A/N: Long time no see, my friends! To let you all know (in case you haven't figured it out on your own) I combined the first two chapters (not including the prologue) so it made more sense. Enjoy!

Oh, and remember what I said. No discernible plot in the scenic route just yet... so try to just go with the flow. ^-^

The warm light that had been streaming through his eyelids was cut off abruptly. His hand shifted to his sword immediately, but he stopped himself from drawing it; anyone who wanted him dead would have just killed him instead of alerting him of their presence. With half a second of thought, he knew who the intruder was. Piandao sighed and let his arm relax, opening his eyes to blink grudgingly at the Princess. "Your Majesty. May I help you with something?"

She tapped her the toe of her worn brown riding boots impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest and an unreadable expression on her face. The cherry blossom boughs above her head swayed with the light wind in the courtyard, the grass under him whispering softly. Pink light filtered and danced across her pale face and it's carefully neutral façade. "Most people would grace royalty with the respect of getting up to speak with them."

A smirk hovered on the corner of Piandao's mouth with the knowledge that he had managed to irk her. "You father-in-law would disagree, Princess. The Fire Lord prefers all to bow in his presence. If my memory doesn't fail me, he requests their forehead touch the ground." Piandao barely managed to stifle his caustic, bitter tone as the words slipped out.

A shadow flitted across her expression for a fraction of a second. Then, quietly, she said, "I am not my father-in-law, Piandao. You would do well to remember that fact."

Piandao stilled for a quiet second before jumping to his feet in a flawless show of grace. A stray hand of brown hair slipped in front of his eyes, and he nonchalantly brushed it away. He clasped his hands behind his back, his neutral brown robes seemingly unaffected by his meditation in the roots of the tree. "My question remains, Your Majesty," he commented lightly, maintaining his manners. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes," she said tersely, shifting so her hands rested on her hips. He noticed with some interest that a platinum ring with a character he couldn't see glittered on her finger, but he quickly lifted his gaze away before she would notice. "My son informed me that you allowed him to choose Dao swords for his weapon."

Piandao arched an elegant eyebrow. "I did. Is there a problem, My Lady?"

"You seem to forget that I know my swords as well as any soldier, Piandao. Why would you let him train with an assassin's weapons?"

"I did not forget, Princess," Piandao argued with a small smile. "On the contrary, I thought you would approve of his choice. Is it not fitting for one in the royal line?"

People who are always hiding who they really are. Piandao didn't voice the memory.

Ursa's mouth narrowed into a tight line, her eyes flashing. She looked ready to bite out a sharp retort, but after a moment, she sighed, hanging her head so her shining, raven black hear shifted to cover her face. "I suppose they'll do. They are difficult, and the necessary hard work will do him good." She turned on her heel with a flourish, her long red robes flaring behind her. She paused as she reached the gate of the courtyard, a delicate, pale hand on the tan bricks. She seemed to hesitate before speaking, but when she did her voice was firm and dark. "Watch your step, Piandao. Don't try to mold my son. He won't be your pawn… I'll see to that."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Princess," Piandao replied gravely with the slightest of bows in her direction.

"I've told you not to bow to me at your own estate, Piandao," she ordered, and he noted that in the space of the silence her tone had shifted until it was no more commanding than tired. As she disappeared around the corner, her dress billowing and hair trailing in the slightest breeze that ruffled the leaves in the tree above him, his eyes narrowed.

You show too much emotion to be a Princess, Ursa, he lamented. You don't play your husband's game yet.

He sighed, raising one hand to rub his temple as the vision of a bright young man, shining yellow eyes light as butter framed by spiky brown hair, flashed before his mind. He shook his head, his hand automatically gravitating to his sword hilt and his fist tightening around it, trying not to clench his jaw.

Or do you simply play it better?