Her journey to the empire was as suffocating as it was informational.

Firstly, Charlotte realized her grief was a proper weapon in front of the Imperials, as odd as it seemed. Her father would have scoffed had she shed open tears before him and told her to seclude herself until she had the ability to hold herself as a princess should. The Imperials, however...

The singular time one of the higher knights--she assumed, at least, from the many times she spotted him speaking with Ranese through slits in the cart's walls--caught her before she could control herself, his face twisted into something complicated. Then, rather than step out of the cart, he'd climbed inside, dug out a handkerchief, and offered a quiet 'apologies, princess,' before wiping her cheeks for her. She assumed the apology was due to her bound wrists keeping her from doing such for herself.

Were he not one of the men who drove everyone she knew to their deaths, she may have been inclined to like him.

As it was, she'd sniffed, before closing her eyes and ignoring his presence. Eventually, he'd retreated with another soft apology, leaving her alone for the rest of that singular day.

It was when her tear-stained face had a similar effect on a woman in armor--a surprise in itself that the imperials allowed women to travel with them--that she realized the group themselves might, impossibly, be weak to tears. Given that, assuming they were returning to Seaphis, the journey would take several months...Charlotte decided to test her theory.

The third soldier offered to fetch her a doctor, fretting that she was in such severe pain that it'd driven her to tears. Had Charlotte been free enough to bite them, she would have. As it was, she had to bite her own tongue to manage a mere nod in place of a snarl.

Even without the pain radiating throughout every inch of her body, she had more than enough reasons to be crying.

Were they unaware of what they had done?

"Dolt," she murmured to herself, while waiting.

She should have known better. Why had she expected something different, just because crying drew something out of them? The Imperials had been eating up every kingdom around them since Ranese was sixteen. If they felt any sense of guilt--understood anything of the people suffering...

The cart door swung open again. An older man with a salt-and-pepper beard climbed up next to the young soldier. Valnessa may not have been full of them, but it still didn't take a genius to recognize a healer. They had a distinct...air to them, one was taught. A warmth that was misleading. Despite her mental discomfort, she could feel herself physically relax as he drew closer.

That was, until he reached her and something silver flashed in her vision. She recoiled, only to swear as pain sent everything black for far too long a moment.

Someone snorted, and the ropes snapped.

"If I was gonna hurt ya, girlie, I'd..."

He'd...what? Exactly?

Charlotte blinked to clear her vision as the old man's thick accent mixed in a way that threatened to add a migraine to her list of aches. The words that had came out of his mouth felt fake. Like a mix of sounds that had no business pressed together.

"They don't much like yer blood, ya know. Snappin' of my fingers, bit a divine love, and ya'd wish ya was gone, eh? So, sit still an' maybe I'll fix ya without it."

Her struggle admittedly aligned with the second realization she'd had while traveling--her knowledge in the Imperial language was thankfully strong enough to converse, but there were many words that her tutors hadn't covered. Most of them seemed to fall from the mouths of commoners as she was guessing this doctor was from his peppered hair. An issue when she was surrounded by soldiers.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be a problem in the capital.

As it was, his words put a certain degree of unease in her stomach that was only countered by how the soldier at his side didn't look at all bothered. Then again, perhaps the idea wasn't abhorrent to him.

Gods, perhaps she should have just died.

"What...what is..." she began, breaking off as her dry throat sent her through a series of coughs. The healer cursed and waved the soldier off for water. Ignoring his instruction to stay quiet, she tried to mimic the sounds his mouth had made before, well aware she was failing miserably.

The healer snorted, before flicking her forehead. "Gods' damned 'Nesian women, heads full of nothin' but flowers, all of ya. What use are all those 'cademies if they teach ya nothin'?"

She slapped his hand with her good one, ignoring the way her body shrieked. How was it that even outside of the courts, that same stereotype prevailed?

A good, proper Valnesian lady put nothing in her head beyond thoughts of how to manage her household. She knew the proper language of flowers, who was to be seated next to whom, how to handle the servants and how to bat her eyes just so as to get a merchant to lower the price of a new necklace--but, she didn't learn language.

"What does it mean?" she demanded.

"Tone, miss," the healer retorted. The soldier returned, then, and the old man turned to take the water from him, passing it along to her. "Ya -- a fuckin' princess any longer, ya know?"

She didn't drink it.

Charlotte didn't need translation to know fucking was a curse. It was in the inflection and how he tossed out the word princess just as cruelly. Despite all the etiquette lessons she'd snuck into growing up, the part of her that remembered seeing their tutor's pale face amongst the dead repeated the syllables until she was certain she'd remember it.

"Then I suppose I need to learn a different fuckin' language than I knew as a princess," she retorted. "What does it mean?"

The healer stared, before laughing. "Power of the gods, girlie. The blessing they give. Different from the alchemy yer 'cademies teach."

It clicked, then, the translation. The word he'd said was magic in her language.

"Like anywhere else, our gods accept what we give them, and give us power in return if our pay is enough. That's what I was talkin' 'bout. Sorcery. Magic. I've no doubt if I try ta heal ya 'fore yer taken ta him, the god of the sands would fix ya, sure, but he'd make ya wish he hadn't while doin' it."

Her stomach threatened to rebel at the thought alone.

"I...see."

She'd heard stories of what happened when magic was performed by a healer on someone marked an enemy by their god. Pain was the easiest consequence that might occur. His words might have been gruff, but he was being polite by leaving the worse stories out of his warning.

She still didn't drink the water.

He eyed the cup, but said nothing more beyond a few grumbled complaints about her state as he ordered her to shift this way and that to enable an examination. It wasn't until his fingers brushed her shoulder and the wooden cup immediately crashed from her fingers that he started swearing.

The world swam around her as she doubled over, arm clutched to her chest. Unbidden, tears brimmed her eyes again, breaths torn from her heaving chest as she tried to pull even an ounce of air into her lungs past the piercing pain. By the time she'd managed to collect herself, the doctor had already pushed the young man from the cart and stormed off, shouting unfamiliar names with the sort of righteous anger in his voice only an elder could manage.

The doorway was empty.

Charlotte drew in a sharp breath and without pausing to think, forced herself to her feet. Before she could take two steps, however, a familiar figure curled his fingers around the side of the cart and leapt inside. In comparison to those who had just left, Ranese' massive frame seemed to fill the entire space.

"Going somewhere, Princess?"

Standing alone had her head spinning. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten--let alone drank something. The way the healer had taken off in a huff after examining her told her all she needed to know about how pathetic she was in the moment.

But, every inch of her was tempted to give into the anger searing her veins and send her knee into his unprotected groin. He wouldn't expect it of someone who could barely stand. Her sister had taught her how to do it. She'd stagger forward, pretend to faint...

Then be executed for harming the emperor.

Charlotte let herself slip back to the ground.

Not yet.

Not like this.

"The healer ran," she rasped.

He quirked a brow. "He's currently stripping my captain of his dignity as a gentleman--then, I believe, intending on gathering supplies to break your arm. Apparently, we're all heathens who let a lady be strapped to a wall with an injury that could have killed her."

He didn't seem upset about it. Merely...entertained. As if it were all some big joke he'd just been let in on.

"I believe there were also words about starvation and dehydration. Although...I recall giving orders for you to be fed. And watered."

What if she spit at him? Just once? Forgetting dignity and refinement, he deserved it for speaking of her like an animal.

Charlotte lowered her eyes, dropping her shoulders as if apologetic. All of the fight she'd shown the healer gone as if it'd never existed.

"I'm sorry."

It had been stupid to show her attitude to the old man. She'd known better...but, to her credit, hadn't expected to see the emperor until Seaphis.

"Sorry?" Ranese echoed, tone non-committal.

"It's...hard to drink like this. And...the food, I--" she let her voice break--easy to do when her throat was so dry. Sniffed for extra effect. "I just can't seem to swallow it. I...it all...I'm sorry. I just can't. I...get sick. Every time. I keep...I..."

She could feel his eyes on her. What was he thinking, she wondered, as he stared at her down? Did he see her as she wanted? Weak? Helpless?

Did he believe the stereotype?

Or did he remember how she'd acted at his feet? Gods, she hoped he'd forgotten.

Footsteps sounded outside of the cart, followed by the click of the emperor's tongue. She listened as he moved, noting the heavy thud of him jumping down from the ledge and the annoyance in his voice as he called for the others.

"Deal with what you need to, then toss her in a carriage with some of the war prisoners. No need for the ropes--Lotte there doesn't have any calluses that I can see. Doubt she's held a dagger a day in her life. Make sure one of them is able to manage her...and if she continues to starve herself in an effort to manipulate us, inform me."