Day 5:

They spoke to her. Eyes followed her and never once averted. They saw her, though she kept to the shadows, and they didn't even seem to regret it.

Why?

They should have feared her. Instead they seemed to care for her. No one cared for her. Not even Ardyn—for all he put on a good show, he wasn't capable of what most other people called affection. She had Father, of course, but he was just a ghost.

They passed by the mirrors in the long gallery. Reina averted her gaze too late and caught sight of her face. And she stopped.

No scars.

She traced her fingers over her smooth, unmarked face. Blue eyes stared back at her.

"Reina?"

Her distraction attracted Ignis' attention. He had no scars, either.

It was seven fifty-six. The ring had never marked her or him. She had never told him that she loved Ardyn more than she loved him.

"Is something amiss?" Ignis glanced at the mirror, then back at her. He didn't see what she did. Or he did, but he'd never seen what was underneath and so it didn't mean anything to him.

"No," she said. "I'm fine."

"Is there anything I can do for you? You know it isn't necessary for you to be down here at all. If you wished to rest…"

"No." She wanted few things less than to feel consciousness slipping away from her and be swallowed up by blackness, where all manner of horrors awaited her.

"Specs, come on!" Noctis called from down the hall. "You alright, Rei?"

"Fine," she said automatically.

"If you should need anything…" Ignis said. He glanced over her shoulder at Cor, nodded, and turned on his heel to follow after Noctis.

Cor wasn't subtle when he approached. If he had been trying to slip beneath notice, he was doing a poor job of it. No matter how hard he tried he was still limping on that knee. Her fault.

"You shouldn't be following me," Reina said. "You should rest your knee."

"Sure. As soon as you get some sleep."

She sighed. "Very well. Let's go."

Whatever she said, she was thankful for the company. Even when she managed to escape everyone else's notice, he reminded her that they didn't hate her anymore. He didn't hate her.

They had been following after Noctis and Ignis for the better part of the afternoon. Her attention was called elsewhere.

She turned, dodging past Cor, and made her way down the hall in the opposite direction. It took some searching, but was by no means an impossible task. Clarus didn't move far from his office and so Iris didn't move far from his office. She found them, as expected, in the small conference chamber down the hall from the offices of all the councillors.

She let herself in. Her appearance interrupted the proceedings and drew the attention of Clarus, Iris, and the two councillors with them.

"Your Highness," Clarus said. "Is something wrong?"

"No."

Clarus glanced toward Cor. Maybe Cor made some sign, because after a moment Clarus turned his attention back toward the table and revived the discussion they had been having. He was still bound up in a wheelchair. That wasn't her fault, Father had said, but if she had been in the treaty room to begin with, it never would have happened. Even now she could see Drautos throw him against the wall and pin him with his own sword, but that memory was from a Dream. Not real. The second part had never happened. Clarus was alive, even if she wished she could have done more for him.

Reina skirted the edge of the room and backed into the corner adjacent to the windows, which was untouched by the sunlight. Iris' eyes followed her, lingering for a moment longer than everyone else's before she forced her attention back to the meeting.

Reina paid no attention. It wasn't her kingdom and she didn't need to rule it. It was seven fifty-six and she wasn't queen. She would never be queen.

Instead she watched Iris. Iris watched Clarus, for the most part, listening to the conversation with only half an ear. She reminded Reina of another daughter of an ailing man. Had Reina ever been so young?

The discussion concluded when Iris said so. She pushed Clarus' wheelchair out into the hall, glancing over her shoulder when Reina followed.

"Hey, I remember those jeans!" Iris said. "I thought I lost those years ago."

Reina looked at the jeans. They were a couple inches too long in the leg, but they fit. In a manner of speaking.

She trailed wordlessly after Iris, who went where Clarus directed. This turned out to be back to his office, where he had a cot set up and a doctor waiting on hand. After delivering Clarus safely there, Iris stepped outside with Reina and Cor.

"So the king let you up, huh?" Iris asked. "Are you feeling better?"

She spoke casually, genially, like Reina had never willfully torn their friendship apart after years of faithful sisterhood. Perhaps because she hadn't.

"I… am fine." The lie came out too easily. More easily than the truth, which required her to think about things better left forgotten. Her whole life was a lie. Why should this be any different?

"You're a bad liar," Iris said.

Strange. She shouldn't have been. Not after years of doing little but.

"You let her talk to you like this?" Iris asked Cor.

"Told her not to lie to me," Cor said.

"And did she lie when she said she wouldn't?"

"Just said she'd try not to."

"Well don't lie to me, either," Iris said to Reina.

"Why does it matter?" Reina asked.

"We're your retinue, right?" Iris asked.

"Are you?"

"Sort of figured after we jumped on board an imperial ship chasing after you to kill the emperor and Drautos that we were in this together, whether you like it or not," Iris said.

Yes. That had happened, hadn't it?

"And we used to be anyway, right?" Iris asked.

"A long time ago."

She wanted to ask what had happened—Reina could see the question in her eyes—but she didn't. Reina wasn't sure she could have said it if she had asked.

"Well now we are again," Iris said. "Right?" This last she directed at Cor.

Reina looked at him.

"Right," he said. "And you don't get to choose this time."

Later that night when they returned to the upper levels, Noctis, Ignis and Father joined them for dinner, making a point to set aside the kingdom and take time to sit with her. A strange feeling—and one she didn't have a name for.

"Your Highness." Ignis caught her gaze across the table as he salted his meal meticulously. "I wondered if I might make a request of you."

Father cleared his throat, voicing his disapproval without a single word. Reina glanced from him back to Ignis.

"What is the request?" She asked.

"It has been several years, by my counting, since I last heard you play the violin. Would it give you any satisfaction to play for us?"

Whatever request she had expected, this was not it. Even Father was taken off-guard by Ignis' words. And though his disapproval shifted to acceptance, Reina felt a strong reticence take hold of her soul.

The last person she had played for was Ardyn. After his first request, some five years ago, she had played not infrequently in the darkness of the Citadel, with Ardyn and his daemons as her only audience. To play was to bare her soul. She might have agreed to play lifeless notes from a dry sheet of music, but the result would have been flat and uninspiring. One who requested to hear a musician ply her craft wanted the experience, not the sound. Yet he had no notion how personal the request was.

The mere thought of lifting her violin and shouting her soul from on high for all to hear sent a shiver down her spine.

"No," she said. "I think not."

"Ah." Ignis' face fell. "My apologies. I was out of line."

She said nothing, neither confirming nor disputing the statement, and the topic fell from conversation.

That night she peered into her closet to check that the violin was still where it had lain for years. The case was dusted and neatly set in the back, behind her dresses. She shut the closet door on it, as if it were some monster lurking in the dark, before she fled to her father's rooms across the hall.