A flurry of hands surrounded her, but Meira focused on her breathing. The attendants were painting her face with makeup and tugging at her hair as they twisted it into a complicated style. She was meeting the Verena.

After Sorin’s quiet, yet forceful dismissal, she and Kirsi had scrambled back to her quarters in the tower. It wasn’t long until the invitation had come, along with the tittering assistants, arms full of fabric and cosmetics.

“Sorry,” Kirsi said as Meira hissed and pulled her hand back from where the woman was trying to heal the remnants of her fight with the General. “This burn is particularly bad.”

Kirsi ran her healing motions over it again and Meira felt the icy cool relief, but it didn’t last long and the puckered burn across her fingertips and palm remained. As the healer dipped her head closer, examining the wound further, Meira felt concern spike.

“Just do what you can for the pain and we can wrap it up. I can go to the Palace Healers tomorrow.”

The woman nodded, but kept eyeing the burn. After another moment, she did as asked, and Meira felt the throbbing pain recede. Her sigh of relief didn’t last long.

She jumped in her seat and turned to glare at the attendant working on her hair. The woman had the decency to look sheepish for pricking her, holding the jeweled hair pin up in wordless defense. Meira eyed its sharp point with scheming hope. She motioned for the woman to continue and let Kirsi bandage her hand while she closed her eyes. She focused on a new plan.

When she opened them again later, she didn’t recognize the woman reflected in the mirror. The efforts of the attendants had resulted in an ethereal quality that had the women eying each other proudly behind their charge. Meira touched the soft curls draped across one shoulder, turning to see the intricate, looping braids the woman had used to pull back the top half of her hair. The shining pins sat at each juncture, holding the crossed braids in place.

The makeup the other attendant had applied held a similar intimidating perfection. In Datran, makeup was dramatic and bold, meant to catch the eye. Meira had never seen herself with it so expertly, yet subtly, applied. The soft violet powder swept across the lids had emphasized her silvery eyes, the almond shape tilting pleasantly with the help of kohl winged out at the corners.

One woman spoke to Kirsi, who nodded and ushered Meira out to the main room. The third attendant was standing by the wardrobe, shining fabric dripping from her arms. With no energy left to fight, Meira held out her arms and let the women begin their deft work.

Kirsi let out a soft, “Oh,” as they stepped back after the last knot was tied. The caftan was a sumptuous creation of indigo and silver. The deep color of the bodice gave way to the lighter skirt, both with intricate metallic embroidery across the panels. Meira touched the wide belt they had fastened around her waist, large moon motifs stitched delicately into the fabric. Hands on her neck brought Meira from her inspection, and she turned to the attendant behind her with the elaborate necklace in her hands. From the gestures she made, Meira gathered that she’d been trying to unfasten the locket to place the Juri’a jewels selected for the outfit. Meira shook her head, holding onto the touchstone she wore. Kirsi stepped in, arguing lightly with the attendant until the woman put up her hands and placed the necklace back on the table nearby.

“You are ready for Verena,” Kirsi said, beaming. Meira’s stomach swooped with the unsettling feeling of facing an opponent she couldn’t yet fathom.

A stiff knock reverberated through the room and the women hurried Meira through last minute touch ups as they pushed her towards the door. Their excited titters died as the door opened, revealing the dispassionate face of the General.

“D’vasia,” the man drawled, inclining his head slightly but never breaking eye-contact. Meira returned the bow dumbly, her mouth hovering open in surprise. Sorin held out his elbow to her, his eyes flicking between the outstretched appendage and her face when she didn’t move.

“I’m to escort you to dinner.”

The last time Meira had seen this man, he had been dripping wet after trying to kill her. Now he stood before her, the picture of etiquette. Were it not for the loose waves of dark hair hanging down his shoulders or the tattoos reaching just beyond the collar of his deep blue tunic, Meira could have almost imagined for a moment that they were in Datran.

“Fine,” Sorin said, letting the barest flicker of emotion cross his face as his arm dropped back to his side. His tone prickled in her continued silence. “Come with me.”

Meira followed his quick steps, her feet sliding beneath her as she attempted to keep pace across the tiled halls. Sorin’s taut form moved ahead of her, fingers curled into his palms. It had surprised her when the guards outside her room didn’t follow them, but losing her two azure shadows was a welcome consolation, even if it came with the dark storm four paces ahead.

A quick turn around a corner nearly rolled one of Meira’s ankles as the slick fabric of her skirt slid beneath her. She yelled at her unwilling escort, letting her annoyance infuse her demand that he wait. Rotating her ankle once, then twice, she picked up the scraps of her dignity and walked to where he stood at the next juncture in the hallway. He said nothing, but the slower pace allowed Meira a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding since she first saw his intimidating stature at the door.

They walked next to each other in silence, and Meira watched the sunset blossom across the sky as they passed the large windows. The sight did nothing to ease the discord she felt, walking calmly with a man who appeared to hold so much control over her fate. If she was going to get out, she needed to get in with Sorin somehow. Her eyes flickered to the lofty man next to her as one hand traced her locket absently. Whatever blatant distrust he had this morning had eased marginally after her display. Perhaps she could use it; but she needed more.

Meira’s gaze shot up as she tripped on a loose tile. This was a different route than she had taken earlier in the day with Kirsi, and she looked around with apprehension as the halls narrowed and darkened in their journey.

“I’m not taking you to kill you, if that’s what you think.”

Sorin’s voice made her jump, and she looked up at his angular face. His raised eyebrow and slight smirk pushed her nerves out on a laugh. She saw the smirk grow a fraction beneath his beard.

“Well, it would have been a waste of a nice dress,” she joked back, trying to ease the tension she felt. The man hummed in response and let the quiet between them settle once more.

“So, what’s it like being a General?” Meira asked after a time. She cringed slightly at the limp attempt at conversation, but Sorin picked it up gracefully.

“General isn’t really an exact translation from Juri’a. The term Mek’are means something closer to protector.”

Meira nodded, feeling like it made more sense with what little she knew of the Juri’a from before.

“You’re pacifists, right?” she asked, seeking clarification.

Sorin seemed to tighten a little, measuring his words to the woman he still knew as an enemy.

“Our beliefs do not allow us to attack unless we are attacked first."

"I think I remember you throwing the first punch," Meira said after a beat, eying the man next to her. His expression didn't change.

"You were thought to be a spy who had entered our territory. That would have been an attack on our people so I would have been justified.” Sorin's eyes sidled towards his companion, and she looked forward again as his tone tilted towards taunting, “Thank the gods you weren't."

They descended another slender staircase, as Meira tried to understand this controlling man more. She asked about the training session she had walked in on earlier in the day.

"We don’t have a traditional military like the Empire,” he explained.

“That must be hard,” Meira said, considering his position momentarily. “I know how important our military is for keeping peace.”

She turned when she realized his footsteps had stopped.

Sorin stared at her with a mosaic of emotions she couldn’t quite separate. Meira’s hand dropped from her necklace to the buttons at the top of her low bodice, mistaking his look for something she understood.

“I can’t keep my people safe from invaders like the Khaantul.” Meira observed the man carefully as he walked the short distance between them while he spoke. The animosity he felt for her country rang in each syllable. “I can’t keep them from being slaughtered by a military bent on killing others because someone decided they want our land. Because they want to bring us their version of peace and civilization.”

His chest nearly grazed hers as he crowded her space in an attempt to intimidate, but she stayed resolute, matching his stare.

“So yes, it’s hard.”

Only their breaths interrupted the quiet of the hallway. Meira felt a flash of panic as Sorin leaned forward, but he reached around her to knock on the door over her shoulder she hadn’t noticed.

“D’vasia,” he said, ending their interaction the way it began, and turning to walk back the way they had come.