Aline felt indisposed. In fact, she wished to be indisposed, instead of sitting there among the audience in the throne room in the sweltering heat of the summer. Despite herself, she leaned forward, attention rapt, as the convicted was brought in. After weeks of preparation, She'd thought she was mentally ready for this moment, but it was evident she was not. Ever since the letter arrived by horseback, she'd been on edge. Words she could not forget, stating her Uncle's crimes and the price he must pay. Aline fathomed that nothing could ready her for the sight of his gilded hair. Oh so reminiscent of her father in his younger days. Though as she noted, the condemned man's hair hung in dirt-streaked strings across his face. Uncle Lysander. She attempted optimism but failed a miserable wreck. Aline being a born pessimist.

Schooling her face into a mask of indifference, she clenched at the knobs of the armrests as Avila came forth. A resplendent vision in her golden circlet and a gown of crimson velvet and black embroidery. The Queen was a lovely sight to behold. All cornsilk golden hair, ghoulish white skin, and intense green eyes. Avila, considered a great beauty by many, although at the moment she looked a mild touch ill. Though she'd was wont to admit it this left Aline with a hint of fiendish satisfaction.

You mustn't dwell on the things you can't have, she reminded herself drawing her attention back to her Uncle. Who now a hopeless resigned figure kneeling at the feet of his Queen. The nausea intensified and she attempted to swallow the bile creeping up her throat. She couldn't make a scene during such a critical moment when such could affect the meaning of the name of Le Navré.

You must wait a bit longer Aline, and then you can run to the garden. Then you may scream at the birds and blame all your troubles on them. You can scream until your throat is hoarse and your troubles are higher than the birds in the sky. She shakily inhaled and exhaled to the count to six, her hands clenching and flexing as if the motion could shake off the nerves. To no avail would desperation let her go from its tight grip.

A mere month ago, her childhood "friend" (not that Aline would describe Her Majesty in such a fashion), Avila had given the same sentence to another man, The puppet king, the man her uncle was now paying the price for. Aline had refused to attend that ceremony though she imagined it wasn't too far from their current situation. Seeing as both men were condemned to die for the same crime. She could picture the latter kneeling at her feet, like her uncle. In the last few minutes of life, whispering prayers fervently for something - she could not picture what exactly. What did dying men pray for? Mercy? A quick death? Such topics made Aline gag, never who was one for sentimentality. Unfortunately, she found it hard to keep feigning nonchalance in a time such as this. Remember and the dead shall never be forgotten.

This ceremony felt different. Perhaps it was the heat or the undeniable: that the condemned was her dear uncle. Who, try as she might even with artless fervor, she couldn't reconcile this man to such a fate. A man who used to lift her atop his shoulders, would not par with the images of this man in place of the current state. This man who now knelt before the regal figure holding the sword, this man who'd plotted to kill Avila. Queen Avila; and that stupid little royal birthright that had ruined everything. Despite the poncy title and fluff, Aline could not perceive who the Queen thought she was kidding. Little more than a child playing dress-up. Aline's green-eyed envy still bubbled below the surface, even after all these years.

Despite never having been one for politics, she longed for sovereignty. As much if not more than her fourteen-year-old self-desired. Aline's rational snuck back in, declaring, a little begrudgingly, that Avila had not chosen her path. She had not been born into the expectation of sitting on the throne day. It was something Aline could never dream of. Lord Sebastian remained tight-lipped concerning his feelings of his daughter's claim to his name, his land, and his power. Aline prided herself incurably so on her ability to maintain the mounting pressure that was her father's expectation. Well, except the whole marriage thing but Aline would not comment on that diabolic subject. Her entire life she'd been told of the importance of dignity and the complete intolerance of failure and humiliation. And as far as she was concerned, marriage was not in her destiny for all she could help.

How dare she. How dare she humiliate the Le Navré's in such a way, by taking one of their own and stripping them of their dignity to kneel in their own shame. Did she not realize that the Le Navré's did not kneel? Aline's lips curl in disgust as Avila opened her mouth and began speaking amidst reverent silence.

The Queen addressed both the audience, as a collective as well as the prisoner. Announcing her intentions with polar clarity. "Lysander Le Navré, you have been found guilty of treason and attempted regicide before the High Court. You are hereby sentenced to death."

How like a Douleur, Aline mused. Casting aside the blame onto others. Royal pains, all of them.

Avila's outfit was a thing of immense beauty, something one would wear to a ball. Her dress fit a little too well, and that ass, though. Beautiful even in destruction. How could I be so weak, as to think about Avila's ass? Aline would not let Avila's feminine charms overshadow her repulsive actions. She shook her head clearing her thoughts and her disgust returned with a vengeance.

"I have always been taught that the man who passes judgment shall swing the sword," Avila speaks. Her tone soft but affirming to the truth. During this speech, Avila aligned the blade to his neck, ready to strike like some piteous viper. "I conceive of the same mind that this is true for women. Lysander Le Navré, I offer my prayers for your soul." Hefting the blade up, as its wicked edge glistening in the sunlight. "May you rest in peace, Lysander Le Navré." The blade began its downward arc, silver flashing through the air.

♔♔♔♔♔

"When I get home, my father will hear of this. I refuse to sit there and watch my family be insulted." Aline muttered darkly to no one in particular. And in such an atrocious fashion too. As she meanders into the gardens. She would not stand for the injustice Avila had displayed that afternoon. "We do not kneel to heartbreak. Or to anything for that matter," she whispered. Her fingernails leaving imprints in her palms. Her uncle had done nothing wrong. (If you look past the fact that he did attempt to replace Avila with someone. Who would more likely be far more adept at ruling than their current monarch?) But that was beside the point. It was disgraceful to punish him such a way!

The castle gardens were a sight to behold. Full of flowers that Aline could not name and cascades of ivy growing up the castle walls. The Ivy thickly blotted out the meticulously placed stonework of the castle. Fragrances bloomed from every corner weaving across the air currents. Blending into a sweet haze that hung around the nostrils of the inhabitants. The sunset, a myriad of shades of salmon and peach framed each of the four turrets. Each turret, high and mighty, sat overlooking the surrounding cities, towns, and mountains. That is if one was only adventurous enough to climb and see what marvels they held.

Despite the beauty, everything about this place felt ... unnatural. The heat, rough on her skin, her lips cracked as if she'd been wandering in the Déithe desert for days. Once she'd thought of this place as home. Of Laertes as a father and Reyna as a mother, and most of all she'd always thought Avila was her best friend. Forever and ever and ever until the end of time. A promise once made between the two on a moonlit midnight long ago. The thought of it now made her sneer. Now that she knew what Avila was - no more than a parasitoid creature that was intent on eating her from the inside out. Of course, she would start with the most tender spot first.

A cough interrupted her musings and she whipped around. A man was standing there, leaning against the wall looking a trite amused. She did a double take, only moments before she could have sworn that the coast was clear.

"Who the hell are you?" She eyed the intruder. Her gaze finally rested upon his eyes, a mysterious, alluring blue. His skin a tawny, with mahogany-colored hair swept off to the side tousled as if he hadn't bothered to brush it. Not that she cared one bit about his appearance. Did he not care about his reputation at all? And his clothes! Not only did they make him stand out more, but they were fashioned after a design that hadn't been in style in over a decade at court. But the color was quite something. A hideous combination of burnt orange and rust. A part of Aline almost felt bad for this man, but she couldn't bring herself to be sorry.

"You don't remember who I am Lady Aline Le Navré?" His question met with a glare. Good fortune would see that he had the grace to look down at his feet. If only he knew what she was thinking in her head, he wouldn't be so quick to open his mouth. No matter who or what you think you are, we will always see right through it and judge you for your true self. There was no mistaking who this man was, and he wasn't impressing Aline in the slightest.

"No, I don't. Did the queen want a whore?" She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of recognition. She didn't want to encourage him in any way.

"And are you a whore?" His features, contorted in a smirk. Though Aline could tell that despite circumstances that he found himself amused with genuine fervor. "I have come on my own behalf, and not on behalf of our good Queen Avila."

"Good is a matter of opinion. As for me being a whore, well... ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." She gives him a sugary sweet smile. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" She dropped the facade, her lips pursed. "And once you've answered that, I'd thank you to go away."

"I thought I already explained." He laughs and raises an eyebrow, folding his arms. "The name is Elias Mortel, you may have heard of me?" It didn't matter that he was ... oh she didn't know, the most infamous man in all of Fonceamour. Did he think her dim of wit? Everyone knew about how this man had ruined the life of Julia Morien. "The Le Navré's are known for their beauty and I wanted to see if the stories were true. It seems they are." Of course they are, you idiot. He walked over and sat next to her on the stone bench without invitation.

"Why are you sitting next to me? I thought I told you plain and simple to go away." She attempted to scoot away without tearing the edge of her gray dress. For it was made of an expensive blue velvet fabric complete with blue embroidered flowers and a fine woven silver sash.

"I'll let you determine that for yourself." Aline clenched her fists, allowing her fingernails to dig into her palms again. She didn't have time for idiots, and she had more important things on her mind than Elias Mortel.

"You have other motives, what are they?" The words slipped out of her mouth without hesitation. He laughed at her suspicion.

"You seem to be rather suspicious of me, Lady Aline. Have you forgotten that we've met before?" He paused for a moment before continuing in a low voice, more to himself than to Aline. "Well.... How could you remember? That was so long ago." He resumed his natural tone as he continued, "You are a very suspicious woman, Aline. Almost concerningly so." He put his hand on her shoulder. She picked it up and lifted it away from her shoulder, with great care she used her thumb and forefingers like a pair of forceps. She dropping it with pristine movements as if it was some repulsive bug. Eww, he'd actually deigned to touch her without her permission.

"When did I meet you? And Lord Elias, I like to keep my head on my shoulders and not of the ground as some trophy. It doesn't concern you."

You shouldn't even concern yourself with anything within a mile of me, stay away and don't ruin my life. She would continue to fake her ignorance until he might choose to leave her alone. What a riddance that would be. To go in search of someone more enlightening. Not that he would find any better than Aline herself, but there was no need to mention such things.

"It was a long time ago. I was ten and three and you, five years old. My father had some relations with a lady by the name of Daisy. She would have been your..?"

"Aunt," came Aline's curt reply. "Daisy was my father's sister." She finished her sentence with a tone mimicking dripping ice. "You Mortel men don't seem to understand the concept of decency or reputation. You do what you want and you don't bother with the consequences. Now enough small talk. Tell me why you are here."

"Why do you insist that I have hidden motives? Can a man not speak to a woman because it pleases him?" Aline didn't look up from her fingernails. At least they didn't talk back to her, like he was doing at the moment.

"For a supposed gentleman, you're quite an arse. I know what men like you want, they don't merely seek out women for the simple pleasure of conversation. You men are all the same - you're either idiotic or smart asses. You're all so one dimensional." Okay, that might be extreme. But she found most men to be this way, other than her father, who she'd never call one dimension without a death wish.

"You wound me, Lady Aline. But I can't help but wonder which you would classify me as." Have I? Well aren't you just special.

"I'm glad. That was my intention." Elias shook his head at this crazy young lady. "As for your classification, I'd say you're an idiot." Ask me any more question of such a nature, and I will find it a lot harder, to keep this all nice. Shifting in discomfort, and adjusting the neckline of her dress, so that she was showing as little cleavage as possible. I will not be responsible for any ideas given during this interrogation.

"Well, Lady Aline, will you return with me? I have not eaten, and I fear they will begin the festivities without me." He offered an arm which she examined before shoving it away.

"I would but I don't particularly want to be beheaded, like my dear uncle. I like my head a little too much." Whatever that meant she didn't care to regard. All she desired was for him to leave her alone.

"For such a smart girl, you don't seem to use that head very much. Mayhaps it should be lopped off." The suggestion that might have been for mere amusement but it hit Aline in the gut. I could say that same of you Elias Mortel.

"For a person who appears to be intelligent, you are quite idiotic." She hit back. She would not tolerate taunts about her Uncle Lysander. The resentment was settling around her making her more anxious to slap him with every word he spoke.

"You've already called me an idiot twice in less than five minutes, it must be true." You make it sound like something positive. You may think you know your footing, but I assure you, that you don't. You're treading on some loose ground. You better watch out, it would be a shame if you fall to your death.

"Don't pride yourself on it. I don't generally insult people unless I mean it." Why did he have act like this was all some sort of amusement? "I don't have time for this. I have more important things to do than to talk to idiots who used to have creepy fascinations with me."

"I don't know what made you think that, but I can assure you that I don't have any fascinations. You were little more than a little girl when we last met. You're still a maid and so fresh to this world." She raised an eyebrow. Don't act like you know me. You don't and you never will. I don't want to sleep with you. I am not weak, not like Julia Morien.

"Oh please, you are aware that I don't care. This is just the tip of the iceberg."

"Really? Well, I'm very interested in seeing more." She turned and frowned at him before slapping him hard on the cheek. Her face could barely contain the intense anger that she felt. A bruise blossomed on his cheek.

"Watch your tongue. Or my hand might itch to slap you again. I don't like insolence and I don't your attitude. You think you can play games with me? You think wrong. I will not stand being treated in such a fashion. Never underestimate my power. You will leave me alone and never speak of any of this to anyone. You know nothing of about me at all and I'd suggest you keep it that way. Now if you will excuse yourself, you have better places to be."