The prince blinked as Issi pulled her sad wood carved enchantment from her breasts, letting it twirl as it tried to sort itself out.  Her free hand wiped fastidiously at the make-up she used to hide the sprawling silver that marked her collarbone and had started to crawl up the side of her neck.

          The prince’s gaze didn’t seem to know where to focus, dancing first across her skin, then her eyes, and the low-cut gown that had looked like student greys a moment ago, before finally landing on the mark.

          He was completely silent. 

          Several beats passed before she found her voice, “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

           “I can work with that.”

          “What?”

          The prince nodded as if agreeing with something, “Your dying?  It’s not a deal breaker.”

          Had he gone mad? “Prince, I don’t think you understand what you’re—”

          “You don’t understand what you are.  Today I’ve seen you cast light in a way I didn’t even think was possible.  You’re fiddling with it, changing colors and brightness like that doesn’t fly in the face of logic!”

          “The Northern Tribespeople do it all the time,” she muttered blankly, she’d read it in one of her master’s older books, when scouring for a tome nobody would miss.

          “But they don’t cast like the Athijans, they dance,” he continued excitedly, “And they can only change the casting so long as the dance continues, as soon as it stops, it’s set.”

          She frowned.  There was a lot about that he was missing.

          The prince’s grin widened, “I still want you to work for me.”

          Issi sputtered, “Then why are you asking?  If you want to own me, get my papers.  This has nothing to do with me.”

          “Apparently having your papers doesn’t mean I have your loyalty or your trust,” he looked her over.

          There was nothing to say about that.  Having her papers meant owning her life, to be gifted the right to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with no explanation needed.  But that was all.  He could demand her loyalty the way her master demanded her love, but the results would be the same.

          He still wanted to use her. 

What if you could be more than a tool?  Did he not see the irony?

          Issi stilled, “If you’re asking, am I allowed to refuse…my prince?”

          He spread his hands, “I suppose that’s an option.”

          “Then I refuse.”

          His eyes went to flint.  His lips formed a flat, hard, line of discontent.  She half expected for him to cross the room and strike her.

          Instead, he closed his eyes and took a breath.  When he opened them, for a tick in the light of her casting, they looked blue.  She couldn’t remember having seen Ardein in direct light before, except for that brief moment before the king’s dinner.

          “The offer stands, Del,” he said, dismissing her.

          She bowed and excused herself, leaving through the door they’d entered, taking the light casting with her.  The third prince, surely, would do alright in the dark.  After all, he was free to exit through the door to the ballroom if he so desired.