TW: mentions of self-harm

"Who authorized this?" Kallian demanded from the doorway of the meeting chamber.

The ministers exchanged looks with each other. Some shrunk into their seats or hid their faces behind sheafs of documents. Others met his glare with something akin to resentment. Minister Eirena stood, opening her arms in a pacifying gesture.

"Your Highness, we meant no disrespect," she said. Her gaze swept across the faces of the other ministers. Pleading with them. "In your condition, we believed it would be wiser to allow you rest."

"I have rested enough." His voice took on a softer tone when he addressed Eirena. But as he turned his attention outward, to the rest of the congregation, it grew sharper. "It would be wise not to meet without royal sanction. And on such a special day, when His Majesty is otherwise engaged… Some might consider it treason."

Minister Fannar smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. He made no move to speak or vacate the meeting room. Observing and waiting.

"I tried to warn you," Minister Caul said as he pushed himself to his feet. He had a raspy voice from nearly a century of shouting orders. And the others were loath to ignore it. The other ministers began to rise with him. "Please accept our apologies, Your Highness. It won't happen again."

"Now, wait a moment, Minister," Fannar said, still seated. His eyes shifted to Kallian as the others hesitated. The ones who had moved in the first place. More than half had remained in their chairs. "The prince is here. With his leave, we may continue. Your Highness?"

All eyes turned to Kallian.

"Clear out. Now." He stepped out of the doorway, allowing the ministers to pass through. "We will reconvene in two days. Unless it is an emergency. In which case, please feel free to alert His Majesty."

The ministers filed out, mostly silent. A few offered shaky apologies. Others grumbled about inconvenience. He watched them go, taking note of their respective reactions. When he turned back to the room, only Fannar and Eirena were left. The former glowered at the prince. He drew closer. As close as he could before Kallian's personal guards stepped between the pair.

"His Highness asked you to leave," one of them said.

"And I will humor him. For now." Then he was gone.

Kallian suppressed the shivers that raced down his spine. The ministers could be tricky and he knew he needed to be cautious about throwing his weight around. And yet, he found he had little restraint when it came to Fannar. The man just irritated him. Then he remembered his promise to Melia, the reason he'd discovered this illicit conference.

"One of you, go after Minister Fannar," he said, directed toward his men. Although, calling them his was too much of an overstatement… "I must speak with him before the ceremony."

"Yes, my lord." The guard broke off from the group, retreating in pursuit of the minister before anyone could respond.

With a sigh, Kallian turned to Eirena. The Minister of Health approached him. Slowly, eyeing the remaining soldiers warily. She stopped a respectable distance from him and held out her hands. An invitation. The older guard took it, searched her for weapons. When his search came up empty, he waved for his companion to follow him out of the meeting chamber.

Eirena only spoke when the door was firmly shut. "How are you?"

"Good enough." He couldn't meet her gaze.

"May I?" She gestured toward his wrists.

He nodded and offered his right arm to her. Cool, gentle fingers unwrapped the bandages. She analyzed each cut, murmuring to herself. Then she grabbed his other arm. He resisted by reflex, only relenting when she tugged his arm again. The matching wounds earned the same scrutiny. On his left wrist, the cuts were fresher, the skin still puffy and red. Not as deep as the original ones either. After another minute, she rewrapped both wrists.

"Have you been taking your medicine?" she asked, releasing her hold on him. Her eyes darted between his face and the door. As if she expected someone to interrupt them. She lowered her voice. "Be honest with me."

"I felt so angry. Out of control." He curled his hands into fists to stop himself from fidgeting with his bandages. His lips twisted into something like a smile. But he felt no joy. Perhaps it was a grimace then. "I challenged my sister's fiancé to a duel. And I… I almost hurt her. I refused to take another dose from that moment on."

"How long ago was that?"

"Two days."

Eirena frowned. She pulled out a notepad and scribbled down a few words. "And when did you start self-harming again? The wounds are very recent. I'd say sometime between last night and this morning."

"A few hours ago."

Another note. Another damning piece of evidence against him. It was all an act, wasn't it? So why couldn't he stop? Each slice of the blade had been deliberate. He'd used his own sword – the only sharp thing his guards hadn't taken from him. Maybe they'd assumed he'd have some shame. That he wouldn't defile a family heirloom that way.

She sat down and motioned to the chair beside hers. "Let's talk."

"Does this shirt look alright?" Reyn inspected his reflection in the mirror, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. The blue silk strained around his biceps and fit snuggly everywhere else. But it was the best he could find in Alcamoth on short notice. Merchants up here didn't exactly expect to outfit clientele of his size.

Shulk glanced up from his makeshift worktable where he hunched over Melia's locket. "It's… uh, different." He clicked his pliers absently as he pondered how best to replace the broken hinge. "What was wrong with your other one?"

"Nothing," Reyn mumbled. "I just thought with the wedding and all…"

"Didn't Sharla say we weren't going?"

"I mean, yeah. But why's she the one to decide for everyone?" He frowned at himself then turned away from the mirror. The ticks of the clock sounded like crashing cymbals in the silence. "Not that I don't trust her – cause I do – it just doesn't feel good. Melia and Dunban are our friends. We should be supporting them, not making a bad situation worse. You know?"

This time, Shulk set down his tools and focused his full attention on Reyn. "I don't want to upset anyone. The problem is that our options are opposites."

Reyn crossed the room to hover over Shulk's shoulder. He gripped the back of his friend's chair, leaning over. The locket lay open on the tabletop. It was empty – a thought that made him wonder why Melia'd never filled it. But his curiosity didn't linger. He needed to stay on track. With a groan, he released the chair and stretched before speaking again. Shulk watched him, frowning.

"Kinda got a weird feeling," he said at last. "Like something'll happen if we don't go."

"You're just hungry." Shulk laughed as he picked up his pliers again, tugged on the locket's broken hinge. His lips pursed. "I'm gonna need some heat…" For a moment, he lost himself in his thoughts. Seeking invisible solutions for an issue Reyn didn't completely understand.

"It ain't hunger, I'm sure of it." Although, he could go for some breakfast. Those High Entian sweet rolls were practically calling his name. His mouth watered in anticipation. But he couldn't let Shulk know his thoughts had strayed. If his friend caught on, there was no way his concerns would be taken seriously.

His fears were unfounded. Shulk had yet to surface from his own contemplations. As if on cue, Shulk glanced over his shoulder, noticed Reyn.

"Oh, good, you haven't left yet. Can you grab me something from the kitchens?"

Reyn sighed. Convincing Shulk to abandon his neutrality, his inaction, would be impossible without a logical cause. Gut feelings were just that. Feelings based on nothing more substantial than a gust of wind from the wrong direction. And armies wouldn't move for a spot of bad weather. Which, most of the time, was for the best. But right now, the unease in his stomach grew, spread up to his chest. He itched at his forearm until his skin turned red.

"Sure thing, Shulk."

He left their shared suite without waiting for a response. When Shulk had something on his mind – especially something related to machinery and repairs – not even Fiora could coax him out of it. Reyn would've had better luck getting a kiss from Square-Tache. The thought stung. Just like every other reminder of Colony 9. His stomach twisted and, for once, even the idea of eating became unappealing.

So he elected to steer clear of the kitchen until the nausea passed. No doubt, the smell of food would only worsen the sudden sickness. He wandered aimlessly for several minutes. Captain Ivar's tour of Alcamoth hadn't included the palace, leaving him to lose his way again and again. Not that he sought out anything in particular. A distraction, perhaps. But nothing more specific than that.

Around him, the castle staff buzzed with activity, each one almost panicked. All the wedding planning must've overloaded them. He imagined they had enough on their plates, running a place as big as this.

A small body collided with his. When he looked down, all he could see was a pair of long wings and boot-clad legs sticking out from behind a massive bouquet of flowers. The rest of the High Entia was hidden. He chuckled.

"Need a hand?"

"No. Excuse me." The woman shouldered her way past Reyn and vanished around a corner before his eyes could register any more of her features.

That was weird, he thought. Then he shrugged it off. The High Entia in general were a bit weird. And, again, all the servants had their hands full with the ceremony only a few hours away. He could forgive some rudeness. No big deal. Smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt, he moved on.

After another minute of walking, he found himself standing outside the guards' training hall. The upcoming wedding required increased security around the palace and, as such, few men were left to spar. Reyn wished he could've joined them. Who didn't like to throw a few punches to relieve stress? And, boy, was he stressed! With the attack on his home, the constant weight of chasing down revenge, and now trying to work through their party's infighting… He glanced down at his shirt – the sole barrier between his fists and an unlucky practice dummy. Maybe he could just take it off?

But none of the guards trained without their shirts. Some even wore their full armor. And Sharla might actually kill him if he committed some sort of diplomatic blunder. So, he resigned himself to simply looking on from afar. He stepped over the threshold then leaned against a marble column several yards away from the nearest High Entia. Just close enough to study their techniques.

They possessed an agility that Reyn found impressive in spite of himself. Still, his opinion couldn't be swayed. Brawn was better. In a one on one, he had no doubt he'd defeat the strongest of them.

A crack rang through the hall. The High Entia closest to him had landed a kick so vicious, it had snapped the dummy's support arm clean in half. As if all its padding was nothing more than paper. Now, that's impressive, Reyn thought as he pushed off from the column and approached.

The High Entia didn't even glance at him. By then, he'd launched himself on top of the dummy, raining down punches on its metaphorical gut.

"I, uh, think he's dead enough," Reyn said with a laugh.

At the unfamiliar voice, the guard flinched and looked up. The flush of exertion tinted his face pink – a color that only deepened at the interruption. He rose to his feet, pushing back his sweat-dampened hair. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes.

"You are Her Highness's friend." His gaze dropped to his bruised knuckles. He clasped his hands behind his back then forced a grin. "I hope your stay in Alcamoth has been pleasant."

"I'm Reyn."

The High Entia hesitated. "Kaelin, Ascension Hall d— night guard. Sorry…" Before Reyn could respond, his cool demeanor evaporated and he leapt to fill the silence. "I'm so sorry you had to see me like that. Please don't tell the princess. It won't happen again. Please."

"Whoa, chill. It's fine," Reyn said, smiling in a way he hoped was reassuring. He'd been told he smiled at inappropriate times, made people think he was laughing at them. And, while he did find it funny that Kaelin's physical strength seemed at odds with his personality, it wasn't his intention to make the man feel bad. "You've got power; nothin' to be ashamed of."

Kaelin pressed his lips into a line, holding back an impulsive response. "Thanks." A simple answer, safe. His tone betrayed nothing of his inner monologue. If anything, he'd been too reserved.

Reyn cocked his head to one side, eyebrows knit together. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his stomach rumbled. Loud enough that he was sure everyone in the training hall could hear it. Without the reminder, he might've returned to Shulk emptyhanded. Then they both would've starved, been unprepared for whatever awaited them that day.

"Skipped breakfast?" Kaelin ventured, lips tilted in a faint smirk.

"Guess I forgot," he said, chuckling sheepishly. It wasn't a lie, he told himself. Not entirely. The nausea that had kept him from the kitchens had vanished the moment he entered the training hall. But he'd gotten distracted.

And now that he remembered, he just needed to figure out how to get to the kitchen from here. He hadn't paid much attention during his wandering. Typical…

His confusion must've been written plain across his face. Kaelin's shy smile widened. "I can show you the way. If you'd like."

They walked mostly in silence. As they neared the kitchen, the smell of honey and spice wafted through the air. Kaelin led him right to the door then retreated. He made no excuses, leaving Reyn to wonder. But he hoped the guard was heading home, to sleep. Even he wasn't so thickheaded that he'd overlook obvious signs of exhaustion.

He ate his fill of sweet rolls then wrapped a few extras in a cloth to bring to Shulk.

When he arrived back at their shared suite, his friend still sat at the table. The only real difference was the disassembled ether lamp before him. Somehow, Shulk had managed to rig the machine to produce a flame. Like a candle. Except this one could be manipulated with the turn of a dial.

At the sound of the door shutting, he set aside Melia's locket and turned to face Reyn. His expression brightened as he noticed the wrapped up sweet rolls.

"Oh, good, I'm starving! Thanks, Reyn." He left his chair just long enough to take the bundle from his friend. Biting into the warm, airy bread, he eased himself back down. His work lay forgotten, cast away by his hunger. Or, perhaps, by the chance to satiate said hunger. Before the food came, he doubted he would've stopped. Even the growling of his stomach would've gone unnoticed. "Great timing, by the way. The new hinge just has to set then it's done."

"Nice!" Reyn paused, took a breath. "You gonna give it to her at the wedding?"

Shulk frowned. "I didn't really think about it…"

"I can do it, if you want," he said, leaning against the wall by the door. There wasn't much time until the ceremony. He'd have to leave soon to get a decent seat. "I don't mind."

"Yeah…" Shulk said through a mouthful of his breakfast. "Yeah, maybe it's for the best if you do…" He pivoted in his chair, poked at the locket with a pair of pliers. Upon finding the metal structurally sound once more, he lifted it by its chain. It caught the light from the open flame, golden veins glimmering against the silver. "Here."

Reyn stepped closer to Shulk's chair, held out his hand. The necklace weighed almost nothing. Only the sight of it and the feel of its coldness pooling in his palm signified its presence. Featherlight. He wondered, for an instant, if he should be allowed to touch it. After all, he wasn't known for his gentle hands. He was certainly more likely to destroy the thing than Melia had been. And yet, it had broken under her watch. Not his. He tucked it into the pocket of his trousers.

"You can count on me." A somber note played in the undertones of the sentence. He'd said it a thousand times before – a well-practiced melody. But its new harmony felt sinister. He didn't know what that meant, if anything.

Shulk avoided his eyes and refused to reply.

"I'll… see ya later then."

Melia eased herself down onto the rough stone bench. Before her, a mighty slab rose from the earth like a stalagmite. A name etched deep into the pale granite. At the monument's base, tiny blue flowers grew, relishing in its shade. She'd plucked one once, to adorn her hair as she'd left on her first official quest. It wilted in the noon sun.

Yet, in the shadows, it thrived. She hadn't understood it back then. How could any choose to withdraw from light, from warmth? Or, perhaps 'choose' was the wrong word. It was their nature, as ingrained in their biology as their roots in the soil below. She understood now. All creatures were bound to their roles – the purpose for which their god created them. A dutiful submission, if an ignorant one. She, too, existed to be maneuvered like a puppet, to fulfill a destiny unseen. Every piece of her soul had been crafted just as it should be. She couldn't change. Why should she want to?

There were worse destinies. An animal born for the slaughterhouse. A speck of dirt to make a road, to be trod upon. But if she thought on it for more than a few moments, all her examples started to sound like metaphors.

"I apologize for my absence," she said to keep the realization at bay. Behind her, Catlaina stiffened, but she paid it no mind. "So much has happened since last we spoke. But, I suspect Kallian has told you most of it by now."

She smiled like it hurt. "He's always been a little too proud of me."

The air beneath the Villa's dome was still and quiet. She didn't know what she expected. That her mother would send a breeze to caress her? That she'd hear the laugh she'd been longing for since… that day. Her vision blurred with tears.

"I… I'm marrying today, Mother." She blinked fiercely, until she could see again. "Father arranged it not long ago, but you needn't worry. I'll be fine, like I always am. My betrothed has a good heart and—" A sob broke apart her words. She cut it off immediately, but the damage – whatever that would be – was done.

A hand gripped her shoulder. Catlaina… The guard's eyes were already red rimmed, her cheeks damp. "I'm so sorry."

Melia didn't know what had triggered the apology. Was it for the situation? For her poor behavior earlier that morning? She accepted it with a nod regardless.

When she reined in her wayward emotions, she stood up, turned her back on the memorial. Then she strode around the side of the Villa. She'd delayed long enough. By now, the servants were likely on the verge of panic. They were running out of time to prepare her and none of them had any idea where she'd gone. If she wasn't back soon, someone might send out a search party. The image might have made her laugh had she not been walking so fast. Not quite a jog.

"Melia!"

The sound of her name jolted her out of her head. She glanced around for the source and found Sharla running toward her. With a soft sigh, she waited for the Homs to catch up.

"I've been looking for you since yesterday."

"My apologies. The wedding has been occupying much of my time lately," she replied. By then, she was too close to the Villa's entrance to find another place to speak with Sharla. "Would you mind if we had our chat in my rooms? I've delayed getting ready for long enough."

"Sure, that's fine."

Something about Sharla's voice made Melia think that it wasn't fine. But she didn't try to push for more. Instead, she led the way to her suite. Sharla fell in step with Catlaina somewhere behind her. She could hear the women talking, even laughing. Jealousy pricked at her heart like a dozen needles. Why couldn't she be more like Sharla? Easy to get along with. Confident. Beautiful. And everyone felt safe to let their guards down around her.

She tried to ease her way into their conversation, but thought better of it. If they wanted her in it, they would've addressed her by now. So, she trudged on in silence. She hoped they didn't notice how the envy weighed on her.

When they reached Melia's rooms, Catlaina took up her post beside the front door, leaving the other two to go on without her. Sharla said a quick goodbye as she passed. Melia said nothing. After all the awkwardness between them, the apology, she was reluctant to break their fragile peace. Besides, the maids were already swarming her, demanding to know where she'd been. And complaining about how behind schedule they were.

They ushered Melia into a chair, multiple hands working on her hair and makeup. Sharla grabbed a chair for herself and dragged it in front of Melia. She sat with a small huff.

"Will they be here the whole time?" she asked, shifting in her seat.

"They know better than to gossip." Melia paused as she watched a servant grab some sort of cream from her supplies. "You may speak freely here. I promise."

"Well…" Sharla stared down at her nails and picked at them. Then she slammed both hands down into her lap, turned her eyes back to the princess. What she could see of her, anyway. One of the maids had moved to stand directly between them. "I guess I'm just concerned about the wedding."

"Ah, yes. As Dunban's friend, I suspect you would be," she said. She ducked away from a servant's makeup brush to make eye contact with Sharla. "I understand that it is common to marry for love. To be honest, I have never allowed myself to entertain such a thought. Princesses don't have that right. But you needn't worry about Dunban."

"Actually, I—"

"In a few years, I will take on another consort. Then he will be free to do as he pleases." She straightened, once more allowing the servant to work on her face. Though she told herself it was because she needed to hurry, she knew she only wished to hide her blush from Sharla. "Legally, he will still be my husband. But I grant him leave to live elsewhere, take on a mistress. Be with someone for love, as he deserves."

The thought of sharing her husband made her ill. Even when she scolded herself for the hypocrisy, she couldn't shake the nausea. It was surely just nerves. As the ceremony crept closer and closer… Yes, that had to be it. And she refused to think any more of it.

Sharla didn't say anything. Melia considered leaning over to look at her again but, ultimately, stayed still. The last thing she wanted was to make her servants cross with her. Like Catlaina had been…

"He only wants this because of what your father promised him," she said at last. Her tone wasn't unkind but there was an edge to it. "Thought you should know."

That unpleasantness in her stomach strengthened. It twisted tighter, rose into her throat. She swallowed sharply. Why? Why did her body react this way? She closed her eyes at the request of her makeup artist. The darkness was better. It soothed her anxiety, tempered the heat of her emotions. She counted the taps of the brush on her eyelid. One, two, three… Then she allowed herself a response.

"Whatever it is, he is welcome to it." Her body shuddered involuntarily. "He should be rewarded for his sacrifice." She didn't mean to spit out the final word. But it had happened and she couldn't pretend that Sharla hadn't noticed.

"Melia…"

"I don't want your pity," she whispered, scarcely maintaining her composure. Her fingernails bit into her palms hard to hold back the deluge of emotion. "I am happy to serve my people in any way they require. And my father could have chosen a worse suitor. Much worse…"

Sharla sighed. "If you're okay with it, I guess I am too."

"I'll be fine."

Dunban stood by the altar, shoulders tight. The weight of the guests' gazes was almost too much to bear. They thought he looked ridiculous in the traditional robes of the High Entia. Well, Reyn did, at least. His friend sat as close to the front as he'd been allowed, wearing a lopsided grin. Heat flooded his face. He told himself it was just the swathes of heavy fabric draped over him. Such extravagant dress tended to ignore the wearer's basic needs in favor of displaying their wealth. It was hot and he could scarcely move and—

The thought cut off without much conscious effort. Just a few hours of suffering. That's all he had to manage then he could carry on as he always had. Except, all the barriers keeping him from revenge would melt away. For a blessed minute, the claustrophobic feeling lifted.

Soon, Fiora. I promise.

His lips pressed into a thin smile. An expression that he knew wouldn't reach his eyes. But from such a distance, who would know? Certainly not the emperor. He angled himself towards Sorean's table, observing. Sorean sat tall, impassive, with Yumea's hand clasped in his fist. Any tighter and he might've broken her fingers. The First Consort sipped on her water as if she didn't notice. There would be no repeat of last night's scandal, that much was clear. She'd be on a tight leash for the whole ceremony.

Then there was Kallian. The prince rested his elbows atop the table, head in hands. Did he regret the terms of their duel? Dunban couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered. There was nothing either of them could do to stop this. Unless he gave up on finding Fiora's killer.

No. Never. Some things were more important than morals, than personal happiness. He had to see it through. And once he reduced Metal Face to scrap, he'd fix his friendship with Melia. Confront the consequences.

"The princess is coming!" Minister Asdis's shrill voice rose above the din of the audience

Silence. Reyn turned in his seat to have a better look at the corridor from which Melia would emerge. But for once, Dunban couldn't fault him. Almost every other guest had done the same. His heart froze in his chest. If this was it – the start of the ceremony – then… Melia had succeeded. No wonder Kallian looked so resigned. Losing faith in one's own sanity did that to a person.

But that was a problem for another time.

Soft music hummed through the Great Hall. A single musician tapped the strings of her instrument with crystalline mallets. An instrument he'd never seen before. It rested on a stand so that it reached waist height. On its own, the wooden box would scarcely reach to the musician's knee.

Then Melia stepped into his line of sight and all other thoughts were forgotten. The heart that had once stilled now beat so harshly, it pained him. He sucked in a breath.

Shimmering blue paint sprawled over every inch of her exposed skin. He traced the lines as she approached the altar. Midnight vines curled around her fingers, wrists, arms. Over her collarbones, up her neck. Then they raced down, twirling across her breasts before disappearing beneath the dress's neckline. He tore his eyes away.

She stopped in front of the altar and accepted her prayer candle from the officiant. The elder passed one to Dunban. His fingers clenched around it a little too tightly. He met Melia's neutral gaze, doing his best to ignore the blue whorls that framed her face, tempted him to— A brief smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. So brief that, by the time he'd glanced down to her lips, it was already gone. Replaced by a firm line. Had he imagined it?

The officiant conjured a small flame, hovering at the end of his fingertip. He lit Dunban's candle then nodded.

Vows. He had to remember the vows. Which would've been easier if he hadn't only learned them last night. Or if they were in a language he could understand. Unfortunately, the High Entia's ancestral tongue hadn't been passed along to the Homs colonies. He'd lost count of the times he'd spoken the words. The repetition at the rehearsal and his continued practice as he was dressed for the wedding. He swore he knew what to say. He just… His cheeks flushed. Shit.

Melia tilted her candle forward, lighting her wick with the fire from his. The music stuttered then quickly resumed. She ignored the growing unease around them, offered him a genuine smile. One that created faint smudges in her makeup. And she spoke.

As soon as the words left her mouth, he remembered them. He joined her without hesitation, pronouncing each syllable as fluently as he could. She gave a slight nod, though her smile faltered. Even the faintest approval flooded his body with a pleasant warmth. So unlike the oppressive heat of his robes.

Then it was over. Dunban clamped his mouth shut just after the last word left it. Magic raced through his veins like a rush of adrenaline. The feeling only strengthened as the officiant concluded the ceremony. He'd felt it before, when Melia had saved him from falling to his death. But that wind had been gentle somehow, easing his panicked heart. This was a new sensation. Power, optimism… finality. Perhaps he should've asked what he'd promised.

They made their way to the emperor's table and sat in their designated seats – Melia to his right, Kallian to his left. A servant brought him a water glass, which he accepted gratefully. The cool liquid eased the heat within him.

"Congratulations," Kallian said, voice low, inaudible to anyone else around them.

Dunban frowned. Under normal circumstances, he might've grinned or thanked the well-wisher. But everything that had happened in Alcamoth so far wasn't normal. Not for him, anyway. He gulped down more water, delaying the inevitable. How was he meant to reply? It wasn't a happy occasion for either of them and Kallian knew it.

"You've won," the prince continued. "No need to look so sour."

"That's how you view this then?" The words came out sharper than he'd intended, fueled by the twinge of guilt in his stomach. Louder too.

Melia turned from her conversation with her father and raised an eyebrow. Her eyes flicked from Dunban to her brother, narrowing at the latter. Then a smile stretched over her lips. Purely formal. As if she suspected some hostile force watched her every move. "If you find this arrangement so disagreeable, Kallian, I must ask you to bring all future grievances to me. In a more private setting." She shifted in her chair, addressed Dunban. "Whatever he said, I am certain he meant well. Please don't take offense."

"I was only joking," Kallian said quickly, cheeks reddening.

"Of course," Dunban replied. In his mind, the response was for Melia but, upon reflection, it was ambiguous enough to fit either statement. He'd already moved on to the next issue. The one that had been nagging him since he'd noticed the prince's attendance. Despite claiming a clear victory in their duel, Kallian's interference persisted. He only hoped it wouldn't become a real problem.

Yumea stood before the conversation could progress any further. She glided up to the altar and an expectant silence fell over the audience. Dunban adjusted his chair to face her. This would be the traditional speech, then. For a Homs wedding, the friends of the bride and groom shared memories long gone and hopes for the couple's future. He couldn't help the hint of bitterness in his mouth as he wondered what she'd say. Between her apparent disdain for Homs and her attempt on Melia's life… His nails dug into his palm and the thought slipped away.

"Esteemed guests, on behalf of my family, I thank you for your continued support." She paused to gauge their reactions. A few murmurs buzzed through the stagnant air. "I extend my sincere appreciation to Minister Asdis of Records for her aid in planning this ceremony. And what a lovely ceremony it was, albeit an unconventional one."

Someone offered a couple hesitant claps. The First Consort fixed the unfortunate soul with a withering glare before carrying on. Dunban resisted the urge to look over his shoulder; he already knew exactly who'd interrupted.

"Before we proceed with our festivities – pray, forgive my sentimentality – allow me to honor my daughter," she said, angling herself toward Melia. The princess tensed. But, if Yumea realized what her words had done, she ignored it. "You, dear one, were born in the late days of autumn. Much like those final leaves that cling to their branches, you possess a resilience to be admired. Hardship does not deter you. In fact, I have found that adversity brings out your best qualities. The ones that prove to all that you will be a worthy empress."

Melia relaxed a fraction. Dunban longed to reach for her, offer up what comfort he could. He couldn't imagine what she was feeling. If it were him, he would, at the very least, feel conflicted. On his other side, Kallian fidgeted. The prince popped his knuckles, eyes darting around the Great Hall. Never really settling in one place.

"And yet, when I learned of your impending marriage, it filled me with dread." The music stopped again, this time for good. "Capable though you may be, you are still young. Younger than I was when I became a bride. Upon meeting your betrothed, however, I—"

Yumea cut herself off with a scream. She staggered away from the altar, whirling around to face the musician. The stringed instrument lay on the floor nearby, broken open.

A dagger's hilt protruded from Yumea's back.

The crowd gasped, shrieked. Sounds that only amplified as guards stepped out of rank and launched their attack on those nearest them. Several guests joined in, leaping out of strategically placed seats. Dunban tried to take in everything all at once, made his head spin. All the movement… Like churning waves in a restless sea of people and blood.

Guards closed around the injured Yumea. Another unit broke off to protect Sorean. Kallian had already disappeared. And Melia stayed seated, staring at nothing, face blank.

Dunban fumbled with the buttons and ties on his robe. He could lose a few layers without being indecent – not that propriety was at the forefront of his mind right then. The clothes weighed him down too much to be of any use in the fight. And worse, he was unarmed. He needed to shed the robes, find a weapon. Fast.

Come on… The button slipped from his grasp, leaving him to try again. Then again.

His dexterity following his experience with the Monado had been a point of pride for him. It had taken a year to train his left hand to be as skilled as his right had been. A long, winding road of recovery that he still walked. But all his progress meant nothing if he was thwarted by a damn button now.

Melia rose, a spirit from her grave. Stony expression intact, she helped him undress until all that remained were a loose undershirt and leggings.

"Your Highness!" Catlaina emerged from a tangle of bodies, parrying blades that gleamed in the etherlight. "You must come with me. Both of you."

Her voice mingled with the clashes of metal, the wails of the injured. Distorting her words. They shouldn't have been able to hear her over the mess. But Melia didn't hesitate, didn't ask her guard to repeat. She shook her head, either as a response to Catlaina's orders or as a way of clearing away the fog of shock. Unceremoniously, she yanked up her skirt and retrieved a long knife from a scabbard strapped to her thigh.

"Here." She passed the weapon to Dunban then turned to Catlaina. "I will not run. Not this time. Watch out for me or stand aside."

Without waiting for an answer, she forced her way into the chaos, blasting jets of water at the traitors. Dunban exchanged a look with Catlaina. They both charged in after her, each poised to cut down whoever necessary. The tang of blood hung in the air. And sweat. Too many bodies writhed in place as the innocents swarmed the exits. He didn't know if they would be pursued. It depended on the persistence of the enemy, their ultimate goal. He jammed his dagger into someone's throat. Their face didn't even register in his mind. His muscles simply reacted. It was an enemy; that was all that mattered.

Catlaina dodged around a fallen table, breaths heavy, face pale. At times, she paused to take stock of her surroundings or engage in battle. Usually, a single slice of her sword was enough to subdue the enemy. Dunban aided her as he could. But with so much happening around them – dozens of skirmishes and pleading voices and the constant scanning for Melia… Where is she?

"Shit!"

His heart froze at the pained cry. It almost sounded like her. But… but it wasn't. He turned in time to see Catlaina stumble away from her attacker. Blood seeped through the fingers clutched at her side. The wound did little to discourage her. Sword in her free hand, she swung at the head of the enemy's lance. It severed with one stroke. Even so, Dunban jumped in. He kicked the traitor in the stomach, put enough space between them to think. The man doubled over. And, before he could recover, the crowd swallowed him up.

Dunban grasped Catlaina's wrist, guiding her a short distance away from the fighting. By then, reinforcements from the barracks had arrived. It wouldn't be long now. Unless they were all traitors too. He forced the thought aside and rooted himself in the present. Catlaina needed him.

"Don't worry about me," she choked out. "Find the princess."

"And leave you to bleed out? She'd never forgive me." He cut the straps of her breastplate, pulled it away from her body. Despite his warning, she struggled against him as if he was the one who'd hurt her.

The lightweight metal clanged as it hit the tiles. She gave up her fight, lowering herself to the floor beside her armor and leaning back. Her fingers trembled as she pulled up her undershirt. In such a position, the wound was obvious. A shallow stab, a lucky shot, situated near her right hip. It had managed to slip under her breastplate and—

With her skin bared, the prominent curve of her stomach could no longer be hidden.

"You're… you're pregnant," he said, unable to tear his eyes away. Then he remembered her wound. Urgent, his fingers ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt. It was the best he could do for now. Just staunch the blood flow until she could seek an actual healer.

"Don't tell Her Highness. Please…"

"I won't," he agreed. It was better to appease her for now. No reason to cause her undue stress. He pressed the cloth into her side a bit too hard and she gritted her teeth.

Around them, the conflict died down, brought under control by the flood of off-duty guards. Dunban stood to get a better view of the damage. Broken glass littered the floor beside tipped-over tables. Along with several bodies. Friend or foe, he couldn't tell. He recognized none of their faces. The selfish part of him felt relieved. His friends were alright when others had died. He caught a glimpse of Melia with a small band of healers, aiding them with the wounded. And Reyn appeared from a side hall, trailed by Kallian and a dozen guests. Including some of the ministers. He spotted Dunban and jogged over.

"They didn't let me bring in my weapon so I… I did what I could." Reyn looked down at his boots as though ashamed. His silky blue shirt had been ripped in several places. But that seemed to be the fault of a poor fit and exertion rather than a blade.

"You were right to evacuate the ministers and the prince," Dunban assured. "Losing any one of them could throw their government into chaos. That was likely our enemy's aim." He glanced back to Catlaina. The woman rose slowly, leaned against the wall. One hand kept the bloody cloth tight against her wound. Her other one held her breastplate like a shield. "She needs a healer."

"Got it."

When Reyn was gone, Dunban returned to Catlaina's side. "You'll have help soon."

"Thank you," she said with a slight wheeze. "Have you seen the princess? Is she…?"

"She's safe."

Before they could speak any further, one of the healers arrived. He gave Dunban a cursory examination than guided Catlaina away. Somewhere more private, upon her request. Leaving Dunban alone. He paced the Great Hall, checking in with guests and the remaining guards before returning to the emperor's table.

Though, of course, Sorean was no longer there so it was a bit of a misnomer now. He fetched the robe he'd worn for the ceremony and wrapped it around his shoulders. With the threat neutralized, most High Entia would be less forgiving of his state of undress. And still, even after everything, he didn't want to embarrass Melia. He righted an overturned chair and sat down, mind turning over the details. An attack right under their noses. How could they have missed it?

He felt her presence before he saw her, the way the air moved as she sat in the chair next to him. A second passed before he turned to face her. His reflexes dulled from battle. Even such a short one… Maybe it was time to—

"Our weddings don't usually… end like that," she said, voice faltering toward the end as if she'd only realized how foolish the statement was halfway through.

Her hair had fallen out of its intricate coils. Blood stained her white dress and several of the beads were missing from the bodice. For a moment, he wished he'd paid less attention to her body paint during the ceremony. The dress had likely been more expensive than anything he owned in Colony 9 and now it was ruined. He should have appreciated it more when he had the chance. It was a stupid thing to concern himself with, all things considered. All he needed to focus on was his own failure. If only he'd been more vigilant. If only he hadn't let the wedding proceed…

"Are you alright?"

"No injuries, thankfully. And you?"

Melia hesitated, fingers tracing the scar across her throat. "I'm fine but… troubled." She leaned closer to him, spoke softer. "Many of the attackers were from our own Imperial Guard. The death tally is low so it stands to reason that the ones responsible escaped." Her eyes met Dunban's, darkened by uncertainty. "Catlaina is missing."

"She's with a healer," he said with a weak smile. But Melia didn't return the expression. "It wasn't too severe. I'm sure she'll be…"

He trailed off. His planned sentence was a lie. I'm sure she'll be back to her duties soon. Unlikely. The healer would no doubt discover her pregnancy and report it to whoever scheduled the royal family's guard. It was a liability, even if she wasn't very far along. Between four and five months, if he had to guess. Although, considering his knowledge of High Entian pregnancies, his estimation wasn't a reliable one.

"What I mean is… Who can we trust now? Any of the guards who didn't act – or didn't act enough – they could be in on this. Perhaps they planned for a second attack, in case the first failed."

"Are their numbers really so great that they could split their forces?"

"It's possible," she said, rubbing at the smeared paint along her arms. As soon as she noticed her fidgeting, she stopped and sat up straighter. Put distance between herself and Dunban. "In any case, there is much to be done. Determining who among the guard can be trusted should be our top priority."

He nodded along with her words, though had no suggestions of his own. Not yet, anyway. A quiet space and some time might change that. He needed to think, to see what transpired from every possible angle. And, above all that, he needed to wear his own clothes again. Then he could make himself useful.

"Dunban…" She wasn't looking at him. Instead, her eyes focused on the floor beneath her feet, studying as though the tiles held the answer she so desperately needed. Then her gaze snapped up, still not quite meeting his. "There is something else I must ask of you."