Emilia was trying to be… nice, or as nice as she could be. No, cooperative is the better word, but she doubted she was even doing that. The Lady of Larson was… well, she wasn’t too wrong in her actions. Emilia knew she was being a little bit of a royal asshole but they were pushing her, forcing her to comply past what she’d agreed. But she knew throwing a fit here would not do her any good, she didn’t want to find out what they could do. She would get her information and she would get out.
That’s easier said than done, though. The men at the table were reluctant to speak with her after she’d gotten rowdy and the Lady of Larson was giving her a nasty glare from the other side of the room, not that she cared, it was just annoying. Emilia’s inner grievances were silenced once the Lady of Mercia entered, with the Lord of Mercia behind her.
He was a sheepish guy, is what Emilia put together after surveying him for a few days when the Lords and Ladies were just arriving. The Lord only spoke up so often, when he did it was very pointedly, but when he wasn’t he often could be seen siddling up alongside the Lady of Mercia. Emilia knew that he was working with the Lady of Mercia, so they made no attempt at covering his identity. He wore a deep blue doublet that complimented his hazel eyes, his light brown hair, unlike many other men of high status, was cut short to a little past a buzz and styled forward.
Closing the door behind them, the Lord followed the Lady over to pull Emilia away from the table to chat; also because she was nearly ready to start another argument. The Lady of Mercia motioned for her to follow them up the windy stairs and Emilia begrudgingly followed, the Lady of Larson training behind them all a few feet behind.
Once they reached the top floor the Lord was the first to speak. “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my Princess.” He bowed as he spoke, finally, she thought, some respect.
“The pleasure is mine, Lord of Mercia,” Emilia looked down on him, since he was a few inches shorter, “or should I say traitorous rebel? Whichever you prefer.” The Lady of Mercia sent her a protective glare, but the Lord simply chuckled.
“Ayleth was right, you are quite expressive,” he bowed once more, “please, call me Percival.” Emilia wasn’t stupid, dropping formalities was the cheesiest attempt at companionship.
“Anyways, Lord of Mercia,” She added pointedly, “why do you and your wife bring me away from what little I was gaining out of this arrangement?”
The Lady of Mercia rolled her eyes, “We brought you here to discuss making further arrangements,” the Lady responded.
“It may feel like this is moving quickly,” the Lord perked up, “but as you can tell from our relentless attempts, we need you.” Emilia felt a little happy with the praise of her worth, it wasn’t something she heard often.
“Oh I know,” She assured them, “but what makes you so sure I need you? You bring up some quarrels with Landervik then assume I am a damsel in need of help?” She scoffed before continuing, “I am not so much under his ruthless beck and call as you think, he gives me mobility. Sure, he may do that in abundance, he may leave me and mistreat me, but, it is my duty to remain loyal to the man that taught me all I know. I may despise him but I would much more if I were feeling powerless in his grasp.”
The Lady of Mercia stepped in front of the Lord to speak, “Is that what you keep telling yourself? It’s not hard to tell you hate it there, and it’s not hard to tell that Landervik barely cares for your undying support,” She stood up to Emilia, staring at her eye level, “So when will you admit it to yourself? When Landervik comes back, do you think that he will welcome you with open arms? He won’t, we know it and you know it.”
Emilia knew she was right, she knew but she hated it. She despised the fact that this was the truth and they were beating it into her head. This wasn’t something she wanted to talk about now, and not with them. So she went on the offensive, despite how powerless she was.
“You have no right to continuously berate me as you do, I may not be able to bear my weapons now but that doesn't mean my threats cannot carry at different times. If I do revolt I have no obligations to follow you!”
It was the Lady of Larson that spoke up now from the stairs where she had been standing since they arrived, “We helped you! No one is doing this out of disrespect or anger or trying to hurt you, the only one doing that is the people you continue to blindly follow. Our reasons may be selfish, especially mine, but no one here wants to hurt you. We want to put you on the throne for Christ's sake!”
The Lord and Lady looked just as shocked as Emilia did to the Lady of Larson’s outburst. Her varying behavior was shocking to say the least, but they often felt disingenuous. This felt like something she truly stood behind, maybe the Lord didn’t see it but the Lady and Emilia surely noticed. The Lady of Larson looked conflicted, like she knew what she said but wanted to take it back somehow. It was something Emilia had heard from the Lady of Mercia, but when the Lady of Larson said it, when Isabeau said it… something felt different. Emilia didn’t like it.
“I-I have to go,” Emilia expelled, pushing past the group to the stairs, “the King and Queen are expecting me since training is off.” She gave no further explanation as she burst down the stairs and out the door, walking as fast as she could to the seclusion of her room.
As she rushed through the empty courtyard and palace walls she felt someone watching her, like someone always had an eye on her. Everyone was looking at her, everyone could see her. She could barely breathe. Once Emilia reached her room she screamed at the servants cleaning that were still sweeping up her broken furniture to leave. While they scurried out she closed her curtains, locked her doors, and sat on her floor; finally allowing herself to breathe.
Emilia knew it was childish to react like this. She knew she was wrong but she hated it, hated everything. She hated feeling like something people studied, manipulated, used, and hurt. Landervik would be back in a few days and she knew he would have no tolerance for her, no tolerance for what little information she gained. Emilia was scared and everyone was looking at her and calculating how that could help them. She wasn’t a person anymore, that changed long ago. The day her parents deemed her useless and started training, she’d become a weapon and nothing more.
Emilia cradled her sullen face into her arms, accepting that this was the truth, accepting that this was her destiny. But only one question was left burning through her mind, who would she fight for?
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