Ione flinched as the doors opened once more. Their discussion was briefly interrupted as supper was brought to the table. Gerhilt entered with another servant who pushed a cart with a handful of dishes spread over its surface.

It was all simple, yet clearly well-prepared fare: A brightly-colored soup, fresh rolls, a side of greens, and some type of pasta cooked with chicken and ginger. Impressive in her eyes, but she thought it was an extremely humble meal for the duke. She imagined, if he wanted, he would've requested something heartier to be prepared separately. Instead, he waited to gauge her reaction before touching his plate.

Burdened by his gaze, she began with the soup. While it had few ingredients other than the broth, it had a nice, gentle flavor and its warmth helped ease some of her nerves. The greens and pasta were much the same: Delicious, if modestly seasoned. Anything richer would likely have been too much for her stomach.

Gerhilt stepped over to her side, "Do you like it, dear?"

She glanced at Duke Omens to find a similar question presented in his stare. Momentarily, Ione turned from fearful to flustered. Avoiding any strong flavors or scents, the simplicity of the meal was for her sake. With a nod, she murmured a quiet, "Thank you." 

In hindsight, those were overdue words. Ione couldn't give anyone her full trust, however, it wasn't like she'd been given a reason to doubt the duke and his staff either. Thus far, he'd been nothing but considerate. She could manage politeness without letting go of her reservations.

"Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace," she said again, her voice a bit louder, "I owe you a large debt, but I'm afraid I have nothing to give. I'm a commoner, a washwoman."

"And yet, while not perfect, you seem to know some basic etiquette," he noted, his eyes flickering over to the cutlery in her hands. 

"My mother served as a maid to nobles," the woman frowned, "before she had me. I learned from her."

She'd been told numerous stories of her mother's previous work. As a girl, they were something like fairytales; slices-of-life in another world far from the small place she grew up in. They'd played make-believe, her mother teaching her things she'd largely picked up from years of observation—how they greeted each other, how they ate. To think those games might harm her now... The nerves she'd subdued began to return.

"I'm not lying..."

"I didn't say you were." The duke began to pick at his own plate. 

Since it had been brought up, she couldn't help observing his own movements. Each action was precise. His spoon and fork were almost soundless against the dishware. He kept a straight back and tore his bread into small pieces before taking a bite.

"Have you heard the news from the Capital?"

The odd question threw her. Ione shook her head. Any news from that far away always took weeks to reach home. Moreover, she wasn't particularly interested in keeping up with Alicia's politics. 

"The king is dead."

She halted mid-bite. The news was surprising to hear, but it was even more difficult to know how to respond to it. In the end, she could only mutter a faint, "Oh."

"There was nothing nefarious, just an illness. His Majesty lacked an heir, so there's been some struggle over who will take the throne after him. And do you know the sign of royal blood?" He resumed his watchful gaze. “It’s diamond eyes.”

Hearing the duke plainly was not the same as grasping what he'd just said. There was no second-guessing it, but he may as well have told her that the grass was pink or that statues could talk. They sounded like the half-awake ramblings of someone slipping out of a dream.

Seeing Ione's blank expression, he humorously echoed her words from earlier, "I'm not lying."

"I didn't say you were."

He chuffed, shaking his head at himself before explaining further, "I'm sure you're well aware of the legend behind the trait—those who have diamond eyes have the closest connection to the fae. Its relation to Alicia's founding is less well-known." He motioned to his own eyes. "Once, unique colorations like yours and mine were considered the mark of nobility. Over time, they became more associated with magical abilities than bloodlines: Peridots are masters over nature, those with mist-colored eyes possess all the freedom of the wind. Still, in all those years, diamond eyes have only ever been passed down to descendants of the royal bloodline."

Duke Omens briefly paused to take a bite of pasta. He encouraged her to keep eating while he continued his story.

"They serve as a promise between the first king and the fae, a sign that his authority was recognized by both our kinds. As such, even if the king had children, they couldn't take the throne easily if they were born without them. More to the point, with no heir, anyone with diamond eyes is being offered as the next ruler. Clans all over the kingdom are now scrambling to fill the power gap the royal family left behind."

Ione felt herself sink in her seat, the weight of his explanation pressing over her. It was all so surreal, and yet the idea of her kidnapping having been spurred by a political game wasn't so hard to believe. After all, even commonfolk enjoyed the rumors of noble families: The children of poor romances returning for some inheritance, doppelgangers taking the place of lost offspring, fosters given positions within the household for their various talents. It made sense for a noble to take in a child if they could be used to raise the family to an even greater position.

Nevertheless, it was as difficult as it was sickening to imagine herself playing such a role. The dream every little girl had about being a princess was meant to be only that. To have those flights of fancy twisted by abduction and the knowledge of being used as a tool for status... It brought those simple dreams into a reality that was too bitter to accept.

"I will be honest with you: I am no exception. The North is greatly isolated. We lack proper representation. We could use an ally planted in the Capital." Any of the humor that had very briefly twinkled in Duke Omen's gaze was lost. "And even those who'll fail to claim the throne will still find their status elevated."

Without directly asking, he wanted her cooperation. The sickening feeling in Ione's gut worsened. 

"Miss, I see no use in sending an unwilling soldier into battle," the duke continued, as though reading her worst thoughts, "If this isn't a fight you want, I won't force you. If you want to return to your family, then you only need say so. However, unless you do have ties with another noble house, I doubt this will be the last time you become a target."

Ione hesitated to speak, "What would you have me do?"

"Accept my support," he replied, "If I were backing you, few would be able to challenge it. I wouldn't expect you to become queen, but in return, you will devote yourself to securing a position in the Capital. 

"You can take your time to decide and focus on recovering. I will stay until I have your answer. Just know that the longer you and I wait, the harder the battle ahead will be." 

It already looked as futile as trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. The young woman didn't know whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of the offer or cry because it wasn't something she could truly refuse. She had no business trying to step into the minefields of high society, much less secure a position within it. At the same time though, even if the duke kept his word and accepted her refusal, someone else had already proven that they had no interest in her wishes. Someone who knew enough about her in order to find her before news of the king's death had even been spread to the wider public.

She didn't stand a chance. "Surely, there are others better suited..."

Duke Omens gave her a cool look, "If one could gather a drop of blood from every person with diamond-eyes in the kingdom, it wouldn't fill a thimble. I consider myself fortunate enough that my men stumbled across you."

"I'm not well-learned or well-spoken, Your Grace."

"But you can be taught," he countered, "A person who speaks less and knows more is preferable to one who speaks more and knows less. You're humble, which puts you at a better start than many."

The duke finished his meal first and waited for Ione, but as much as she tried to enjoy the food, the stress of her situation ruined her appetite. After a few more minutes passed, he excused himself for the night, giving her the much-needed space to process everything. Even then, only half her plate was cleared by time it was taken away.