"Don't judge yourself too harshly, Your Majesty. Few people have won against me in the past decade."
Her pout seemed, to Piandao, a perfectly calculated emotion; the draw of the lips and dipping eyes must have been practiced in front of a courtier's mirror. "I suppose you have a right to your question," she sighed at length. "Ask quickly; I have my son to attend to."
"Zuko will practice past nightfall, if allowed." Piandao dismissed her concerns with a breezy wave of one hand, considering the play of the board. It hadn't been a particularly difficult game – certainly a much easier win than he had expected from one as court-raised and cunning as the Princess. He hadn't played a single of his favorite tiles, sticking to a rather mundane route that still managed to succeed. "I need a moment to collect my thoughts, and then I will pose my inquiry… if that pleases your Majesty."
She huffed quietly and crossed her arms, smiling lightly as if to belie her frustration. "Take all the time you need."
Piandao tried to pick apart her tone for sarcasm, but in the end, couldn't choose if he detected it or not.
What would he ask the Princess? He had played this version of his game with countless visitors, and always had a question about some subtle accent or barely-noticed limp, a hint of color in their eyes or hidden jewelpiece. He had never thought the opportunity would arise for him to sit across from a member of the royal family and lay them bare for his scrutiny.
Did he trust her to speak the truth? Her eyes were warm, but calculating, constantly narrowed with a serpentine intelligence and the slightest hint of a plotting smirk hovering on the corner of her lips.
Surely, she was here as her husband's pawn. Makoto hadn't sent him any new information on Ozai's behavior at the capital, nor had he overheard any talk on the matter of Ursa, but she wouldn't have come here unless on his direct approval. No wife of the Crown Prince sought training for the heir to the throne outside of the family, unless there was a clearly expected gain at the end of the road.
But what? What did Piandao hold that the royal family desired? What, other than vengeance for the public shaming he had dealt Azulon, could they find in gaining his trust?
Not that she was doing a particularly good job of it, Piandao thought. It is difficult to trust one whose motives you are always questioning, not matter how seductive or likeable they may be. As he watched her tap her finely manicured nails on the Pai Sho board with apparent impatience, the platinum ring caught his attention yet again. The character was still turned away from him, out of his line of sight, and piquing his curiosity until he urged to grab her hand and examine it closer.
And wasn't that train of thought just interesting? Piandao shut it down immediately.
"Very well, Princess," he drawled slowly, reveling in how she straightened with interest at his voice. "My question for you is thus." He paused, raising his eyes to meet hers in a daring gesture of disrespect. "Why are you here?"
She met his stare levelly, challenging him to find any lie in her words. He marked the rise of her chest that signified her breathing in the corner of his eye, latched the edge of his consciousness onto her fingers to see if she so much as twitched. A half-smile – almost bitter, almost resigned, almost smug – melted across her features like honey.
"I do believe I explained that already, Piandao. I want Zuko to be trained, and I refuse to accept anything but the best for my son."
Piandao could have screamed with frustration. I know that is not your only goal. I know there is some other reason that has drawn you here!
He did not voice his doubts. He had hedged his bets that she would answer him honestly, and as ever with the honor of the royal line, had been disappointed. "And why do you want to train Prince Zuko?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice level and his face even.
Her ever-present, half-formed smirk solidified. "You only have one question per game, Oh Magnificent Pai Sho Master."
Piandao leaned forward without really thinking, uncrossing his leg and resting one arm on his knees earnestly. His eager grin was almost sincere. "May I ask you to another game, Your Majesty?"
She stood up, brushing her dress absently with a look of cool condescension. "I'm afraid my evening is otherwise occupied," she replied, practically floating out of the room with a dangerously controlled step – the step of a seasoned warrior… or assassin. But she stopped at the door, turning around with one hand resting on the frame delicately. For once, the upturning of her perfectly painted lips was sweetly tentative, the corners of her eyes crinkled in accordance with the expression for the first time in her stay. "Perhaps in the morning?" she asked, and her voice was bordering on plaintive.
Piandao inclined his head silently, not trusting his voice with so many thoughts churning through his head. She moved away silently, leaving him alone in the quickly darkening room.
Maybe she was honest. Maybe she just walked with the practiced grace of a Princess. Maybe she was a mother first and a wife later.
But then… her family's record was against her. She was not to be trusted. Jeong-Jeong's memory, Ken's memory, and the memory of a dozen burned hostages and a hundred fleeing soldiers attested to that.
He shook himself briskly and went to call in Zuko for a well-deserved hot meal.
A/N: Please review. I'm so fond of this one, and I want other people to bother to read it and maybe be fond of it too. It'll just take a moment, I promise.