TW: brief mention of suicide

The late morning sun hung overhead, uncharacteristically warm for so early in spring. Melia led Dunban out of the Imperial Palace, still clad in her wedding gown. They'd taken a detour to the Villa so that he could change into his usual clothes, grab his sword. His belongings had already been delivered to her rooms. Their rooms… She'd waited in the hall until he'd finished dressing. But she hadn't been alone.

News of the attack had spread faster than she'd anticipated. And, before she could process any of it, she'd been swarmed by the rest of her friends. Sharla's embrace and apologies. Riki's high-energy concern. It was all too much.

She understood – of course she did. She just needed a moment to collect herself. Reyn had stayed when the others retreated, as if he hadn't gotten the hint. He'd been quiet, at least. For once, she almost didn't notice him. Turning her face, closing her eyes, she could pretend he wasn't there. When Dunban finally emerged from their suite, Reyn had handed her the newly fixed locket then left without a word.

Her locket was now secured around her neck. As she walked, she occasionally reached up, brushed her thumb across the pendant's smooth surface.

"We're leaving the city?" Dunban asked as they approached the Centre Gate.

"Yes, but we won't go too far." She hesitated, her cheeks warming. It was a bad idea, even without considering the ambush. Her feet stopped without her mind really noticing. "If you don't want to…" She sighed. "I'm sorry; I wasn't thinking when I asked. We should go back."

"That isn't what I meant." He stayed at her side, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. His voice, in contrast, was soft. Almost relaxed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. What did he mean then? For all her training in reading people, it did her little good when body language and tone sent opposite messages. Perhaps he felt conflicted? She resisted the urge to groan out her frustration. It wouldn't benefit her to express such emotion. Not if she wanted this excursion to go well. She pursed her lips then continued on.

The next few minutes passed in silence and neither tried to break it. They warped from one hovering reef to the next until they reached one of Eryth Sea's shores. She led the way to a secluded tidepool and sat in the sand at its edge. Now that she was here, her request seemed even more ridiculous. How could she explain without making him uncomfortable? All this silence most likely wasn't helping… She looked up at him, scanning for any sign of it. At worst, he was confused. She held in her sigh.

"So…" Her voice faltered and she tried to mask it with a faint laugh. A hollow sound. She couldn't prevent her lips from slipping into a scowl. The expression soon faded into something more neutral. "Sit. Please. If you want to."

Dunban crouched down at the water's edge. Without a thought. As if he was perfectly at ease and everything was normal.

"I assume this"—he waved his hand toward the tidepool—"is another High Entian tradition. You needn't worry. If it's important to you, I'll do it." He paused, a smirk playing across his face. When he spoke again, he could barely contain his laughter. "Unless, of course, you only wanted to invite me for a beach day."

"That would be… much more fun. Unfortunately, no. Your first guess was the correct one. We should hurry." She glanced over her shoulder, double-checking that they wouldn't be seen by any passersby. Satisfied, she slipped out of her sandals and dipped her feet into the water. Her bloodstained skirt, pulled up to her knees, revealed more body paint. Languidly spiraling all the way down to her ankles.

"It is an old custom," she said, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes fell to the gentle ripples of the water. "From the days when our women had little agency… Their entire lives were dictated by fathers and, later, husbands."

She glanced at Dunban in time to see him shut his mouth, whatever he'd intended to say going unspoken. "If you meant to point out our current situation, I assure you it was much worse at that time."

"I'm sorry I—"

"No need for apologies. I recognize that there is still much progress to be made." She waited for him to respond, but he said nothing else. Stalling any further would only be inconvenient. Her voice held steady as she began her story, even when she wished it would fail. Anything to get out of this self-inflicted torture. "There was once a prince who denied every match his father arranged for him. He'd fallen for a common woman from a nearby village and was determined to wed her."

A faint wind sent new waves through the tidepool, distorting her reflection. And that of the man beside her. She dug her fingers into the sand to prevent any inappropriate action. Her eyebrows drew together for a fraction of a second. Such an odd thought…

"When he went to declare his intentions, she refused him. A cruel joke, she'd thought. How could a prince ever desire someone of low birth? But he persisted, determined to prove his love. He told her to make any request of him. Even if it was once thought to be impossible, he would accomplish it. For her." As a child, Melia had liked to imagine what she would've asked for if she'd been in the woman's place.

But while her mother praised her imagination, Yumea always reprimanded her. Selfish child. Think of your people, not petty wishes. It had hurt then, made her hold her desires closer to her chest. Of course, Yumea had been right. Melia learned that with time. Wanting only led to emptiness, to a hunger that could never be appeased.

"Melia?"

She considered apologizing, explaining the cause of her long pause. But why continue to agitate those old scars? It was best to forget. "The woman deliberated for a day before sending her answer. She asked him to bathe her in the finest spring water, that he might know true servitude. A clever demand. No prince would cast aside his pride for simple amusement. If he refused, his supposed love would be proven false. He accepted without hesitation and they journeyed together to the Sacred Spring. They married upon returning to the capital, living out the rest of their lives together. Happy. Or, so the stories say."

"You don't believe them?" Dunban asked after moment.

"Life is long." She said no more on the subject, as if that was all the explanation needed. Her eyes left the water for the first time since the start of her tale. They scanned over his face. But he guarded his expression well. "What are you thinking?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "This doesn't seem like something you'd want. So, I'm a bit confused. It sounds… intimate." He forced his hand down, sifting through the sand instead.

"It is," she said as heat crept into her cheeks. "But you need only wash away the paint that's visible. I can handle the rest. Or all of it, if you're uncomfortable." The last sentence was tacked on in a rush. As if she didn't want to entertain the idea that he'd refuse. She pulled her feet from the water and tugged down her skirt. Shame burned her insides. Why had she believed this was a good idea?

"That isn't—" Dunban cut himself off then turned to face her. "I need to tell you something."

She stared down at her hands. The ritual paint there was faded almost to the point of nonexistence. Washed away by the blood of those she'd helped. Or tried to. Too many lives had slipped away from her. Even if it wasn't her fault. Even if it was only one… Uncomfortable, she didn't wait for Dunban to elaborate.

"If it's about the circumstances of our marriage, I'm already aware. Sharla visited me before the ceremony." A heavy pause, during which she stubbornly kept her eyes down. "Whatever it is my father promised you, it's yours. That's what I told her and I'll stand by my word. You don't need to say anything more." Maybe it's better if I don't know. She pressed her lips together to prevent that thought from escaping into the open air.

As much as she hated to admit it, part of her still wanted to hear his explanation. She looked to him once more. A grimace twisted his features. It took a moment for the expression to smooth itself out.

"When the Mechon attacked Colony 9, I lost my younger sister." His voice wavered but he didn't break eye contact. "Shulk saw a confrontation with her killer in one of his visions. On Prison Island. Your father refused to let us pass until I agreed to marry you. I… hope you understand."

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. That explained his sudden coldness when she'd asked about his family days before. Grief still consumed him, made him shy away from such discussion. But now, he bared his heart to her with minimal effort. As if he could've been honest all along. Why now?

"I'm so sorry."

She didn't know what else to say. They were both in pain, both grieving for a sibling. Though, of course, it would be ill-mannered to mention that similarity. She doubted he wanted to hear such empty platitudes, that she understood when, realistically, she couldn't. Kallian was still alive. How could she truly mourn for him? There was still hope that her brother might pull through. But Dunban's sister was gone. Forever. He could go to Prison Island and strike down the killer with his own blade. That wouldn't revive her.

"As is everyone else," he said with a sigh. Perhaps he'd hoped for the words to be sharp, to wound. They only sounded defeated.

Melia frowned. Simple condolences had been the wrong reaction. She needed to try harder, give him something to hold on to. Something countless people hadn't already told him. "I am unsure if my approval matters to you." Each syllable pronounced with painstaking care. Her face a blank mask. "But I would have done the same."

"Do you mean that?"

"I do." She tried to change her expression, convey her sincerity, yet she doubted her face cooperated. Even so, Dunban moved to sit closer to her. Their legs were almost touching now.

"Your approval does matter. Hurting you was never my intention and it's a relief to know that I haven't. I almost feel stupid for not trusting you with this sooner." He glanced down into the water for a minute. The silence lingered, persisting even as his gaze shifted from the tidepool back to her face.

"Then I'm glad I could provide some comfort," she said, voice tender. It surprised her how easy it was to speak freely with him. She'd expected more restraint. Or worse, her diplomatic training would take over and she'd politic her way into awkwardness. A hint of a smile turned the corners of her mouth. But no, their exchange seemed to be going well enough. He'd confided in her; she'd given the correct response. Her stomach gave a brief flutter at the thought.

"If you…" His eyes flicked down to her lips, still tilted with her smile. "Sorry." A blush took over his cheeks. He turned away quickly, as if hoping she wouldn't notice. "If you haven't changed your mind – about the tradition – I… I can do it now."

Any planned reply froze on her tongue. Her mind whirred, turning over all the implications. Had the deal he'd made truly weighed so heavily on him? Or perhaps, it was the guilt of hiding his motives from her. But talking it out had changed something. For him, at least. She wasn't sure what that was, didn't know if she could ask. It was better not to question it, wasn't it?

She scooted closer to the water, rolled up her skirt until it reached her thighs. The knife sheath still hugged her leg. Her fingers shook a bit as she undid the strap and cast the weapon aside. Within reach.

"I appreciate you doing this for me," she said, laying a ghost of a touch over his hand. The barest suggestion to begin. Then she withdrew. She hesitated before submerging her feet in the tidepool. The cool water forced a small shudder through her. "Adhering to tradition will put my people at ease. I hope."

Dunban nodded, shifted to face her. But he focused entirely on the task ahead. His hand dipped into the water, letting it seep through his fingers. Melia's heart thundered in her chest. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from speaking again. All her training vanished from her mind. Although, she'd never been taught anything about how one should behave during such an intimate ritual. Was she supposed to feel like telling him everything on her mind?

No… that couldn't be right. She should—

A soft caress down her calf broke off the rest of that thought. As if it was a thin, brittle twig underfoot. Her breath hitched, her muscles tensed.

"Is this okay?" Dunban's hand lingered on her skin. His eyes met hers, soft with concern.

"Yes. The water… is just a bit cold." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the exact truth either. She just couldn't admit that no one else had touched her that way before. That she hadn't expected it to feel so… odd. A good feeling, but utterly foreign. She leaned back on her hands, pretending to be calm.

"Ah, sorry," he said with a chuckle. When he continued, his touches were firmer. The pressure took the edge off the chill, yet did nothing to lessen her nerves.

Blue paint bled into the water, leaving her skin with little effort. He made quick work of her calves, shins, knees. At her thighs, his pace slowed. Fingers kneading into her flesh, it felt more like a massage. She hummed her approval. Even if she'd tried, she wouldn't have been able to contain the sound. He was too experienced. Each stroke as practiced as his swordplay. Once, the thought might've bothered her. But now, she could only be relieved. At least one of them would know what to do when they—

Her cheeks burned. She shouldn't entertain such improper thoughts. Not with Dunban's hands on her, pushing her skirt higher, caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs even after the last of the makeup was washed away. It must've been her imagination. Surely, there was still paint. She just couldn't see it. Why would he keep touching her if there wasn't any more to clean?

Another moment passed before he moved on to her arms. A cord of disappointment twanged in her stomach but she maintained a neutral façade. Her fingers twisted the chain of her locket. When she noticed, she forced her hand down into her lap. It had only just been repaired; she couldn't ruin it again.

"You said that was a gift from Kallian, right?"

The sound of her brother's name made her heart lurch. "I did." She hoped her tone conveyed her desire to drop the topic. Almost immediately, guilt set in. He'd opened up about his sister. Didn't he deserve the same in return? Though, she supposed she was getting ahead of herself. He'd only asked about the locket's origin, nothing deeper than that.

"He said he didn't want me to feel alone during the Trial," she added after a moment of silence. Perhaps her earlier shortness had worked a little too well… "Why do you ask?"

"It's nice," he said, hesitant. He cupped his hands in the tidepool then disappeared from her sight.

Icy water washed over her back with a suddenness that made her yelp. Goosebumps raced down her arms. She whirled around, expecting to see a mischievous grin. But such expression didn't exist. Dunban wore a grimace instead, eyes focused on his right hand. She followed his gaze down. His fingers twitched while the rest of his arm had gone limp. And, for the first time, she noticed the scars. Burns?

At some point, he must've rolled up his sleeves to prevent them from getting wet. How could she have missed it? Dark scars coiling around his forearm. As if he'd reached through fire. She sat, stunned, contemplating her response. Perhaps he didn't want her to acknowledge it at all.

"I'm sorry," he said before she could speak up. "I didn't…"

He repeated the apologies in quick succession, each one more mumbled than the last. Until Melia could no longer understand. Her mind finally made a decision and she reached for him. She twined her fingers with those of his left hand. When he didn't react, her heart beat a little harder. Had she chosen the wrong reaction? Did she need to try harder? She squeezed his hand, like she remembered her mother doing for her as a child.

"It's alright." With her limited medical knowledge, she wasn't sure what else to say. She could offer to fetch a doctor. But she doubted he would accept. So, she simply stayed quiet, stroking the back of his uninjured hand. Prayed that would be enough.

After a minute of this, he calmed. He flexed his fingers, weakly at first. As control returned, he made a fist, relaxed, repeated. Then he looked at her, lips set in a frown and brows knit together.

"That doesn't usually happen."

She nodded – the only reaction that seemed to fit. Every word she considered sounded wrong. This peace felt fragile and, if she wasn't perfect, it would break.

"I…was injured in the Battle of Sword Valley," he said, staring down at their interlocked fingers. Then he pulled away from her to dig the heel of his palm into his shoulder. As if that could fix the injury. "It took a month to regain feeling. Several more to start moving it again. The physician cleared me before I left Colony 9, said I'd recovered as much as I was going to. And it still doesn't work—" The rest of the sentence died on his lips.

"You've made it this far. That must count for something" She turned her attention back to the tidepool and began to scrub the makeup off of her face. With her arms and legs clear, there wasn't much left to do. "Journeying so far up the Bionis, defeating multiple Telethia, gaining my father's trust… Very few people can accomplish these things. Many never leave their villages."

"Melia…"

"To be honest, I admire your perseverance," she continued, voice not much more than a murmur. "You have every reason to quit, to return home. Yet you've chosen to keep following this path, regardless of its difficulty. We all have our limitations and yours don't diminish your value as a person. You will always be a vital part of our team. I'm certain the others feel the same."

As she spoke, her cheeks flushed hotter. She masked the embarrassment by splashing more water across her face. With luck, the cold would seep into her skin and make the redness disappear. Dunban sighed close behind her. A heavy sound, louder than she'd been expecting. But she stopped herself from looking over her shoulder. If she'd said the wrong thing, if he was upset with her, she didn't want to know.

"Thank you," he said at last. He moved to sit beside her, his movements deliberate. As he shifted, his injured arm regained some of its usual strength. Just enough to position itself comfortably.

"Of course." She ducked her head, stealing an extra moment for her blush to dissipate. Then she offered him a small smile. "Your vulnerability is appreciated. But… I feel guilty that it has been one-sided." She paused to gauge his reaction. Confusion. "Ah, what I mean is… You had a question earlier, when you brought up my locket. Yet, you never asked it."

"I should've known you'd notice."

He'd said the words with a grin, but she couldn't help the way her heart dropped. As if he'd intended to insult her. She shook off the feeling with a sharp nod.

"There's no reason to hold back now," she said. Using a clean portion of her skirt, she dried off her face. Body paint still spiraled down her neck, chest, and back. But the chill of the water was beginning to take its toll on her. She leaned back, gave more of herself to the sun. A pleasant warmth engulfed her in spite of what she knew was coming.

"If you're sure…" His gaze was so heavy, it nearly became a tangible being. Something to crush her or leave marks on her skin. "When you accepted my reason for marrying you, you said you'd do the same. Agree to an impossible deal for the sake of your sibling. It made me wonder about Kallian and his illness."

Melia frowned by reflex. "Clearly, you've heard the rumors. There isn't much about it that isn't public knowledge now."

"I tried to avoid the gossip," he said, finally turning away from her. His eyes swept over Eryth Sea then up to the hovering reefs. "And what I did manage to overhear, I didn't believe it. Not until I fought him."

She grabbed for her locket, caressed the metal with her thumb. Warmed by the sun's rays and the heat of her own skin. It slipped from her grasp. A curse formed on her tongue but she swallowed it down. At least she maintained control in that area. She remembered all the times she'd wished for freedom – the freedom to speak and act without first weighing all consequences. In this moment, she had that to some extent. But it still felt like too much. She fell back into old habits like a Bunnit into a hunter's trap. Her throat closed around her answer, creating a tension between them.

"You don't have to—"

"No, I want to. I just… Perhaps it will sound strange, but I don't know how." She forced a laugh. Then her expression shifted back into severity. Internally, she wanted to kick herself for the performative emotions. It was a waste of time and they both deserved better. So, she tried again. "Kallian has been my closest friend since we were children. He protected me from the cruelty of bigots. Those who hated me for my mixed blood… I fear I've failed him in return.

"And I know it isn't about me. Even if I'm a perfect sister, he'll still… kill himself in the end. I can't change what he wants. No matter how desperately I wish to see him healthy again. I would make any bargain, pay any price. Anything to end his pain."

Dunban listened without giving away any of his thoughts. Not even a flicker in his eyes. It was one of those traits Melia both loved and hated. A mystery that intrigued as much as it frustrated. Beyond that, it struck her as familiar. He fit in with the High Entia better than she could've anticipated. Although, when they'd first met, she never imagined that he'd have to. It had been an idle observation then, nothing more than an impression.

"That sounds difficult." His voice broke through her thoughts before she could lose herself in them. "But I'm glad you've told me."

The rest of their time beside the sea was spent in silence. She didn't want to spoil their moment anymore than she already had. Or… assumed she had. Either way, she was content to let the conversation drop. Her display of vulnerability exhausted her, draining most of her energy. All she wanted to do now was return to the Villa and change out of her ruined gown. Perhaps take a nap.

Of course, she'd likely be required to handle the attack's fallout. With a light groan, she stood, stretched her cramped muscles. Her dress was mostly dry by then. Dry enough that no one would notice but damp enough to cause discomfort.

She ensured that she'd successfully cleaned off all her makeup then set out toward Alcamoth. The thought of clean clothes kept her going even as her body protested. It wasn't physical strain alone that made her feet drag. All the emotions of the day snuck up on her. As if they'd decided to choose the most inopportune moment to sap her strength. She tried to be gentle with herself, but every corner of her mind found different ways to blame her for what had happened.

She deserved the heartache, the fear, the overextended muscles.

They'd only just entered the city when she spotted a familiar face. A grey-haired Homs Entia, as tall and broad as Hogard had been. His small headwings seemed even smaller on such a large frame. It had been a source of laughter for her, years ago. The soft kind that she'd oft hide behind her hand.

"Kennet," she called, approaching him.

His eyes snapped to her and he righted his posture. "Greetings, Your Highness."

Something about his voice stuck in her ears. Strange. She'd never really paid attention to him before but now… And his appearance, too, was off. In a way that she couldn't quite pick up on aside from the obvious: his lack of uniform. He took his position as Kallian's guard so seriously, she was certain she'd never seen him in civilian clothes. Always prepared. Until this chance meeting.

"How are you?" she asked. Dunban stood close behind her – out of sight, but close enough that she sensed his presence. "I haven't seen you since I left for my mission."

Kennet bowed his head. Out of respect or a wish to guard his feelings, she couldn't tell. "I am thankful for my life. All other negativities are irrelevant."

"So, Minister Caul refused to reinstate you."

"He dismissed me from the army altogether." He choked out a laugh then went silent for several seconds. His eyes raised to meet hers, jaw clenched. "I don't mean to trouble you, Princess, especially not on your wedding day. Someday soon, I'll find my path again. Whatever direction I may have to travel. Do not spare even the slightest bit of worry for me."

She pursed her lips, but nodded. Already, her mind strayed to other things. Images of Kallian, swallowed up by Eryth Sea, flashed behind her eyelids with each blink. Nausea rippled through her stomach, unsettling her very core. Something was wrong. Something about that day poked at her like a sharp pebble in her shoe. It hit her as most things did, belatedly. As she closed the conversation with apologies and stepped away to take her leave.

On a normal day, in normal circumstances, she would let it go. She froze in place, turned back to face the former guard.

"I just remembered I had a question for you," she said, as nonchalant as she could manage. She waited until Kennet cocked his head to one side before proceeding. "When Kallian told me what happened the day he… fell from the hovering reef, he mentioned you were the one to save him. How did you know?"

"What?" His eyes widened a fraction.

"How did you know where to find him?"

"Well, I… I was already waiting at Centre Gate for his return from collecting the reports. I happened to see him in the water so—" He broke off midsentence, rubbing at his eyes. Until they were dry and red. "Forgive me. It is too painful to discuss."

He strode away before she could stop him. For a minute, all she could do was stare after him. Then her mind caught up. Suspicion flooded her thoughts, poisoned them. Kennet wasn't usually one to hesitate. And she clung to that fact, the only proof she had that he'd been dishonest. She wasn't sure she could even refer to it so definitively. But the way he'd rushed out of the conversation… That had been odd too.

"Sounds like he knows something he doesn't want you to find out," Dunban said. He hadn't spoken a word since they left the tidepool and she grit her teeth against the urge to flinch.

"I agree…"

The remainder of the day passed with no other incidents. As expected, her father roped her and Dunban into the recovery efforts soon after they arrived back at the palace; she'd scarcely had enough time to change clothes. He sent Dunban out with a team from the Ministry of Investigation. Melia was to stay at the emperor's side, preparing statements for the public and reassuring the ministers.

It was long after sunset before the newlyweds saw each other again. They reconvened in their shared quarters. Melia finished her tasks first and practically sprinted back to the Villa. She needed the alone time, even if it was just a few minutes. But, she couldn't enjoy that time.

Hunger pains gnawed at her stomach, reminding her of the feast that had gone to waste. What menu had her stepmother put together? Would she have liked it? Or would she have had to starve anyway? She forced the thoughts out of her head, for they only worsened the pain. Then there was the guilt, of course. Here she was, so concerned with food, when she still hadn't checked on Catlaina. Sickening… She needed to go see her guard at once.

A knock on the door stopped her before she could grab for the doorknob.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?" Dunban dragged the words out, as if unsure. Then hurried through his next statement. "They – the servants, I mean – they insist I sleep here. With you."

She rolled her eyes. Of course, her father had instructed the staff to force them to spend the night together. Historically, consorts were provided with separate suites. They shared the emperor's bed as they pleased, though some of the more reluctant women had to be… encouraged.

Instead of replying verbally, she opened the door. Dunban lingered in the hall a bit too long then stepped into the front room. She closed the door behind him, secured its lock. When she turned around, he was in the process of surveying the suite, familiarizing himself with the layout. Looking at her belongings, her decorations. Her back stiffened as he paused by the mirror. The one she'd adjusted to face the wall that morning.

"Are there any extra blankets?"

The question confused her for an embarrassingly long time. She'd assumed he would make a comment about her mirror. A joke at her expense, perhaps.

"I can sleep out here," he added, though the clarification had become unnecessary.

She crossed into the bedroom and eased open the closet door. Trembling fingers selected a heavy woolen blanket. One that was better suited to deep winter or a trek through Valak Mountain. But with the weather presumably warmer lower down on the Bionis, she figured he'd need the extra heat.

"Will this do?" she said, offering him the folded sheet. Her gaze locked itself on the floor as he drew closer. As if that would prevent him from noticing the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks. "I can fetch something lighter if…"

"This is fine." He took the bundle under one arm then spread it over the couch.

She couldn't determine if his other arm had healed from its ordeal earlier. Perhaps he wasn't using it simply to give it the rest it deserved. But she was staring again… Mortified, she retreated into her bedroom under the guise of fetching him a pillow. There were no extras in her closet so she took one directly from her bed. Likely the one he would've slept on anyway. If only he wasn't so… She tried to force the thought away, but it was a useless endeavor. Her mind already knew what she'd been about to think.

"Oh, thank you," Dunban said when she reappeared.

In the minute that she'd been gone, he'd laid down on the couch, wrapping himself up in the blanket. His shirt was on the floor nearby. Oh… The budding blush darkened as it reached its maturity. Heat rushed through her with the aid of her pounding heart and she rapidly averted her eyes. Even though he was completely covered by the blanket. The mere suggestion of his bare chest… What was wrong with her?

"Um, goodnight." She didn't wait to hear him say it back.

Once in bed, she prayed sleep would claim her soon. It didn't. Though she was physically exhausted and emotionally drained, she could only lay waiting. And waiting. Her mind played tricks on her all the while. A shadow flitting across the wall was not the harmless tree branch it usually was. It was her door opening, admitting another faceless assassin. The wind outside was her breath as she leaned over the princess. Poised to finish what she'd started in the Tomb.

Melia existed in this place between dreams and waking for hours. Body shaking, lungs faltering. At times, she considered going out to the sitting room. To ask Dunban to join her in her bed. She'd feel more secure that way. But whenever the temptation seized her, she resisted.

They weren't… close like that. He would humor her and participate in her traditions. Intimacy for the sake of it was another matter entirely.

She finally drifted off to sleep though, in her mind, it only lasted an instant. It was still dark when she woke to the sound of blaring sirens.