swipes another platter with rolled meats and perches it precariously on top of the bread, adding a small bowl of fruit to the top of that.

He walks around balancing it out of one palm like a circus performer, grabbing one thing here, another there, until he's satisfied and he slips right back out of the kitchen with the food.

“Yes, just as much in control as the control you have over your own son, the prince that nearly sunk your precious little Natania for a laugh. Clearly, you are the superior ruler with everything in the palm of your hand and under your perfect thumb.”

She sighs, now looking as bored as he had been moments ago before she flared him up into resorting to threats.

“Honestly, just kill us Estenor’s, it’ll be better that way.”

“Excuse me?”

Trita forcefully tugs her back by her arm, making her turn and face her, make the princess look at her and the scowl on her face.

“As much of an asshole as this king may be and as much of a brat that his offspring sounds to be, I did not follow you here to have you die. You are my charge and it is my job to keep you alive. Now: Rephrase what you said.”

The hybrid woman lets her go and they both turn to Dolan, knowing full well he heard every word, and it’s clear neither cares. Luna bows her head.

“My apologies, my knight is right. Killing my parents would be for the best. I, unfortunately must live because her job depends on it. Yes?”

When she lifts her head, she turns her nearly dead, guarded gaze to Trita, looking for approval and she does earn a slight nod.

“It was better. Next time lead with that.”

The two trail their eyes to the king, again not bothered by their own actions nor his interpretation of them. In fact, neither seems to care that he’s here in front of them at all right now, like he is no more than their equal they can dismiss, not the man demanding the princess’s future and happiness with the upper hand on them both.

“Regardless of whether or not I agree is irrelevant. Thank you for this opportunity for atonement. It is foolishly benevolent.”

It isn’t. She was serious when she asked to die but Trita’s presence now seems to be tailoring her responses.

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Dolan studies the two for another long moment, back and forth from the princess to her knight, before speaking. When he does, his tone is only slightly sarcastic.

"Only time will tell which of us is more foolish. Than you for the honor of your audience. You can run along now."

He waves his hand to tell her that she'd better be off.

Packing all that food in his bag had been harder than he'd anticipated, especially since Shand doesn't revel in flattened bread. But he supposes functionality is key at this point.

He's in the stables now, standing at the entryway to the hall of stalls, a scowl already on his face. Shand hates horses. They all seem to be dead set on killing him, and riding one has never felt natural or decent. He'd much rather be sailing a ship.

But it feels almost like a necessity to take one now, if he wants to finally leave Natania in the dust, like he should have a long time ago. He can't very well make that kind of time on foot.

Still, it keeps him frozen there pondering for a while. He'd slip out of the gates easier on foot. But he'll be so tired come nightfall that maybe that won't be as great a victory as it feels like now.

He huffs a little bit to himself, turning and shielding his face casually when a stableboy passes carrying a saddle almost as big as he is.

In the end, Shand can buy a horse in a village if he decides it's absolutely necessary. His gemstones say that the world is his oyster.

But he's got other business in the stables, too. He slips around to a side door, slides into the dimly lit tackle room. There's an overturned bucket in the darkest corner, one dusted with cobwebs and probably not tended to in years.

At least, to anyone but him. He tips over the small bucket and fishes out from underneath it a long necklace, a single, dull gray pearl on a worn looking chain.

It had belonged to his mother, so clearly he'd had to hide it out here when he'd originally spirited it away from the maid who was cleaning out some of the queen's old things from a storage room not dealt with in years.

His father would have a heart attack if he knew it was in Shand's possession. He's not allowed to really have anything of his mother's, to talk about her or look at portraits of her that Dolan has sitting in the corners of the cellar covered over with old cloth.

He's not allowed, but of course he has anyway. At least to feel connected to her somehow, to feel like maybe he could have had a parent who loved him or wanted him, if only she had lived.

So he can't leave the kingdom without the necklace, without her. Once he slips it over his head and tucks the pearl down into his shirt so it can't be detected on his person at all, he's ready.

Luna bows her head, Trita does the same, and the two turn on their heels synchronized, walking out of the throne room. Once they’re out of earshot, Luna whispers without looking to her companion.

“I’m leaving.”

“I know.”

Trita smirks, also keeping her gaze ahead, keeping it so it looks like the two aren’t even speaking, just walking in silence.

“I’ll pack your bag, go change into your armor.”

“Of course.”

They stop when they see the same red-headed servant from before, now realizing that they have no idea where her room is, or, better yet, where her belongings have been taken.

“Be nice, act like you’re fine.”

“I know.”

Luna snaps a little but she walks with a flowing elegance as she approaches, Trita right on her heels, looking like the true princess people believe she’s been raised to be, not the hardened soldier she actually is. Its amazing how easy and convenient it is to flip between the two roles.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry if you’re busy but I’m actually not sure where my room is.”

She throws in a light hearted embarrassed laugh for the hell of it, adding to her act, letting all of her motions float like a feather, trying to match the god awful uncomfortable outfit she’s wearing.

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“Oh, of course, your highness. So sorry. I’ll take you.”

Dakara dips her head respectfully and walks down the hallway ahead of the princess and her knight, keeping her eyes down and moving quickly, but not too quickly that they can’t keep up.

She doesn’t want to stare or act overly interested. Of course, she’s got a vested interest in the matter. She knows Shand better than just about anyone here, and she’s more than a little curious about the woman he’s being forced into marriage with.

But at the same time, it’s not her place to have or form an opinion. It’s not even her place to know Shand like that or care. The only reason she does is a secret, not like she can spread around to everyone she works with that she had a dumb one night stand with the crown prince. They probably wouldn’t even believe her.

The fact that they’d become close friends after and had sworn off the rest was already weird enough. Too weird to share with anyone else. So no one can really support her on how conflicted she feels.

Maybe she can feel it out gently, subtly, in an appropriate way.

“I️ trust you had a pleasant trip, Princess?”

Dakara pushes open the doors of a grand suite covered in velvet and marble and onyx and gold leaf. Bright and ornate, but certainly not homey or relaxing.

"Ah..."

Luna looks as if she wants to say something, a sudden flame flashing across her blue eyes as she remembers the conversation she had with her parents and all the conversations after connected to it, but she thinks better than bringing it up.

Instead, she opts to close her eyes, giving a soft nod.

"It was fine. Long, but fine."

She walks into the room, trying to hide her disdain for how ornate it is, how grand every detail of it is. Is this where she's supposed to live for... Well, ever? No, she supposes not. Whenever they marry, she'll move to the prince's room but she can only assume it's just as decorated, if not gaudy. Sounds like him.

Trita moves past the two, instantly opening a trunk near the bed, unpacking all the contents, right in front of the servant, armor included.

"T-Trita!"

Luna rushes over waving her hands over the armor, trying to think of how to hide it now that Trita has so casually thrown it across the bed. The knight seems less than concerned.

"It's fine, Fengari."

Her red eyes flick to Dakara as she pushes Luna's hands away, trying to size this new third woman up, really using the sudden armor as a test. She has a suspicion, but she won't act on it yet.

"I am Knight Trita Airin, personal guard to Princess Fengari Estenor. That's this little flame right here."

Luna tries to contain her blush as Trita addresses her like a child but she turns with dignity towards the servant woman, bowing her head.

"I suppose we didn't formally introduce ourselves. And you are?"

The armor doesn't escape Dakara, but she keeps her head down and her eyes averted, just like she's learned to do in this job.

"I'm just Dakara, ma'am, I️ just work here."

She doesn't want to get caught up in anything or make these women hate her, and it feels like the taller one is trying to play some kind of a game that she's not sure she should get involved in.

"I️ can help you unpack some things, your highness, if that would help you."

Dakara offers, but stands a ways away anyway, seeing how the Princess reacted to her knight pulling the armor out of her trunk. She's not sure what the young woman will need armor here for, but it makes her uncertain of how this match will work out for Shand.

She's trying not to wear her doubt on her face, or act like she has anything to doubt at all. As far as anyone's concerned, she's just as invested in this marriage as the donkeys and chickens in the courtyard.

She's tempted to just excuse herself and go straight to Shand's chambers, where he probably is hiding away from everyone, and give him her immediate impressions. Clearly he hasn't been allowed to see her yet, so she can at least tell him that she seems decent and beautiful under that veil of hers.

"Dakara? That's a pretty name."

Luna smiles with, finally, a genuine air, thinking through the pronunciation in her head a few times.

"It is. So, Miss Dakara..."

Trita really doesn't miss a beat, unlike her charge, keeping her own goal in mind.

"Please do help us. I'm trying to ready something for Fengari here which requires her slipping this armor on. If you could help her with that awful dress, we can finally get to work."

The princess looks over quickly to the servant now charged with helping her change, biting back a worried frown at the idea. It's not like people haven't helped her change before, Trita has on several occasions, so, for all case in purposes, there should be no reason for her to be nervous but she is.

"All you need to do is help loosen it. I can step aside and take it off myself after that. Sorry this isn't really what you offered but are now roped into doing."

She cuts her eyes at the knight who promptly ignores her, pulling out various different items, categorizing them to some system of importance known only to her.

"Oh, of course I️ can, that's no trouble at all."

Dakara jumps to help with the dress, because really her job is nothing if it's not discretion already.

She starts at the intricate, tight tow of looped buttons down the back of the dress before the princess even turns around. She works quickly with her head down, wanting to avoid any more questions.

She's decided to pretty much give up on her inquiry plans and just get out of there as soon as possible. The woman with rabbit ears seems to have a plan of her own in all this, and Dakara prefers plausible deniability.

She really has been around Shand for too long.

As she works down the row of buttons, she thinks about how strange it is that she's heard nothing from him since this morning. Usually, he's buzzing all around the place- down passages his father knows about and ones he doesn't- and dropping in on her all day, updating her on his plans and schemes and whims.

She's heard no plans, no schemes, and no whims today and it's starting to make her a little paranoid.

She finishes the row of buttons and starts loosening the corset underneath.