The Prototypical

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It is a pale, blue gown that the Queen of Keesark dons to receive Emir Beinsho, Commander of the Armed Forces of Haften

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It is a pale, blue gown that the Queen of Keesark dons to receive Emir Beinsho, Commander of the Armed Forces of Haften. The garment is light, delicate, showing strength only in the stiffness of the fabric, the high jut of the collar. They put twinkling flowers in her woven, tucked up hair, blinking pearly white against the hard blackness of her crown. Soft and strong. Delicate and severe.

I am a body of contradictions, Fae thinks, the memory of an old school teacher rhapsodizing on the coded meanings of color and shape absurdly popping up in her mind. When I am seen, anyway.

In the riddles of appearance and ploy they choose to keep her removed, a figment not often spied, yet alone seen. It is easier to keep her safe, Keno reasons over a marked, littered map, easier to keep her image clean. Besides, the people of Keesark see enough of Caj to remember she is here too.

This will be the first public appearance since the executions. Since—

Well... Keno has put a guard around her and a knife hidden on her thigh. No risks will be taken.

Beinsho takes none either; it is a horde, a sea of shining Halften soldiers, that marches to her door, and they flank him, straight and stiff and in perfect formation, as he climbs the steps up to her.

"Your Grace," he says for a third time ever, bowing over her proffered hand. It's strange to see him so, strange when a little over a year ago it was she curtseying to him, she introducing herself, applying for a chance to be part of a special taskforce.

I wear the crown, she thinks, eyeing the broad line of his metal-clad shoulders, why is it I still feel like the subordinate?

"It's good to see a friendly face," she says instead and he straightens up once more. "Please extend my people's gratitude to the Dynast for the supplies—they are sorely needed and deeply appreciated. Please, come inside. Tell me what news you have."

"There is some," he answers as the heavy doors thunder shut behind them. Staff scurries along around them, synthetizing and keeping order in the massive droves that trail behind each of them, these two leaders in power. "The Paragon moves east. Thalassa City has been secured from the Jarles."

"I thank her too," Fae murmurs.

"She now moves in on Vatra and Chaudri with Ruben and the others," Beinsho presses on, his boots clicking smartly against the polished stone floor, his tone crisp and precise. "Chieftainness Dost and some of Dynast Wren's forces have just joined her."

Would that I could too. That I could leave this all behind and journey there, to a foe that fights on a field, not in the shadows, a foe that fights with steel, not words and children.

"Our thoughts go with her."

"Some, but most should stay here," Beinsho answers as they enter the study, the door snapping shut behind them. "I have heard reports of all that has happened."

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