It came as a surprise that Solomon was aware that she really hadn't eaten much. Why? It was a question she couldn’t help asking herself for that moment she was paused, glancing at his back since she had stepped a bit away. Her fingers ran against the smooth tile counter as she looked down again at his suggestion to take advantage of her ability to order what food she wanted. And normally, she was one to take advantage of the small things she could get, such as finding safety in Solomon’s room and being able to read his books. But food...

For some reason food was something that she mentally could not seem to bypass. She would take as much as was necessary, no more. The idea of ordering anything because it sounded good seemed so foreign to her. Though the answer to her question why quickly came as the prince pointed out that he did not want Josef becoming angry. Except perhaps Solomon had never realized that his brothers were not as concerned about her weight and how much she ate. Josef was the best, but he would order food to her room and if one of the other brothers got there first... well, she would have to forget about it. The only reason she was at a healthy enough weight was Solomon.

“I will be sure to have something tonight,” she offered quietly before the room fell back into silence. The woman kept a small eye on him while shifting her attention to the extravagance of the room that she had seen many times now. Still, there was always something new to discover or one could easily get lost in all the patterns that decorated the different surfaces. Zeph simply enjoyed it as a small distraction until the prince began shifting and moving to exit, her attention lifting to watch him and make sure he was alright.

He managed splendidly considering and it continued to fuel her hope that he would be recovering soon. At his request to change, Zephyra nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. While he was changing, what was sure to be a struggle and long process, she moved to his bed, smoothing out all the covers and simply doing her best to make it as comfortable as possible. Which there really wasn’t much to do other than fluff the few pillows and spread the sheet out evenly, knowing full well he would curl into it and tangle himself in the center.

As the door opened, the woman moved towards it, though kept a distance for him. She immediately noticed that he had not finished drying himself, but at least he had managed to change into clean pants, no doubt a relief for the man she had discovered liked to be meticulous about his cleanliness. An Imona trait. Her head twisted some to glance into the bathroom, only catching a glimpse of the wet mess he had left behind, his words a little too late to keep her from already making the decision to clean up the moment that she got the chance to, though she wouldn’t for the moment. At least not until he was settled and dozing.

However, he one moment of deciding when she would clean up was the fateful moment Solomon slipped. She caught the movement just too late and instinctively reached out despite being too far to do anything anyway. That and chances were it was good that she wasn’t close enough as touching the man never proved to be something he reacted well too. He seemed to catch himself and for a second she believed all had turned out alright. Until she saw the blood drip from his hand and hazel eyes darted towards the edge of the display case, the crimson stain testifying that it was the culprit.

Not that she even had time to fully comprehend as there was a knock on the door, causing her to jolt slightly at the unexpected noise. Glancing between man and door, seeing that he was moving to his bed, she made her way to answer the door, opening it only a small crack. Seeing it was the food and medicine, she offered a soft thanks and took it from the servant, pulling the tray into the room and using her foot to lightly close the door. Walking to the table by the sofa, she placed it all down before looking over at the prince with concern.

Moving to the bathroom, she walked carefully to avoid slipping on the trail of water Solomon had left behind him. Not that almost didn’t once in the bathroom her foot starting to slide before catching on the rug. With a soft sigh, she grabbed the glass of water and grabbed a few rags. It would not be enough and it wasn’t all that she wanted, but it would do for her first trip. With her small collection, she made her way back to his bed, laying the water glass on his nightstand and the small stack of cloths.

Returning to the bathroom, she grabbed a basin and filled it with some water before pausing, looking at the cabinets. Did she dare? Zephyra glanced out the doorway to the bed before taking a soft breath and reaching out to open them, scanning for some kind of gauze or bandages. To her relief, she quickly found a roll of some bandaging material and collected it, taking the basin with her as she made her way back to the prince once more. Her concern for his hand overran her concern that he would not appreciate any more help.

Easing onto the edge of the bed, she dipped the cloth into the cool water before ringing it out and gingerly reaching to take his hand. Instinctively she was already tensed though, prepared for some kind of lashing out. “Let me wrap your hand for you m’lord... so you don’t not stain your sheets too much.”

Solomon did reach out for the glass of water she offered him, as he typically did at this point, downing it in one swallow and setting it back on the nightstand. The trip back from the bathroom had left him rather parched, given as movement tended to sap what little strength he had left. Solomon sighed, falling back against his pillow as his hair fell onto his forehead, clinging to his darker skin with its dampness. He was glad it hadn’t grown long enough to fall into his eyes. It seemed like a very small thing to be worried about, but his emotions were unpredictable at that point.

His eyes followed her as she went into the bathroom and his hand was clutched to his chest as he laid on his back. He assumed she had decided to clean up the puddles after all. In all honesty, the man was aware he had made quite the mess but hadn’t wanted her to clean it up for him. He didn’t like the way he was prone to making messes in this state and the fact she followed him around like a child cleaning them up. It only added salt to his wounded pride. With a grunt, Solomon rolled over and grasped the sheets with his free hand, back to the sofa she currently called home.

But instead of returning to her own space, she instead decided to invade his. His eyes had shut, but he felt the bed dip as she sat on its edge, clearly coming over to help. No doubt with his hand. As if on instinct, he clutched it closer to his chest. It wasn’t really bleeding, yet the inside of his fist was sure to be coated in red as he held it tightly, trying to stem the flow. He didn’t want help. She knew he didn’t want help. So why did she continue to insist?! How many times did Solomon need to remind her that her presence was unwanted and that all he wished was to be left alone?

Apparently, more than what he had already done and heavens had that man tried. Granted, he could’ve tried much harder, but he had quickly found he didn’t care for scaring her. She might have been in his space, but he didn’t like to see her afraid. Specifically, afraid of things he’d said and of the repercussions if he actually followed through with his threats. It reminded him of the night he’d saved her from Heinrey’s wrath. He would never admit it, but he still remembered how she’d sobbed and the way her slender arms squeezed his torso as she held him in a vice grip from behind. They were all things he would never admit had affected him.

Of course, his eyes cracked open to address her, but they stayed narrowed to slits in an irritated glare. He could sense her discomfort despite her offer, for as antisocial as he was, he could read body language well. Such were the benefits of life as a soldier. Yet, something about it did confuse him. Why did she continue to force herself into his space if it brought her additional stress? The way she reached out was with hesitance, clearly prepared for what had become usual snarling outbursts, even if he hadn’t resulted to physical means. Unless the one time when he furiously swatted her hand away a day or two ago counted.

As he analyzed her, his face slackened from its irritated look into a blank one and his gaze found hers in what was probably the least-judgemental look he had offered her so far. It was thoughtful, as the man was searching for the answers to his questions. The behaviors she had that he simply didn’t understand in his mind where everything was so cut and dry, where kindness and empathy of any kind were things he simply couldn’t comprehend. Perhaps there had been a time when he had understood them, but that time was long gone. It was far away and buried, never to be uncovered.

And it was in those moments where he held her gaze searching for answers, that a calloused, scarred hand the color of deep caramel unfurled and revealed a palm whose center coated in red. If the cut was on her hand, it would’ve been considered a large one, even if it was shallow. Solomon’s hand dwarfed the cut, making the slice look minuscule on his palm. He rested it in the hand she had offered him, facing up, and without a word. That moment would be yet another secret he would have to keep. His movement had been slow, but completely unintentional.

He had just been vulnerable.

Blinking in a manner that could best be described as confused, Solomon finally looked away with a soft sigh, instead looking through into a wardrobe, where a set of armor peered through behind the glass that was set into the wood of the doors. “You are… persistent.” Solomon commented softly, the “r”s in his words rolling. It caused him to frown. He hated when that happened and it was yet another thing he blamed on the sickness when really, it was how he spoke without effort. “Even though there is no benefit you receive or promise of reward.”

There was a brief pause and he glanced at her again, but their eyes only met for a short period before he returned to staring through the glass. Except this time, he watched his reflection. “You continue even though I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about me, the things people say about the conqueror with dark skin, who wears a uniform that’s the color of the blood he has shed. As much as my brothers may assume, I am aware you are not a fool. Nowhere in this world would a woman who was raised in business of the military and could do the paperwork of general as if she were one herself not know who I am.” His words were not arrogant, but truthful. He had a reputation.

“My infamy precedes me as the Red Dragon of Concorba. Not even your average civilian could escape the train of whispers and gossip that come about with my name….” He could not count the things he’d heard spread about him over the years, even if they did not affect him. If anything, they made others fear him more. “Yet Heinrey is the one you fear the most.” There was no judgment. It was merely a statement. “You fear the one who is skinny and whose height is the only large thing about him. He may not be weak, but it is clear he has spent his life inside a palace with nothing better to do than lounge.”

“But you poke and prod with a rag at the decorated general whose room is filled with weapons. You invade my space yet you know I could snap and cause more damage than all of my brother’s combined ever could.” His words may not have been meant to threaten, but they were true. Heinrey may have been aggressive, but Solomon was even more lethal. He was lethal in the way that his anger was often quiet, whereas Heinrey’s was loud. Oftentimes, you never knew of the general’s fury until it was far too late.

“I may be ill now, but you know that if I am angry enough there could be consequences following my recovery, but you brush past it.” It was clear that this was something he had thought about a lot. It had been something on his mind since the beginning, but for some reason, he had chosen now to speak of it. There didn’t seem to be a lot of rhyme nor reason when it came to Solomon. “I understand that this is like a break to you, but never once did you need to try and convince me to take my medicine or care for me in general. In fact, I would have preferred it.”

Oh yes, she had to have been quite aware by then that he wanted to be left alone. That things could have been easier if she’d just sat on the couch per usual and left the tray of medicine and food on his nightstand whenever it came. “But no, you choose to fight with me. You choose to pester and push me to anger. I would have assumed you found pleasure in that, but you clearly don’t.” He was tired and the groan that suddenly escaped him signified that the headache was returning, a sign the medicine was wearing off, “At this point… all I can assume is that you have a very awful sense of self-preservation…”

The look offered her was his usual irritated look except, this time, it seemed to die for some reason. There was a moment where they were just staring at each other, neither really understanding the other, searching for answers. But her attention quickly shifted to the hand that had been offered her. No snarls or glares... just extended out and placed in her own hand so she could tend to slice across his palm. Even as she dabbed the cool wet cloth to it though, she could see how his own hand made hers look small, and her small hand made the cut look so much bigger.

Zephyra paused at his words before continuing to gently clean the blood away from his hand. For the briefest second she lifted her gaze to look at him, eyes meeting before both looked away again. She tried to give her full attention to his care, but she was somewhat distracted by his words, and how many there were. She was unaccustomed to how much he was saying and he personal it was in contrast to the few awkward conversations they held in the past.

Yes, she knew who he was. Perhaps the first day she had been too overwhelmed to realize exactly who he was, but she quickly made the connection. Even where she was from, especially in a family connected to the military, the woman had heard much about the feared general and had heard many rumors of his gruesome nature in battle. And yet it was true, she feared the younger brother more. The younger brother no one outside the walls really talked about, smaller in comparison but to her so much scarier because had proved himself to be. Solomon... he was different.

She could hear the questions behind his observations. Or at least she thought she heard questions as she moved to wrap his hand carefully, trying to make it as comfortable as one could considering he did have a nice slit across his hand now. But her mind was more focused on his words, on the fact that he was pointing out that he didn’t seem to understand why she was helping him when she knew it could lead to harm, when she was aware that he could have her killed or do terrible things to her.

When he finished, the woman gently laid his hand down but didn’t move, searching for her response. “I know self-preservation well m’lord, too well I am afraid. If I didn’t....” she trailed from that line of talking and looked away, eyeing everything around except the man himself. “But you are right to say that I have insisted to help when I know you do not want it. And I cannot truthfully say it is for fear of Josef being angry if I did not. It’s... complicated to explain m’lord. It is not something I have ever had to put into words, or that any others have ever noticed.”

There was a pause before she finally dared to look into his direction again. “Before I came here I was a different person that I am now, but you are already aware of this. This is all I have left...” Her hand rested gently over her heart. “It is all I have left of myself and my father. I was taught to be gentle and merciful, and it is in my nature to want to do my best to help. I know pain m’lord. And fear... and I cannot stand to see others like that as well, not when I have the chance to help.”

Zephyra released a soft breath, fingers pushing at the strands in her face again as hazel eyes searched her lap. “I know your reputation well too. I am aware of what you are capable of and the power you hold compared to how others would see your brother. But unlike you, he is unstable and has neither rhyme or reason. He can ask for one thing one moment, and become furious for it the next. He is rough and brazen... though I am sure you are aware of this. You m’lord are logical and your fury, when received, is well-earned. And perhaps I am wrong, but all I have to trust are my observations.”

One more she dared to glance towards him, “You are the only one to treat me with even a portion of respect, as though I too am human. Though I know I am beneath you... and I am grateful for your mercy towards my behavior of late in effort to help.” Her thoughts seemed to falter for a moment, as though she thought of something. “A while ago m’lord you said you met...” she stopped midsentence and looked away, clearly having changed her mind as she rose quietly.

“I will get you another glass of water m’lord.”

Solomon listened intently as she spoke, head-turning back to face her, though he still avoided her eyes. Although their gazes did not meet he was focused rather intently on her words and his blank look remained. No judgment, no irritation, just a faint thoughtfulness at the most. The man resisted a frown as her answers did not seem to satisfy his internal questions. He had not asked her anything, therefore he could not expect anything. Still, even as she had only spoken a few sentences, she was leaving his mind with more inquiries that his mouth refused to speak.

His gaze followed the hand that moved to her chest, her paler palm resting over the very thing he had called weak. The very thing he still considered weak. Yet now her so-called “weakness” served him, implored her to help the man even as he spat venom at her as if he were the incarnation of a viper. Again, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel, so per usual, he shoved it all away. Instead, he found himself focused on the mention of her father, which cause him some discomfort. Solomon tended to avoid speaking of Bercasitt, only because it was his armies that had slaughtered her father and brought her there. It had not been his decision, but it still fell on his shoulders.

Pain… she said she knew pain. His eyes flashed but he did not interrupt her. Solomon knew there was no denying that, but of course, he shoved the intrusive thoughts away as they came, falling back on his age-old defense mechanism of packing away any emotion that might seep through. But this time the man was not allowed any time to collect his thoughts. Never once had he expected for her to be grateful. Solomon knew her words were truthful because they had come without his inciting and she had chosen those phrases consciously.

So the prince, who was harder than stone in both body and mind, struggled as something forbidden and foreign tugged at his heart and gave him a different kind of nausea. It was something he never dared pinpoint, but it always left him feeling like something was… wrong. As if despite the fact he spent a better portion of their time considering her an annoyance, he also knew, that somewhere, no doubt buried deep within barbs and hidden behind locks, that there was something gravely wrong. That there was a reason some of her statements brought him a dark feeling that could best be described as dread.

But as a man whose morals had long gone gray and the art of suppressing any and all emotions was a talent he had mastered, he somehow managed to ignore them. Although every system has its flaws, including Solomon’s. For whenever she came to his room, there was never a moment when there was a small, nagging feeling at the back of his mind that things weren’t okay. He could never, ever speak of it, as it was a threat to his very existence. Because every moment that hidden part of his conscious clawed at his carefully crafted walls there was a chance that it would break free and scream.

Her falter gave him just enough time to take reign of his thoughts once again and finally notice that his hand had been given back to him. When… when had she finished? Solomon flexed his fingers, a little shocked that he had been that absorbed in the conversation. “The bandaging is appreciated, even if the cut was rather… minuscule.” Solomon was grateful the cut had not been too deep, he already had enough scars to carry. He didn’t need another from something as foolish as slipping on the tile.

His eyes darted back up to hers as she addressed him, but she ended up cutting herself off in the middle of her question. He could best assume she was talking about her father… the man Brom had killed. Solomon could still remember the earful he had given the colonel for going rogue… His brow furrowed somewhat as she didn’t finish her question. “You will quite literally tear my sheets off of me and attempt to trick me into taking medicine, but a question is what finally makes you falter?” Solomon asked, though he didn’t truly expect an answer.

A soft huff escaped him and it was probably the closest thing he’d had to a laugh since he was a child. “You are… different, Zephyra. Odd. Not proving to be very easy to pinpoint.” Solomon commented, finally drawing his hand back under the covers and curling tightly into a ball, as he usually did. Of course, a pillow was pulled against his chest, something he had discovered was rather comfortable the first day when she had stolen the sheet from him. “But, if there are answers you seek, then you must be brave enough to ask the question, or live without knowing.”

She had started for the bathroom with the glass when he spoke, the woman pausing to listen to his words. But a question makes you falter. Yes... a question. Zephyra made no response at first, and the prince continued speaking. He called her different and ood, but hadn’t that always been the case for how he saw her? He had never really cared for her, which was fine with her because she had seen what caring in the palace meant, and she did not like it. But she had to deal with it nonetheless, and she was just grateful that Solomon tolerated her enough to let her find some safety in his room. But he was still one of them.

“It is not so much a question of bravery,” Zeph spoke softly, glancing back at him for a moment. “But a question that I am not yet sure that I am ready to know.” Even putting it that way wasn’t completely true, but she wasn’t sure how else to word it at the moment. Instead, she quietly filled the glass once more and brought it back to him, laying it on the nightstand as she collected the other materials she had used to help mend his hand.

It was as she was in the bathroom, putting things away that she paused and glanced at herself in the mirror. The look on her face when she actually registered that she was staring at herself was one of pure pain. At first, she had avoided mirrors when she arrived, and had since only briefly used them to make sure she looked perfect for the brothers. She never actually looked at... herself. She was always looking for the character she was supposed to play. But this time it was her, because she didn’t act with Solomon, at least she was as real as what was left of her.

There was silence that reigned in that time, the woman quickly looking away, refocusing on what she was doing. The question plagued her now, one she had wondered from the first Solomon had said anything and yet she never had the heart to ask it. Mainly because she just wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear a story that her father hadn’t told her himself, one that would be new and an insight into the man who had raised her and she had loved with her entire being. One she never got to grieve for or say goodbye to... one who would be sick if he knew...

But, Zephyra composed herself quickly, a skill that had become instrumental to her very existence. Exiting, she made her way to the tray and took a small plate from it that had a few crackers and grabbed the medicine mug. She returned to his side with her chosen items in hand. Placing both down next to the water cup, she spoke softly, “I am sure the medicine is already wearing off, if not completely gone by now. The crackers should sit well even with your nausea, and they will help if you decide to take the medicine.”

This time she didn’t move to sit at the edge of the bed, instead focusing on everything she now had to clean up. The bathroom itself could wait, but the blood could not be pushed off much longer. And she decided. She decided to ask because her back would be to him and she could focus on the task she was set to do, so perhaps it wouldn’t be as hard. That, and she wanted the chance to hear about her father, and it seemed Solomon was in the mood to talk, and there was not surety of when such an opportunity would come again.

Finding a clean rag and a bottle of some kind of cleaning solution, she moved to where blood had been smeared and dripped, starting to clean. “You said you met my father in battle once. He never told me about it, I wasn’t even aware it happened. I would like to know about it, if you do not mind m’lord.” Her back was to him when she spoke, her words close to trailing at the end. Did she really want to know what happened that day? Did she really even want to know when it happened? When the two renowned generals met face to face and both came home alive?

Yes... she did.

For a while, there was nothing. There was no talking, nor was there really any sound besides the quiet movements the woman made. Her hesitance regarding the question had been made clear, though again, there was no judgment. That morning he had been far more open to well, anything. It was a change that was most likely temporary, as Solomon would probably become his usual gruff, unfriendly self soon enough, but at the moment his environment was both different and isolated. Zephyra was his only interaction and he had no one besides her during that time. It would have been reasonable to assume she was the reason for this odd change.

Solomon glanced up at her as she brought a few things over, giving her a faint nod as she offered the things to him. He was about to reach for the water and simply ignore the crackers, but his stomach clenched, once again demanding food despite being unsettled. He sighed and forced himself to sit up, knowing he was less likely to vomit that way. If he was going to attempt to eat, he was going to do it in a way that had the least chances of expelling food. Granted, the crackers didn’t look particularly appealing, but the prince had eaten worse out on the field and he knew something bland would be less likely to send him hurling. It was worth a try to escape the constant pangs of hunger.

The man hesitantly reached for one and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. It was just about flavorless, but to Solomon, those moments of actually being able to actually chew on something with the hope of a satisfied stomach was heaven. It was pitiful really, but soon the first one was swallowed and chased down with some water, which brought him to eat a second. It didn’t make him feel much better healthwise, but it was incredibly pleasing to be able to eat. Solomon may not have been free from his nausea yet, as he was unsure if his insides would roil, but at least for the time being he was okay.

It was when Solomon was about halfway through the plate of his dry, somewhat stale journey that Zephyra spoke again, this time allowing her curiosity to get the better of her. She busied herself with cleaning the blood he had left from cutting his hand while he busied himself with finding the answer. The duel between him and the opposing general. To the prince, it had not meant much. It was just another time he had fought against a country’s elite. Despite Solomon’s lack of feeling in general, he could understand what it meant to her. It was a piece, however small, left of someone she had lost.

Solomon was quiet for a moment, sipping from his glass of water before setting it down so his hands could rest in his lap. “There are a lot of things said about me. Rumors and such, as I mentioned before.” He began, his voice soft, though loud enough that it carried to her, “And although most of them are true, that I will admit, not all are correct. In this case, I speak of the one where I am “known to kill every man I come across in battle”. I will not lie and say most of my enemies do not lie dead, but I never killed just to kill.”

His eyes drifted to his swords, which sat atop the war table, tucked in their sheaths. They hadn’t been touched since before he’d fallen ill. But even from that distance, Solomon could still see the gems that gleamed in the handle, his gaze falling on the one farthest from the hilt. It had been his newest addition, a Bercasitt amber. “I had not wanted your father to die. In fact, I ordered against it. My colonel went rogue and took his life during an attack he had orchestrated. Unfortunately, I could not execute a man for technically “serving” the empire. My father didn't approve of that.”

Brom had nearly been ripped apart once Solomon had discovered what he had done. The colonel had worn quite a few bruises, but his life and rank had been spared simply because his wrongdoing hadn’t been considered great enough. “I respected your father’s tactics and believed he would be an excellent asset, especially since we in Concorba know little about having an excellent navy. Bercasitt was known for the power it held in its naval fleets. Not to mention his wisdom as an older general would have been priceless.” That man’s death was something Solomon considered a great loss.

Especially since it had been unnecessary and they certainly needed a man of Tambrolin’s expertise now, when naval power was something they would heavily rely on for the Eastern Isles. “I suppose he probably hated me, which was understandable. I was taking his home.” Solomon commented, running a hand through his hair almost awkwardly, “We had recently gained the upper hand and were advancing quickly. The battle couldn’t have lasted more than a few hours, but it was certainly bloody.” They had emerged victorious that day, but the losses had certainly been heavy.

“I was injured,” One look at his body and one could tell he was no stranger to injury. He was a man covered in too many scars to count, “and I was beginning to fatigue. We met towards the end when victory was in sight. Generals who are older men, yet still in their prime, are ones to fear. Your father was one of them. But my near-decade of experience was still more than most at my age, so my ground was held well and I had youth on my side.” The fight had been one to remember. It was one of the few times the general had to exercise his skills completely.

“But my condition… one of my wounds was already infected. I was able to see it where my uniform was torn.” A palm came to rest towards the bottom of his torso, where a scar sat with the others, “I needed to see a medic, yet I knew I couldn’t just escape. No general in his right mind would let the enemy go, not when his side was winning. Killing me would have crippled my armies, perhaps even enough for Bercasitt to turn the tables, yet that wasn’t what happened. I shouldn’t have survived if things had gone as they were meant to in war, but I did”

Now, fingers moved to his arm, where yet another scar laid, but it was larger than most, allowing it to stand out. “I managed to escape that battle with a single scar. Just one.” The blow had been a painful one, but he knew it could have been much, much worse, “And that was because I was allowed to live. Your father managed to fell me and get so far as to point his blade to my throat, but that was it. He called a retreat while I was on the ground and left me there.” Those moments had been humiliating for Solomon, while he was sprawled on the ground clutching the arm that could no longer hold a sword and with nothing left to do but glare at his opponent.

Even with the sting of defeat, he had won the battle and survived to fight again. “I will never know why he chose to spare me. In the end, it brought him no benefit.” Solomon was sure the man regretted letting him live, because why wouldn’t he? His country had been seized as had his only daughter. “I suppose his reasons were not mine to know. I could never understand giving up such an opportunity to hurt the enemy, but his retreat saved my life and brought my empire a victory, so I never wondered beyond the surface level.” Solomon explained, reaching over for his glass once more, “But as his daughter, perhaps you can figure them out for yourself, for this is only my side of the story.”

I never killed just to kill.

For some reason, those words both did and did not surprise her. Zephyra had heard the rumors so many times, and the way he was renowned has seemed to support that. And yet, deep down, he seemed to have some twisted set of rules he guided himself by, and so far, she had found him to be logical as she had told him herself. But the woman kept herself busied with cleaning, making sure she got every speck of blood of as completely as possible, one ear always listening to what Solomon had to say. Needing to know.

Her movements faltered for a moment when the prince said he had ordered against her father being killed. Then again, she wasn’t surprised when he said his colonel had gone rouge... was Solomon aware of just how rouge the man was? Perhaps so, and perhaps not, but Zeph knew the man he talked about. The man who had been sure to flaunt in her face that he was the one to take her father... Zephyra stopped the line of thinking. Because she didn’t want to remember the graphic tale Brom had told her of her father’s death, one she had tried to forget.

The woman went back to work almost instantly, listening to Solomon instead of the voice in her head. She had known by asking she was re-opening a lot of memories, but she hoped, somewhere in her heart, that knowing this new story would give her some kind of comfort or answers. Anything to keep fueling her hope. And the compliments offered did cause the softest of smiles to come to her lips as she oved to cleaning the blood off the floor. Yes, her father was an intelligent man, and he did also have a well-rounded knowledge of the navy and their fleets.

At the mention of her father hating him, Zeph said nothing, but she knew better. Her father was slow to hate, and had taught her to be the same. He was angry, she could not remember the number of times she saw him frustrated over the state of affairs with the war, but he had studied the officials of Concorba and their techniques. He was a wise man that respected the brilliance of his enemy and worked to counteract what they did... he learned from them, from Solomon. It was a strange connection to realize, that long before she had been taken, her life had somehow been connected to this foreign prince.

Her thoughts did not go farther as Solomon continued, and now she was simply recleaning the same area over and over, the spots gone and yet she could not make herself move. She didn’t want to look at him, and she didn’t want him to see her, and the emotions that raged with the story he told. Not when he was telling the story of her father... not General Tambrolin... he was telling a story about Damascus, the man with a heart and enough mercy to have saved the world if he could.

Zephyra was no longer even scrubbing, only sitting on her knees, staring at the floorboards as the words were spoken. Her father and struck down The Red Dragon, had his blade to his throat... and had left him alive. She knew why. “He wanted nothing more than to get his men safely home. He cared for every single soldier there, and he was not one to kill if not necessary. No doubt with you felled, he knew there would be safety in you being tended to, and if you were unable to fight, he was not one to kill a man who could no longer hold his own.” Her voice was quiet as she spoke, knowing her father well enough to be able to conclude with some confidence, though her voice wavered nonetheless. “He did everything for a reason...”

She still wasn’t moving from her spot for a moment, trying to reabsorb the whole story again before finally easing to her feet, collecting the items and returning to the bathroom. She still did not look at Solomon, did not see his face, just made her way to the bathroom to put the items away and gaze at the mess left there for her to clean up. It really wasn’t that bad and for the time being, opted with throwing a towel on the wet floor to let it soak it all up. She tarried for a moment, before coming out again, glancing at the ground as she started for the sofa, her safe haven.

“I can tell you m’lord, he did not hate you. It was not his nature. He respected you and the others, for what you did, your intelligence, and your strategy. He studied it often.” The woman eased onto the couch and pulled her legs up in her customary fashion, back to the prince as she stared away. “He did not die a death becoming him... but I suppose most don’t. He always used to tell me if he didn’t come home, he’d go with honor. He didn’t even get that.” Her eyes squeezed shut, suddenly wishing she had never brought it up after all.

But Zephyra did not break, nor did she offer a tear, just fought the waves of pain and emotion in silence, slowly rallying herself. It was necessary now. She could not allow herself to feel so much, not these days, and not here. Lifting her head, she finally glanced towards Solomon, eyes dry, but hazel orbs unable to hide the pain that still lingered in them. “I am grateful he spared your life, m’lord.” There was no doubting the genuine tone in her words. Again, there was no attachment of any kind, just the realization that she could have still found herself in the palace, and without Solomon she had no doubt that by this point, she could very well have been worn close to death, if not dead.

As it was, she dreaded the day he returned to war, leaving her to the mercy of his brothers.

Solomon had noted that she had stopped in her cleaning endeavors as he spoke. He knew this conversation may not have been an easy one to have considering her father was now dead, murdered by one of the prince’s closest allies. He could never understand how she was now feeling or how she had felt in the past. All Solomon could do was tell her of the only time he had met the man she once cherished and hope the answer was suitable. The story was not a great one nor was it particularly memorable, but he supposed it could mean more to her than even him.

He listened with intrigue as she explained her father’s thinking, leaving the general to assume the pair had been rather close in their mindsets. It seemed she inherited plenty of her father’s personality, though Solomon couldn’t know for sure, nor would he ever. For the general was dead and his daughter was a prisoner within his home. But even with her reasoning, he couldn’t understand the deceased general’s decision. To him, it didn’t make sense, especially if he was on the losing side of the war with a key playing card at the end of his sword.

But there was some sadness as the woman moved on, instead mentioning the general’s death. Even now, Solomon was unsure of the details of how her father died, as he had been much too busy screaming at his colonel for insubordination. And her feelings were even more evident as she looked in his direction, hurting in ways the general could never comprehend, nor would he want to. Solomon had never expected her to say she was glad her father didn’t take his life, but he knew that he should have expected it. She was extremely kind above all else.

Yet… “I would not say that, Zephyra.” Solomon refuted quietly, eyes travelling down into his lap, “If your father had ended my life that day, the pendulum of battle could have swung, and he could have won with his men. There is a chance he could have lived and that today, you would be at home rather than here.” His admission was a hesitant one, though it was true. Although his men could survive without him, his death would have been an unexpected and heavy blow, which could have given Bercasitt the win they desired.

Although Zephyra’s father still could have been killed, there was a good enough chance that in the event of Solomon’s death, she would have never been touched. Because as it was, the story went that she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even with his rather insensitive admission to her, Solomon did have something he could still offer her, though it wasn’t much. “Your father may not have died what most would consider an “honorable death”, but I wouldn’t say he didn’t die with honor. He served his country and did the best he could...”

Solomon stared at the bandages that covered his hands. “It may not have been enough, but I would say he still died a man of honor. He kept his morality and was respected, you seem to love him and I’m sure your family is the same. Just because his death was not “becoming of him”, doesn’t mean he didn’t die with honor. It was unfortunate, but no matter how he died, I’m sure there is a legacy to be remembered in Bercasitt. History may twist things, but I’m sure your people will remember the parts of him that were good.” Solomon conluded, toying with the bandages that now covered his hand.

She knew he had a point, but the woman tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter what had happened or how the events had gone, that she would have somehow wound up here. For a woman who tried to be logical, there were some things that she did not want to think through in an intelligent fashion, and this was one of them. Because at the end of the day, it was more tolerable if one believed this was going to happen no matter what, than knowing that all the events had been against them in one unfortunate occurrence that if any one thing in a myriad of options had been different, it never would have come to pass.

Hazel eyes shifted back to staring at her hands before she wrapped her arms back around her legs and placed her chin on her knees, looking away. It was in small gestures such as those that one could see that the young female was barely out of her childhood, that she was still just that, young. Young and in the time she was meant to blossom as a woman, and had started in nature, before she was taken. Twenty-three and her life was already over.

Solomon’s admission about her father caused her to look up again, glancing in his direction. She had not expected the prince to offer such words of comfort, reminding her that no matter in what fashion he died, there was still honor because he did it for his own country. And she did take heart in knowing that her people would remember him for that, and chances were, no one would ever know the humiliation he faced in his last moments. Only a few would know... Brom, herself, and perhaps a few others who were now dead or of Brom’s soldier.

“He will be remembered by many,” Zephyra acknowledged softly, leaning into the back of the soft cushions as her eyes closed. “The men under his command respected and loved him, as did his family. He had many friends who have mourned his loss I am sure.” Even the prince of her home had known the family, a kind man pleased with Damascus’s work, and as a surprise and a treat, her father had brought the entire family to the royal palace there, though it really did dim in comparison to the great monolith she now resided.

But the saddest part was knowing her mother still lived... with her husband dead and knowing her daughter was either dead or taken prisoner. Candance was a lovely woman, and Zeph took some comfort in knowing that she was finding comfort with her parents no doubt, assuming her grandfather was well. The last she knew was he had gotten sick, the reason her mother had left. The reason her mother was safe and she was not. Because she had stayed... stayed to say goodbye to her father and she had never even gotten that chance.

“You will want to take your medicine, m’lord,” she said gently, shifting the conversation back away from where she had turned it. Or rather, just ending it as she reached for the book she had left on the table, eyeing the tray full of food. Without another word, she quietly took the plate, well aware now that Solomon was paying attention to whether or not she ate. And she realized how hungry she really was, slowly making her way through the plate before settling down with the book until the prince would need her assistance again.

One Week Later…

Ryia

It was safe to say that Ryia’s days were perhaps the most boring of any princess. For a child who had the world beneath her feet, she spent her days holed up in her room, praying that Vivianna wouldn’t miss their lunchtime plans again. She had plenty of toys and books, things to occupy herself on the days she was left alone. Her brothers came to her here and there to take her out of the room that was more like an elegant prison than anything, but their visits had become scarcer over the past few months for reasons unknown to her, which only left her alone for long periods of time.

But Ryia’s own thoughts weren’t ever so dull, as she was a child as joyful as any. She would have any item she requested and could eat as many meals as she so pleased. There was nothing really to ask for, but she found herself… lonely. She didn’t have Ascalo as Cyrus did, or Solomon and his “soldier friends”. She had Vivianna, but she was busy, so much so that she would fall asleep in her younger sister's room while visiting. Of course, the little one didn’t mind, as it meant more time with her sibling, even if she wasn’t awake any longer.

It was a known fact that the little girl had a far deeper attachment to Vivianna than even her mother. Although young, her elder sister had done all but give birth to her. Handling a large chunk of her infant care as Callista could not, it was only expected that her elder sister would be her mother figure in every form but the title. As for her father, Ryia was afraid of him. He had never liked her… It was one of the reasons she clung to Solomon whenever he was home. He was big. He was safe. He treated her like she was worth double her weight in gold and was the greatest gift the heavens had ever given him.

Even with Solomon being her “favorite”, Vivianna was home. She was the one who would clean up after her after she got sick in the middle of the night and comfort her after a bad nightmare. The one who would sing just for her even though she hated her singing voice and would make silly faces just to hear her giggle. Yes, her other brothers would play along and entertain her, but none other than her elder sister would raid the barracks for a suit of armor and a staff just so she could play the villain in a game. Only Vivianna would and Ryia loved her with every ounce of her small being.

That being said, she didn’t see her sister as much nowadays, or any of her siblings for that matter, but she was still grateful for the time they spent together. After all, seeing them here and there instead of not at all was better, right? Her positivity was certainly one of her best qualities, as she seemed to find the good in just about everything. Not to mention she was a rather quick learner, but then again, you had to be to survive in the Imona palace. Even at her young age, she was more proficient at sneaking around than grown men. To her, it was normal. To anyone else, they might understand that there was more going on beneath the surface.

But now, the youngest Imona stood in front of a mirror, running her fingers through her hair. Well, sort of. Her hair was far too curly to really run her fingers through, as they would just get caught or create frizz. Even so, Ryia was still nothing short of adorable, with thick pitch-colored curls that bobbed just above her shoulders. Her eyes were doe-like and a deep brown, with skin that was a healthy tan in color. Just like the rest of her siblings, she was a part of the matching set.

Ryia hadn’t seen her older sister in quite a few days and was going to seek her out. She knew she wasn’t necessarily supposed to since her sister was always busy helping Josef, but what would it hurt to see if she was in her room? Or if she could take a break? Ryia just wanted someone to talk to. The servants that dropped off her meals could never stick around and play, nor would Aveline talk to her either. Ryia knew she had plenty to do… but she wanted to talk. So it was with that plan in mind the young girl slipped from her room in search of the one sister who she hoped would take her in.

Ryia was so close to reaching her destination when the click of a lock echoed quietly in the hallways, causing her to freeze. Was it from Heinrey’s room? It was on that side of the hallway… She didn’t know, but that enough was to strike terror in her heart, as Heinrey was one of the few things that scared her. Made her feel unsafe. It may not have been him, but she didn’t want to find out. The young princess whipped around and ran, searching for the safety of her room before she could be caught. If it happened to be Heinrey… there would be bad things.

Except before she could successfully flee, a figure suddenly appeared in her path, causing her slide then stumble to a stop, narrowly preventing a collision by a few centimeters. Immediately, Ryia’s hands raised in what was a combination of a surrender and an effort to protect herself, eyes squeezing shut as she feared the worst. “I’m sorry!” Ryia blurted, expecting an earful, “I know I’m supposed to stay in my room, I just wanted to see…Vivianna...” She trailed off as her eyes cracked open and caught sight of the hem of a skirt, which meant this certainly wasn’t Heinrey.

Her hands fell as her eyes traveled upwards, confused. As soon as her dark eyes found the woman’s face, there was a sigh that was far too relieved for a child who was only seven. Once that wave of relief washed over her, there was the realization of who she was standing in front of. “It’s you…” Ryia commented softly. She had seen the woman briefly, but never for long enough to get a good look at her, “You’re the one whose staying in Luther’s room, aren’t you?” The question was more of a rhetorical one, as she knew what she was talking about.

“Oh no...” Ryia suddenly remembered, a small hand coming to run over her face before playing with a stray curl, “I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t be bugging you… Viv says you don’t need anyone bugging you.” There was some sadness in her voice as she spoke her sister's name, because now that she had been caught, she would have to go back to her room. And that meant no Vivianna or anyone for that matter. It just meant… silence. It meant silence and more time wondering if one of her siblings would come to visit, even if just for a little bit.