The sun rose once more over the water of Eryth Sea, glinting off of the waves and sending its brilliant rays skittering across the sleeping landscape. Above the ocean, Alcamoth lay still in the newly birthed light, waited for the first of its inhabitants to rise. All was tranquil. Except for a tangible tension, an anxiety like an electric undercurrent. As if the Bionis itself held its breath in anticipation.

Within the Imperial Villa, Lucio shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He'd only been promoted to the emperor's personal defense team a few months ago, but he wasn't sure he would ever acclimate to it. The waiting around in the morning, searching for danger in the shadows before sunrise. Another demotion might be a blessing… But he didn't let himself follow that train of thought. He should be grateful. He glanced down the corridor, paced a few steps, then returned to his post. The other guard on duty raised an eyebrow at him. Ignoring the man, he sighed and leaned his spear against the wall to check his timepiece. For the third time in just as many minutes.

"Are you expecting something?" his companion asked. "Or do you just really not want to be here?"

"Nothing in particular," he said, taking up his spear once more and returning his full attention to the job at hand. "And do any of us really want to be awake before dawn?"

The other man rolled his eyes. "It's an honor to serve the emperor. Regardless of personal sacrifices. If you believe otherwise, perhaps it's time to resign." He paused, glanced back toward the grand door behind him. Lucio heard it too. Footsteps. When he continued, his voice was low and rushed. "Honestly, I don't know why they let you back in."

Lucio's grip tightened on his spear but he didn't reply. What was the point of protesting? They all had their opinions of him and that wouldn't change in a single confrontation. For some, it probably wouldn't change no matter what he did. He'd grown tired of fighting them…

As much as he wanted to indulge in his negativity, he couldn't. The emperor would soon exit his suite of chambers and he'd have to put the burden aside anyway. But, beyond that, there was something else. A buzz in the air, a churning in his stomach. His muscles tensed as a shadow shifted at the end of the hall. He strode toward the right-angled turn where he'd seen the movement, checked down the adjoining corridor. Nothing. Just a trick of the light.

He walked back to the emperor's door, lungs constricting. The hallway felt smaller now, as if the ceiling had partially caved in. He resisted the urge to look up. It was just in his head. The unease, the unfounded fear that rooted in his stomach. What did he think would happen? An ambush in the Imperial Villa? Too many factors would have to perfectly align in order for an intruder to get this far unnoticed.

The anxiety was suffocating him. Something was happening – or about to happen – and he had no idea what. Or how to deal with it. More than anything, he wished for the calm from before his shift. He'd woken up early to see Kaelin before the daytime guards took over. So, his comment about not wanting to be awake before dawn wasn't exactly true. Losing an hour of sleep was inconsequential. A smile curved the corners of his lips, unbidden. His shoulders relaxed a fraction as he thought back to the short interaction. If only he could slip away…

Behind him, the door swung open. Inward, so it could be blockaded from the inside if necessary. He flinched, all previous tension returning. Though, he supposed he looked more attentive that way. Perhaps no one would suspect that his thoughts had wandered. Regaining his composure, he bowed his head and mumbled a greeting.

"Ah, yes, good morning," the emperor said as he paused in the doorway. He nodded a brief acknowledgement to each of them, stiff, formal. Then he turned to walk towards the Villa's exit. Before he could get too far, he whirled around, staring through Lucio's armor, piercing the younger man's flesh with the cold steel of a hostile gaze. "You… You are Minister Caul's son, are you not?"

"I am, Your Majesty."

His lineage was the least controversial thing that he could be recognized for. And, yet, his heart lurched as he spoke. The emperor should know more about him than that. How could he have forgotten? Or was it all a show for the sake of the other guard?

"Of course you are." Sorean examined Lucio thoroughly, eyebrow's knitting together. "You look very much like your father did, when he was a younger man. Scarcely a hint of your mother in you. Perhaps those eyes…" A distant expression overcame his features as he trailed off.

Lucio dropped his gaze to the floor. It would've been disrespectful to turn away from his sovereign but the urge to hide his eyes was too strong to ignore. They were grey – a perfectly normal color for a High Entia. Except for a ring of green around his pupils. He never really thought about it until someone else mentioned it. And, before the emperor, only his father and Kaelin had.

"I think you shall do quite nicely," the emperor continued, snapping out of his reverie. He didn't seem to mind that Lucio hadn't replied. "Handsome, strong, dedicated. From a noble family, as well."

The guard shrunk beneath the appraising stare, uncomfortable with the monarch's assessment. He wasn't sure why it unnerved him, but he couldn't ignore the way his lungs locked up. Perhaps it was the implication of what Sorean intended to use him for. Why should his appearance be a factor? A shiver raced down his spine and his fingers clenched around his spear.

"I will need to speak with you privately." The emperor turned on his heel and strode down the hall. His two guards followed less than three steps behind him. "We have much to discuss, but that must wait for a more favorable time."

"Of course…"

He trudged after his ruler, boots heavy and heart heavier. The rumors must've been worse than he remembered if the emperor planned on personally carrying out his punishment. No good could be born of a private conversation with the most powerful man in Alcamoth. Legally, he could do whatever he pleased. And who would dare question an emperor when a lowly guard went missing? Even Minister Caul – his own father – would think twice before leveling an accusation against Sorean. Although, he had to wonder if Caul would notice his absence at all, if he were to be murdered. His mother might've rioted for him. But she'd abandoned them long ago to heed the Bionis's call.

Then there was Kaelin. The only person his death would hurt. Guilt flooded over him, as if this imagined outcome was real and somehow his fault. At the thought, he managed to steer his mind out of the negativity. There was no point in wondering at what he might be leaving behind. He hadn't even been sentenced yet.

The small group entered the Audience Chamber and Lucio took up his usual place beside one of the pillars close to the dais. For the next few hours, he stood utterly still, looking on as the emperor met with several ministers. He tried not to listen. The inner workings of the empire were none of his concern. But he couldn't help himself when the Minister of Investigation mentioned Yumea.

"I cannot just release her, Your Majesty," Minister Fannar said with a shake of his head. He peered down at a notepad through his round reading glasses. "There is still questioning that must occur. She is, without a doubt, connected to the attempt on the princess's life, but we have yet to determine how deep that connection runs. She refuses to cooperate with the interviewers." The last sentence sounded like he was reading from his notes directly, rather than paraphrasing.

"And are we to postpone my daughter's wedding ceremony until you can understand that she is not capable of committing such a terrible crime?" Sorean demanded. He glanced toward the empty air to his right and his entire demeanor changed. Though he hadn't moved at all, something about him seemed… deflated. With a sigh, he leaned back in his throne. "Give her two days – today and tomorrow – then you may proceed with the interrogation. For Melia's sake."

"If she attempts to escape—"

"She has no reason to," he replied, a hint of annoyance slipping into his voice, "for she has done no wrong. But if it puts you at ease, we will assign her a new set of guards. Ones that owe her no loyalty."

"Very well," Fannar said, exasperated. He removed his glasses, secured them in the collar of his robe, then bowed. Before retreating, he cast a doubtful glance at the emperor. As if weighing the consequences of disobedience.

Lucio frowned. Of course, everyone in Alcamoth had learned of the assassination attempt in the High Entia Tomb. Bad news was impossible to contain, after all. Like water, slipping through one's fingers. The First Consort's suspected involvement was still a secret for now. But how much longer? Most would consider it a great privilege to hear the monarch's secrets. And yet, he didn't feel fortunate. Each piece of gossip entrusted to him was a burden, a kick in the stomach. Bionis, he was nauseous… The sensation intensified when he noticed the emperor's eyes locked on him.

"Approach the throne."

His heart plummeted, the muscles in his chest tightened. The other guards' gazes burned his skin in spite of his armor. He held his breath and counted out his steps as he strode toward the dais. When he reached the spot where the minister had stood before, he froze. But the emperor gestured impatiently for him to ascend. The gentle slope of the ramp was a craggy mountain path beneath his numb feet. It took all his mental energy to stay balanced. He released the breath he'd been holding then knelt directly in front of the throne.

"There is something I must ask you to do." The emperor lowered his voice so that it would not carry to overly curious ears. "See, although I am convinced of my dearest wife's innocence, I worry that Minister Fannar will imprison her permanently. This may be her only opportunity to plan the ceremonial dinner for the bride…" He trailed off as he assessed the younger man's reaction.

"I'm not sure I understand, Your Majesty." Lucio had always considered the tradition to be impractical. Not all brides had mothers or the funds required to host such an extravagant event. Were their marriages not legal? But his concerns were left unvoiced. "What would you have me do?"

"Marry my daughter tomorrow."

The blood drained from his face. "What? Emperor, I couldn't possibly—"

"It shall be most convenient," he continued, as if he hadn't heard the feeble protest. "Your father will no longer fear for you and I think those rumors he described to me will fade rather quickly. Melia will then have both traditional suppers planned by the First Consort. It is a brilliant idea, do you not think so?"

"Yes, but—"

"Excellent. I shall inform the princess of this development. Now, rise." He waited for Lucio to stand then did the same. With a wide smile, he clasped the guard's shoulder. "The rehearsal is this evening in the Great Hall. Be prepared for it. I will not tolerate tardiness."

The younger High Entia bowed his head. No matter what he said, the emperor would turn a deaf ear towards anything that wasn't pure agreement. His heart crawled out of the pit of his stomach, returning to its usual place. At least the situation wasn't as terrible as he'd feared. This was no punishment; surely, it was meant to be a reward. But he still felt like he was sinking. Resentment towards his father combined with the dread of having to tell Kaelin and encouraged him to object one more time.

"The princess is a beautiful, intelligent woman. I am eager to wed her." His complement held no emotion. "Although, I can't imagine the Homs will be very keen to share her with me."

"He will do as I say," Sorean assured.

Dunban threw himself into the armchair in his guestroom with a sigh. The morning had been trying, to say the least. He'd been on his feet for hours, serving as a live mannequin to a taskmaster of a seamstress. She pressed him for his preferences and he'd said he had none. Which, in retrospect, wasn't the best decision. The seamstress pricked him with her needle at every opportunity after that.

All the while, a dozen servants buzzed around him, some hoping he'd eat the food they offered, others seeking his approval for Melia's wedding plans. His agreement had been too quick for the seamstress's liking and she jabbed him again.

"So dismissive," she'd said, returning to her work. "One would think you were forced into this marriage."

Even now that he was alone, he couldn't get her words out of his head. Because he was being forced. Sort of. He ran his fingers through his hair. He should've told Melia the truth after the duel with Kallian. Why didn't he? What had made him hold his tongue? Perhaps the fear that she'd call off the wedding and he'd lose his only chance to avenge his sister. The thought gave him pause. He'd been aware that the situation was less than ideal since he first entered into the deal. His friends' responses further solidified his doubt. Just not enough that he'd back down.

But that thought – that he'd purposely withheld information from his soon-to-be bride in order to manipulate her – churned his stomach. The person he used to be would've never… War had changed him. And he'd been too focused on healing his physical wounds to realize his mind needed healing too.

Before he could consider his next steps, an urgent knock at the door jolted him back to reality. His heart lurched as he stood. He grabbed his sword then crossed the room, flinging the door open. Part of him expected it to be one of his friends. In trouble, if the sound of the pounding was anything to go by.

It wasn't Reyn, Shulk, or any of the others standing in the doorway. Instead, it was Lucio, the guard with the crooked nose. He held up his hands, indicating that he wasn't an immediate threat. Dunban tossed his sword aside and his tense muscles put themselves at ease. The High Entia's face was troubled, no doubt, but not in a way that suggested danger.

"I suppose the emperor wants to see me again?"

"No," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "May I come in?"

Wordlessly, Dunban stepped back, allowing Lucio to enter the room. Something about the man's expression made him nervous. The quietness of his voice, the shiftiness of his eyes. Like he expected someone to come up from behind and silence him.

Once the door closed, Lucio relaxed a fraction. "I… I need your help. I could think of no one else to turn to."

Dunban returned to his armchair and frowned. Questions flashed through his mind but he stayed silent, waiting to see if the guard would proceed on his own. Lucio fidgeted where he stood. There were no other places to sit. Perhaps the unequal positioning set him on edge. Or it was the matter of his visit that kept him from speaking. Either way, Dunban's patience ran out. He didn't know when he'd be called back to wedding preparations and he preferred not to waste his free time on nothing. "What is it then? Has something happened?"

"The emperor asked me to become Melia's Second Consort. Tomorrow. A combined ceremony, I think. I don't know…" He looked away, out the window to his right, and stared out over the Villa's lawn. When he spoke again, his voice trembled. "I can't marry her. I've already promised myself to someone else. The engagement isn't official but—" He cut himself off and his eyes snapped back to Dunban's face. A deep blush rose to his cheeks. "It doesn't matter. Just help me. Please…"

"I'm not sure what we can do. It sounds like the emperor's mind is made up," he said after a moment's hesitation.

Lucio's eyebrows knit together though he didn't protest. Then he sighed, turned to the door. But before leaving, he paused. "You don't want to marry the princess, but you do care for her."

"She's my friend." He wasn't sure what response Lucio was looking for. The one he gave seemed not to satisfy the High Entia. "It's not that I don't want to help. I just don't know what can be done at this point. If the emperor isn't deterred by your relationship, then…"

"His Majesty doesn't know," Lucio said, still lingering by the door. "And it needs to stay that way. For… her safety." He stumbled over the pronoun but hurried on before Dunban could question it. "Because, sometimes, a potential consort is so desired that their previous spouses just disappear, leaving them free to marry the royal progeny."

The explanation made Dunban pause, forget the strangeness of the sentence that proceeded it. Would the emperor truly put someone to death over an inconvenience? He didn't think it was likely, though he sympathized with the man's fears. Before the Mechon attack on Colony 9, he was often consumed by irrational nightmares, revolving around Fiora. The worst of those dreams forced him to watch her take up the Monado. Helpless to intervene as the hellish weapon ruined her. Just as it had ruined him. A shudder took hold of him for a moment and he glanced down at the cuff of his right sleeve.

He would do it all again in a heartbeat, if it meant his loved ones would be safe. That's why he was still here. Even after Fiora—

"Dunban?"

Tearing his eyes away from the hint of scarring that peeked out from his cuff, he met Lucio's gaze. "I understand your concern. But what other choice do you have? You can refuse the emperor's request and endanger your lover. Or you can end the relationship to marry Melia."

Lucio threw up his hands in frustration. "This wouldn't be necessary if Yumea hadn't been arrested."

"What do you mean?" he asked, leaning forward in his armchair.

The guard hesitated, glanced over his shoulder toward the door. As if he expected to be interrupted. But his nerves soon faded and he launched into a retelling of what he'd overheard in the throne room that morning. Yumea's potential guilt, Minister Fannar's insistence on keeping her imprisoned, and the emperor's commitment to 'preserving tradition.' He said the last bit with an eyeroll. Dunban couldn't blame him; there was nothing traditional about marrying two consorts on the same day.

When he finished his explanation, he settled back on his heels and waited for Dunban's response. Expectant. Perhaps believing that the Homs man could solve everything with ease. That he had nothing else to worry about now that the information had been shared.

"So… If Her Highness's arrest was the only reason for your involvement… and we can prove her innocence…" Dunban trailed off. Sure, it might fix Lucio's situation, but he couldn't get the thought out of his head. What if Yumea wasn't innocent? He'd been there that day in the Tomb. He'd seen firsthand how close they'd come to losing Melia. If the First Consort was responsible, she had to face her punishment.

"—and whatever evidence he has against her. Bit of a wildcard, to be honest," Lucio was saying as Dunban tuned back in.

"Do you think she did it?" The question dried out his throat. He shouldn't have asked it, but he had to know who exactly he was dealing with. The guard was hiding something. Or, maybe it was more accurate to say he was holding something back. Either way, it set him on edge.

"No." Lucio's voice trembled. He picked at a patch of dry skin on the back of his hand for too long. Then, he added, almost whispering, "She wouldn't go that far. She couldn't."

He wondered what that meant, if the sentiment was supposed to be as ominous as it sounded. The implications swirled in his mind like windswept snow. Frigid and blinding. How far had she gone already? What did Lucio know? And why was he skirting around it so closely? Laying a trail of hints in such a way that could only be intentional.

"We should see if we can get an audience with Minister Fannar," Dunban said at last. Better to follow along with whatever Lucio had planned. For now. He could take him if he had to, though it would be a tougher fight than his duel with Kallian. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

Yumea had been slouching again. After an hour and a half spent pouring her entire soul into the document before her, she couldn't exactly help herself. But she pushed past the exhaustion and straightened her shoulders. It would've seemed ridiculous to onlookers – the First Consort caring for her posture when she still wore the same gown she'd been arrested in. She relaxed a fraction, leaning into the plushness of her chair, casting a glance around the expansive library. Utterly deserted aside from a librarian and the three guards that had tailed her since her release.

Temporary release. Something within her burned as she rubbed her chafed wrists. She glowered at the guard closest to her but, if he noticed, he didn't dignify her with a response.

With a huff, she returned her focus to the paper on the table. Thus far, her preparations for Melia's ceremonial dinner were going smoothly. She had selected several options for the main course, five desserts, and eight types of wine. The most expensive she could find, of course. Her daughter deserved the best the Bionis had to offer. She was quite proud of the menu she'd created, though her work was far from complete. There were decorations to procure and a speech to write, after all.

The speech was the worst part. She'd never been one for making a spectacle of herself. Every one of her plans had been conducted in the shadows, regardless of morality. Appearing vain and worthless protected her… Until now. Now, she'd slipped right back into the spotlight. People were bound to talk. Speculate on what she'd done. How they perceived it all was out of her control and she hated it. She picked up her pen, squeezing it between her fingers to calm her anger. Decades of work, wasted.

And then, with those eyes on her – praying for her downfall – she had to play the loving mother. The thought made her skin prickle. Hadn't she been humiliated enough? But it would be a worse embarrassment to neglect her duty and so, she persisted.

She jotted down a few notes in the margin of the page. A reminder to use the blue and white flowers in the centerpieces – Melia's favorites. Then a few ideas for speech topics. Happy memories together, though many of them were tainted. By that… woman. The one who'd stolen everything from her. The one who would be here now, in her place, if not for the inferior Homs bloodline.

Her muscles stiffened. It was true, wasn't it? Sorean wouldn't have asked her to fill this role if Melia's birth mother was still alive. He would have left her to rot in the Tower of Investigation while the rest of Alcamoth celebrated…

"I am glad to find you in here, Yumea."

She suppressed her surprise at the interruption then stood, turning to face her husband. She bowed her head courteously, if only to hide her sour expression. "Yet you did not visit me until now. I suppose you will say you have been busy, correct?"

"That is the truth," Sorean said as he closed the abyss between them, reduced it to a minor gap. "I have been occupied with securing your freedom – an immense task. Or perhaps you wished to remain in your cell? Were the accommodations so to your liking that you've decided to stay? What a shame. I am certain Melia will miss you at her wedding." He whirled around, fully intending to leave, but he allowed himself a slight hesitation.

"She came to see me yesterday," Yumea said, striding forward until she stood at his side. It wasn't true, but she'd say whatever she needed to. Just to make him stay. She rested a hand on his arm, a gentle, barely-there touch, that conflicted with the venom of her voice. Each word poison to his ears, but he couldn't stop listening. "We spoke for some time before the guards forced her to leave."

Silence. He pursed his lips as he considered his next move. Was she lying to him again? Seeking out a negative reaction to feed off of? It was an old game, one that he hadn't expected to continue throughout their relationship. But here he was, analyzing her words, her performative affection, and trying to counter it with his own wit.

Then he sighed. "Did the two of you get on well?"

She tested out every answer in her mind, imagined how he would react to each one. Her response had to be perfect. Any tactical error would cost her the advantage in their looming fight. And she'd had too many losses lately. Despite the bitter thought, she cultivated a warm smile and placed herself squarely in front of her husband, guiding his hands to her hips. His gaze drifted away from her face, flitted across the library to ensure his moment of weakness wouldn't be observed. She strangled the laugh in her throat when she realized even her guards had vanished. So, they had some shame, after all.

"We got on very well," she purred, leaning in. Close enough that she could keep her voice soft and low. The way he liked. "But that is not the answer you desired."

"Do not place the blame on me." His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her dress. "If you did not put yourself in such situations, we would have no need for this conversation. You have always attempted to sabotage her, though I never thought you would stoop so low."

She pressed her hands against his chest as flawless, round teardrops rolled down her cheeks. A trick her mother had taught her. Cry beautifully and you will be irresistible. "My opinion of you was once much higher. Now, you wound me with your accusations…"

"I have never breathed a word against you, my love."

"And what have you said in my defense?" Another silence met her demand, this one longer than the first. Anger and frustration flared within her. The emotions boiled, filled her with a terrible energy. She pounded her open palms against her husband, forcing out the energy in the only way she knew how. The blows thudded dully against his armor. Ineffective. Just for show. And yet, she could only bring herself to stop when her hands began to sting.

"You have no faith in me," she said when she regained her composure. "Speak freely now and tell me that you think I did it. Ask me if I played any part in that dreadful business."

"Did… Did you arrange for my daughter to be assassinated?" The words were hesitant, as if he didn't wish to hear his deepest doubts in the open air. But he had voiced them nonetheless.

Honest tears sneaked out of the corners of her eyes. She didn't try to prevent them, just let them fall and dampen her skin. If she acknowledged the raw emotion, her game would unravel. Her toxic accusations would be left unspoken. She had planned for all of this, wanted to see the pain on his face when she questioned his devotion. But each time she opened her mouth, her voice faltered.

"I love her, Sorean, I swear it. But I love Kallian more."

His expression hardened into a glare and he shoved her away before she could latch on to his armor. She smoothed her skirt, meeting his hostile gaze with one of her own. How dare he treat her that way? In spite of everything, she still wished she could end the encounter lightly, with a kiss. Yet she knew better than to risk it, especially when he'd already laid hands on her. His moods were known to be volatile. Even the deep, slightly poisonous love she felt for him couldn't piece together their brokenness. Though, sometimes, she wondered if that was what she wanted anyway. She loved being miserable with him.

She stalked back to her desk, already trying to push the encounter from her mind. Tallying up the score only to find that she hadn't won. But it was too late for anything more than a piercing remark. Or perhaps it would hurt him worse if she didn't acknowledge his departure at all. Yes, silence. That would have to satisfy her for now.

Before she could return to her seat and resume the dinner planning, Sorean grabbed her shoulder. He spun her around, pulled her to his chest once more. Her breath caught in her throat as he trapped her in a tight embrace. One hand gripping the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" she asked, scanning his face for a hint of what was to come. But he was unreadable as always.

The pressure on her neck eased. The arm around her waist stayed firm, holding her in place. She lifted her chin a little higher. A show of defiance. He could do as he pleased – she'd survived worse – and it wouldn't break her. It would only be a temporary setback, something that would eventually motivate her to finish what she started. She forced the tension out of her muscles. Loosely draping her arms around his shoulders.

"I was wrong to let Fannar's judgement sway my conviction." His lips brushed against her forehead.

Heat rose into her cheeks, coloring them a faint pink. Such a long time had passed since they had shared anything close to intimacy. Now that he was initiating again, she wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't prepared for this.

"Well… I suppose I could forgive you," she said haltingly. Her eyes dropped from his, unable to maintain the contact, and she found herself watching his mouth instead. The corners twitched upward.

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Her heartbeat spiked and the warmth in her face seeped down to her chest. Distantly, she was aware that, perhaps, giving in to him wasn't the wisest decision. She'd practically handed him the power, the control. But her mind raced away from the revelation. All her senses came to life, each touch, taste, sound magnified. It was too much to keep track of her thoughts. She let them go, resigning herself to the moment.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. It wasn't as soft as the last time she'd touched it, more wiry. Another reminder of the years that had passed. And the wrinkles as she caressed his cheek. Had he noticed the same in her? Did he see the lines life had drawn on her, the ones she tried to hide? She pulled away from their kiss, breath heavy.

His eyes studied her as if he thought he'd have to paint her from memory. Part of her wanted to shrink beneath his gaze. Dwindle down to nothing. But the other part recognized the look he was giving her. The same one from so long ago. Her reluctance slipped away, melted by the rising heat of her desire. My flaws still elude him…

Heart stuttering, she connected their lips again. He'd been waiting for her. It was a faint realization, one that she didn't have the time to dwell on. Yet, she still appreciated it. She hummed into their kiss, pressing her body against his.

He walked her backward until her lower back hit the edge of the desk. Without breaking the kiss, he swept her notes to the floor. The pen landed beside the fallen papers. He lifted her, set her on the now empty table, and pushed her skirt up to her thighs. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him. Adrenaline hit her like the headrush of strong wine, exaggerating her senses. The caress of her husband's fingers on her side was a jolt of electricity. She felt alive. As if the centuries were mere minutes and they were young again, their passion a newly birthed inferno rather than dying embers.

Too soon, his lips left hers. If she'd had any breath to spare, she might've complained. Panting, her gaze shifted over his shoulder, to the clock on the wall. There wasn't much time until the rehearsal dinner. Certainly not enough to be satisfied after years of celibacy. And, as oxygen and critical thinking returned to her brain, she wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of being fucked in public like a common whore. The word lingered like a stain. She untangled herself from him, set her palm against his chest as he leaned in to begin their kiss anew.

"No," she said, voice almost too quiet. Her hands trembled as she gripped her skirt, covering herself once more. "Not here."

Sorean stepped away from her the moment she withdrew her consent. The distance – insignificant as it was – made her heart ache. She slid off the desk then crouched to pick up her scattered papers, eyes stinging with tears that couldn't fall. When she straightened, he was still watching her.

"If you have something to say…" She made a vague gesture with her free hand, her tone straining to remain neutral. Like she didn't care.

"Come to my chamber tonight, after the rehearsal."

"And then? Will you have the guards drag me back to my cell once you've finished with me?"

The desire died in the bitterness of her words. Sorean's shoulders sagged, his mouth frowning. He moved as if he wanted to close the gap between them, hold her. But he stayed rooted in place. "Yumea…"

She turned her face away and allowed herself a brief grimace. The pain in his voice… With some effort, she steeled her heart, locked away the emotions swirling within. Another night of imprisonment would ruin her. The stiff cot, the damp walls, the watchful eyes. But the restraints were worse. Her wrists rubbed raw from her struggle against the memories they conjured. She couldn't go back, be at their mercy.

"You will have your freedom until you fulfill your obligations." He paused, calculating. "Beyond that, it is out of my hands. Fannar informed me that you resisted questioning. Perhaps if you were to be more forthcoming, he would not feel the need to detain you."

A heavy silence fell over the pair. Then, Yumea huffed and brushed past her husband, toward the transporter. She had better things to do than beg him to believe her, to understand.

The rehearsal dinner loomed over her, forcing aside her anger, her distress. She'd never met Melia's betrothed. Or, if she had, she didn't pay him much attention at the time. He was Homs, after all. But now, with the wedding on the horizon, perhaps a proper introduction was in order. She smirked as she stepped onto the transporter, ignoring the sound of Sorean's footsteps behind her. Another piece on the chessboard. Best to ensure it was one of hers.