On the fifth day of every week, Faisuri had to face the most nefarious of foes.

Needlework.

Aunt Farisa had asserted over the years that the wars waged by women were rarely physical. While men held steel in their hands and hid behind great shields forged of metal, the female portion of society used words as their swords and wore reputation as their armor. And this is why we face peril every day of our lives, thought Faisuri as she stabbed at her embroidery with the barbaric brutality of an aerhyan. The task at hand seemed physically taxing enough for her, contrary to her aunt's teachings.

Unlike many other girls her age, Faisuri had the privilege of wielding a training sword before, albeit for a short while. It had been Daud's suggestion. She was twelve at the time, young and impressionable but old enough to start learning the ways of the court. Her cousin had just so happened to eavesdrop on her and her aunt, and was unconvinced that words and a pretty face would be enough to protect her. While she appreciated his pure-hearted concern, the ensuing "training" was much less endearing. She was terrible at sword-fighting, messing up all her stances and getting herself knocked down time after time until she was covered with bruises and mud, much to Farisa's chagrin.

Despite that fiasco, she'd rather have another go at the sword than have to deal with this accursed needle.

The point of the needle found its way through the fibers of her cotton glove, puncturing a hole through her skin. The girl winced at the sharp twang that ignited upon her middle finger, resisting the urge to flick it upwards in a gesture that could be mistaken for profanity. Her thoughts, however, were less clean. A particularly foul word in Halimunese came to mind as she watched a red stain bloom upon the fabric of her glove.

"Perhaps it would be easier if you were to take off your gloves, Lady Raine."

Faisuri met Lady Meara Friell's gaze. Her sweet, cherry lips were drawn into a bemused smile, almost sympathetic at the girl of the east's predicament. She appeared not to have noticed the bloody flower that had seeped out of the tear on her skin. An easy smile slid onto Faisuri's face as she quickly pulled the appalling piece of embroidery over her wound to conceal it.

"Ooh, how coy," said Faisuri, in a teasing manner. "Are you that curious to see my lovely hands, milady? Well, I'm afraid I do not reveal my cards that easily!"

A ripple of laughter coursed through the room. The black-haired lady beamed at the other noble ladies of the Queen's Circle, evidently pleased by their reaction. The "Queen's Circle" was- she couldn't help but think for the umpteenth time that week- a misnomer. It was neither a circle nor one for a queen. For one thing, there were only three other ladies aside from herself that occupied the room, one of which being Lady Friell herself. For another, the fair lady was not yet a queen. Well on the way, perhaps, but not exactly fit to be called a "queen" yet. A few suggestions for names that would better suit their assembly had come to mind, ranging from the "Soon-to-be-queen's Triumvirate" to the "Noblest of Noble Ladies Quartet". None of these had been voiced aloud, as the moment hadn't yet called for them.

"Awfully protective of your hands, I see," Meara quipped, deciding to play along.

"And why should I not be?" Faisuri answered, tilting her head slightly in an innocently questioning manner. "Only the right man should have my hand, after all. Should it not be the same for all of you?"

Again, her words prompted laughter from the girls. A grin brightened her features, displaying a look of pure satisfaction for all to see, but her dark eyes met none of theirs. Instead, her attention was directed towards the superior pieces of embroidery that now laid idle across the other women's laps. Faisuri drank in their undivided attention, her own crude work abandoned alongside that blasted hornet's sting. It seemed that needlework became a forgotten subject when faced with this juicier topic.

And by Thieros, Faisuri would do anything to keep it that way.

"Well, one of us has certainly found quite the perfect man," spoke Lady Ida of House Duinne. "Isn't that right, Your Highness?"

All eyes in the room turned towards Meara, who flashed them an uncertain smile in reply. The same playful smirk continued to linger upon Faisuri's lips, so easy to keep that it almost became second nature to her. Deep in her heart, however, she sneered at Ida's choice of words. Your Highness. As if Lady Meara Friell was already queen.

Ladies were allowed to be coquettish with the men of the court. To endear themselves to the upper crust of the hierarchy was commendable, but to lick the boots of another was abhorrent, especially if said individual was on an equal status. Until Lady Meara Friell was wed to King Aidan, Faisuri adamantly refused to call her a queen or refer to her in a way that suggested her as such. As it stood now, Lady Meara was her equal, and Faisuri had too much pride in her to admit her as anything more.

It was the little things, as she'd found out, that made all the difference when it came to building a lady's armor. Was she to be considered arrogant for that view? Perhaps, but Faisuri thought of it as recognizing her own worth.

After all, she could've been a queen herself.

"Well, I'm sure the court of Althewyn has many other suitable men," Meara pointed out, gently, as if she was trying to comfort the other poor girls who hadn't yet been betrothed. Everyone in the room were of an eligible age for marriage, but only Lady Friell was fortunate enough to have found the perfect match.

And what a match it is, the Halimunese lady thought, a little enviously.

"Oh, but none of them are kings!" cried Lady Aine of House Sulvayn. Faisuri had to stifle a laugh at the sheer passion in her voice. Aine Sulvayn was certainly the most romantic among all of them, with the most vivid of fantasies.

"But you must have someone in mind, Lady Sulvayn!" Faisuri interjected. She proceeded to glance around in a conspicuous manner, piquing the other three ladies' interests. Leaning forwards, she dropped her voice to a low whisper. "All of us here are women, are we not? Then, I should believe we are at liberty to discuss the important matters. Come now, who are the men of Althewyn eligible in your eyes, Lady Sulvayn, Lady Duinne?"

For a moment, everyone was silent. It was to be expected, Faisuri had to admit to herself, for the frivolous topic of love was both tantalizing and embarrassing to talk about. It was a topic that could reduce dignified women to giddy little girls. Meara had not been posed with the question, but her eyes had widened as round as plates in her intrigue.

It was Aine that broke the silence. For all her naivety, the lady of the east certainly had to admit that she had the guts to exhibit them rather than cower behind tall columns like a pining peasant girl. The Sulvayn lady shifted slightly in her seat, her face growing red as she stared at the raven-haired lady.

"Well, I suppose there is a man who has caught my eye," she said, a little shyly. "The Sword of the King himself- Daud Raine."

At that, Ida let out a loud, almost demeaning laugh. "You'd have to get in line for that, Lady Sulvayn," she said, in quite the snarky manner. "Clearly he's quite sought-after by the noble women. I saw him dancing with one of the Moores ladies during the coronation- the Moores!"

Aine reeled back, looking as if she had been stung. She scrunched up her face. "Come now, Lady Duinne, admit it. You have your eyes on him, too, don't you?"

This time, Ida was the one who flushed red as a tomato. She opened her mouth to spit a retort at Aine, but at that very moment, Faisuri decided she could no longer rein in her laughter. Her peals of glee cut Ida off from whatever she was going to say, much to the other woman's vexation (but also relief).

"It is a shame that he is my blood," Faisuri sighed, wiping a tear off the corner of her eye for a spot of theatrical drama. "Otherwise, I would have been the first in line to go after him."

"Oh, you wouldn't!" Ida exclaimed, eager to shoot her down as vengeance for interrupting her. "Not with the Moores on the turf!"

"Really now?" replied Faisuri with a sinister tone. She put her gloved fingers together and brought them to her chin in a scheming posture. "Do you think I would not be able to contend with the Moores, Lady Duinne? You'd be surprised."

"The Moores are the most beautiful ladies in the country, Lady Raine. Even His Highness's mother is a Moores."

"My dear lady, beauty does not equate to everything!" Faisuri laughed, swatting a gloved hand through the air as if her words were a fly. "The mind, now, there is quite the vital instrument! You can catch any male's eye if you know where they will look."

"Quite the bold claim, Lady Raine. Someone might bring down that mountain of an ego just yet," Meara chimed in, wanting to partake in the conversation that had gone down the most amusing route.

"Mountains have remained standing for quite a long time. It'd take Thieros himself to bring it down, in that case."

A noise that straddled between a laugh and a groan of dissent erupted among the ladies upon hearing her words. A lopsided smile twitched on Meara's face, her dimples disappearing and reappearing erratically as she weighed upon the decision of whether to laugh or to jeer.

"Come, Lady Raine!" Aine suddenly piped up. "We have told you the man of our eye, now you tell us yours."

If all eyes had not been focused on Faisuri, they certainly had now. Faisuri allowed her own to sweep across all of them, taking in their curiosity one by one. If she could hazard a guess, they were all probably thinking of what kind of man would a woman of devilish intellect and unwavering pride such as her could possibly have in mind.

To be frank, she was not sure either.

Unlike the romantic delusions that seemed to fill Aine's head regarding the topic of matrimony, Faisuri knew first-hand that for nobles such as themselves, it was rarely as simple as the union of two lovebirds. Ironically enough, that sort of joy was more commonly found in the commonfolk despite their lack of material luxuries. Marriage for nobles often meant a careful move in the grand chessboard that was the court- a ploy to elevate the woman's house in terms of land, wealth, and status. It then came down to the piece to choose what they will be: a simple pawn that would only follow orders, an agile knight that could find their way around the court with ease, a strong rook that bolstered their house's future, or a versatile queen with complete dominion over the field.

But perhaps, only for this occasion, she could just be what she really was inside: a dreamy teenage lady whose heart fluttered at the thought of being in the arms of a gallant knight-

"You seem to be awfully close to the Shield of the King- that hound lord," rang Ida's voice.

It was then that it occurred to Faisuri that she had voiced none of those thoughts aloud, and so had merely sat there staring at them like a complete idiot. That statement caught her off-guard.

"Lord Jonathan?" she asked, punctuating it with a small nervous chuckle. "No, no- I mean, we are definitely close, but I would never be able to see him as a spouse."

"Why not? He seems like a very pleasant man, with quite the handsome face as well," Aine pointed out. "Is it because he is half a canid calaian?"

"Or a bastard?" Ida offered.

Faisuri's lips quickly curled into a frown, her angular eyes narrowing into slits. Were these reasons that discouraged other ladies from her friend? She was no stranger to bigotry, especially one that was shown to her childhood friend. There were even times that she herself had inadvertently made an offensive remark to him by the society's influence through stereotypes, though he had been kind enough to constantly overlook them. She quickly shook her head fervently.

"Of course not!" Her tone rose alarmingly without her consent. She quickly made a conscious effort to push it down, clearing her throat. "It has nothing to do with him being a half-canid calaian or an illegitimate child. It's just that he is like a brother to Daud, thus also like a brother to me. It would feel very strange if I were to marry him."

"Well then, you should tell him about the whole 'like a brother' business. I saw you toying with the poor man during the coronation ball."

For the first time in that day, people laughed at Faisuri's expense. The girl had trained herself to smile and laugh along when this happened- it made her much more charming in the public eye- but some doubts couldn't help but wriggle their way into her mind. Did she really do what she did? Toy with Jonathan?

She pretended to adjust her gloves to hide the pursing of her mouth. Even if she did do just that, it really wasn't her responsibility to make sure she wasn't insinuating anything, was it? She doubted Jonathan would get the wrong idea out of that, but if he did, that was purely his fault. Faisuri convinced herself that she had nothing to do with it.

The kingdom's bell tolled, saving Faisuri from this awkward situation. The women rose from their seats, a startle passing through each of them as they realized of the embroidery that had laid on the skirt of their gowns. In the heat of that juicy conversation, the dull affair of needlework had been utterly forgotten.

To Lady Meara they offered the standard curtsy, which was reciprocated with grace. Ida and Aine made their way out of the chamber, their long skirts sweeping across the polished marble floors. Faisuri crumpled up the product of her needlework within a fist, not eager to allow anyone to set eyes on its misshapen stitches.

Just before she could exit, Meara's voice stopped her.

"Lady Raine, would you care for a walk with me? Just the two of us, as mere companions and not the Queen's Circle."

Faisuri arched a brow, wondering where this request was coming from. The brunette lady's face was as demure as ever, betraying no ulterior motive save for the desire to simply spend quality time with her. She did, however, notice the fact that she had waited until Ida and Aine were out of earshot. Did she have something to hide from them that she would only like Faisuri to know? The thought of this elegant lady having some sort of scandalous secret to share tickled her fancy.

"Why, it would be my pleasure, Lady Friell!"

The ends of Meara's red lips turned upwards as she linked her arm through Faisuri's, their shoulders comfortably resting against one another's.

"Please, as we are now mere companions going for a stroll, address me by the name Meara."

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Chapter Writer: VeryBigMess

AN: I might have had a bit too much fun with this chapter... nothing like writing about a group of gossiping teenage girls (wondering why I decided to write a high fantasy novel instead of teen fic/ chick lit?)

This chapter is dedicated to gideoneaston. Call it a "welcome back" gift of sorts. It may not be the most perfect chapter that I could give, what with all its flaws, but the timing just happened to be quite right for your return after a long hiatus from Wattpad XD Your recovery is fantastic news. Thank you so much for being an active support for Heir of Cinders, and although you might not even see this chapter until quite some time due to the amount of books on Wattpad you'd have to catch up on, I do hope you'll enjoy this regardless!

And to all of you readers who have gotten this far, you all have our utmost gratitude as well! In a way, all of my chapters are dedicated to y'all XD Please do leave your thoughts and votes so that we can continue to write better chapters to entertain and immerse!