Chapter Text
Their fight was over in less than five minutes.
One moment Jill was being pushed around by her capturers from the Iron Kingdom who barked orders in their strange guttural tongue. She knew little of it, but several phrases had become very clear in recent days.
Prime or die.
Summon Shiva or the blood of the other captured Bearers will be on her hands.
Her existence had been reduced to surviving from one battle to the next; against men, against armies, and now, against another Eikon. But unlike Jill, the Dominant of Titan was not held at swordpoint, literally or figuratively, and was motivated to fight for his people. Jill would have liked nothing more than to turn on her slavers, pierce icy spikes through their black hearts and place their disembodied heads on pikes for all to see. The last time Jill attempted to resist, she nearly died, along with those she had found refuge with.
She both hated and anticipated the transformation. It never lasted long, yet time seemed to crawl as every nerve in her body was frazzled, white-hot agony searing through her veins and stars twinkling behind unseeing eyes. Her very essence was stretched thin. Surely her mind would have snapped were it not for the familiar calm of Shiva’s presence that enveloped Jill in a soothing embrace and filled the remaining space. Jill had once likened it to sharing a body with another conscious mind—both were aware of each other, yet shared the same goal and worked as one to achieve it. During those first few seconds after the transformation, Jill could feel her grip on the shared vessel falter, like during those restless nights when her mind teetered between wake and sleep, and she couldn’t command her body to move. But after the initial shock, the Dominant would emerge victorious and take control.
Shiva’s cool blue eyes stared unblinkingly at her opponent. She felt no fear despite facing a foe five times her size. The worries and fears of Jill Warrick were an afterthought, while the cold and calculative determination of Shiva took precedence. What came after was a blur. One moment she launched blades of ice at Titan, and when the mountain-sized Eikon merely punched through them, she flew to meet her foe head on. The next thing she recalled was falling and Shiva’s presence fading until Jill remained alone in her battered body.
There was shouting and sounds of battle followed by tremors. Eventually the band from Iron Kingdom fled with their tails tucked between their legs, but the clash between two armies continued. With all of her aether spent, Jill could only stare blankly at the grey sky and wonder who now fought against the Dhalmekians. She thought back on the map she had studied with Joshua in what felt like a lifetime ago. If Jill was to make an educated guess, she was in the section of no man’s land in the Deadlands that led from the Dhalmekian Republic to the Crystalline Dominion, which also happened to border the no man’s land that the Sanbrequois used when traversing to the neutral nation.
Suddenly, a massive shadow cut through the clouds overhead, followed by a thunderous roar of a dragon and cheering from the opposing army. From its leathery wings shot brilliant beams of light that dented the earth akin to a meteor shower and crushed any unfortunate Dhalmekian soldiers that couldn’t find cover in time. The fighting couldn’t have lasted long as the vague imprint of sun glare hiding behind clouds had barely moved by the time the sounds died down. The earth no longer shook, which must have meant Titan had either retreated or been defeated. Jill attempted to lift her head, but her neck muscles remained as unresponsive as the rest of her. She breathed a curse and considered attempting to shout for help. Even if she was relatively unknown in her present state of raggedness and without an entourage of slavers, who was to say the Sanbrequois wouldn’t be worse? Jill had not forgotten the Rosarian merchants’ gossip of religious zealots and men who kept up the perfect public image under the watchful eye of the Imperial castle. Yet corruption ran deep and participation in all manner of debauchery was the unspoken norm rather than an exception.
A scraping of clawed paws on rocky ground and low growling startled Jill out of her thoughts. She could barely make out the outline of a shaggy fur and a bushy tail from the corner of her eye. The canine slowly crept closer, followed by another. Their golden eyes gleamed in the shadow of a rocky outcrop and there was no mistaking the sharp fangs that peeked from their slavering maws. The jackals were malnourished, more skin and bones than anything else, which was no wonder considering their poor choice of habitat. Perhaps the fighting and scent of spilt blood had attracted the beasts.
Jill willed her paralyzed limbs to move, for Shiva to lend her strength, but neither her body nor the defeated Eikon heeded her pleas. The closest jackal was less than a fulm away from her and she could feel its stinking hot breath fanning her face. Of all the possible scenarios she had thought up in the darkest hours of the night, Jill had not considered death at the mercy of wild animals.
Out of nowhere a halberd landed on the space between the beast and its prey, halting the jackal’s advance. A man dressed in the manner of Sanbrequois dragoons gracefully straightened to his full stature, pulled the polearm free and jabbed the spearhead in a threatening manner at the jackal. Sensing they faced a foe beyond their strength, the pair of jackals fled to find easier prey.
“Are you unharmed?”
The first thing she noticed were his kind brown eyes and the contrasting shock of golden hair. His fair features, fine surcoat and diamond earrings spoke of nobility—perhaps even royalty. The dragoon knelt beside Jill, helped her up to a sitting position and placed the mouth of a flask against her chapped lips. The sudden burn of the foul potion caused her throat to convulse violently.
“Easy. Easy. Take it slowly.” His voice was light and pleasant, yet his manner of speaking was foreign to her ears. When the man rubbed slow, soothing circles on Jill’s back, she instinctively shied away from his warmth. It had been too many years since she had been touched without ill intentions. The dragoon noticed her discomfort and held his hands up to show he was no threat. His gaze drifted from the torn clothes that were sullied with old bloodstains to her knotted hair and dust-caked skin. “You must be one of the captives held by the crystal-worshippers.”
Jill’s mouth was sandpaper-dry and her tongue felt clumsy from disuse, but she managed to find her voice and produce a raspy croak. “The others…”
“Are taken care of. The slavers have been put to death and the Bearers will be taken to Sanbreque. You will be safe with us.” He must have picked up on her mistrust somehow, because he quickly but solemnly added, “You have my word as a member of House Lesage.”
Lesage. Jill racked her brain. Was it not the House that ruled over Sanbreque and claimed the emperor to be a living incarnation of their one true deity?
Jill couldn’t claim to hold such a family’s promise in high regard, but having no other more favourable option available, she simply bowed her head in silent acceptance.
“Can you stand?”
Before Jill could protest, his gauntleted hands were beneath her arms and pulling her up. Her vision swam and her legs gave out akin to a puppet released from its strings. The last thing Jill felt was a brush of a silk sleeve against her cheek and the firm grip around her waist.
Blissful oblivion claimed her.
Heavy eyelids fluttered open. Bittersweet images of Clive and Joshua still danced in her mind’s eye, all smiles and warm sunny days. Oh, how Jill wished she could close her eyes and remain in the rose-tinted vision of her past, where she had felt safe and happy rather than used and abused. As the haze of sleep slowly cleared, Jill’s gaze focused on the chandelier with hanging crystals and the intricate gilded carvings on the wooden ceiling. A heavy set of teal curtains spared her from the afternoon sun’s glare.
“Ah, you’re awake!” A middle-aged woman wearing a servant’s uniform hurried beside Jill and poured her a glass of water. “You’ve been out for almost three days! You must be so hungry. The royal physician assured all you needed was rest and nutrition once you could stay awake long enough to eat.”
Royal? Jill froze mid-sip and lowered the glass to take a better look at her surroundings. At first she had fantasised about waking up in the Crystalline Dominion, but upon closer inspection it became clear that she was in Sanbreque, or at the very least the representative of Sanbreque’s guest rooms in the Crystalline Dominion. The colours were certainly in line with the flag; white walls and furniture with teal and gold detailing. There was even a large oil painting depicting the goddess Jill recognised from Sanbreque’s flag. The painting had been placed in a way that pointed the goddess’ apathetic gaze towards the bed. How delightful.
“Let me prepare you a bath and find you some clothes. I’ve washed your old ones, but they are so ragged and worn, it will take more time for me to mend them”, the servant continued to chatter, completely oblivious to Jill’s growing distress. “What will it be, rose or lavender?”
When the servant received nothing but a vacant stare from Jill, she took the glass from the unresponsive girl’s hands as if fearing she might spill it on the silken sheets. “For the bath, dear.”
“Oh.” Jill blinked once. Twice. “Lavender.”
Satisfied, the servant left, taking all the warmth and humanity out of the room along with her. Alone with her thoughts, Jill carefully slipped out of the bed and was pleased to note she could stay on her own feet. Her old clothes were nowhere to be seen and had been replaced with a comfortable shift dress made of linen to sleep in. Other than the patter of her bare feet against the cold marble floor, it was eerily quiet as she investigated her new prison. In contrast, the Rosalith castle had always been alive with the hustle and bustle of servants, sounds of Clive training with the guards in the courtyard and Joshua studying under his personal tutor in the study. But here Jill couldn’t even tell whether the chambermaid had disappeared into thin air and whether the wing she occupied was vacant.
A stained glass-panelled door separated the chamber from a large balcony that was connected to the chamber next to hers. Quietly, Jill made her way outside. The strong winds foretold what she feared long before her hands rested on the railing. Looking down, Jill saw that her current residence was suspended hundreds of yalms in the air, far above the city of Oriflamme below. Even if she were to attempt escape by tying the curtains into a makeshift rope, it would achieve nothing. Envy darkened her already bleak mood as Jill watched a flock of birds fly by towards the massive wall-like Mothercrystal of Drake’s Head. If only she could fly to freedom and get away from power-greedy men. Closing her eyes, she felt around within herself for the slumbering Eikon and immediately felt a wave of nausea and exhaustion wash over her. She fell down on her knees and leant heavily against the railing, all the while fighting the urge to throw up.
“You should not be out and about without an escort in your condition, my lady.”
Jill instinctively reached for the absent rapier from her hip. The sudden movement was not lost on her present company.
“Peace. Did I not vow you would be kept safe?” The dragoon knelt beside Jill to be at her eye level. He no longer wore his distinctive armour, but appeared no less impressive in a lavishly embroidered waistcoat and justaucorps. “You are not a mere Bearer, are you.” It was not a question. “What is your name?”
Panic squeezed at her insides as Jill tried to think of a pseudonym. The man’s invasive stare might as well have peered into her soul, as if he was aware of something she had not intended to reveal. Could he have sensed her reaching out to Shiva? Despite her inner turmoil, Jill let none of it leak to her expression and defiantly met the scrutiny of his keen brown eyes.
Fortunately, Jill was spared from further questioning when the chambermaid hurried to the balcony in a flutter of skirts. “Oh, there you are! Imagine my fright when I did not find you where I left you!” Upon noticing the dragoon beside Jill, she curtsied low enough for her knees to brush the tiles. “Pardon my intrusion, Your Highness.”
“At ease, Eglantine. The lady was about to return to your care.”
Jill shot a glare at the prince, but he paid no heed and helped her back on her feet. By the time she was ushered back inside and behind a dressing screen, she could still feel the ghostly imprint of the prince’s warm hands on her arms.
“Who was that?” Jill asked as she eased herself into the lavender-scented bath.
Eglantine gaped at her as if Jill had insulted her ancestors. “Why, the Crown Prince of Sanbreque, Dion Lesage, of course!” She tutted when the bath water began to rapidly change colour from the collective grime with each stroke of a sponge. Only so much she had been able to do with a wet cloth while Jill was out cold. “You poor dear. Look at you! Those desert bandits should know their place and stay away from our border. I heard His Highness fought them off and rescued captured citizens. You must’ve been among them. I saw His Highness carry you here with my own eyes!”
Jill stiffened, but wisely kept her mouth closed. While some of the Bearers might have indeed been from Sanbreque, Jill knew they were treated no differently from any other nation’s Bearers. Branded they were, like cattle. Slaves to the Empire, no different than those without the mark on their cheek held within the Iron Kingdom’s custody. There was no point correcting a gossiping chambermaid about details. Jill closed her eyes and tuned out Eglantine’s clucking when the maid began to scrub her long locks clean. Internally, Jill went over every little detail she knew of the crown prince, which to her chagrin wasn’t much. During her time as Elwin’s ward, Jill had received the same education as the Rosfield brothers. But at the time Dion had been young, same as them, and had not yet achieved feats in battle that the bards now sung about in the city below. All she knew was that Dion must be the Sanbrequois ‘champion’ that every previous Dominant of the Warden of Light, Bahamut, was promoted to, and that the prince had shown much promise in his adolescent years with a polearm. It would stand to reason that Dion had become an officer—if not the commander—of the Knights Dragoon.
But what had become of the other captives? Surely they were not treated as lavishly as she was. Why had Jill been singled out? Had one of them given away her identity as Shiva’s Dominant in hopes of winning favour among the soldiers of Sanbreque?
“Oh, such lovely hair you have. Like thread spun from silver”, Eglantine gushed as she rinsed off the soap. “Oh! I believe I’ve yet to learn your name, dearie.”
“Jill.” The name was out before she could stop herself and think.
“Short for Jillian?”
“Mhm.” A small lie, but she wasn’t about to give any more hints.
The maid continued to chatter about this and that, with Jill only half-listening as she tried to mentally take a step back and see the bigger picture, like Clive had always advised. She knew where she was, who her jailer was, but she didn’t know whether her enemy knew her true identity and whether it was the sole reason she was kept apart from the rest of the captured and treated well. It was reasonable to assume her would-be masters wished to win Jill over, so that Shiva would join their ranks of her own free will. Jill would have to play her cards close to her chest.
After the bath, Eglantine helped Jill put on a clean shift dress, white silk stockings and elegant high-heeled shoes, followed by a pastel green petticoat, a tightly laced corset and gown with floral pattern to form a dress fit for royalty. A lace and ribbon choker was tied around her neck and her long silver hair was curled and bound up so that it cascaded down to her shoulders in ringlets. There were so many pins and laces holding all the different pieces together that the mere thought of attempting to escape in such an outfit brought a humourless smirk to Jill’s lips. Her captors must have deemed her healthy enough to move about, considering the ridiculously extravagant dress.
Soon after Eglantine finished applying powder and blush to hide the worst evidence of Jill’s time as a slave, another servant came to inform her of Prince Dion’s desire to dine in her company. As she was escorted to the dining room, Jill made notes of how many guards they passed by and their equipment, and drew an internal map of the many corridors and unexplored rooms. She would need all the available information for the eventual escape attempt.
Prince Dion sat at the head of the table, lost in thought, when the servant opened the door and ushered her inside. He stood up and flashed her a charming smile before reaching for her hand, followed by a chaste kiss on her calloused knuckles. He then placed her hand into the crook of his arm and led Jill to her seat, before pulling the chair for her.
Jill sat in a daze. The contrast of the setting to what it had been for the past moons was extreme. Last time she had eaten, it had been morsels fallen on the ground from her capturers’ meal that she had fought over with their dogs. Now, she sat at a mahogany dining table next to a prince, with a set of expensive silverware placed before her. Jill swallowed back the forming saliva when servants brought several platters of meat and fish, as well as bowls filled with various types of salads. Still maintaining the role of a gentleman and a gracious host, Dion poured them both wine and cut a slice of fresh bread, spreading a generous amount of butter before placing it on Jill’s bread plate.
He then bowed his head, clasped his hands and spoke a short prayer before turning his attention to his guest once more. “You must be famished. Please, eat.”
With shaking hands Jill helped herself to a drumstick and did her utmost to remember the etiquette her tutor had drilled into her as a child, despite the rumbling of her stomach. It would not do to offend the prince, not when she did not know his motives and relied on his goodwill.
“There is no need to stand on ceremony on my behalf, lady. All I ask is that you eat with enough restraint so as not to make yourself ill.”
It took a couple of seconds for the words to sink in, but once they did, the silverware fell from Jill’s hands with a clatter and she ate akin to a starving peasant boy; she had hardly finished chewing the first mouthful when she already bit down for another, washing down what she had trouble swallowing with a gulp of wine. The sooner she regained her strength, the sooner she could flee this place.
It wasn’t until her plates were emptied that Jill glanced up and noticed that she was being stared at. The prince had not even touched his own food, as if he was too occupied studying an exotic animal brought from the continent of Ash. In order to restrain the wild thing that had emerged in her hunger and desperation, Jill daintily dabbed at her mouth with a napkin with all the stiffness and conduct of a highborn lady in a vain attempt to salvage the remains of her pride. She returned Dion’s stare evenly, completely unaware that the carefully applied rouge on her lips was smudged badly enough to create an illusion of a bruise from a fistfight. For all Jill recalled, it might not have been too far from the truth during her clash with Titan.
“Does the food not meet your standards, Your Highness?” Jill couldn’t quite keep the icy bite from her tone. She hated being regarded as a caged animal or a misbehaving pet. Even back when she lived among the Rosfields, that was what she had essentially been; a pet inside a cage with invisible bars. Out of sight, out of mind, yet the bars were no less real.
“Pardon my manners, lady. ‘Tis rare I share a table with such a fascinating woman.”
‘A fascinating woman’. Jill willed a pleasant smile to her lips even as the frost in her eyes hardened. Something she had not missed were the silver tongues of the court and falsehoods dressed in pretty words. It was a game of wits she had never had much patience for, unlike Joshua, who had enjoyed some talent in navigating the treacherous seas of the court despite his tender age. In a way it made sense, considering who his mother was.
“I should hope it is not so rare as to ignore the labour of your cooks, Prince Dion.”
Rather than being offended or reprimanded, the prince smoothly returned the conversation back to his earlier questioning. “You have me at a disadvantage, lady, for I know not your name.”
Prick.
“My name is of little importance, Highness. I am but one among many nameless and faceless Bearers, which is why I find the hospitality of a man of high status unusual.”
Two could play at this game.
Unlike the grim stretch on her lips, Prince Dion’s smile was as natural as snow during winter in her lost homeland. He finally stopped ignoring his meal, yet his gaze never strayed from hers.
“Yet not unwelcome, I hope.”
What would it take to squeeze information out of the man?
“It depends on what the price for such kindness is. You did not personally carry any others to your castle, I presume.”
In her attempt to find cracks in Prince Dion’s pleasant mask, Jill noted that the man had small tells that gave her some figurative ground to stand on, rather than being constantly pushed off-centre by his tactical deflection. The light from the chandeliers and candles seemed to reflect differently from the prince’s brown irises when the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement, and he would sharply inhale as if he couldn’t wait to agitate her further. Perhaps a habit he had developed while donning the form of Bahamut when a quick breath could mean the difference between life and death.
“Although the Bearers we recovered from the crystal-worshippers have been through extreme hardships and some had even nigh depleted their own aether, they could still stay conscious long enough to receive the required treatment.” There was that playful twinkle again. Jill braced herself. “The same could not be said for your condition, Lady Iceheart.”
Iceheart?!
A hundred panicked questions thudded through her mind, one after the other like a relentless hailstorm. Was this some sort of game of cat and mouse that the prince was playing at her expense? Considering the condescending moniker, Dion must’ve known her true identity. Had someone betrayed her trust among the Bearers or had the clues been too obvious? Jill went over every word spoken and every gesture made in the prince’s presence that might have given her away. Her momentary relapse at the balcony could have been a result of a number of causes; surely he would not jump into conclusions based on an exhausted Bearer acting the way she had.
A soft brush from a cotton-clad thumb over her cupid’s bow startled Jill from her rumination. She hadn’t even noticed the prince lean closer. Far too many times she had been at the receiving end of unwanted attention from men who gladly took advantage of her circumstances and used her to fulfil whatever sick fantasies they harboured. Jill pulled away from the touch, growled like a wounded animal and grabbed a steak knife. However, the dragoon seemed to once again be one step ahead of her as he calmly caught her armed hand by the wrist and pressed it against the table—not painfully, but hard enough to make it clear the prince was not in the mood for tomfoolery.
“Be calm. None will hurt you as long as you are under my protection. How many times must I say it?”
“And who, pray tell, shall protect me from you, Highness?”
Prince Dion lifted a single brow, but said nothing as he stood up from his seat to reach better and pressed a napkin on the corner of her mouth, gently following the outline of her lower lip and wiping away traces of smudged rogue. Then he pulled away as if nothing had happened and folded the napkin. “You are my guest, not my prisoner, lady. And as your host, I have no intention of breaching any boundaries.”
“Guests may leave when they wish to”, Jill countered and nodded pointedly at her trapped arm.
His charming smile and all the pretences with it were gone. Good. Jill had always preferred naked honesty. “Then you are free to leave.” The pressure on Jill’s wrist eased, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on her bare skin. Rather than returning to his seat, Prince Dion dropped his hand on the back of her seat while the other rested against the table beside the cutlery, effectively blocking any attempts at an escape. When Jill looked up, she saw no hints of what the prince was thinking or feeling. His voice was mellow when he spoke.
“I only request that you postpone the imminent departure until your clothes are fully mended. I fear this lovely dress will hinder you on your travels.”
It was too simple, too easy. There had to be a catch. “Just so? You clearly know what I am, yet you would not coax or force me into submission?”
A ghost of a smile graced the corner of the prince’s mouth, yet there was no mirth in his eyes—only thinly veiled weariness. “It was never my intention.”
“Then what is your intention?”
“To simply know the heart of another Dominant on equal grounds. Not as enemies.”
The cards were laid on the table, the masks removed.
“Does anyone know why you took me as your personal guest?”
“Nay. You are assumed to be of noble background and thus the highest ranking person within the rescued slaves.” An assumption she could easily play along with, Jill mused to herself. Dion leant closer still to whisper against the shell of her ear. “And if we wish to keep it that way, I suggest we cease speaking of the matter openly.”
Jill managed a small shaky nod and resisted a shudder when Dion pulled away from her personal space. One moment she had felt cornered, yet now that the man’s shadow no longer shrouded her, Jill felt vulnerable and exposed, and she hated it. Dion rang the bell to summon the servants to clear the table, which reminded Jill to belatedly release her iron grip on the knife and neatly fold her hands in her lap.
Dion performed a courtly bow and extended his hand for her. “It is quite early to retire yet. Should it please you, I would be honoured to offer you a tour around the castle.”
The refusal was already on her lips, but a brief memory of exploring the Rosalith castle for the first time, safely tucked between the Rosfield brothers, gave her pause. It might be her sole opportunity to map the place without being bothered by the grim-looking guards stationed throughout the castle. Despite the crown prince’s sincerity and intentions, Jill knew better than to trust her fate solely on his word. She placed her hand in his.
“Very well.”
They explored the castle in comfortable silence, which was broken only whenever Dion announced their newest location and gave a brief summary of points of interest, such as the contents of the many paintings lining the walls. Jill’s hand was delicately placed on Dion’s arm and the prince had matched his longer stride to her shorter steps as they unhurriedly made their way from the dining room to the drawing room, then to Dion’s personal cabinet where he could speak with his officers in private, followed by the chapel in its overwhelming splendour. Noticing her growing unease under the scrutiny of castle staff, clergy, nobility and sacred imagery alike, Dion escorted Jill to the courtyard, past a garden filled with flora that thrived at higher altitudes, to the dovecote where the messenger pigeons and doves were housed.
A soft smile tucked at the corners of Jill’s lips as she thought back to a time when she and Joshua had sneaked inside one, hoping to steal an egg for Torgal to consume. Needless to say, Archduke Elwin had not been impressed by the state the duo had left the dovecote in, nor Clive’s attempts to take the blame for the misbehaving children. How Jill wished she could simply send a message to the lost brothers, to let them know she was alive and well—considering the circumstances. Yet Rosaria had been conquered, the Archduke and the Dominant of Phoenix were slain in cold blood, and nobody knew for certain what became of the First Shield of Rosaria.
There was no-one to send a message to.
Sensing the melancholic mood of his companion, Prince Dion escorted Jill back to the castle and showed her the largest library she had ever set her eyes on. The shelves containing copies and originals of their holy scriptures alone could’ve rivalled the books detailing the rich history of Rosaria. Dion watched in mild amusement as Jill piled several books on the table, but upon receiving a beckoning glance and a smile, he took a seat beside her. Together, they studied faded old maps dating back to the civilisation of the Fallen, and for a moment Jill could fool herself into believing she was a child once more, exploring forgotten realms on pages with Joshua.
They had moved on to a book containing the accounts detailing the lives and achievements of the previous Wardens of Light when a set of heavy footsteps announced the arrival of a dragoon. The man stopped by them to stand at attention, which prompted the prince to stand up in kind.
“My Liege, the Emperor requests your presence at the Great Hall immediately.”
“Understood. Escort the lady to her chamber.”
“Sir.” The dragoon clicked his heels and moved outside to wait.
Dion offered an apologetic smile to Jill. “Feel free to take the books with you. Until tomorrow, my lady.” She had come to expect the chaste kiss on the back of her hand by then, yet the sudden feeling of loss still caught her by surprise when the prince turned on his heel and disappeared into the dimly lit corridor. Jill was starved for human contact after so many years of abuse, enough so that she found her body responding to every little touch from Dion in curious ways. What Jill wouldn’t give to feel Clive’s arms holding her reassuringly just one more time.
Pushing the introspection aside, Jill turned her thoughts to the present. What could Emperor Sylvester want from his son, and at such a late hour?
As the dragoon escorted her back to the wing where her chamber was located, Jill caught a glimpse inside the open doors of the Great Hall where many noblemen and high ranking soldiers alike had gathered. To her confusion, she spotted a child no older than what Joshua had been prior to his death sitting sideways on the throne with legs propped languidly over the armrest, while the Emperor sat further back to the left from the throne, with his hand resting on a jewelled sceptre. She was too far away to hear what was spoken and there was little opportunity to eavesdrop when the dragoon kept turning around to ensure she did not wander off.
As soon as she entered the familiar bedroom, the dragoon left without so much as an acknowledgement of her existence. However, silence and privacy were the last thing Jill would find as the chambermaid fluttered to her like a mother hen that had reunited with her lost chick. Jill was ushered behind the dressing screen and helped out of the heavy clothes. When the unnecessarily tightly laced corset finally came off, Jill felt as if an invisible set of fetters had been removed and that she could breathe freely once more. After helping her wash off the makeup and brush her hair—all the while gushing about its unusual colour and texture—Eglantine finally left Jill alone with her thoughts.
Deeming herself too wide awake to even attempt sleeping, Jill returned to the book she and Dion had been reading together. It wasn’t until an hour later that she heard the steps of another pass by her door and enter the chamber beside hers. Thinking nothing of it, Jill set the book down, double-checked that the door was locked and blew out the candle, settling in for the first night in a comfortable bed since her capture.
Jill wasn’t certain what woke her up, but experience had taught her to never ignore her instincts. She sat rigidly for a few minutes, listening for any unusual sounds, but heard nothing besides the occasional rattle of a stormy breath against the windows. Wrapping herself in a morning gown and slipping into a pair of slippers Eglantine had left for her beside the bed, Jill made her way to the window and peered outside. The silhouette of a man was clear as day against the ever-illuminated backdrop of Drake’s Head. Although he now stood with hunched shoulders unlike whenever he had an image to maintain for an audience, there was no mistaking the golden hue of his hair and the distinctive posture of a man who was used to holding a polearm and leaping into the air at a moment’s notice. Quietly, she opened the door and observed him in silence.
Jill couldn’t tell exactly where his attention was focused from her hiding place, but she noticed the prince kept wiping his palms absent-mindedly on the long hem of his silk banyan gown. The tangles in his shoulder-length hair confirmed the prince had enjoyed a fitful rest at best.
“If you are of mind to stare, I invite you to do so from beside me.”
Her heart skipped a beat from the sudden scare, but outwards Jill maintained the façade of calm. The time spent living in constant fear beneath the boot of various different factions had taught her to maintain her composure. Pulling the gown tighter around her slight frame, Jill approached Dion who in turn straightened, as if to shed whatever unseen burdens clung to his shoulders. When he finally turned to face her, the hint of a smile was swallowed by shadows that further emphasised the tired lines beneath his eyes.
“I take it I am not the only one whom sleep evades tonight.”
Jill cast a brief longing look over her shoulder towards the luxurious bed, but curiosity won in the end. “It would appear not. What keeps you awake, Your Highness?”
“Please, you may drop the titles when we are in private, lady. Address me by my name.”
Rather than accepting the informality and breaking down the carefully erected walls that kept her safely at arm’s length, Jill sidestepped the gentle prompt by cutting to the chase. “The question remains.”
With a soft sigh, the prince averted his gaze and rested his arms on the railing separating him from a fatal fall. “You were used as a pawn of war by the crystal-worshippers. Like I, you must have the blood of hundreds if not thousands on your hands.”
“An outcome no different from any other weapon”, Jill said dismissively. She had little pity for those she was pointed to fight against. It was her or them, simple as that.
“Yet a weapon has no choice, unlike the wielder.”
“In which case you are the weapon, and the responsibility of the lives taken are on the wielder.”
Dion regarded her for a moment as if weighing the validity of her words. “I beg to differ. The Eikon is the weapon and us, the Dominants, the wielder.”
Jill gave a small humourless laugh. “Is this what keeps you up at night? Philosophising whether you are responsible for the deaths of your enemies?” She shook her head and without thinking, grabbed the prince by the arm. “You are a soldier, are you not? Tell me then, how are the souls of the men fighting beside you any cleaner than yours? Is it because we have the power to take more lives quicker and thus stay alive ourselves? How does it make our hands any more tainted than the man’s who sits on the throne and forfeits the lives of entire nations by having you do his bidding?”
She had spoken out of line. Such vile accusations pointed at their holy emperor would result in death in any other situation, she knew, yet Jill couldn’t contain the words once she had begun. For so long she had yearned to speak her mind. It was too late to back down now, so Jill lifted her chin and fearlessly met the crown prince’s eyes.
Rather than shaking her off him or striking out in anger, Dion placed a warm hand over hers and caressed the rough skin with his thumb. There were no traces of enmity on his visage, only pity. He must have thought her a simpleton or found her justification to absolve herself from all responsibility deplorable. Why else would he look at her in such a manner? Somehow, the thought stung more than any physical blow.
“At night I see their faces, of all the men Bahamut has killed. They crowd my dreams and beckon me to join them in the hereafter. They reach out to me and when they get a hold of me, the petrification begins to spread. And they say ‘welcome, brother’, and I wake up.”
His hand clasped hers and Jill was surprised to feel it shake. His eyes were haunted as if the prince was once more trapped in a nightmare he could not wake up from. “Tomorrow, more sons, fathers, brothers and husbands will fall victim to Bahamut.”
The emperor must have ordered his armies to set forth once more, with their champion spearheading the offensive.
Emboldened by the prince’s willingness to speak candidly, Jill took a step closer and used her free hand to brush an unruly lock behind Dion’s ear. “Do you not tire of dancing to the whims of your Emperor?” Did the Sanbrequois not have enough land, wealth and resources, situated as they were right beside a Mothercrystal? So unlike Rosarians, who had been forced to compete for the Drake’s Breath with the Iron Kingdom.
Dion closed his eyes followed by a heavy sigh. “Aye.” But as soon as the word was out, his eyes snapped open and his jaw clenched in resolution. “Yet I do not wish this fate for anyone else to bear, nor for my people to suffer needlessly in battle. Thus I fight and slowly kill myself, so that they might live and grow old with their wives.”
At the mention of wives Jill lowered her gaze to their clasped hands. It was forbidden territory in her mind, one that she had not dared to trek once her nature as a Dominant became a reality. She spoke quietly, as if not quite daring to give voice to such thoughts. “Have you ever considered a spouse for yourself? I imagine you would not lack contenders as the great hero of Sanbreque.”
Dion had to lean closer in order to hear her over the wind. It was strange for Jill, standing so close to another. She had almost forgotten what it was like to simply bask in the warmth and proximity of someone she could trust.
“Nay. ‘Tis my burden to bear alone. I would not wish to take the best years of a woman’s life, only to make her a widow so soon.”
How could someone be so selfless to the point of denying a chance at their own happiness? Jill looked up, only to realise she was close enough to kiss the man were she to simply lean her head forward. Pushing such absurd observations aside, she huffed and countered: “Is that not the risk all women who marry a soldier take?”
“Perhaps. However, my early demise is inevitable. For as long as I house the Warden of Light within me, my father will use me as a means to expand the Empire and to deter any who in turn would set their sights on Sanbreque.” Dion turned her hand around in his to caress the inside of her wrist. His voice was heavy with emotion, but Jill dared not humour herself by guessing the cause of the sudden tension between them. “My title as the Crown Prince might as well be annulled, for there is little hope that I will live long enough to claim the throne. And were I to have a son, the weight of the crown would be placed on his head long before he had the maturity to carry it.”
It sounded like Dion had brooded over such details on many occasions. There was still the matter of the child she had spotted sitting on the throne, but Jill chose to push the questions aside for now. Dion hadn’t bared his heart for her to comment on the complexities of internal politics. This must have been why the prince had chosen to take her as his guest; to discover the source of her will to keep living and fighting even when there was no nation and family left to fight for. To learn the thoughts of a fellow Dominant and to simply have someone to speak to without a filter, someone who knew and understood exactly what he was going through.
“Then you must make the most of your life and live it on your own terms.”
“On my own terms”, Dion echoed in thought.
They stood in comfortable silence, swaying akin to the tall pine trees in the wind that bordered the grain fields outside the city of Oriflamme. When a particularly powerful gust rattled the windows, Dion wrapped his arm around Jill’s shoulders. If she closed her eyes and pretended, she could imagine the scent of Clive’s sandalwood oil wafting to her nostrils, and press her cheek against the man’s chest and feel the rough leather of the jerkin on Clive’s uniform. Jill buried her chilled nose to the crook of Dion’s neck and allowed herself to enjoy an all too elusive and brief moment of contentment when the prince’s long fingers combed through her silver tresses. Far too soon, Dion pulled away to lift her hand for a courteous kiss, yet this time, his lips lingered for a second longer than was deemed appropriate.
“I bid you goodnight, lady.”
“Jill.”
Dion’s brows rose in question.
“My name. You may call me Jill.”
“Jill.” Hearing him say her name so reverently caused a swarm of butterflies to flutter in her stomach. It was an unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome sensation. Jill traced a finger over the patch of skin where the prince’s warm lips had left a tingling sensation.
“May you have a dreamless sleep… Dion.”
The next morning Jill woke up well-rested and wasn’t even bothered by the Sanbrequois deity’s indifferent stare. She washed her face and did not need to wait long for Eglantine to arrive in a familiar sight of hurried skirt-swishing. However, this time the chambermaid seemed to be full of nervous energy rather than excited. Instead of gossiping about the most recent developments of yet another noble family that Jill couldn't care less about, Eglantine went about her duties in what would have been silence if it weren’t for her constant huffing, tutting and sighing. Not able to stand it anymore after listening to it throughout the bathing and dressing, Jill finally snapped.
“Something has clearly ruffled your feathers. What is the matter?”
Eglantine halted her movements, the powder brush in her hand pausing mid-flutter as if Jill had frozen her into one of the ice statues left in Shiva’s wake that littered the Deadlands. It didn’t take any more probing for the dam to break and for the chambermaid to pour out a torrent of woes.
“Prince Dion and the dragoons have been sent to fight the Waloeder army on the eastern front, with my son among them as a newly knighted dragoon. Do not misunderstand me, dear! Knowing our champion is there lifts some of the dread from my heart, but that ruthless warmongering king is said to be leading his men. I must go pray for my son’s and the prince’s safety as soon as I can.”
So, the prince had already left.
As Eglantine finished curling and binding her hair, Jill could only wonder whether she would have volunteered to fight beside the Warden of Light. It was clear Dion deemed this as his burden alone and had no wish to drag her into their wars, even if it would have meant an almost certain victory for the Empire. Despite their brief time together, Jill dared for the first time in thirteen years to believe she had finally found a friend and an ally. In a world where vagabond Dominants such as she were captured and used as loaded cannons to be fired at whatever nation was the flavour of the day, Jill had thought there was no room for either.
“Wait, Eglantine. I will join you.”
She may not have shared in the Sanbrequois belief, but if there was even the smallest chance that the goddess was real and could hear her, Jill saw no reason not to offer a prayer for Dion’s safe return.
