It was Farisa's third win in a row, and Faisuri had grown weary of her own fruitless endeavors.

"Shall we give it another try?" offered Farisa, already beginning to rearrange the pieces on the board.

Faisuri pouted. "I don't understand. Are you that good with this game, or am I simply that bad?"

The older woman chuckled. "No, you are just a tad inattentive," she pointed out, landing a dainty finger upon the wooden king piece. "It's good that you know your priorities and your end goal, but more often than not, you can't approach it with a one-track mind. You have to branch out, taking in the entirety of the board, seeing which pieces you can use, as well as potential threats coming in from the sides."

"Huh. I'm not convinced that's all there is to it."

"This game is simple, my dear! Hardly matches up to the complexities of life. The rules are very clear-cut."

The young lady pursed her lips, fiddling with a battle mage piece between her gloved fingers before setting it down upon its corresponding hexagon upon the honeycomb-like grid. "Funny, isn't it? How the only time women like us will ever get to experience some semblance of leading an army through war... is by moving wooden pieces upon a grid."

"You leave the real warring to your cousin. The battlefield is no place for a lady," her aunt dismissed.

"Then, why do we even have a queen in this game?" Faisuri questioned, lifting up the crowned piece for emphasis.

"'Tis just a game. You can hardly compare it to reality."

"I'd have thought women would have more of a role in warfare in Althewyn, seeing as our culture is so heavily derived from the aerhyans."

The aunt began the game with a quick, deliberate movement of a piece, though the inquiry on written on her features showed that her thoughts were on her niece's words. "Why the sudden fascination with war?" asked Farisa, her right eyebrow forming an arch. "Do you not recall the time you held a training sword in your hand?"

Faisuri cringed, recalling more the feverish heat upon her cheeks than the stinging cuts and blemishes on her fair skin. If there was one thing to be learned from that catastrophe, it was that putting a weapon in her grasp was a terrible notion. To envision herself standing in the middle of the din of battle, shrouded by a flurry of dust, raising a sword to the air and commanding lives to charge forth for a cause... would be a dream for the drunk.

"T'was hypothetical," justified the teenage noble. "Really, the thought of me, frail as I am, stepping foot on the battleground is as laughable as the idea that boars could fly!"

"Pray that you should never have to, child. We should be content for our peaceful lives the way they are."

Faisuri's fingers, hugging a wooden knight by its sculpted torso, paused in midair. Her eyes found those of her aunt's. "Are you, though?" she asked, quietly.

She was met with silence.

The older woman's gaze had fallen to the board, the thoughtful expression on her face a facade for her hesitation. She took her time, carefully choosing between her pieces, even when she had no need for it.

"Have you ever wondered why I named your cousin 'Daud'?" Farisa finally asked.

Faisuri frowned slightly at this attempt to divert the subject, but shook her head. Evasive as her aunt was, she dared not tread too far into a sensitive area. She figured that she ought to see where this detour might take them.

A plaintive smile wandered into her aunt's countenance. Her dark eyes stared past her, as if they were looking towards a distant horizon, reliving memories that had long been left behind.

"I was young when your grandfather sent me to be wed to Lord Allister. Almost as young as you are right now," she spoke with a pensive air.

"I had a lot to say against the arrangement, as you'd expect. To be sent far away from home, bound forever in espousal with a man I never knew... The idea, naturally, did not sit well with me. It was only worse that my sister Fatiyah had been the one to plant the idea into Father's head. She watered it, watched it take root, and harvested the fruit of that thought with a sick smile."

"But that was not the reason I was so adamant about calling it off. You see..."

The lady paused, glancing towards the door. She watched it for a few seconds, wary that someone should barge in and overhear what she was about to divulge. Faisuri teetered on the edge of her seat, leaning forward onto the table.

"I had a lover," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "His name was Darsan. When your cousin was born, I decided to name him after Darsan in childish retaliation. Perhaps, part of me had wished he was a child conceived between me and my old lover."

Witnessing the rapt attention upon her niece's face, Farisa laughed. She waved her hand vigorously, swatting away the air of regret into oblivion. "But, that's all in the past now! I am quite content with the way my life has turned out. Lord Allister is a much better man than I could have ever asked for."

She smiled, but Faisuri did not.

"And what of Aunt Fatiyah? Do you not resent her?" she asked.

For a second, she thought she could catch a hard glint within the black of her aunt's eyes. "Oh, yes. I do resent her very much," answered Farisa, her speech exuding festered hate. "Sometimes, I find myself wishing to bring her life to ruin. But there is nothing to be gained by wallowing in what have and what could've been."

Faisuri nodded impassively, but in her silence, she begged to differ. Her fists clenched under the tabletop. To let go of what could've been that easily? That was not something she could accept... nor did she want to. Her aunt may have lost her lover, but Faisuri had lost more.

That night, eleven years ago, she had lost her world.

She, a mere child at the time, had been whisked miles away from home, smuggled out in the dead of night for Thieros knew what reason. She never had the chance to ask. On the same night, her father was taken away from her.

Blood. There was a lot of them.

The Mist was heavy and her memory had been dulled by the passing of the seasons, but she could remember the sickening splatters that painted the ground, the carriage, their clothes.

Red. What a repulsive color.

The wraiths' coats were lined with red. The blood on the dagger was red. The fire was red.

But his merciful eyes... were also red.

There were many things that Faisuri learned from her aunt, but there were only so much between them that laid on the same path. This was where their lives would meet a junction, where their roads would diverge. Faisuri would never allow herself to be content with the way things turned out, so long as she still drew breath in this foreign land.

Nay, she was born to be a queen. And a queen she would be.

The thought of those who sought the murder of a young girl, not realizing the abhorrence of trampling over the bodies of good men to sit their rear upon a throne, brought the taste of bile to her tongue. Nothing should bring Faisuri greater satisfaction than to bury them miles underfoot.

"Aunt Farisa, I think the time has come for you to tell me something."

Farisa put the game to a halt. "What about?"

"Who do you think commissioned the Scarlet Masks to murder my father eleven years ago? You must have an inkling."

The color drained out of her aunt's complexion. She fidgeted in her seat, biting her lower lip as her gaze darted around for answers written in the empty air. "That's not- We should not point fingers without proof."

"I almost died that night, Aunt Farisa. I daresay I deserve to know anything related to that incident, even if it is merely a conjecture."

A gulp traveled down Farisa's gullet. Her fingers restlessly intertwined with each other, squirming, fighting among themselves.

"Farhan was a king. That alone tends to invite enmity by default," she elaborated in an attempt to dissuade the girl seated in front of her.

But Faisuri was not so easily shaken off. Her eyes, expectant, bore straight into her aunt's. She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. When would she finally drop this air of false formality?

"But... I wouldn't put it past Fatiyah to be involved. I dare not say that she masterminded the whole thing, but it is certainly within her capability. Fatiyah is an ambitious woman, and not even kinship would stand in her way."

"I see," said Faisuri, leaning back into her chair. Those words silenced the storm brewing in her heart, turning it into an undisturbed plane of water. "Well, it matters not who is behind it. I've made my resolve."

The shadow of worry clouded Farisa's face. "And what sort of resolve is it?"

"To reclaim what's mine, naturally," stated Faisuri in a tone that was far too casual.

"Are you saying you want to just march back to Halimun and expect that they'll just hand you over the throne because you were the king's child?" her aunt scoffed. "They care not about your heritage. Your blood is as good as a peasant's. If you want to force them to listen, you'll need power."

Faisuri bit her lip, tracing her line of sight down to the idle board in front of them. Her aunt had a point.

Power. How could a woman get power? Enough power to make an entire kingdom listen to her?

The sun's rays pierced through the window, crowning the wooden pieces on the board with a golden halo. Her eyes fell to the king, to the queen, and to the knight. Her thoughts began to turn, swirling into each other like colors on a palette, finally turning caliginous.

People. People were just pieces on this giant game board they called the "court".

Then, power I will have.

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Chapter Writer: VeryBigMess

AN: I AM BACK, FOLKS!

And oh boy, my writing brain is rusty >.< There are a lot of things that displeased me about this chapter (it feels a lot like a scene from a soap opera pffft). Still, here's hoping I can slowly get back into the groove!

Thank you all for being patient and supportive of this story ;-; Your support means a lot to us. After all, it's what keeps me coming back to this story to continue it, no matter how many times I've contemplated on giving it up entirely ^^ I hope you enjoy this chapter!