Whitewing was not much of a palace. It possessed none of the customary comforts. Plush beds, elegantly carved bookshelves, stone fireplace – all were absent. It didn't even have another room. Just a single chamber with walls made of thick glass panes and a solitary banquet table at its center. The view of the city was spectacular, though that alone should not have awarded the room its honorary title.

Dunban's gaze swept over the buildings, taking note of their distinctive architecture. Most of them were made of the same silvery white material. He'd never seen anything like it before. Was it metal? Or perhaps some kind of stone? He studied the roads below. They were arranged in grid-like patterns, studded at even intervals with neatly pruned trees. It was in stark contrast to the tangled mass of paths in Colony 9. His home… He wondered how the efforts to rebuild were coming along. But the thought slipped from his mind as the flash of transporter light alerted him to the arrival of a visitor.

The newcomer wore a different uniform than the soldiers that had arrested them. He had no helm and lightweight armor. Short white hair matched the long wings that sprouted from his head. He spoke briefly with Sharla; she'd been the closest to the transporter. The healer nodded toward Dunban and the High Entia man strode toward him. As he drew closer, his features became clear. A thin face with deep-set grey eyes and a nose that had been broken more than once.

"You are Dunban?" he asked. When Dunban nodded, he continued. "His Majesty, Emperor Sorean Antiqua, has requested your presence in the Audience Chamber. I shall guide you."

"Me? I assumed he would want to see Shulk."

The High Entia shrugged then jabbed the butt of his spear towards the transporter. Stifling another question, Dunban followed him out of the false palace. They were no longer confined to it but they had nowhere else to go. After rescuing a maintenance worker and proving themselves as allies, they'd been permitted to tour the city with Captain Ivar. He'd chosen to stay behind, wishing to take in Alcamoth at his own pace. But they'd returned before he'd decided to leave Whitewing. Now, he would have to postpone his exploration even more.

His escort led him through the Great Hall, towards the next teleporter. There were two guards – one stationed at each of the staircases. The guard farthest away from them called out a greeting. The other scowled. Dunban frowned at the hostility. Against his better judgement, he asked his guide if something had happened between them.

"Nothing in particular. Galvin simply allows his opinion of me to be swayed by rumors," he replied as they reached the top of the stairs.

"That's unfortunate." He didn't know what else to say.

"Lecrough – the one who greeted us – does his best to keep the peace but…" The High Entia frowned as he trailed off. As soon as they reached the throne room transporter, the expression broke. It was replaced by a wide grin, directed at the guard posted there.

"Is that really…?" The transporter guard glanced between Dunban and his escort.

"Kaelin." His voice held a note of warning.

Kaelin promptly shut his mouth, a blush creeping into his cheeks. But the silence didn't last. "I'm sorry, Lucio, I wasn't thinking. I just… I'm sorry…"

Dunban's guide – Lucio, apparently – leaned close to Kaelin, murmured something into his ear. The blush deepened. Bright red highlighted his sharp cheekbones, made them much more prominent. He stammered in response to whatever Lucio had said. Dunban couldn't pick out any actual words. Just sounds. Certainly odd, but he didn't have time to think about it.

"Don't mind him," Lucio said once the teleporter delivered them to the Audience Chamber. "He's fairly new to all this and can get flustered. But he's a good man, really." There was a pause. "Anyway… We've arrived. You'll find the emperor at the top of these stairs."

Dunban cast a single, suspicious glance at the High Entia man then he ascended the glass steps. His eyes darted left and right as he approached the emperor's throne, taking in each detail of the soldiers that lined the path. They all carried spears identical to Lucio's. Swords hung in scabbards at their hips, readily accessible in the event of a close-range battle. Their gazes trailed after him when he passed. His lungs constricted at the potential danger, his mind raced. He tried to throw together a defensive strategy. But there was nothing. He was utterly at their mercy.

When he deemed he'd come close enough to the monarch, he dropped to his knees. This man might not have been his emperor, but he would show the High Entia as much respect as possible. If only to preserve his own life. It occurred to him that, perhaps, he was being foolish. After all, if the High Entia intended to kill them, they would've done so already. Or, at the very least, kept them imprisoned.

"Legendary hero of the Homs," Sorean mused, standing and gliding to the edge of the dais to observe his guest more thoroughly. "Rise. Let me see you properly."

Conscious of every set of eyes on him, Dunban got to his feet. He pushed aside the growing anxiety, focused on the regal High Entia. This was no time to be outwardly nervous. Even if he was plagued with foreboding. Although, there was a good chance he was wrong. The guards seemed to have lost interest in him, relaxing their grips on their spears.

As he stood fully upright, the emperor's heavy gaze fell upon him. If it had been a tangible thing, he would have stumbled beneath it. He wondered what he'd done to warrant such scrutiny. But he didn't voice his questions.

"Ah, yes," Sorean said at last, mouth stretching into a pleased smile, "you will do quite nicely. I have a request that I can only ask of you." He noticed the bewilderment that took over Dunban's features and allowed himself a good-natured chuckle. "You are, of course, confused. Permit me to explain. My daughter – the woman who brought you here – is in need of a consort. It is my sincere hope that you will become her husband."

Dunban's muscles stiffened, his heart sank into his stomach. Surely, the emperor didn't expect him to accept. How could he? It wasn't right. Marriages were meant to be based on love and he knew without a doubt that he harbored no romantic feelings for Melia. Only friendship existed between them. And that wasn't enough. Then it hit him. Melia was a princess? In hindsight, the revelation made sense. However, in light of Sorean's request, it shocked him more than it should have.

"Your Majesty, I must decline." It was a struggle to keep his voice calm but he managed.

The emperor's expression darkened. "The princess does not appeal to you? You insult my family with your refusal. She is the most beautiful woman in Alcamoth, yet you dare suggest that she is not worthy of your affection?"

"That isn't what I—"

"Then I have no choice but to offer you something in return," he said, ignoring Dunban's attempts to defend himself. "My daughter informed me of your desire to access Prison Island." He paused for dramatic effect. Or perhaps he was reconsidering his choice of words before verbalizing them. "If you marry Princess Melia, I shall allow you and your companions to travel there."

The offer was a punch to the gut. Prison Island… Shulk's vision told them that they would encounter Metal Face at the top of the tower. Remembering that Mechon made his blood boil anew. The monster that had killed his sister waited for them at a place they could only reach with imperial sanction. Permission that would be freely offered to him if he consented to an arranged marriage. He desired revenge as much as Shulk did, even though he hid that fact from everyone behind a stoic, rational façade. His sister would not go to the grave unavenged. That was his solemn vow.

But it was wrong, he reminded himself. He couldn't take advantage of the High Entia's tradition. It should've been easy to say no. And yet… the two sides of himself declared war on each other. His morals against the need to fulfill his personal promise. They clashed in his mind – a fight to obtain the favor of his thoughts – then moved down to do battle in his heart. And there, amongst the carnage of imagined soldiers, the decision was made.

He sighed and looked up to meet Sorean's eyes. Resignation washed over him, rushing in through his mouth and nose, drowning him in the bitterness of an immoral defeat. He was disgusted with himself.

"Will you accept my offer?" the emperor asked.

"I will…"

Although she had intended on returning to Kallian's side, Melia found herself wandering through the palace after learning of her father's plan. She felt lost – abandoned, even – like she was drifting through an ocean of fog. It became increasingly difficult to recognize the faces of her guards and the destinations that each hallway led her to. Perhaps that would be her existence from then on. A life of aimlessness and confusion. Her life was out of her control now. Though, when she thought about it, it struck her that any semblance of control she'd had before was probably only an illusion.

The realization stung worse than it had when she'd been a child. She should be embarrassed, that she'd carried on like this for so long. Deluding herself into thinking that things were different now that she was older. But, other than age, it was all the same. She was a grown woman with no authority over her personal affairs. Her father told her what would happen and she was bound by duty to accept it. No matter how much she disapproved. Certainly, the arranged marriage classified as a decision she didn't favor. Yet she had no choice. She simply hoped that Dunban could convince the emperor to put an end to such a demeaning tradition.

It was her small beacon of optimism, a pinprick of light in an otherwise blackened sky. Her hope would guide her to the most ideal situation possible if she allowed it to. For the moment, though, she worried and dodged its phantom hand that tried to pull her towards the light. Instead, she turned away from it, settled for dutiful obedience.

Soft footsteps had been following her for some minutes now. They'd barely registered in her dazed mind, but the curiosity lured her back to the real world. She whirled around and came face to face with Catlaina. The Homs Entia guard smiled then bowed her head, silver bangs falling into her eyes. All other sections of hair were tied back in a simple bun. A few loose strands floated about her head, an indication of physical exertion. Perhaps she'd been training.

"Forgive the intrusion, my lady." She raised her head, sweeping her bangs away from her face. Then her hand fell to the hilt of the dagger in her scabbard, rested there. "New orders from the Minister of Defense. I'm to stay by your side."

"Minister Caul?" Melia asked. "Why would he…?"

Catlaina made a show of examining the tiles below her feet. "He learned of Prince Kallian's incident. It's made him especially concerned for the rest of your family. So now, the personal guards aren't supposed to leave their charges alone." She paused and raised her pleading eyes to meet Melia's. "Kennet is in horrible trouble for his role. In His Highness's… suicide attempt…"

"I will speak with someone," the princess said with a definitive nod. "Kennet is not to blame for what transpired yesterday. And I'm sure my brother would be happier if Defense didn't steal away his most devoted friend."

"Thank you." Another pause. "Is… Is he okay?"

"He's fine." She appreciated her guard's concern for Kallian. But it was… strange. Although, she couldn't put a finger on why she felt that way. Probably because of the long day she'd had. She told herself to forget about it. What harm could it do to open up to Catlaina? She wished she could explain everything that had happened, tell her what the prince had said. But she didn't.

"That's… um…" Catlaina rubbed at her eyes. Then she coughed. "The emperor also wishes to see you…"

"What? That's absurd," Melia said with a frown. "He's summoned me twice already today." Worry spread across her guard's face and she reigned in her urge to complain further. She sighed internally, accepted her fate. "Very well. Let's not keep him waiting."

Together, the two Homs Entia women strode back toward the Ascension Hall. They passed through several long and winding corridors before they arrived at the final teleporter, which made Melia wonder how she'd traveled so far without knowing where she had been. It must have been the shock. And she was relieved to find she remembered the guards' names as well. Galvin and Lecrough at the stairs. Kaelin by the transporter – who seemed oddly restless, checking his timepiece every few seconds.

She asked him if, by chance, his assigned guard duty conflicted with some personal matter. He told her it did not, though his cheeks flushed a vibrant scarlet. Of course, she hadn't intended to embarrass or berate him, but she felt there must have been a miscommunication. A sharp bark of laughter sounded from one of the other guards – most likely Galvin – which inspired within her a sense of unease. She took note of Catlaina giving Kaelin a sympathetic glance, sealing in place her thought that she was intruding in a place where she wasn't welcome.

So, she bid them all a good day and stepped onto the glowing transporter platform. Within seconds, she was at the base of the glass stairs, her guard faithfully at her side. They ascended slowly, deliberately, each hoping that the awkwardness of the encounter would fade by the time they reached the throne.

As she entered the Audience Chamber, her teal eyes swept over her surroundings before settling on the vaguely familiar form of Dunban. Her heart rate spiked. Dread twisted her stomach until the nausea she'd felt earlier returned in full force.

The emperor stood beside the Homs man. Both watched the princess as she strode towards them. Impatience sparked in the lighter pair of eyes, while concern glowed in the dark ones. Could they see the fear in her own irises? A forced smile curled the corners of her lips. Perhaps the weak gesture could fool the onlookers. She very much doubted it, but let it try anyway.

"Father. Dunban." She bowed her head to each of them then turned her attention to the emperor. "Am I correct in my assumption that the arrangement has been finalized?"

"Yes, my daughter," he said, allowing his face to come alight with pride and joy. "You and the Homs hero are to be wed in four days. Tomorrow, you will face the Tomb. That night, your engagement will be announced to the public. The next two days shall be dedicated to planning the event. In the afternoon of the fourth day, there will be the wedding ceremony. Then a banquet in the evening, held in the bride's honor – Her Highness, the First Consort shall arrange this for you, of course. And after that… Well."

Melia's heart pounded harder as she realized what her father was implying. Though she strained to keep her voice level, a slight stutter betrayed her true feelings. "You mean… you expect Dunban and I to consummate our marriage. Right away…"

The emperor nodded, breathing new life into the subject of her recent day-terrors. Since she'd been told of his plan to marry her off, she could think of nothing else. She was plagued by daytime nightmares of each little thing that could go wrong. And the wedding night appeared in those visions most frequently. Choking heat and darkness would surround her, press down on her chest until she felt fit to suffocate. Then a hand pulled at her ceremonial wedding dress, ripping it from her small frame like it was nothing more than gossamer. She couldn't move to cover herself, couldn't even breathe. She lay on taunting plushness, naked and paralyzed. Her muscles tensed as she mentally prepared herself for the sharp pain that would tear her body in two.

"Are you alright, Princess?" Dunban's voice pulled her out of her nearly tangible thoughts, drew her gaze to him.

As she stared, she noticed a faint redness to his cheeks. She hoped he was as horrified by the new development as she was. Certainly, she could handle an arranged marriage. Intercourse, however, was another matter entirely. Perhaps he felt the same.

"I… Fine, thank you."

"Do not disrespect him," the emperor chastised, scowling at his daughter. "From this moment on, your engagement is official. Minister Asdis has already assigned this event to its place in Records. Therefore, you are expected to behave as a proper fiancée. Understand me?" He waited for a response. Any response, really, as long as it was agreement. It eventually came in the form of a nod. "Excellent. Now, you are dismissed – both of you. Spend the remainder of the day together."

"Yes, Father." She avoided his eyes. Then she turned and retreated.

Two sets of footfalls followed in her wake. One light and comforting. The other heavy and unfamiliar. She resisted the urge to check over her shoulder. They couldn't be allowed to see her insecurity… Any sign of weakness would be stomped out. There was no other choice, for she feared her own vulnerability.

The group of three exited the palace then stopped. Catlaina hung back, giving the newly engaged couple some space. She wished her guard would stand closer, protect her from internal threats, rather than the external ones. Her anxiety was more urgent now that her father's eyes weren't observing her every reaction, but she still managed to push it down. Yet every time she did so, the problem wasn't erased. Instead, it was stored away until she could handle it appropriately. She merely had to find the strength to tear open her hasty stitches then take the time to properly heal.

That tended to occur at night, in the embrace of darkness. It was easier to hide that way, shield herself from the prying eyes that would inevitably scorn her for her inability to cope. She could only truly care for herself when she was alone and free of judgement. In those moments, she felt safe. She took hours to mend the wounds she'd suffered during the day, tenderly bandaging her cracked heart until it almost seemed whole again. Until it was good enough to fool her.

"Melia, I didn't intend to—"

"It's alright," she interrupted, uncertain that her abused emotions could take any more of her friend's excuses or apologies. "Don't feel guilty. Arranged marriages are a part of the imperial High Entia tradition. My father simply capitalized on an opportunity – three promising Homs men arriving in his city. I've known this was to be my fate since I was very young." She watched his face for any signs of a lightening mood, found nothing. So, she attempted a different tactic: humor. It had worked on him before. "I'm simply thankful that he didn't choose Reyn to be my consort."

A slight smile curved his lips and she felt a surge of relief. He had appreciated what she'd tried to accomplish, at least. Perhaps the day wasn't doomed to misery after all. She allowed herself a faint smile of her own, but hid it from him when he looked at her. Cautiously, she lowered her hand, revealing her expression to him.

He laughed gently – much softer than she'd expected – and grinned wider. Yet he didn't speak. Perhaps he didn't need to. Perhaps the moment spoke for itself. In spite of her best efforts to stay focused, her eyes shifted to find Catlaina watching them, frowning. It effectively put their… exchange to an end.

"Yes, well." She cleared her throat and suppressed the blush that threatened to invade her cheeks. "Have you had the chance to tour the city yet?"

"I have not," he said as the seriousness rushed back into his demeanor. "The others went with Captain Ivar, but I'd stayed behind."

"Then, maybe, I can be your guide one more time."

"By all means," he said. He gestured for her to take the lead. "I'd certainly like to see Alcamoth from the streets, rather than Whitewing's windows."

Melia wasn't the best tour guide. Of course, she knew the city as well as any noble High Entia. She could show off the well-cultivated gardens, the fountains, the ancient sculptures, the Ministry buildings. But her talking points were… rusty at best. Reciting history could only get her so far. At times, Catlaina would interrupt with an answer – her knowledge of architecture and city planning was surprisingly expansive. And those were the things Dunban asked about most.

So, towards the end of the tour, Catlaina ended up doing the majority of the talking. Melia furrowed her brow. A strange feeling pricked in the back of her throat and she almost wished her guard would go back to just shadowing them. Not that she didn't appreciate the help. It was just… She wanted to talk with him herself, get to know him. But she couldn't when she didn't know how to answer his questions.

"I think that's about everything, then," she said. By that point, she hadn't spoken a word in several minutes.

Catlaina froze mid-sentence, face paling. As if, she hadn't realized what she'd been doing until that moment. Melia fidgeted with her hands, stared down at the road. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. What was the point of ending the tour early? Other than relieving the unfamiliar tension within her… Dunban raised an eyebrow at her.

"I, um… I'm hungry. Perhaps I should have led with that? Forgive me." The excuse came easily. But she couldn't tell if that made it a good one or not. She hadn't had time to think about it. She simply had to fix the potential mess she'd created. So, she'd blurted out the first explanation her mind supplied. For all she knew, it was flimsy and they both saw through it. "There are a couple nice places in the commercial district. If you'd like to…"

"That would be nice," Dunban said, glancing between Melia and Catlaina.

She didn't know what he saw that made him frown. But she didn't question it. What good would it do? Any answer would be overanalyzed. She was better off not knowing.

Silent, she turned on her heel and led the way back towards the commercial sector. They weren't very far away – the Ministry buildings were only a few streets over. But the walk still felt like an eternity. Dunban tried to coax Catlaina to finish her earlier explanation of some Ministry project. She responded to his efforts with a noncommittal murmur. She didn't speak again.

Melia picked the restaurant. She'd asked Dunban's preference but he insisted he didn't have one. And she knew better than to ask her guard. You know best, Your Highness, she'd say. It stung, even though the words hadn't actually been spoken.

The restaurant she chose was a little café tucked between a florist and a book shop. It had been her mother's favorite spot. Every morning, she'd buy a cup of tea and sip it on the patio behind the café. It had a perfect view of one of the florist's gardens. Melia had been a bit too young to appreciate the ritual. With a pang of guilt, she remembered how she fussed, cut her mother's time short.

They ordered at the front counter – except for Catlaina. She refused Melia's offer of food and instead stationed herself by the door. The princess deflated a bit but didn't push. At least she'd have some time alone with Dunban. Like her father intended…

"So…" She sat at a table close enough to Catlaina that the guard could reach her if something happened. But also, far enough away that she couldn't hear the conversation. Or, lack thereof. She stirred her tea. "How do you like Alcamoth?"

"It's beautiful, of course." Something about his tone made the sentence sound unfinished.

"But?" she prompted.

"It isn't home," he said, looking down into his mug of coffee.

"My mother used to say the same." She paused as the café owner brought out their food. Once he returned to the front, she continued. "I think… I think it's cruel that my father never let her leave. You will be under no such obligation. I promise."

He pursed his lips. Like he didn't believe her. Maybe she should've expected that. They'd only known each other for two days, but it still didn't sit quite right with her. She knew the value of her word. She waited for him to reply, picked at her meal until she couldn't stand the quiet any longer.

"What is it like? Your home, I mean."

He talked of the beaches, the open-air market, the community. As he spoke, the tension between them dissipated. She nodded along, trying to picture it all in her head. It seemed so… different from Alcamoth. Not that that was a bad thing. Even she felt like her home could be a bit stuffy at times. She leaned in, resting an elbow on the table.

"That's about it," he said with a chuckle.

"It sounds wonderful. I'd love to visit one day."

"We could go when things calm down. With the others." He turned away and took a long drink of his coffee.

"With the others," she agreed evenly. It was wrong but… her mind instantly went to Shulk. Touring Colony 9 with him. He was probably a better guide than she was. He'd know exactly what to say about everything. She stopped herself before she could fall too deep into fantasy.

They finished their meals in relative silence. She'd asked if he had any family back home. He went quiet for a minute, said no, then made minimal responses to her other attempts at conversation. At which point, she gave up. Clearly, his family was a sore spot. And, by asking about them, she'd ruined the mood yet again. She couldn't have known but… She still felt guilty.

By then, it was early evening. She was sure her father wouldn't want them to part yet. If at all. He'd be perfectly happy if I took Dunban to my room tonight, she thought bitterly. Mortifying ideas aside, she didn't know how else to occupy their time together. She should call it a night while things were still mostly pleasant between them. And, after all the walking she'd done, the cuts on her leg were aching. The break had been nice, but not nearly the 'taking it easy' Sharla had suggested.

"How are you holding up?" Dunban nodded to her bandaged shin.

"I'm a little tired," she said as they left the commercial district. Catlaina lurked several feet behind them. "I haven't had much time to rest since leaving Frontier Village."

"Ah, I should've realized. I'm sorry." He swiped his hand through his hair. Then he cast a glance back towards her guard. His eyebrows drew together, considering his next words as if they had the power to sink the Bionis itself. "Will you be able to get back to your room alright?"

She bristled at the implication. Or, not the implication – as the offer was most likely innocent – but her previous thought resurfaced and… Before she could respond, Catlaina spoke on her behalf.

"Her Highness can manage on her own. And, if she can't, I am more than capable of supporting her."

Dunban flinched at the sharpness of her tone. "Of course. I didn't mean to suggest…" His voice faltered and he looked to Melia for help.

"I…" She gaped at Catlaina, momentarily lost for words. Dunban wasn't the only one startled by the guard's hostility. She regained her composure with some effort. "Please forgive her. She's the only woman on the Imperial Guard and she's too used to men questioning her abilities." Then, to Catlaina, she said, "Be mindful of how you speak to my guests in the future."

The guard lowered her head, mumbled apologies. Then she backed away, giving the pair space once more. But their conversation didn't resume. Neither felt very much like talking after Catlaina's outburst. At least it distracted from Melia's own shortcomings… She knew she shouldn't think like that, but, at times, she couldn't help it.

They arrived at the palace several minutes later, continuing on until they reached the intersection of hallways where they were to part companies. Melia paused. Even though things had been rough, she'd enjoyed herself. She almost wished they could stay together. But she would never say so. Any such statements would be an admission of defeat. Just because she couldn't fight her father directly didn't mean that she did not wage the war. It was an internal affair. Private, not meant to be witnessed by outsiders. She required herself to suffer on her own.

"I'll send someone to show you to the guest suites in the villa," she said. "Whitewing isn't suitable for sleeping."

"We'd appreciate that," he said with a grin.

A warmth bloomed in her chest but she ignored it. "Perhaps tomorrow, after the Tomb Trial, we could…?" She didn't know what she was trying to ask for – companionship, certainly. But whose? Did she want him or the entire group? She would've cursed herself for speaking without thinking, but he hadn't seemed to notice the invitation.

"The Tomb Trial?"

She waved aside his concern. "It's an old High Entia tradition. Nothing to worry about." Well, that wasn't exactly true… She just didn't want him to be worried. Or anyone else, for that matter. She didn't deserve it.

"Alright, tomorrow then." He didn't sound convinced.

If she had any energy left, she might've confronted him, asked if he doubted her strength. Her worthiness to take the throne. But she was tired. And if she didn't throw herself into bed soon, she feared the feeling would slip away. Another sleepless night would ruin her. So she flashed him a brilliant, cordial smile.

"Goodnight, Dunban." She retreated before she heard his reply.