"My Lady, are you sure there isn't a problem?" Faeradaigh asked for what had to have been the twelfth time. He rubbed the tip of one finger against the tip of his thumb then pursed his lips.

The guard still stood beside him, armored in a black breastplate with the white links of his chainmail spilling out of its side. It was a minimalist form of protection at best, only protecting what laid behind his ribs and nothing else, but the man seemed confident in his ability to protect himself. He kept his back erect with the fingers of his left hand wrapped tightly around the shaft of a spear made of glistening red metal. It towered over him, a distance of two heads in fact.

"I am quite sure, milord," Oris repeated, able to keep up a genteel manner now that her mood uplifted by her conversation with Mikeal.

She eyed the wicked point of the spear, noting that if it was covered with dried blood at the moment she wouldn't even know. "It still feels unnecessary to bother this guard to watch me. We have plenty soldiers," that I have never laid my eyes on, "and enough servants to keep me company."

"I would feel safer this way, My Lady." Faeradaigh continued to insist, his eyes roving the interior of the carriage as though the action who eliminate all possible threats to her safety.

"It may be easier if you think of it as protection for the goods you are carrying," he nodded subtly towards the sacks as though he was under the scrutiny of a thousand pair of eyes.

The guard offered a crisp salute, his lips still pressed into a thin line. He wore no helmet so the scorn in his eyes was clear to see. He obviously felt that it was beneath him to guard a nameless woman who was unlikely to win the Emperor's favor, much less even pass the selection.

"Milord," Oris forced a giggle out of her throat, knowing the separate effects it would have on the men. As expected, the guard's scowl worsened while Faeradaigh looked simply charmed.

"I had only been laughing to myself," beneath the veil she pressed her fingers to her lips like the female royals she had once tried to emulate before her coronation, "and I got carried away. I apologize, I really do, for alarming you."

"Ah," Faeradaigh chuckled then nodded like he had understood something, "it is not good for a lady to be trapped in a carriage without a thing to do. I will have the servants arrange something, your maids can accompany you."

"That would be wonderful, milord." Oris forced her smile to widen despite the men not being able to clearly see her face. She would have to get used to faking smiles if she ever planned on taking off the veil.

"Faeradaigh, my Lady," he stressed. "I have told you many times."

Then, as if a film had been cleared from his vision, he peered into the carriage again. "Where are they?"

"Where are who, milord?"

"Maids, My Lady."

"Maids?" Oris furrowed her brows and pretended to think. It was all she could do to stall the inevitable.

"Yes," Faeradaigh said. "Your maids, where have they gone to."

"Oh. Those maids." Oris laughed and laughed, until the eunuch began to look disconcerted. "They're off somewhere. Running errands and the likes. . ." she trailed off, not daring to go into further detail.

"They left you alone," he gasped, his horror evident. "My Lady, that is highly improper!"

"Yes, yes," she bobbed her head as though she took his chastisement to heart. This time around she truly had been too careless, but she had no choice. "I shall have them punished when they return. But you cannot really blame them, boredom is not good for the productivity of the help. And I did give them permission."

"Well that's—"

Just then, Oris spotted Mayree darting out of corner and heading towards the carriage, familiar papers clutched tightly in her hand. "Here's one of those wily maids now."

Using the time Faeradaigh used to swing his head about, she took in a deep, calming breath. That was too close for comfort. In the future she should endeavor not to make such risky plans.

"Mistress," on spotting Faeradaigh, Mayree stumbled to a stop and hurriedly curtsied, lowering her head as she tucked the papers into her wide sleeves.

"Head Eunuch," she greeted, a strange type of fear visible in her gaze as her eyes met Oris' for a split second.

Oris looked away, not able to understand what the girl had tried to convey. Figuring that she would find out soon, she focused her energies on looking as regal and haughty as possible. In the palace she might be able to shed off her masks and reveal her true self but here she needed to keep her audience guessing. No one must be able to predict her thoughts.

"Yes," the eunuch turned wildly to face Mayree. "Why did you leave your Mistress unattended? Where are the rest of your. . . your accomplices?"

He pointed at accusing finger at the maid and spat out each word. The finger shook as he continued talking, spittle flying along with his words. "Who gave you the daring? What gall you have! Your Mistress is the Emperor's future bride, how dare you—"

"Mistress."

"Mistress."

"Mistress."

One by one, the rest of Oris' maids lined up beside Mayree in order of age, all looking exhausted and worse for wear.

"Head Eunuch, pleasant morning," Seline and Andrea greeted loudly while Keziah mumbled along. They clasped their hands to their left and bent their knees, lowering themselves slightly to curtsy.

"You!" Faeradaigh swiveled to face them and spittle sprayed anew. "What a bunch of scoundrels!"

"Milord," Mayree took a few steps forwards, the very picture of docility, "this is entirely the fault of this servant. This servant had misjudged the time it would take to complete her task and hence left our Mistress to suffer for so long. Please punish as you wish, this servant knows her wrong."

"Well, ah. . ." Faeradaigh started, fidgeting wit visible discomfort when the three other maids asked to be punished as well. "I cannot say this is entirely your fault. After all, a maid can only obey her mistress."

"You are wise, milord." Oris said with a small smile, choosing to be diplomatic. "I should have asked one of them to stay behind with me but the matter was one of great urgency."

"What sort of matter?"

Oris forced herself to look bashful. "You see. . ."

"A matter of a private nature, milord." Seline supplied helpfully.

"Private nature?" Faeradaigh asked, his curiosity peaked.

Oris let out a cough. "A private nature of womanly matters," she forced herself to say. It was the only answer that wouldn't provoke further questions.

"Oh," Faeradaigh said, a hint of color now in his cheeks.

Even the guard had turned away.

"Now you see," she started in a quiet voice, "why I have no need for a guard."

"Yes, yes," the eunuch said loudly. "I still have many things to arrange and discuss. I bid you farewell, My Lady."

Oris watched him bow and walk away, the silent guard trotting along behind him. She returned her attention to her maids when the men were out of earshot. "You four, where have you been?"

"Mistress, we—" Mayree began.

"The plan didn't work well in the beginning," Andrea cut her off and pouted. "There were so many sick and hungry people but they weren't convinced. Only a few people could recognize written words and—"

"They were afraid of being lied to," Seline interrupted, "but they were more afraid of the palace soldiers. Some thought we were runaways who wanted to use them to get revenge on our cruel masters in the palace."

"Keziah was hurt," Mayree added.

Oris turned to the silent maid who still had her head bowed. "Is that true?"

"I am fine, Mistress," she answered quietly.

"Why are you lying to our Mistress?" Andrea glared at Keziah. "Why didn't you say you were almost trampled to death?"

"Andrea." Mayree shook her head, her tone admonishing. "We are reporting what happened to our Mistress, do not digress."

"Did the plan work?" Oris asked while Andre sulked.

"Yes, the people are on their way here as we speak."

"Their numbers?"

"Hundreds. . ." Mayree trailed off. "Maybe a thousand."

"Enough to catalyse an uprising." Keziah whispered gravely.

"Catalyse?" Andrea tilted her head in confusion. "What's that?"

"An uprising is the last thing I want to be involved in, Keziah." Oris assured the girl. "I just need some attention."

"But—" Andrea started but was cut of by a loud shout.

"There it is!" the voice said, followed by the cacophonous murmurings of others.

The five lady turned their gazes to the road behind them. Multitudes of people dressed in rags swarmed towards their convoy of carriages and immediately the servants that Oris had not once laid her eyes on were screaming in fright.

"I think I might have underestimated the crowd we had gathered," Mayree said with a sure sort of uncertainty.

"You might have." Oris agreed. The story she had told Faeradaigh might end up coming true. She doubted that she had enough provisions for this many people.

"Take these bags and toss them into the crowd, if you are strong enough," she told her maids.

She knew better than to expect starving people to queue up to be handed the rations. They needed to fight among themselves first and acknowledge that there was enough to go around, even if there wasn't.

Then before any of the soldiers arrived, they would be grateful that they had something to weigh down their stomachs.

They would remember her.

Andrea shoved her sleeves up to her elbows and marched up the steps of the carriage. As she hefted the first bag unto her shoulders, she turned to Mayree, Seline and Keziah.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked with a quizzical smile stretching her lip. "Give me a hand, we have people to feed."

~