The ornaments carved into the railing were alternating in a 2-5-1 pattern, and Nikase Ojeda deliberated the intentions of the architect. The 2-5-1 pattern was a common chord progression in the music, specifically that of Bevij, a nation she found herself in after an unprecedented sequence of events that she subsequently fought to forget. 

Her wide green eyes saw patterns in everything because everything in life was a pattern, and there was an irrevocable beauty in that. 

A shift in the wind renewed the scent of the vining honeysuckle that clung to the bars of the railing, The sweet fragrance was accompanied by that of a manufactured pine too forced to be natural, like a cologne. A person had joined her on the patio, she realized. One she recognized. Although, she could come up with a plethora of reasons to pretend she hadn’t.

“Tell me about how you killed your husband,” Valkom commanded in a way that came natural to him. As if he never once thought about how his inflection could reflect poorly of him. He had no reason to, he didn’t care about winning people’s favor.

The accused woman standing across from him obliged because he asked. No one outside her legal council had asked. People would speculate behind her back, often within hearing range and at the expense of her mental willpower. No one had the nerve to ask what really happened, or they didn’t care to.

“Was it really an accident?”

“Did she do it for the money?”

“Her sister probably lied on the stand.”

The last one was the hardest to hear. It was an unintended consequence that her saving grace, the key witness to her case, her sister, was subjected to such slander.  Nikase made the choice to stand up for herself, knowing it would paint her in a poor light. Her sister, on the other hand, didn't choose to be ostracized by the public. And her sister of all people, did not need the added stress.

But… an ugly part of Nikase was glad her sister was there… that she wasn’t alone. Life is about self-preservation after all. 

She heard her own voice cut through the breeze, but it didn’t feel like her voice. It hadn’t for a while now. She could lie and say that it started the day of the incident, that the sensation of floating outside her own head hadn’t formed long before that.

 “He broke a glass over my head, and I slashed his eye with a shard of it. The wound got infected, it spread to his brain, and he died,” said the voice.

The man’s expression held during the omission. Neither surprised that she answered nor at the graphic nature of the response. There was also no knowing if he was taking her at her word. If he did or didn’t was of little importance to Nikase.

But his mental calculations were present in the glint in his eye. Reflections of the amber lamps hanging on the edge of the patio. “How did you get a hold of the shard? Assuming he hit you over the head from behind, wouldn't you have to be facing him to get him in the eye?” 

What a curious response. 

“One event didn’t directly lead into the other,” she clarified, taking a drink from the goblet in her hands. Its contents were bitter and lukewarm, just as the memory of the attack. “That part of the altercation took place on the floor. He had his hands around my neck and I wanted him to stop.”

Valkom turned away to study the leaves of the tree in front of him. They flickered in the breeze in a little dance. The profile of his shadowed figure was artistic, a visual crescendo. He was taller than Nikase expected, the people of the country of Bevij were shorter in stature compared to where she was from. He had an inch or two over her, but she was short for someone from Dofev.

“Do you think he would’ve stopped? If you hadn’t…” he asked, trailing off, punctuating his sentence with the raise of a brow. 

“The part of me that loved him wants to say yes, but I know better now. I know what I believed in the moment.” 

His tone shifted, his posture following as he faced her. “Why did you answer my questions? They were quite personal.” 

Nikase smiled in an effort to lighten the weight of the air. “You’re asking me if I answered them because of who you are?”

Valkom Arte Mios, heir apparent to the throne of Bevij. He omitted introducing himself knowing she was a visitor. A tactical move on his part, but he had lost his anonymity earlier when Nikase’s older brother pointed the prince out and instructed her to steer clear of the man. He claimed trouble gravitated towards the young successor, as if trouble were the planets and he were the sun. 

“I answered your questions because of how you asked them,” she admitted. “Most people have already made up their minds about me, and I’ll admit I haven’t done much to correct the record.”

“You don’t have to,” he said with an offhanded tone, taking a drink from his own goblet. “The people that care about you don’t need the record corrected, and the people that don’t know you don’t matter.” 

Of course he would say that, the consequences would never be as unforgiving towards him. She held no resentment towards him for it, but it was undeniable.

“Is that why you often travel then?” She grinned into her drink. “To avoid being a victim of a hate crime?” 

He emitted a sound that was a near snort, and coughed into his elbow. “N-no-“ Cough, “s-sorry- god-“ Cough, “Why are you smiling?”

She shrugged, “it was a joke.”

“Was it?” He cleared his throat and blinked twice. “It sounded personal – and based in truth. I realized immediately how much of an ass I was for insinuating it wasn’t a big deal to be disliked.”

“Those are the best kinds of jokes, the ones that bring awareness.” 

Now the air was lukewarm and it was all her doing. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was struggling to get a read of her character, and in all honesty, she was being outwardly odd. Her brother would love to hear that she was making a horrible impression on the prince, had any of it been intentional.

In truth, Nikase wanted him to like her. Not too much, a normal amount. Like a person who hadn’t killed their spouse.

“Hm, how long will you and your party be visiting Gaidos?” 

The city of Gaidos was the last planned stop in the ‘let’s avoid going home until everyone forgets your very humiliating and public trial’ tour orchestrated by her brother. However, the latest word from home was that her trial was still a frequent topic favored by the smaller newspapers and social columns. They would likely stay in Gaidos for a few months, and she reiterated this to Valkom.

“Ah, well, I hope that no one forgets your trial, everyone continues to hate you indefinitely, and you never get to go home.” 

Now it was Nikase’s turn to wonder if that was a joke or if he was continuing to be an ass. Or, he was attempting to match her macabre sense of humor.

With a sly grin, he shrugged. “Seriously. There’s a whole world out there for you to see, Lady Nikase. You should see it.”

His saying that was to be expected. He traveled the neighboring nations year-round, and was very much a man who refused to settle down, in more ways than one. It was what her brother warned her about. His solution to scandal was to move onto the next country. Something that worked for him and had yet to work for her.

“My brother will soon tire of having to chaperone myself.” And an unmarried woman traveling by herself was unheard of. At least for her people. 

“You can call me Val.” He held up a finger with his following objection, “And correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you still considered a married woman in the eyes of the law? From what I understand of your culture, you as a married woman can do as you like.”  

He was well versed in Dofec culture, his statement was true. She was, by definition, a widow. In truth, it was far too complicated to put summarize briefly for the Bevij crown prince. 

“That’s technically correct but morally ambiguous,” she said playfully instead. 

“Perfect, that’s the best place to live life.”

That was a joke, she could tell this time. However, his voice betrayed him. It faltered, like Nikase’s did whenever she was floating outside her head – when she wasn’t really living life. Because living life was something only meant for those who still had soul. Those who didn’t play music in numbers and patterns. Those who felt music. 

And Nikase hadn’t felt music in a long, long time.