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Once again, Ivy finds that sleep has abandoned her.
For all the times she has dreamed of setting foot upon the Divine One’s sacred land, to find hope in softly uttered prayers at the Holy Altar… never would she have fathomed the thought of actually residing there. To have private quarters to claim as her own, to sleep and wake and break bread with not only the Divine Dragon, but the many they had come to call allies.
… She had come to call allies.
Firenese. Solmic.
Lythian.
Brodian.
Even now, Ivy wonders what her father would think. Before the dark magic, before the thralls. Even before Sombron’s influence began to set in, she knew her father felt desperate and alone. In the war with Brodia, where relentless border invasions taxed heavily on what little resources Elusia had to its name. In the cries of the common people, and piling requests for aid, villages and homes left ravaged by the barbarians and their violent ambitions.
In the castle, where no smile or word or intention could ever be taken at face value. Where each chalice was just as likely to be filled with poison as it was wine—in a marriage that was loveless, but politically advantageous, with a woman who ran roughshod of his authority and shaped the court as she saw fit.
The world had turned away from father, and so he increasingly turned away from the world.
Would he feel betrayed, she wondered, that Ivy had done the exact opposite? Open herself to those who once turned their noses up to Elusia, befriending those who once hurt them…
A wail echoes through the air, and she freezes.
Leaving her room had done little to stop the reason she had absconded in the first place—the howling winds were only worse now that she was outside, cutting through the gardens on her way to the very safe. Very well-lit Cafe Terrace.
The gusting wind through the trees sounded like moans, leaves rustling, branches creaking and groaning as they swayed in the breeze…
They were not ghosts. She knew this.
And yet the Somniel was so high up in the sky, so close to the stars: Elyos’ sea of souls. Who’s to say vengeful, despairing spirits hadn’t come down from the heavens, and decided to terrorize her? Half-siblings and stepmothers and courtiers, come to blame Ivy for her mother’s actions. Her own mother, punishing her for being a failure. The lives of all those innocent Firene citizens, slaughtered by Elusia. Brodians, come to get their revenge. Her own people, left helpless to Sombron’s depravity after her flight from Elusia. Her father—
…
She takes a breath, hand enclosing around the aquamarine necklace rested above her breast. Courage. She would have composure, and courage.
“Ah…!” Until she hears rustling in the surrounding brush, yelping softly as her grip on the necklace tightens. Oh, she knew it. She KNEW the ghosts had finally come…!
For...
…her…?
Further ahead on the forest’s path, a flash of red catches her attention. The night leaves her vision poor, but even she recognizes the broad-shouldered man skulking about to Divinity-knows-where.
Prince Diamant.
Magenta eyes flicker toward the path she knew led to the Cafe Terrace. Nice and safe. Indoors. Properly lit. Equipped with an impressive set of tea, food, and liquid spirits. Her gaze then shifts toward the road Brodia’s prince had taken. Deeper into the dark, unlit woods, towards the campfire, and the lookout…
She doesn’t know what possesses her to deviate from her original plan and follow him, steps rushed and light as she seeks out the nearest warm body, the presence of another living person, one who would cast the doubts and apparitions away. That it was a Brodian added a sad hilarity to the situation, she thinks.
It doesn’t take long for the glow of firelight to filter through the trees, and as she expects, Brodia’s crown prince is found sitting on a log, reaching out to add tinder to the campfire’s flame. He doesn’t appear to notice her at first, almost… violently recoiling when embers threaten to lash back at him. It takes a moment for Ivy to notice his other, silent companion: a glass and bottle of brandy, sat near his feet.
Seems she wasn’t the only one feeling troubled.
“...Prince.” Her voice is soft, yet clear in the silence of the night, so much so that the man nearly starts out of his seat when he looks up at her. She doesn’t move from her spot, and instead crosses her arms, a smirk playing on her lips. “To think I’ve gotten the jump on Brodia’s notoriously cautious crown prince…” She pointedly glances at the bottle, “Has the drink dulled your infamous edge?”
He stares at her for a moment, and Ivy watches back. For a reaction, even the slightest change in expression. Diamant had proven himself to be a kind and compassionate person underneath those layers of bloodstained Brodian armor, but the man could be both comfortingly and frustratingly even-keeled. Not much seemed to faze him, save for those stories she occasionally saw him laughing at.
But past the arch of a brow, he gives nothing away, only scoffing in response to her tease. “...It’s only been a sip or two. And the Holy Land is a protected place, safe from threats… my guard was lowered, and I simply wasn’t expecting anyone else, is all.”
A beat passes as he stares at her once more, faint realization dawning in his eyes. “...Would you care to join me? I know a log isn’t the most pleasant accommodation, but I would be loathe to have you walk back alone.” The reason why is left unsaid, though howling winds soon come to fill the silence, as if to speak it.
“...Very well. I’ve experienced worse ways to pass the time.” Smoothing the skirt of her dress, Ivy takes a seat next to Diamant on the log, finding comfort in the bonfire’s warmth. No spirits to hound her now, with such a warding flame. “And I’ve no need of your protection, thank you. I’m perfectly capable of navigating this isle on my own.”
Though, she admits only to herself, his company certainly never hurt.
“Of course, my apologies. It wasn’t my intent to imply such a thing.” Campfire tended to, Diamant reaches down to pick up his glass—half-filled—from the ground, forearm coming to rest on his leg. “But I take it you’re struggling to sleep, as well? I stayed up too long drafting letters, and now it seems rest eludes me.”
She hums, “Drafting? For what?”
“My petition to Brodia’s nobles, for foreign aid.”
“Wh—”
“Givre Port will need all the assistance it can in its reconstruction, with the state Sombron has left… things.”
Elusia, he means to say. She knows.
But the reminder of her nation’s destroyed port comes as a bitter one, the memory of those hollow streets, of homes once filled with families, now brimming with Corrupted… would she have been able to save them, had she stayed?
(The Hounds would have overpowered you in strength and authority. They would have threatened Hortensia, sacrificed you both to Sombron—)
Magenta gaze grows downcast, fixating on the fire. “...I told you before, did I not? Charity is the last thing our people need.”
She hears him begin to speak, only to cut himself off with a short noise. One of confusion, or frustration, perhaps. “It isn’t… charity, Princess Ivy. I’m making the same efforts for Firene and Florra Port. I’m planning new trade deals with Solm, sending them a surplus of ore so that the Sentinels can better arm themselves against the Corrupted, on top of their bandit epidemic—”
“Need I remind you that Brodia’s history with Firene and Solm is vastly different from that of Elusia’s? To receive aid from our enemies now would be…”
“...Wrong? I thought we agreed—that with us on the thrones, we would begin to improve relations between our countries. For Brodia to halt its invasions and assist a neighbor in need? I see that as a necessary first step.”
“Healing doesn’t happen overnight, Diamant.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t try, Ivy.”
“...”
Rosy lips purse together. She cannot deny his point, and yet… even after all their hardships, the Elusians were not beaten down entirely; they were not without their own pride. Or, perhaps it was Ivy alone—her fear that, after having left them for so long, she would further betray her people by boasting of a newfound relationship with Brodia’s crown prince.
That she would sing Brodia’s praises and alienate her subjects, when the militant power has done nothing but take from them. When they were the reason that her father had come to depend so heavily on Sombron in the first place…
Even then, Ivy was open to moving forward. But would her people? And would they be so willing to move forward with her?
“...The brandy. I would like some.”
He pauses, and then, “...I’m sorry, I only brought one glass—”
“Yours will do.”
“O-oh. Erm. Very well, then.”
Diamant passes her the glass, allowing a moment to pass as she takes a slow sip and lets the burn travel down her throat. The kick smarts enough to momentarily distract her from increasingly distressing thoughts, and she hears an amused scoff next to her.
“I didn’t take you for a fan of spirits, Princess. Though I admit brandy wouldn’t be my first choice—it’s a bit sweet for my blood. But it was the strongest thing I could find in the kitchen’s reserves.”
“Nor,” She says after swallowing, “Is it mine. But I’ve found it does wonders to calm the nerves. My mother would occasionally slip me some in my adolescence. All part of becoming a ‘woman’, as she told it.”
After a moment, he hums. “Once I became of age, my father couldn’t get me to the tavern fast enough.” A chuckle, “He was a handful to deal with—more than usual—once he got a few drinks in him. Hugging everyone, stirring the bar into uproarious marching shanties, even starting a few brawls…”
The prince glances down at his hands, covered in black leather as they always were, and smiles. “But… when I look back on it, it was nice to see him enjoying himself. To know that he enjoyed himself with me.”
Ivy watches him. She knew little about King Morion, past the hateful, fearful murmurings she heard of him in court. A relentless conqueror. A demon on the battlefield. Many Elusian soldiers, lost to his blade. The stuff of nightmares and cautionary tales. He was not a good man. Even as she owned her part in his death, Ivy still believed that.
But as she has come to see from his sons, he was certainly more human than the monster she had been raised to believe.
“Enjoyed himself… if only I could say the same for mine. It was… better, when I was younger. Father would often sneak tea and cakes to me and Hortensia, and have parties with us.” Faintly, she smiles. “Hortensia was so cute back then. She would chatter on and on about whatever came to her mind, and Father would offer nothing but his undivided attention.”
Slowly, she takes another sip.
“...That didn’t last, as you can see.”
Diamant is quiet, and then, “...I have no fondness for the man, even now. I’m sure you feel the same about my father—”
“I do.”
“—but… even I can recognize that he was human. That there was a side of him I never knew. A father who loved his children. A king who loved his country. All things I could say about my own father, though it will never erase the harm he caused. Still...”
He smiles, giving her arm a gentle nudge. “I’d like to hear them. Your memories of King Hyacinth. Or… anything that comes to mind, really. Things about your sister. The things that bring a smile to your face.”
Ivy couldn’t help it—she lets out a scoff of her own. Rather unladylike, but with him, she oddly finds she doesn’t care.
“Is this where you take a page out of Louis’ book? Tell me how radiant my smile is, how much of a travesty it is to not grace the world with it more, and that it suits me far better than a dour frown?”
At this, Diamant laughs. It’s a hale and hearty sound, the same kind she heard whenever he read those books of his, or when his hyperactive retainer got pulled into some sort of antic. “Hah! I take from no other’s page, but I can’t say I disagree with any of those sentiments.”
He smirks, and her face begins to warm. Likely from the alcohol. Or the fire. Surely a combination of both . “...Such a charmer you are.”
His brow raises, as if he were oblivious. Confused. She would think he was toying with her, had he not shown himself to be almost frustratingly earnest. “I merely speak my thoughts.”
“Mhm.” Ivy hands off the glass to him, “Then I shall also speak frankly. Don’t expect me to be the only one to do any sharing tonight.”
He blinks, taking his drink back. “Uh…?”
“The stories.” She clarifies, “I… would like to hear them, too. Of your family. Your time growing up. The memories that bring a smile to your face.” With a hum, her lips curve up into a smirk. “Your vulnerable moments for mine.”
There’s a moment of silence before he huffs, the noise sounding faintly amused. “Must you make it sound so transactional?”
“Is that not the core of all social interaction?” She shoots back.
“Not always.” He responds without a beat, “At least, it shouldn’t be.”
Another hum, as Ivy thinks back to their past meeting in the Somniel’s garden. How Diamant gave her that beautiful gem with the simple purpose of easing her mind, even if she did think he had an ulterior motive at the time. How he spoke so earnestly of his plans for the future, even confiding his insecurities to her, unbidden, despite being the last person he should be admitting any weakness to. The crown princess of Elusia, his once sworn enemy.
He was so… honest. Pure, she would almost say, were it not for the blood she knew he had on his hands. Stains that they both shared.
“…With you, I suppose it isn’t.”
Diamant chuckles a bit at that, and takes his own sip of the brandy. A moment of pause, followed by a low, rumbling hum, and then— “Alright, let’s see. Stories, stories… ah. There was a time at this one gala… Citrinne absolutely loves to dance, you see, and so she thought to drag me…”
And so the rest of the evening continues on in that manner, through traded drinks and old stories. If the wind howled ominously through the trees, Ivy hardly noticed. If the embers of the fire danced too closely, Diamant was heedless to their touch.
All that mattered in the moment was the person sitting next to them, and the laughter and smiles that they could selfishly indulge in now, but not always have.
For tomorrow was another march. Another battle to be fought, and another weight to add to their already heavy crowns.