Nothing but silence was heard as she hurried to the room. Silence, and the taps of her shoes on the floor. Tap, tap, they went, and Riza thought it odd that she was even allowed shoes, considering her position.
The taps continued as she walked, and they only halted when she did, in front of the large door and the round, brass knob. She reached out to pull it, feeling the cool metal on her palms, and relishing a little in it, because, after all, it was a hot day. Even if she didn't complain, she still noticed that much.
Her workman pants rustled as she stepped in and stood at attention. "You called to see me, sir?" she questioned obediently, ever the faithful woman.
The man on the throne seemed to not notice she was there until a few minutes after she spoke. His son, on the side of the throne, grimaced at his father, but only she seemed to realize the fact. "Ah, yes, Riza. I'd like you to help Roy out with combat practice again. You are, unfathomably so, the best marksman in this palace."
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Of course, your Highness," she murmured and avoided looking in his son's direction. "I'll finish up cleaning the stables and—"
"No," the King interrupted. "I'd rather you do it immediately, instead."
Again, she paused, then nodded impassively and stiffly made her way out of the room.
Riza Hawkeye was a mystery in the kingdom of Amestris. Not famous exactly in the common ground, but very well known in the castle itself.
The reason was that she had been sold to the kingdom as a servant, with no story behind her name, and no reason for being abnormally talented. She could organize the files and books on any shelf, order any animal to do her bidding, and fire a pistol, as if it had been designed precisely for her hand.
And absolutely no one knew why. Least of all, Riza.
But if she did know, she certainly wasn't revealing anything about it.
She wasn't entirely sure why she was teaching a man who could spin fire out of his fingers, how to shoot bullets. But, nonetheless, she was, and trying to ignore the feel of his dark eyes on her back, as he moved closer to her and held a hand out for the gun.
Roy Mustang was Prince of Amestris, and usually an extremely narcissistic royal who enjoyed charming ladies out of their pants, and concocting all sorts of schemes to get his way.
At least, that's what Riza had heard. So far, she had only witnessed this behavior from afar; when with her, Roy only displayed the quietest curiosity, gaze flickering onto her as if he was trying to decipher who she was and what she was.
"You hold the gun like this," she corrected, and placed her hands on his, adjusting the grip he had. "That should give you better chance of aiming and actually hitting."
This time, he didn't just stare, he smirked. Sexily, slowly, like he knew what he did to women with such a face, and such a way. Lips turned up at the sides, stare piercing. "I'd rather aim and hit something else, actually."
"I wouldn't if I were you," Riza warned, letting go of his wrist and backtracking. "That thing might hit you back."
He didn't seem to take this to offense, tilting the gun in his hands calmly. "Would it?"
"It would."
The smirk he shot her this time seemed to be full of a devilish fire that had her backtracking once more, and glaring a little. "We'll see about that."