Aine has a fitful sleep- whenever its tendrils threaten to lull her unconscious, she immediately jolts awake, feeling as though she's betraying the memory of her father. Forgetting him by even daring to indulge in the luxury of sleep in this four-poster bed, extravagantly encased in silk curtains and embellished with a golden duvet and pillows feels like treachery. She gives up on the facade of sleep just as the sun winks over the horizon.

  She leaves her room in her freest form: uncovered nightdress, fiery red hair untouched and free-flowing, and no slippers blistering her toes. Her bare feet prowl along the cool floor of the Court Ladies' apartments as she makes for the balcony. It seems she is not the only one sleep escaped. Countess Linchman is hunched over the bannister, shoulder blades extracting and retracting in laboured sobs.

  Aine observes her for a moment, not being one to console others. She almost walks away, pretending to have never seen the woman, when Countess Linchman cries out.

  "Oh, Catell, you are the air that I breathe..."

  Aine swallows. She just about remembers how to breathe now after her father no longer could, and it feels like the utmost injustice. She still wishes she could stop breathing, just to be with her father. Make sure that he isn't suffering. Make sure that he no longer feels pain, because if he does, she will gladly burden it all in his stead. Aine couldn't leave Countess Linchman to suffocate alone when Count Catell Linchman could still well be alive.

  Aine tackles the woman into an embrace, whispering like a mantra into her ear: "Allow your chest to rise and fall, rise and fall, in time with mine. It hurts, oh how I know, but to be human we must hurt."

  The image of King Min's tears cascading down his scarred eye flashes across Aine's mind.

  "L-Lady Sampson?" Countess Linchman whimpers, her limp arms finding their way to Aine's for security.

  "Yes, it's me. Please breathe, Countess Linchman. He would want you to." Aine firmly reassures.

  Countess Linchman does not reply and instead attempts to find a rhythm for her shaky breathing. This woman is twenty years Aine's senior, with curly blonde hair and striking hazel eyes. Usually the picture of elegance, now gazing desperately at Aine as if she's her last hope.

  "We are both at a loss. But if you were to lose yourself, then we shall never be able to find your husband, and if I were to lose myself, I shall never be able to avenge my father's death." Aine says ferociously, seemingly lighting a fire behind Countess Linchman's watery eyes.

  She clears her throat and wipes her eyes before sitting up straight. "Call me Grainne."

  Aine smiles. "Aine."

  "What do you know? The two outcasts are playing allies!" Lady Bronson sneers, with Lady Newfield in tow, sniggering gleefully.

  Aine stands up to give them their dues, but Countess Linchman beats her to it.

  "Want to make enemies of two of the most powerful families in Vulstis? Fine, but do be careful where you tread, foxes have been known to feast on their own." Grianne's warning takes even Aine aback. Is this really the woman that had been crying hysterically a moment ago?

  "The King shall hear of these threats! Lady Highmarch told me he has his eyes on me!" Lady Newfield screeches, which neither Aine nor Grianne are bothered by.

  "Lord Berach Highmarch's daughter? They're the most ambitious family around, Lady Newfield, you're just a stepping stone for her to get higher. She'll tell you anything you want to hear." Aine says nonchalantly, having dealt with Braelyn's manipulative deception first-hand.

  Lady Newfield flushes in embarrassment, but doesn't concede, "Y-you're just jealous! The King sees me as a woman, but he'll only ever see you as a soldier!"

  "If that's how I'm useful to the Kingdom of Vulstis, so be it. All you seem to be useful for is starting gossip." Aine remarks, brushing past the two aghast women.

  "You may lack her elegance and mannerisms, but you certainly have her spirit." Countess Linchman acknowledges.

  "Who?" Aine asks.

  "Your mother."

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  Aine is dressed to impress. She certainly won't be meandering about the gardens or sipping tea with the other Court Ladies today. If anything, the extra adornments and jewellery make her seem like she is a mere step down from the Dowager Queen, Min Chinsun, but a step above the rest of the Court Ladies.

  The headpieces are even arranged in such a way that they resemble a miniature version of King Min's crown. The black dress embroidered with gold looks almost identical to the regal robes King Min adorns. To make matters worse, ever since their moment in the Chapel, Aine has felt like his obsidian eyes have been watching her every move, searing into her very soul. Did he see her confrontation with Lady Bronson and Lady Newfield? Surely the King would not do this over something so petty.

  All the Ladies gather in their common area, Aine receiving scathing looks from Bronson and Newfield. Countess Linchman smiles at her proudly.

  "What's going on?" Aine asks her.

  "I am unsure, but it certainly does feel like I am looking at a Queen of Vulstis."

  Aine scrunches her face up in embarrassment. "It wasn't my decision."

  A guard enters. "My Ladies, the King is to make a public address to all of his subjects at Skulk Square, it is paramount that you are all in attendance."

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  Aine and the others are escorted to a platform in the centre of Skulk Square where all the other nobles, the King and the Dowager Queen are waiting. The townspeople are gathered in a large crowd and a sea of murmurs begin circulating at Aine's appearance. She does not let it seem like it bothers her, but her battlefield instincts prepare her for mudpie to the face. Sir Conall and his fleet of Royal Guards keep watch.

  Aine and King Min make eye contact, but in true fashion, there's nothing on his face but nonchalance. Aine mirrors his expression, taking a seat beside The Dowager Vixen as instructed.

  "You'll get used to the flamboyance. Wear it like it's your own skin." she murmurs out the side of her mouth.

  "My good people of Vulstis!" King Min addresses before Aine can think of anymore unanswered questions, "I bring you all out here today to bare good news. King Jungkook has accepted our envoy as guests in Belltoria, and as such we shall begin preparations henceforth!" This is followed by a cheer. "Strengthening our bond with Belltoria will help Vusltis prosper in the long-term." "To help on my endeavours, I shall bring with me Sir Davys," he motions to Sir Davys, who stands up and waves to the townspeople who hoot excitedly, "and Lady Aine Sampson." Aine stands as elegantly as she can, bowing respectfully to the townspeople.

  She is met with silence, until..."Vulstis's soldier...a true hero!" They erupt into applause, punching the air.

  Aine smiles softly, not entirely sure what to make of the situation, before sitting back down.

  "My mother, the Dowager Queen, Sir Conall, and Lord Highmarch shall deal with any issues here while I am away." King Min concludes.

  Aine side-eyes Lord Highmarch, who seems delighted at this revelation.

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  Aine sits opposite Countess Linchman mulling over her goblet of blackcurrant wine whilst Braelyn simpers over Aine's outfit. Aine glances over at the high table at the head of the Great Hall, where King Min watches over all his subjects, not an inkling of how he is feeling on his pale features.

  "At least I know why he dressed me up like this now." Aine grumbles. "Just wish he'd given me some warning."

  Countess Linchman grasps her hand, "You know what our King is like."

  Aine thinks.

  "I think His Majesty wishes to see you." Braelyn giggles.

  Aine looks over at King Min who nods at her to approach. So distant, so indifferent.

  She walks over to him with the same air of apathy, bowing before getting into earshot. There is no one else nearby.

  "Your Majesty?"

  "Aine, I allocated Braelyn to you once more purely because of this. Preparations for Belltoria begin imminently, and she is the only one adept enough to teach you their traditional dance." he informs monotonously, but she detects an apologetic hint in those eyes.

  "I'm a fighter, not a dancer." she states simply.

  "You'll have to duel King Jungkook, no doubt about it, but Belltorians have a welcoming ball for anyone new that comes to their kingdom. If you don't know the dance, they won't accept you." he explains, eyes almost pleading now. Almost.

  " But we also need to ask them about Count Linchman's whereabouts. One of their watchtowers overlooks Gaisceart Toll, if someone's seen something, it's them." Aine commands.

  "Don't you think that's already crossed my mind? Jung Hoseok was last seen in that area before he suddenly reappeared as the King of Nocriam." King Min deadpans.

  Aine's lip twitches upwards. "Next time you want something, don't dress me as the Queen."

  King Min seems lost for words, so defaults to his mask of nonchalance. Aine tuts.

  "Yoongi, to feel is to be a man, to feel nothing is to be a monster. Jung Hoseok created the latter by manipulating you. But I know you're the man. The man or the monster, your choice." Aine articulates, tired of the back and forth between the man and the monster. Right now, she is speaking to her childhood friend, Prince Yoongi, and the man that sobbed into her arms.

  He stares up at her in shock and adoration, mask shattered, clutching onto her wrist.

  "Aine...not here. You're the only one who has been able to do this to me, and yet you decide to betray my trust like this in front of my subjects?" his voice is soft, beseeching Aine to stop and let him fasten a new mask before he is found out.

  "Why put yourself through this?" asks sympathetically.

  He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lets go of Aine. Once his eyes reopen, he is once again the blasé King of Vulstis. "For the sake of Vulstis."

  "Your Majesty." Aine sighs, bowing, before taking her leave.

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  "No, Aine, one AND two, one AND two, this isn't a sword fight, you aren't trying to fight your partner!" Braelyn corrects sternly.

  Aine had another awful sleep, this time filled with nightmares containing her father and a concerning one where King Min entered her private bed chambers after dark seeking comfort and solace. She had woken with a start after that.

  Safe to say, she is running on empty and Braelyn's advice is simply going in one ear and out the other.

  "Ciar taught me how to do this dance, you know." Braelyn admits.

  That catches Aine's attention.

  "Oh, really? Was she good?"

  "The best. Once she got the marriage proposal from that Belltorian General, she learned this dance day and night. They're a lot more liberal about their clothing, too. The dresses the Ladies wear are made with see-through material that flow to your form! I blushed when Ciar told me about it." Braelyn gushes, swishing her skirt around giddily.

  "I hope she's doing well." Aine says pensively. The Ciar she knew would never have worn anything so scandalous.

  She'd recite when Aine's dress would fall off her shoulders from roughhousing too much.

  Braelyn is silent, and as Aine forfeits her positioning in the dance to examine her expression, she replies.

  "Enough of the distractions! You won't side-track me from the fact that your dancing is atrocious!"

  Aine groans, going back to the beginning.

  "One AND two!" Braelyn claps.

  This goes on for hours.

  "One AND two!"

  Days.

  "One AND two!"

  And before she knows it, it is time to depart for Belltoria.

  Swinging a sword feels like an extension of her arm. Archery is second nature. But the art of dancing? Never has Aine felt so utterly useless and embarrassed.

  Whenever Braelyn seamlessly demonstrated the Belltorian dance, it looked like the epitome of femininity- elegance, grace and beauty. The fact that Aine struggled and struggled again to master this dance made her, for the first time in her life, question herself.

  How can she even call herself a woman? How dare she cosplay as Vulstis's Queen? She's an insult to her mother's memory.

  As she joins the hustle and bustle of the Vulstis procession, Lady Newfield's words echo in her mind:

  She ponders whether that vile woman's words really do have merit as she sinks into the fur shawl around her shoulders.

  "M'lady, you are riding with the King." A soldier alerts her.

  Her eyes flit to the grandest carriage, and she sighs before making her way over.

  Upon entering the carriage, she has moments to admire its intricate interior before a hand cups her cheek. She immediately goes to slap the hand away, but meets those obsidian eyes and she's stopped in her tracks. They are overflowing with emotion, and Min Yoongi is grasping onto Aine Sampson- the only person that can help him make sense of them all.

  "Yoongi?" Aine whispers.

  Pain. Anger. Resentment. Pride. Desire. Confusion.

  His eyes flick through each one, like turning pages in a book. Aine reaches out and strokes a strand of his long, platinum hair. He takes note of the action before refocussing on Aine's face.

  Pride, desire, confusion.

  Those three emotions he feels towards Aine, that's now been made clear.

  "Why'd it have to be you? I ask myself sometimes. Others, I think, it couldn't be anyone else but you." He says finally.

  "I live to confuse, but, apparently, so do you. So why don't we go and confuse some Belltorian nobles?" Aine smiles snidely, holding the hand that grasps her cheek and lowering it gently.

  His lips pique in amusement.

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