Hey hey hey! Well, judging by the review turnout, that last chapter must've really stunk. Sorry about that. ^_^ It seems, though, that I write better (or more quickly, at least) with reviews, so I appreciate them all the more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At the smell of something completely horrible and completely too near to her nose, Lianne sputtered awake. "Ugh, that's awful," she grumbled, straightening from her resting position, which, she saw, had been against the shoulder of her brother.

"Thus the purpose of the smelling salt," declared Liam in a whisper. "Is your head all right?"

Venturing a hand to the tender back of her head, Lianne vaguely remembered clonking it against the marble floor when she had fallen. She thought to herself resentfully, /I certainly don't understand why fainting has always been presented as so charming./

"I'm okay." She glanced up and noticed that the blonde girl she had spoken with earlier was performing; obviously Lianne had not been unconscious for very long.

Occasionally leaning against her brother again, merely for comfort, Lianne watched the girl dance the magical circle limits and the incantation, her legs toned and muscled. Never releasing her feet's tense point, the girl leapt and twirled her magic to accomplish the final goal, levitating a wooden chair. The chair barely rose above the floor, but the girl's display enchanted Lianne, the audience, and, from the marks she received, the judges too.

By the time the final contestant had begun, Lianne's scores still held the top, guaranteeing her first or second place and a trip to the qualifying round. In the end, Lianne held first and the blonde just barely secured second.

After the division manager had officially ended the last semi-final, Lianne insisted on seeking out the blonde—whom the manager had titled "Duchess Cerlinne of Clandiff, from Tusaine"—to congratulate her.

Waiting until the throng of well-wishers, mostly male, she noted, around the Tusainian had dissipated, Lianne approached her with a smile.

"Wonderful job." Lianne just caught herself as she began to offer a hand to shake; berating herself for spending too much time with back-slapping, hand- shaking squires, she curtsied slightly and nodded.

"I was just damned lucky," the young duchess replied, her demure flush not at all matching her coarse words. While Lianne herself was a bit of a prude, refusing to curse, she had long ago found that beyond their refined surfaces, nobility's vocabulary hardly ever exceeded the soldiers'.

"Yes, well…" Lianne wasn't sure how to answer. "Excellent performance anyway."

"Cerlinne, my cousin, you must learn to control your words," jokingly admonished a young man with the same blonde hair but with a quite large crown on top of it. He had been standing there for a few minutes, but both young women only then realized his presence. "I think you've offended our princess here."

Cerlinne sniffed indifferently. "Sorry, dear."

"You, Princess Lianne, did quite remarkably yourself," the charming Tusaine royal commented. "I trust you are feeling better, now?"

"Yes," Lianne responded, smiling shyly. "It was just a bit of a shock."

"Well, such a lovely mage and musician shouldn't be so shocked," he remarked, grinning with the utmost captivation. "Not only should you be accustomed to wide acclamation for both your talent and your beauty, but you also should always make sure of a dashing gentleman nearby in case of an incident like this. It was fortunate indeed that I happened to have smelling salts on hand."

Cerlinne rolled her clear green eyes and sighed heavily. "Just because women swoon over you all the time," she muttered.

Lianne should've been suspicious at his mere mention of flattery related to her looks—she had no illusions about her appearance—but his silken words were so enchanting that she chose to ignore any initial misgivings. She managed to stammer, completely enamored, "It—it was…your sme—smelling salt? Thank—you."

"It's nothing," he negated. "But, I must know if you will be attending the grand supper tonight."

"Supper?" Lianne stared at his handsome, flawless face. "I…didn't know there was a grand meal at all. Ah…I'm…not sure."

"Now that you know, I'm counting on you to come." He bowed deeply to her, spreading his arms open as he did so. "My name, Princess, is Branten of Gerrend. I am most pleased to have made your acquaintance."

"Yes, I'm sure my sister is /most/ pleased as well," came Liam's annoyed voice behind her, along with his tense grip on her shoulder.

Not sure if she was irritated at or grateful for his overprotectiveness, Lianne patted his hand and proceeded to peel it off her shoulder. "I suppose I'll see you at supper," she offered to Branten. Tilting his head quizzically, the Tusaine noble smiled and nodded slightly, hooked Cerlinne's arm, and led the blonde through another crowd of audience members.

Liam exhaled in something reminiscent of a wild, irate snort, firmly locking hands with his sister. "Hn," he snorted again. "Prig."

"Liam, calm down," Lianne soothed. "What is it? Why do you hate this Branten fellow?"

"He's a prig."

"Yes, you said that."

"He's a complete fake."

"How do you know?"

"He hasn't said a word of truth yet. Prig."

Lianne sighed, watching her brother's eyes glitter with a totally unwarranted malice towards the royal Branten; she appreciated Liam's concern, but he was carrying a small suspicion far out of proportion. "He's full of pretty words, I know. Lady haMinch warned to be careful around pretty words, and I can just take this on my own."

"Prig."

"For goodness's Liam, stop it! You say he lies; do you mean that he lies about my having a shred of charm or beauty?" She yanked her hand out of his tight hold, flustered and upset. "Just stop it."

Most of the onlookers having exited long since, the great hall was nearly deserted, and their hissed words just barely echoed over the cleared floor.

Thankfully breaking a long silence, Liam gruffly hugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Lianne," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. But…you /will/ be careful, promise me."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Duchess Cerlinne of Clandiff, oddly unescorted, strolled leisurely through the palace. On the walls, candle-lit lamps glowed a warm yellow in the late- night darkness of the halls, and her dainty feet padded like soft rain down the rugs considerately placed in the ladies' guest wing.

As she trod up the stairs to her floor, her skilled ears, practiced from long years of hearkening for gossip, caught the sound of a fellow personage on the stairs. A few moments later she recognized the awkward little Tortallan princess—Lianne, she recalled.

"Good evening," Lianne called, beaming.

"Good evening, princess," the young duchess replied dryly. /She's such a pure, sheltered, gentle little child,/ thought Cerlinne, cynical.

"Did the meal sit well with you?" Lianne inquired as she fell in step with the older girl.

"Well indeed," Cerlinne affirmed, nodding. "If nothing else, Tortallan cuisine is complimentary."

Catching the connotation of her companion's last comment, Lianne's small features furrowed in a small frown; however, her puzzlement quickly gave way to the excellent evening's buoyancy. "I'm very glad. /I/ had a lovely time tonight, and I would wish the world the same."

/I'm sure you did,/ Cerlinne acknowledged mentally. /My dearest cousin wouldn't dare let it be any different./ Abruptly, she answered, "Wonderful. I'm so happy for you."

Again, Lianne chose to ignore the blonde's quite confusing tones and smiled widely instead. "Wonderful…" she repeated.

The girl's utterly innocent demeanor sharply pained Cerlinne somewhere, in some way she hadn't felt for awhile. /Poor, sweet girl…/

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thanks for reading! Have a most excellent day!