((I have decided that the "T" rating is fully deserved…because Ayra is in this fic.))

Jeira snorted as he eyes fell on Syrix. "I see Iakria managed to catch you." She eyed his black uniform and his delicate silver circlet with obvious amusement. "Too bad. There was a bet going, and I was on your side."

Syrix, who was infamous for disregarding formal dress, shot Jeira a dark look. "That…female broke into my rooms and stole all my other clothes while I was in the baths. I intended to attend the ball in my bathing towel, but some of your royal ladies started making the most inappropriate comments." He looked decidedly displeased. "I must say, Princess, your friends have the foulest of minds."

"Ah." She tried to smuggle a laugh. "Run into Ayra, did you?"

"She attempted to steal my towel." Syrix's eyes sparked. "Twice."

Jeira battled to keep a straight face. "Did she manage it?"

"Of course not." He looked offended. "Although," he added with a slight upward twist to his mouth, "she did get a decent grip on it the second time around."

"How'd you get her to let go?"

"I pretended her betrothed was rounding the corner."

"That was cruel of you." Jeira frowned lightly. "You know how she hates Hieran."

"Yes, well, I assure you, the situation was dire."

Jeira smothered a laugh. "Oh, yes. It definitely sounds that way."

Syrix glowered down at her. Then he blinked. "Well," he said, "you look rather….clean."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "As always, Syrix, your compliments simply make me glow."

"I could've said something about your crown." He pointed out dryly. "For your sake, I refrained."

She winced and reached up to touch her towering golden crown. "I know. It's a bit much, isn't it?"

"If by 'a bit much' you mean it looks as if it's attempting to eat your head, then yes. I completely agree with you."

Jeira rolled her eyes. "Syrix, your company is hard on the self-esteem."

"I did say you looked clean." He sounded mildly taken aback. "I suppose I could say something about your dress. It's very…" He trailed off.

"Clean?" She suggested sarcastically.

"I was going to say effeminate."

"Most dresses are."

"Yes, well." He shrugged. "There you are."

She sighed and fidgeted uneasily in the heavily embroidered black velvet dress. "I wish this night was over with." She muttered.

He glanced over towards her and something like guilt flashed in his eyes. "Enjoy it, Jeira." He said quietly, distantly. "You may never see another ball like this again."

"Oh, that's cheerful." Jeira snapped at him moodily. "Must you constantly remind me of my fast approaching death?"

"I wasn't-" Syrix stopped mid-sentence as one of the castle guards appeared around the corner. "Yes?"

"We're about to open the doors, sir." The guards said as a few more guards appeared behind him. He turned to Jeira and, in unison with his fellow guards, gave the traditional salute to the royal heir.

Jeira nodded once and looked away, assuming a mask of aristocratic apathy to hide her pain. "I suppose, Syrix, that you are escorting me?"

"You have no brothers left." Syrix pointed out bluntly but at least quietly. "It was me or your sniveling cousin. I decided I would take pity on the poor idiot."

Jeira nodded and held out her arm. Syrix looped his through hers and nodded towards the guards. "Open the doors, then."

The bowed to him and scurried off quickly to open the heavy oaken doors. It was obvious that his presence was making them uncomfortable. None of the guards made eye-contact with him, even when the two of them walked directly past the guards. They looked up at Jeira, with respect and affection, but never once did they dare look at him.

"They're still afraid of you, Syrix." Jeira noted in a whisper as they stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the inside of the ballroom. Below, all the royal otters and highborn squirrels looked up and silence slipped over the room.

"They will always be." Syrix replied. "I'm easy to fear when you know all my secrets."

"Ah, yes, the secrets you won't tell me." Jeira said through the properly grim smile. "Those secrets."

He sighed, obviously neglecting to give the properly stern facial expression as they paused on the balcony. "Jeira, I've told you before. I like it when others can look me in the eye without searching for a monster."

"Forgive me, Syrix, if I'm annoyed by the notion that my entire realm knows more about one of my closest friends than I do."

"Someday, Jeira, I will tell you the horror stories others whisper about me." He promised with that especially bitter tone of voice that signaled his sincerity. "And then you'll realize why you never wanted to know in the first place."

Jeira snorted. "Oh, but Syrix, I thought I wasn't going to live long enough to go to another of these most joyous celebrations. However will I manage to live long enough to earn your approval?"

"It's not my approval you're lacking, Jeira." Syrix informed her as they began to walk down the flight of stairs to the ballroom, having spent the requisite amount time standing nobly and serenely on the balcony. "And you may live longer than we've been expecting."

Jeira blinked and turned to look at him, surprised so much that she momentarily forgot decorum. "What?" She asked.

"Smile at your subjects, Jeira." Syrix ordered without ever meeting her gaze. "You never know how many of them will be around tomorrow."

She sighed and turned away from him, back towards the ballroom. She hated these funeral balls. Before the Nameless One came, she had never been to one. Now, she had been to seven. They were the only celebrations her father still held. For awhile he had kept with the tradition of having a festival every time his armies had a victory, but he had learned his lesson when the Nameless One attacked the morning after, and the soldiers, bleary-eyed and confused, had been slaughtered.

Jeira glanced around the room, noting her brother's flag hanging from the ceiling, upside down to signify his death. The decorations were in black and dark red to match the colors on her brother's flag, and the guests had dressed accordingly. Only one flash of color stood out against the sea of black and crimson. Ayra, the squirrel so eternally cheerful that she often bordered on permanent insolence, stood looking up at the pair of them with a wide grin on her face, wearing a beautiful blue dress.

Jeira tried her best not to react to Ayra. She knew it would only encourage her. Still, she couldn't repress the slightest of smiles as they stepped down the final step and met Ayra at the foot of the stairs. "Greetings, Lady Ayra." Syrix said, his voice heavy with disapproval.

"G'evening, Rixy." Ayra retorted with a wink as she slipped her arm through Jeira's free one. "Don't you look pretty?"

Syrix shot her a look that could have frozen a firestorm solid. "Much more so than you." He snapped back.

"Aw, isn't he cute, Jeira?" Ayra's grin was wide and infectious. "He's all in a tizzy 'cause I almost saw him naked."

"Oh?" Jeira asked, feigning surprise. "You failed?"

"Well, not for lack of trying." Ayra said cheerfully.

"Or for lack of a death wish." Syrix growled under his breath. Jeira fought to keep a straight face.

"Oh, gods." Ayra's good humor vanished, and her grip on Jeira's arm tightened painfully. Then, suddenly, she let go, whirled around, and grabbed hold of Syrix. "Syrix, I need you to save me."

"Not my line of work." Syrix responded instantly. "Ask Faren."

"He's too far away!" She tossed a desperate look over her shoulder. Hieran was approaching from across the ballroom, but he hesitated when he saw Syrix. "You know he's scared of you. Quick, do your angry face."

"My what?" Syrix demanded.

"Yes, that one! Good, good!" Ayra glanced over her shoulder again to find Hieran moving back into the crowd, looking mildly disturbed. "Syrix, you're my hero."

"I am not." Syrix argued, offended. "Now get off me."

Ayra chuckled and released him, moving to walk alongside Jeira once again. "So," she said cheerfully, "that's a beautiful dress."

"I thought you said black didn't suit me." Jeira replied quietly.

"It doesn't." Ayra shrugged. "But I thought I'd try and cheer you up, just the same."

She smiled. "Thank you, Arya."

"Ah, well, I knew he'd be at the same thing." Ayra gestured at Syrix with a roll of her eyes. "Jus' thought I'd prove I was better at something than he was."

Syrix snorted and pulled away from Jeira. "I leave you to the vapid immorality of Lady Arya." He said to Jeira. "Watch that her idiocy does not spread to you."

"Oh, and love to you as well, Rixy." Ayra retorted with a cheeky grin.

Syrix didn't even respond to her taunts. He was already well on his way towards the back of the ballroom, where the ale was being served. Squirrels and otters cleared from his path with obvious earnest. There were very few creatures in the realm who wished to spend more than the slightest amount of time with Syrix. And even fewer who Syrix would allow to do so.

"You know," Ayra said wistfully, staring after him, "someday he'll warm up to me."

Jeira snorted. "Oh, I doubt it. After all, he hardly likes me."

Ayra blinked at her. "Oh, please, Jeira. Everyone in the realm knows you're his favorite. I pity whatever poor idiot tries to kill you." She winced. "They'll be lucky if he leaves enough t'bury."

Jeira glanced at Ayra doubtfully. "You've been drinking." She accused.

"Like a fish." The squirrel agreed cheerfully.

"You really shouldn't."

"Oh, and why not?" Ayra rolled her eyes. "I'm gonna be married off soon enough, might as well have fun while I can."

Jeira looked at her friend sadly. Ayra wanted nothing more than to take up a blade and fight, like all her brothers had died doing. She wanted everything she couldn't have. And how she managed to smile and laugh at a fate that was cruelly slicing out her heart, Jeira never understood.

"Good evening, Ayra." Faren arrived, looking uneasy and harassed. He bowed to Jeira. "Princess."

"Jeira." Jeira corrected, eyes darkening. "Faren, we were childhood allies. Do not throw my title at me now."

Farin glanced over his shoulder, and the dark blue uniforms of his fellow Guards blazed out brilliantly against the blacks and deep reds. "Forgive me." He paused. "Princess."

"Stop it." Jeira snapped. "I'll order it, Faren."

"Best do as she says." Ayra muttered archly. "Never know when this one's gonna snap. Lots of tension right now. Probably has somethin' to do with her family. I dunno."

"That's hardly appropriate, Lady Ayra."

Ayra laughed and shoved Faren hard enough to cause him to stumble back. "Call me by my title, Faren, and I'll beat you senseless right here in front of your commanding officers. I don't play courtly games like Jeira."

"Faren, what happened to your lip?" Jeira asked, concerned.

Faren brushed at his swollen lip idly. "A…disagreement." He glanced around, desperately seeking out a safe topic of discussion. "Have you noticed, Ayra, how little of our kind are left?"

Ayra's eyes swept across the ballroom, noting the lack of squirrels among the otters. For a moment, a flash of pain entered her lively green eyes. "Yes. I have."

Faren nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid we're not having as many cubs as we once did."

Ayra glanced at him, and her sorrow vanished. She winked. "Guess we'll just have to make some, Faren."

Faren choked on air. He went into a coughing fit that Ayra only worsened when she pounded violently on his back. Finally, after drawing the attention of half the ball's attendants, Faren managed to get himself under control. "Ayra!" He hissed, scandalized.

"Oh, what?" Ayra fluttered her lashes at him. "What did I say?"

"Stop teasing him, Ayra." Jeira struggled to keep a straight face. "It's hardly fair."

Ayra turned to look at Jeira. "Who said I was teasing?"

"I-I have to go." Faren hurried off, taking refuge among his fellow Guards.

"Oh, look at him run." Ayra cackled wickedly. "I tell you, Jeira, every male in this castle has lost their sense of humor." She paused and grinned wickedly. "And their sense of adventure."

Jeira shook her head, amused by the squirrel's antics. "Really, Ayra, you did push that a little too far."

"That's my skill." Ayra pointed out jovially. "And, when you only have one talent, you tend to stick with it."

Jeira turned to look at her friend, a quiet frown tugging at his lips. "Ayra…you hardly have one talent."

"Oh, aye. Forgive me." Again, that brief flash of bitterness entered her eyes. "Only one talent I'm allowed to use." Before Jeira could speak up in an attempt to deny what they both knew was true, Ayra's mouth twisted in displeasure. "Oh, damn. Here comes the bastard."

Jeira turned to see what Ayra was glowering at and found herself staring directly at Hieran who, now that Syrix had abandoned them, was approaching them with an intent look on his face. He stopped a few paces away from Jeira and bowed to the exact degree that was demanded, executing the maneuver with a grace that would have been impressive, if it had been inborn rather than meticulously developed.

"Princess Jeira." He greeted her solemnly. "Forgive me my interruption, but I've come to claim Lady Ayra's attention."

Jeira glanced sidelong at Ayra, whose laughing eyes had dimmed at her fiancés approach. Her unhappiness screamed from her. It was in her slumped shoulders, her sullen frown, her lifeless eyes. Ayra, who so wanted to face down armies, was defeated by the presence of the squirrel she would marry soon, and she knew it well.

"I would be lonely without her, Lord Hieran." Jeira pointed out casually, sending the squirrel a quietly warning look. But she had no authority here. Only the king and queen themselves could challenge Hieran's right over Ayra, and Jeira was no queen; she never would be.

"A thousand apologies, my lady, but I am lonely without her as well." It was a lie, but a well-spoken one. Everyone present knew that Hieran was only interested in Ayra because of her family's wealth and her close bond with the heir. Everyone had heard his boasts of how, as soon as they were wed, Ayra's outlandish antics and good-natured pranks would come to a swift sudden end. He was no lonelier without her than a stone was, but Jeira could not fight him, not on this.

"Good evening, Lord Hieran." Syrix's voice, quiet and cold, sliced through the tension.

Hieran jumped as if he had been slapped. He turned to face Syrix quickly, uncomfortable with the assassin at his back. "Syrix." Hieran returned the greeting in a single, clipped word. He met Syrix's gaze for a moment and then took an instinctive step back.

"And tell me," Syrix drawled, "whatever is it that drags you away from your soulless compatriots?"

"Excuse me?" Hieran hissed.

Syrix gestured at Hieran's friends who stood on the other side of the ballroom clutching goblets of ale and watching the proceedings with calculating stares. "Those heartless bastards you call your friends." Syrix clarified. "Why are you not with them?"

"I came to claim my betrothed." Hieran said, lifting his chin.

Syrix glanced over at Ayra, taking in her defeated state in silence. When he looked back over at Hieran, his eyes were dark and his smile cold. "No." He said. "I don't think you did."

"You have no right to interfere." Hieran argued, but his defiance cost him. He met Syrix's gaze and shuddered.

"No. I don't have the right." Syrix agreed and took a step closer to Hieran, his smile growing in amusement and menace. "But I don't think you really want to challenge me anyway."

"Are you threatening me?" Hieran demanded, his voice hushed and sharp with fear and disbelief.

Syrix took another step towards the squirrel, deliberately invading his personal space. His smile was gone, as was the laughter in his eyes. When he looked at Hieran now, it was with complete and utter gravity. "Do I have to?" He asked.

"I'll petition the king." Hieran said. "I'll tell him-"

"Tell him anything you like." Syrix retorted. "But leave us. Now."

Hieran turned and left immediately, radiating affronted arrogance like a bonfire radiated heat. Ayra stared at Syrix in absolute shock. "I knew you'd warm up to me!"

"I didn't do it for you." Syrix said, his eyes cold. "I did it so that Jeira would not be alone."

But Ayra didn't seem to hear him. "You do love me." She said. "I knew it."

Syrix growled quietly under his breath. "You idiot squirrel, I do not love-"

"I love you too, Syrix." Ayra proclaimed and reached out, pulling Syrix into an unreturned embrace.

Apparently embarrassed, Syrix snarled and shoved her away.

Giggling, Ayra turned her backwards stumble into a skip and hurried off towards the drinks, tail waving boldly in the air.

"She's mad." Syrix informed Jeira stonily.

"And you've gone soft." Jeira's eyebrows arched upwards. "Once, you would've watched her floundering around with great amusement."

"And once you had siblings to keep you company."

She winced. "Syrix…" She said, warningly.

He shrugged. "Enjoy your night, Jeira. If Hieran annoys you again, kindly remind him that, as the heir to the throne, you can order him assassinated." He paused. "Also, tell him that I asked you to remind him of what happened to Stonlin when he got irritating."

Jeira frowned. "What do you mean? My father liked Stonlin. He would've never ordered his assassination."

"He didn't." Syrix shrugged. "But your father doesn't keep near enough of a close watch on me." His smile was cold and malicious, and, across the ballroom, Hieran was gulping ale.

"That's called murder, Syrix." Jeira pointed out dryly. "We have laws against that kind of thing."

"Your realm has laws against everything." Syrix retorted. "Unfortunately, I can't stay and argue with you about them. I have something more pressing to take care of."

Jeira flinched obviously and stepped back.

"I'm not going to kill someone." Syrix rolled his eyes. "I'm a bit more discreet than that."

"Well, I didn't…" She fumbled with her words until they simply stopped coming. Nervously, she looked away.

He made a quiet, strangled noise of irritation, like a harsh word choked off in the back of his throat. And then he left, disappearing into the crowd.

Jeira closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked off in the opposite direction, carefully constructing an expression of quiet severity.

There was a mouse at the dining table. A mouse. No one knew when he had arrived; no one had been paying attention. For three hours, they had been dancing and gossiping and drinking, and now it was time for the feast, and there was a mouse at the table.

Mice did not come here. Mice did not venture into her realm.

If squirrels were inferior, then mice were downright disgusting. Sometimes, they were taken as slaves and worked to death. Mostly, they were executed to save the populace from contamination.

Mice carried diseases; everyone knew that.

But this mouse…this mouse looked healthy. He looked…resilient. He shone as if he carried the sun within him, and no one dared to challenge his right to be here.

The squirrel beside him, though. Well…

"Touch me again, mate, an' I'll rip your damned eyes out."

The squirrel was dark-furred and blue-eyed. He had a sort of madness in his gaze that burned cold and threatening. He was lithe and well-fed and intimidating. The otter that tugged at his arm refused to let go.

The squirrel stood up and threw back his shoulders, ripping his arm free of the otter's grip. "What, mate? What do you want?"

"Squirrels don't sit this close to the royal family." The soldier said. "Your kind-"

"My kind?" The squirrel sneered at him. "You start that nonsense on me, and I'll kill you. I've not much tolerance for lunatics."

The soldier frowned. "You're not allowed to sit here, squirrel." He reached out again, his paw moving again towards the squirrel's shoulder.

The squirrel jerked forward, and the solider took a quick, instinctive step backwards. "Don't touch me!"

"Zath." The mouse's voice was sharp, tense; the look on his face was carefully neutral. "Sit down."

The squirrel scowled and blatantly refused to sit. His eyes were burning and pinned on the otter. He looked fully ready to hit him.

"I was told, Luke, that you'd learned to contain this one." Syrix's voice was soft and drawling. He appeared out of nowhere, suddenly standing next to the mouse and looking at the squirrel in something like the way he looked at Jeira. "If he attempts to assault-"

"You must love it here, Sy." Zath said, glaring at Syrix. "Imagine, worshippin' otters like they're actually worth something."

"They can kill you, Zath." Syrix pointed out casually. "Luke, I'll protect. But you-"

"Let them try." Zath said, snarling.

Syrix snorted. "They're trained and tested soldiers." His eyes moved down to the mouse. "Luke...haven't you taught him to at least keep his mouth from getting the rest of him killed?"

The mouse, silent so far except for that one ignored order to Zath, merely lifted one shoulder in a shrug, his eyes hinting at an amusement that the flat line of his mouth did not convey. "I tried, Syrix. But he just kept getting better and better with his sword."

"We did confiscate that." Syrix said, sounding far more amused than he had any right to be, given the situation.

"Ah, well. He's always been something like miraculous with his fists." Luke replied.

"Someone really should cut them off."

"Oh, try it." Zath hissed, turning his full attention on Syrix. "Try it, Sy, and I'll-"

His threat was never finished. The otter that had been trying to convince him to move for several minutes decided to take desperate measures and slammed the butt of his spear into the back of the squirrel's head. Amazingly, the squirrel didn't faint. Instead, he staggered around drunkenly and toppled, falling in a slow, sickening sort of way. The mouse was out of his chair and clenching his paw in the back of the squirrel's tunic in the time it took most to blink, catching him before he could fall.

Syrix, however, had made no move to recuse the squirrel. Instead, he went after the otter that had caused the injury, bounding gracefully up onto the table and then leaping to the ground and punching the foolish otter brutally in the mouth.

"Syrix!" Thundered the nearest officer, his eyes widening and his lips drawing back in a snarl. "How dare you-"

"Contain your minions, Vakin!" Syrix interrupted, his tone sharp and cold and clear. "I will not have the ambassadors assaulted!"

"He threatened you!"

"Are you daring to suggest that I am too feeble to respond to threats myself?"

"Did-did vhat basterd gust hit meh?" The squirrel demanded, shoving Luke away and managing, somehow, to stumble up and gain his footing.

"Zath, sit down. You're going to get your throat slit if you keep this up."

"I'll kill vhe vittle idviot." Zath appeared to be having trouble with his tongue; it didn't seem to be obeying him.

"Syrix..." Jeira said, her eyes flickering between everyone, a confused frown forming on her features. "What's going on?"

"And who's this dashing young lad?" Ayra asked, fluttering her lashes at Zath from where she stood with her arm draped companionably around Faren's shoulders.

Zath drew himself up, stared at her, opened his mouth to say something, and then, finally, he fainted. Luke, with a roll of his eyes, caught him once again.

At this point, the king finally made his grand entrance only to find all of his subjects too busy crowding around an interesting episode of drama to pay him any attention. After sweeping through the crowd with a look of righteous indignation burning in his eyes and a very severe frown on his face, indeed, he surveyed the scene with exactly the same look in his eyes that appeared when he was studying a battlefield. And then he ordered them – all of them – to follow him. At once.

Jeira, Syrix, Luke, Feran, Ayra, and Zath followed obediently. Out of all of them, only Zath seemed to be at ease and probably only because he was still quite unconscious. Luke and Feran dragged him away, carrying him with little grace and less gentleness, and Jeira stared at Syrix the entire time, stunned by the look on his face.

In all the seasons she had known him, she had never, ever seen him look nervous.