***Cal***

Nier barely processed any of what happened between him and Princess Marigold before collapsing on the bed, sleeping through the rest of the night and the following daylight.

The Princess continued to deliver our meals, though her demeanor had changed completely. She suddenly became bored and impatient, wanting nothing to do with me once the food was in my hands. Curiously enough, it didn’t seem as if she went through with the threat of reporting anything to Queen Eliza, which is doubtless why the dinner is going over so smoothly.

Nier’s initial lack of tact with the Princess was due to physical and emotional fatigue - he can be quite charming when he wants to be. Some rest and immersion in a formal setting is all it took to remember his mask of social etiquette, lessons that had been instilled in him as soon as he could speak.

The Princess is playing along as well. Dropping the saccharine sweetness and the blithe boredom, she displays the right amount of interest at the appropriate times, oiling the conversation without dominating it. It’s a dull affair, nothing Nier hasn’t had to sit through a hundred times before, but dull means safe. And for safety, a bit of boredom is a small price to pay.

A large window with satin curtains pulled back reveals the freshly darkened night sky. We’re dining just after sunset, later than the Arthronians are accustomed to, and earlier than we are. It’s a fair compromise for both parties.

“Wine,” Queen Eliza states, tilting her goblet. Her green, feline eyes stay fastened on Nier as dark amber liquid spills into the cup and is brought to her lips in one fluid motion. “Take some time to explore the castle, now that you are feeling better. It must be uncomfortable, being in a small room for many days. The D’haravat castle is very big, I hear.”

The Queen’s words are fluid as her mannerisms, but slow. Her vocabulary is also much simpler than I’d believe someone of her status would employ. It’s clear that she’s putting in effort to make communicating with a non-native as painless as possible. It’s basic decency, but I still find myself relieved. I had half expected her to confront Nier’s poor Arthronian with verbose, complicated prose, then lean back and smirk while he struggled to comprehend her condescension.

“Yes. It is very big,” replies Nier. “But I am very comfortable in the provided room. However, yes, it would be nice to see more now that I feel well.”

“Wonderful,” the Queen replies. “My daughter will take you on a tour tonight. She is excited to show off Arthronian hospitality.”

Nier nods at Marigold politely. “Thank you. I am sorry for saying no two nights before. I was very tired. But it does not excuse that.”

“Of course,” she says, smiling forgivingly. “Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries.”

More wine is poured. I tap Near’s foot under the table. He is not the most eloquent of drinkers.

“If I am allowed to question - where is King Stephan?” he asks, deliberately taking a large sip.

His absence is something I had analyzed myself, contemplating whether or not it was a slight - especially with how the Queen conducted herself at our initial meeting. At this point his absence had turned from a potential slight to a curiosity.

“He is feeling unwell and needs to rest until he feels better. ” the Queen replies, swirling the wine in her goblet soundlessly. “Much like that one.”

I feel the weight of her gaze but don’t reciprocate it, instead taking a drink of my water. The courtesy that the Queen has shown to Nier has not been extended to me. My safest bet would be to stay unnoticed.

“Are you feeling better, bastard? That was quite the stunt you pulled. It gave my daughter and I quite the fright,” Queen Eliza says, her light, airy tone taking on a sudden sharpness. She won’t simplify her Arthronian for me, I know that much. I put my water down and look her in the eye.

“Thank you for your concern, but I am fine, Your Grace.”

“So it happens often, then? You collapsing in a bloody mess on expensive rugs?”

“Not often, but more often than I would like.”

“Nothing infectious, is it?” she asks, placing a protective hand on Princess’s Marigold’s head.

“No. It is a condition I was born with,” I lie.

“How morbid,” the Queen replies, gently petting her daughter’s hair. Nothing in the Princess’s expression changes, but she almost imperceptibly, instinctively leans into her mother’s touch. “How long, then?”

“Sixteen years, Your Grace,” I remind her.

“No, bastard girl, you already told me that,” the Queen replies. “I was asking how long until you die.”

Even her daughter stiffens.

“Not for a long time,” Nier replies politely, his expression blank. “A very long time.”

“One can only hope,” the Queen says airily, removing her hand from her daughter’s head, evaluating the atmosphere, almost boredly. Then she smiles. “Oh, lighten up. I was jesting. A sense of humor is as healthy as a glass of wine in the evening, you know. It takes the edge off reality.”

“How right you are, Mother,” Princess Marigold agrees. A yawn escapes from her lips and she places the tips of her fingers against her lips, embarrassed. “Forgive me - I am feeling unusually tired.”

“You’ve been delivering the Prince’s meals, have you not?” the Queen says. “Oh, I’ve heard about that. A very dedicated little princess, you are, sacrificing your beauty sleep for hospitality. I understand where you’re coming from, but none of that now that they’ve made themselves comfortable. You’re a princess - behave like one.” She turns to Nier with a smile full of charm and grace. “Are you fine with a servant delivering your food? Or have you been spoiled by my silly daughter?”

“This is fine,” Nier replies.

“Oh, of course, Mother,” Princess Marigold says, Suddenly her lids dip with a rush of drowsiness. “I would very much like to show them around before I go to bed, though. I hardly think I can sleep until I do!”

Perhaps Princess Marigold is attempting to defuse the situation by stealing us away from her Mother. And I’m not the only one sharp enough to pick up her subtle dissent.

Queen Eliza shifts her head to stare at her daughter, and in that moment, she slips. The slight movement seems to require so much energy that her motherly facade cracks, revealing a look that I had often been on the receiving end of, revealing her emerald green eyes for what they really are - swirling voids of empty, ugly antipathy for the young girl sitting next to her.

“I see. Run along then,” she says, her lips turning upwards in an pretense of a smile.

The princess nods gratefully, completely unaware that her mother does not love her.