Not if I can help it, you think, seeing the tall, lean man waiting for you at the end of the hall. You don't pause your stride, but you do start thinking.
Meryl was called away early this morning on urgent cartography business, due to the Southern Lands doing what they do best and suddenly turning and twisting away important ports and mines. Milly went with her, stuck to the hip as they are, but not before slipping you a dagger to hide on your person. "A present," she whispered with her sweet smile, "in case I'm not around with my axe!" It is made of mithril, meant to glow faintly when danger is near.
You do not have time to check the dagger, quick as you are coming to Bluesummers. But your mind likes to think it feels a heat from the dagger waking. Something is not right, not with this man.
"Your Highness," his smirk is telling as he bows low to you. Interesting, he hasn't bowed that low before. When he stands, he offers his arm—an invitation.
"I'm afraid I'm meeting my husband here soon," you say.
"Then I shall take only a moment of your precious time," he responds. His arm does not fall to the side. He means to talk with you somewhere else.
You have your papers. And your dagger. You fiddle with the locket around your neck before taking his arm. You're only mildly surprised to not feel actual oil from touching him. "Very well. What is it you want to talk about?"
The man hums as you both start walking. It is a bright day; sunlight dances down the alabaster columns to the left and small bugs buzz through the air. A tangle of ivy creeps up the banisters. "I have a few questions for you, Highness."
He pauses as a maid goes by. She barely glances at you two, hurrying a curtsied bow before rushing away to her duties. You merely nod, noticing the way Bluesummers glares after the woman. "Speak, then."
Bluesummers pulls you forward, barely making you trip. He merely smirks down at you as you fumble and look up at him, peevish. "My apologies, these legs of mine get the better of me sometimes!" When you steady yourself, he continues, "How have you liked the kingdom so far? It has been nearly a year since you wed our dear prince!"
Your lips purse. "I love JuLai," comes your practiced reply, the one you save for curious and well-meaning denizens, "it is a splendor to behold, and King Nai is a fair and kind ruler."
"And your husband? Are you two agreeing with each other?"
Agreeing? "I…suppose? We haven't had any large disagreements, if that is what you mean."
"Then it is both of you who are preventing an heir from being born?"
You stop talking. Bluesummers walks forward a few more steps, then stops walking. Your arm is in the iron grip of his elbow. "That," you say, "is a matter between myself and my husband."
"On the contrary, your Highness: it is the matter of the entire kingdom. The future of the land, I would say." Bluesummers' eyes turn toward you, wolf-gold and hunting. "And matters of the kingdom are my business, after all." He smiles at whatever look you have. "Do tell me, princess—is it an issue with your blood? We have physicians and magicians to help with it. No? Then the intimacy is the issue? I'm surprised, the prince has always seemed so vibrant and vigorous."
Your cheeks heat. You try pulling your arm out of his to no avail. "Tha-That is inappropriate—!"
Bluesummers yanks you close, suddenly, flush against him and his starched clothing. "Or perhaps," he hisses, "it is simply the prince himself? Does he not suite your outlander tastes? Do you wish to conquer us like your barbarian father conquered your own kingdom?" His smile has slipped away. Those eyes glow a dangerous yellow. "I beg of you to remember your place here, princess. The king expects an heir. That is what you agreed to. And if you won't give him one, well…things can be arranged."
There's a threat there. A cold, ancient threat every woman learns to fear. Grinding your teeth, you spit back, "If you're so concerned about an heir, have Nai marry someone and give it!"
"King Nai's seed is too precious to be wasted on the frivolous women of this world."
You reach for your sleeve, the small, thin dagger from Milly hot on your arm. The hilt comes out, but Bluesummers is quick. The blade slices your arm as he takes it from you and points the blue, glowing dagger at your stomach. "Or perhaps we shall go with the original plan: get rid of you, and allow Vash to marry someone more suitable."
You play the part, reaching up to your locket and gasping, subtly unlocking it and touching the paper within. "Marath," you say, and disappear from Bluesummers' sight and grip.
You aren't sure if he screams after you. It doesn't seem his nature. But you collapse on the outskirts of JuLai, just beyond the walls. Your skirts are muddied, and there are a thousand bugs ready to crawl on you as you gasp and try to get air back in your lungs. You hate that spell.
But what you hate more is Bluesummers. The lying snake who finally bared his fangs. He who sent that assassin nigh a month ago. You're lucky his poison missed you…for now.
You stand after a moment. Some denizens walking in through the nearby gate pause at your appearance. One, a farmer and his two sons, stop their ox cart and call out. "You alright there, my lady?"
Well, nothing to do about your ruined clothes. You manage a bright smile and walk toward them and the path. "Yes, quite! Just got a bit carried away with my study of the plants."
He gasps. "Your arm..."
Ah. There is that, too. Blood slowly trickles down your skin and drips to the ground. Your lips thin. "Um, yes, do you happen to have bandages?"
As the youngest farm boy wraps your arm with what they have, you pause and look over their wares. "Tell me, are you going to market? Would you mind if I tagged along for a moment?"
The farmer takes off his hat and bows his head. "Be an honor!" He ignores the strange looks his sons give him and clears a bit of the back lip of the cart. "Here, to rest y'er feet!"
You settle on the cart, and you're off through JuLai in a moment. As the cart sways and you bat away the incessant summer flies, you pull out a sheet of paper and whisper the words you write with the pen you hid in your bodice: "Meet in garden. Developments in case." Then, you say the words meant to transfer your message to Vash's own paper on his person. The words disappear as though blown away.
Now, there is only to plan. And hope Vash does not overreact too egregiously.
