Misunderstandings (3)

As a member of House Eosin and as the ruler of Vezda, the idea of taking a lover had never once occurred to her. Well, maybe it had occurred to her, but it was not something Talia would have ever seriously considered.

Besides casting a shadow over the moral character and reputation of House Eosin, to do such would be to invite doubt and rumor-mongering over the line of succession.

In fact, Talia had, for the longest time, never seriously considered marriage at all. She had narrowly avoided an arranged marriage as a child but assumed that eventually, she would end up in another arrangement as it would be the best way to aide her family and country.

However, upon Ora's death, she had become the last surviving member of House Eosin, and it was suddenly imperative that she continue the line.

There were few kings or princes willing to ally themselves with a country as poor and besieged as Vezda, and so, she had been certain that Sir Aron was the best choice.

The people of Vezda loved and admired him. He was still very handsome and had always been kind to her. He had served Vezda and the House of Eosin well. And though she would have never admitted it to Oleg or Ora, she had retained something of a childhood crush on him over the years. That he loved Ora still was something she thought might one day be overcome.

That was her plan before she signed the Treaty of Fronov. She had traded the idea of marriage in for an honorable death and based her decision on what would best serve her people.

Now, she lived in a perpetual state of limbo, not able to die honorably, not able to rule Vezda or continue her line, not even knowing what her position in the world was.

Talia stopped before she reached the stairway. The room she had left was at the far end of a small, cramped hallway lined by doors. The stairs probably led down to a common area, and she was wearing no shoes. She could not go down, but she also did not want to go back and face the Prince after what had happened.

If he was confused by her actions, she was even more so. She wanted him to touch her, but she also didn't want him to touch her. She wanted him to speak to her, but she never liked what he said. She wanted to be near him and away from him at the same time.

And then of all things, to go and ramble on about things like 'love' and 'feelings' and 'vulnerable', and whatever other nonsense had fallen out of her mouth-- it was no wonder that he had been shocked and horrified. He probably thought she was mad!

Men like Prince Mikhail didn't love. He looked at her as all men in Unaria looked at Vezdan women-- as objects of lust, as loose women who were easy to bed. She had been momentarily blinded by the heroic image she'd conjured of him. He'd come after her when she was taken, fought for her, carried her across the frozen plains to the village, and tended to her as she'd recovered. He'd saved her life, and so, perhaps her response was understandable.

Talia paced the short dark hallway restlessly. Her heart had suffered Sir Aron's polite rejection only recently. She had also lost her entire family in the span of a few years and was now separated from even her friends and countrymen. It was entirely understandable that she would seek some sort of bond-- that she desired the sort of trust and affection that came from intimate companionship.

She had wanted this so badly in her current state that she had imagined a bond that wasn't there.

Prince Mikhail surely desired her, but it wasn't the sort of desire that came from love or respect. His reaction to words like 'marriage' and 'love' was proof enough of that. His feeling was one of lust and not romantic in nature at all, and this... this wasn't acceptable. Surely, she had not fallen so far and become so desperate for connection that she would settle for such a demeaning thing.

Talia glanced down and realized that she still held his dagger in her hand. What had he meant by handing her a knife and placing it against his chest? Was that the only kind of vulnerability he understood? Was he really so thick?

The door to their room opened and Prince Mikhail stepped out fully dressed. Talia slid the dagger into the side pocket of her skirt.

"I seem to have forgotten my..." she began.

"Your boots," he finished, and stepped out leaving the door open. "We should leave. I'll settle the bill while you..."

"Very good," she muttered, not meeting his eye.

The mood was incredibly awkward between them. He had excused himself to go downstairs, but he continued to stand in the hallway before her. Although she could not bring herself to look up at him, she knew that he was watching her.

"Excuse me," she said coldly and brushed past him into the room.

"Princess, I..."

Talia shut the door before he could finish his thought. She found her boots beside the bed and slipped them on. The thought of another day spent riding in the carriage with him was a torment. She really did need air.

She threw her cloak about her shoulders and left the room. Downstairs, she found a large common room. There was a desk with stacks of ledgers and no one sitting behind it, a few chairs and benches and a large fireplace with a roaring fire. Prince Mikhail was nowhere to be found.

She went outside to look for the carriage and immediately heard a familiar voice.

It couldn't be!

Talia ducked down and ran to crouch behind a nearby supply wagon. She peered out from the side and saw a person she never thought she'd lay eyes on again. Ilya stood in the street speaking with their driver!

Just how deep did his conspiracy run? How many of Prince Mikhail's men were involved, and where was Prince Mikhail? Perhaps he had already been taken care of, and they were waiting to take her by surprise! Talia slipped her hand into the heavy pocket of her skirt, and grabbed the hilt of the knife. It would have been far better if she'd had her daggers. The knife was too small. She would either have to get very close or throw it, and she could not yet determine if Ilya was armed.

She could not hear the words he spoke, just his familiar tone, but his expression was open and pleasant. That was how he got people on his side, that friendly, smiling demeanor of his. She seethed inside. He was the reason that she was bruised and blistered and had almost died, and he was about to find out that she was not the sort to let him get away with it.

She cast her eyes about, looking for something she could improvise for an attack. It was very likely that he and his men had already gotten their hands on Prince Mikhail, otherwise he wouldn't be standing so leisurely out in the open. There was an empty torchpole leaning against the building across the street. It would be better to defend herself with that, as it was similar in size and weight to a staff, and it would give her a safer attack range. She did not know what sort of skills Ilya had in fighting or defense, but he already had more reach and strength.

To get to the pole, she would have to cross out in the open, directly through his line of sight, but that might play to her favor. She had the element of surprise on her side. He didn't appear to be anticipating an attack.

Talia slipped out from behind the wagon and strode boldly to the center of the road several yards from Ilya and their carriage.

"Ilya of Pirchburg!" she shouted, and the man turned to face her. He smirked upon seeing her.

"It is good to see you again, Princess," he called. "I understand you had quite the ordeal back in-"

"Yes, thanks to you!" she snapped.

Ilya's face displayed confusion. So, he would gamble on playing dumb, pretend he had no idea what she was referring to. She would not be tricked! He took a few steps toward her.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked nervously.

Talia's fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife in her pocket.

"I think you know well enough what I speak of!" she accused.

"Princess, I assure you that I don't," he shrugged and took a few more steps toward her.

It was now or never. If he came too close, she would have no real chance against him. Talia slipped the knife from her skirt and with a practiced hand, and the flick of her wrist sent it spinning toward him. She did not wait to see if it hit the target but sprinted the rest of the way across the road, reaching the pole.

She had just snatched it up when she heard an unearthly shriek and turned to see Ilya had fallen to his knees in the street, clutching his hand. She took up an offensive hold and raced toward him, brandishing her makeshift staff.

"My Prince!" Ilya shrieked.

The pole suddenly smashed to the ground, knocked from her hands by the flat side of a massive sword,

"Princess, let us speak," Mikhail said.