(Part 1)

As the princess began making her way to the throne room, thousands of thoughts--mostly anticipations and second-guesses--swirled in her volatile mind

"Hmm... not very commonplace indeed, this call. Wonder who might've leaked that shop ruckus; who would dare, specifically."

If there was anything this princess could be relieved of aside from Zena's sudden but apparently-genuine offer of friendship (which she had not had the time to earnestly reflect on), it was that she had fulfilled a promise, and with that, a smile to someone she truly cared for--large bricks of gold buried deep beneath the filth and muck of that day.

And now the Amir himself had actually bothered to send summons to this young rogue. Was this to be the brightest gold of all, presented arguably without prior notice; or simply the largest, dirtiest clod of filth, hurled straight at the face and in person by the Amirate's current overseer?

"The heck," Zalea huffed with a tinge of resignation, "not like I'm the nicest kid 'round the house anyway..."

About halfway to her destination, the princess's path crossed with that of someone dressed like a gardener, with a brimmed straw hat, sleeveless garment of rough linen, trousers and boots. They were also carrying a weaved basket behind the back which, the princess surmised, might likely have contained a sickle for the grass; roughskin gloves, fingerless or otherwise; and at least two sets of knapsacks to water the plants with. Be that as it may...

"Hold on there, you!"

The garden-hand paused and turned to face Azalea, their own face hidden by the brimmed straw hat as they lowered their gaze. "Yes, Princess?"

"Don't 'yes, princess' me. What do you think you're doin', huh, straying so far off from where you're supposed to be?"

"Oh, but if it pleases the princess... I am heading back there now. Pardons for having come in your way."

Zalea narrowed her eyes. "Think that's a good 'nough excuse to wiggle away, do ya? More people like you and manners in this palace shall no longer be observed."

"While we are on manners, then," this particular gardener observed, "how about returning my daughter's doublet sooner? Sowed 'nough mischief in it already, you did."

"What the actual heck--?!"

Almost immediately after this 'gardener' took off their hat, Azalea found herself staring at the equally-determined hazel eyes and half-smile of Lady Vestra Darys, first of the Amir's spouses and mother to this princess's rivals in affection. The latter's gaze exuded womanly confidence.

***

For the moment, such was Azalea's shock that the girl could do little more than gulp and grit her teeth in nervous anticipation.

"Vessy," she growled. "So this is how you pass the time."

"Occasionally," the 'gardener' replied, now standing erect with one hand to the brim of her hat, being held close to the waist. "Court gossip for days on end bores me, what can I say? You too would require something more productive than tearing up garbs, Zalea."

"Speaking of, you look good in those." The princess crossed her own arms, smirking. "So you knew of the ruckus. How?"

"Helped fund the guild that was sponsoring that particular shop, alongside some others as would please me. You ever thought how many other customers would've felt seeing the dress, or dresses, with their favorite patterns all torn up?"

Zalea grinned. "Merely acted on orders."

"Whose?"

"Wouldn't say, and you'd rather not too."

Vestra raised an eyebrow. "Or what?"

"You might displease my sponsor."

"Try me."

"Oh, not in that garb, you wouldn't," the princess observed. "Leave already."

Vestra giggled. "Leave? Girl, in whatever garb and guise I may be in, shabby or flashy, I don't have to answer to you. Were you my child, we'd be talking big time about manners right here and now; but no, you are Urdin's and I don't want to waste your time--I know you would not have liked that either."

"About as much as when I see my wishes are not being seen to with due haste, just so you know!"

"What would you have done, then?" Vestra spread out her arms. "Go on! Chastise me, give your best shot. Outwardly I'm a recalcitrant simple gardener and you, Princess, are well within your rights to put me back in line. How will you do that?"

Zalea flushed. "Leave now!"

"Don't feel like it."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Can you really?"

With a willful scream, this princess rapidly closed her distance with the gardener and, reaching out, slapped the latter's hand that was holding the hat, sending the accessory rolling away and out of immediate concern. Vestra moaned, more in sympathy than pain.

"That, then," Leia's mother commented while flicking her injured hand a few times, "is how you've been taught to handle opposition, is it not?"

"So what?! Your fault for not leavin' when I told ya to--!"

A hint of worry started to creep into Azalea's countenance. She had just scored a direct hit on the mother of figures she'd learn to despise. Where was that sweet feeling of victory?

Why did she feel nothing but shame?

"Goodness me," Vestra sighed, "I did suspect that I might get into some sort of rivalry with Mirani somewhere down the road... but what is this? Her only girl is an utter dimwit in the avenues of finesse as it is, and yet that one seemed so eager to exchange my husband's virtue-fueled banners for those of her own designs. Pathetic fool."

Azalea gritted her teeth. "Stop insulting my mom, you--!"

"Did more than insult me just now, though! Were this my mother Ashara's court, you would not have lasted fifteen minutes with this kind of conduct. Did you even pause to think how my own kids would have responded to that? Hmm? Anyways, there we go: Azalea Husniria, first re-re-re-assessment of discipline and constitution in years; failed successfully. And you still dare to call yourself a noble! Your ties with Urdin is the only thing preventing your being turned into an object of public scorn, I should think; he's been too soft on you in his campaigning ignorance."

Too soft? Azalea felt herself bubbling up mentally. My favorite kitten had been thrown into the snarling doghouse for my trying to skip one of those lectures by obvious lackwits, myself having been made to watch; the first person to really call me 'friend' was a homeless paupress; Dastra had been made to cry himself hoarse in 'dutiful' compliance with a witch's standards. In all of which, Vessy, and so darn-many more, your part was absolutely nil... and Dad, he had shown me kindness despite himself. Too soft?!

To think I regarded you as the kinder wench...

"Heck," this princess blurted presently, "not like I couldn't freakin' apologize--!"

"By which tone it is doubtful whether you had done that at all," came the reply. "What is the nature of apology, besides? It's like hammering in nails to a fence. You can try taking the nails out, and out will it come; but never again will the fence be as smooth." Here Vestra leaned in close. "How many fences have you wrecked, dear, and how long are you planning to keep doing that... I wonder?"

The princess flushed. "Listen! Never you mind how darn-many; if apologies could not make that fence whole again anyway, then why the heck should I bother? What good would it do me?! I've done good things today, y'see, but... I don't know why... people are still so darn-eager to make it sound like they're of little use!"

The lady-gardener stood straight again, pursing her lips. "Do they, now?"

"Therefore... they would appreciate my goodwill better if I display it more often, wouldn't you say? You're the only one whom I hadn't really helped today--any chance I might make up for that?"

Leia's mother, however, now looked nonplussed.

"First you presume to injure me, then ask if I had any problems of my own? Seriously, Azalea--"

"I'm asking for your problems, not sermons."

"Still; why are you making such an offer quite so abruptly?"

"And why the heck not?! You're the mom I should've had, did ya know that? Gardener or otherwise, ya stood up to me today when lesser ones woulda cowered; you and your cubs. 'Sides, ya actually took the time to preach 'bout fences... My own mom would never do that, so, um... thank you. Now, about my question--"

"How unfortunate," Vestra lowered herself to the child's level, patting her head--which Zalea did not refuse, "that at present I had none that I couldn't manage myself... but if you think you're able today, be at the backyard palace gardens this afternoon. I might have things to show you. Now, if you'll excuse me... Wait, you're really crying?"

For this gardener had observed that tears had begun to bubble in the other girl's eyes.

"N-no shame in that... right?" Zalea blinked the tears away, at the same time resisting the urge to actually embrace this 'gardener'. "Oh, if only Lei knew of such a fortune, of having you as her parent, she might not have fussed so darn hard 'bout this measly garment..."

"Then, once again," Vestra observed, momentarily tightening her hold on the girl's shoulders--a sign of encouragement that the other girl had not quite expected, "you had best return it now. She'd appreciate that, I'm sure; and besides, you've had it for the better part of today. Alright?"

Zalea nodded, even as she sniffled again. "Y-yes... Mom."

"Now..." Ves stood straight once more, smiling, "I'm off, for real. 'Til we meet again, dear."

(Part 2)

For Urdin Husniris, the third and current overseer ('Amir') of the Husnirid Amirate presently lording over vast swathes of Vikr Peninsula's southern parts, bittersweet memories of schemes and campaigns against fellow contenders to the erstwhile Izurian Empire never failed to elicit occasional smiles, mostly of reflective nature.

For the best part of three years that struggle had lasted, and during those times Urdin felt he could look back and remark with satisfaction that he had always been a figure to be found literally in the thickest din of battles; more precisely, until word had come to his attention of Leia and Azalea's successive births only hours apart in the same single day.

Since then, and for the next eighteen years thereafter, the indomitable warrior-king had given way to the even-tempered, observing patriarch.

In that span of time too the Amir had come to realize that some of the fiercest battles need not be resolved before carefully-designated and reconnoitered plains and hills; rather from well-lit chambers with freshly-plucked quills and full inkpots. Heck, how else could young Prince Mustafa's darn-near-miss murder scheme have materialized?

Add to that the unenviable tasks of poring over strategic maps and sometimes parchments, second-guessing possible replies to foreign emissaries, each with often criss-crossing offers of their own.

On a more personal notion, Urdin's virility was already an established fact by this point in time, as his two spouses and five kids over ten years would testify. One of the spouses, Lady Vestra, had been married by mutual consent and had been shipped over from sun-baked lands on the southern side of the Sarsan Strait; the other, Lady Mirani, was a native of these lands, wed under circumstances that the husband would prefer not to discuss in the open.

"Gracious," the Amir sighed as he sat brooding on his canopied throne about this relatively-small thorn of conscience--not that there had not been many more such over the years, "thinking of it now, that must explain why my kids with Mirani are so contrasting in their nature: one fearless to a fault, the other so shy... But darn, the alternative would've been short of unspeakable!"

During the volatile days in the wake of Husnirid occupation of numerous towns and cities formerly under Izurian overwatch, Mirani--the sole surviving scion of the vanquished line--had had to elude not only Husnirid search parties but also her own populace, ticked-off by food shortages following Elbar's three-week siege and emboldened by a gaping lack of authority at local level. At one point an unruly mob of five men and two women--all armed with knives, sticks, clubs or stones, and quite unhesitant to use them--had had this 'royal' daughter cornered; Mirani, in her desperation not to be 'penetrated', had grabbed a knife and found herself having to slash half a man's face.

Most fortunately, a woodcutter on his way home with a rusty axe had chanced to pass by, and the lady's dignity was preserved. Said woodcutter (who would not give their name) had gone further, wordlessly helping to nurse her wounds.

Then-General Urdin had first seen them during one of his escorted tours in the still-smoking city to inspect and plot locations of added concern for rebuilding purposes. In a twist of irony, he most probably would not have bothered sparing the lady a second, more observant gaze, had he not heeded the courtly airs the woodcutter had been striving to present, no matter how awkward.

"Dad..!"

In a flash of melancholy, present-day Urdin thought he could see the bloody-and-bruised girl reaching out to him for help... until, in another blink, the Amir realized that it was his own daughter; panting for some reason, but without the outstretched arm.

"Azalea, here you are. Do you have any idea how long you've had me wait, girl? Is that intended to be a slight to my authority?"

"Bloody sorry, Dad..." the princess said, still panting, her wincing gaze lowered in anticipation. "Lotsa things to take care... I mean, I stand ready for censure..."

"You should," the Amir retorted, "and for things beyond this tardiness. You're fortunate I was not of the mind to send someone to have you dragged in here, such was the mischief you've caused."

"Dad, I said I'm sorry!"

"Did you say that same thing to the owner of that shop you've actually bothered to wreck?!"

For perhaps the tenth time in that same day, this princess was stunned into silence.

"Don't think for a moment," Urdin went on, rising from his throne and towering before the girl in three quick steps, "that such lame excuses will work on me--I've seen so darn many of them, all these years!"

"Dad, I..!"

"Truth now. Did you do that all on your own accord, or did someone else push you into that--and if so," the Amir stooped down, his fiery, battle-tested glare fast disintegrating the princess's bratty resolve, "who the heck could it have been, dear daughter? Tell me. Let me know who to dispense justice to."

Azalea gulped, tears starting to well in her eyes once more.

"Why..." she sobbed--in earnest this time, though still trying her best to look defiant, "I wonder, why is it that today, everyone seemed so eager to put the blame on me, Dad?! In the past few hours Lei quarreled with me; Mom and Vessy followed in darn-quick succession, and now you! Who's gonna volunteer next--that freakin' paragon of virtue, Mustafa?! Me bein' the center of your accusing fingers, is that what you've all been conspiring to do, all along, for every single darn day?!"

Urdin paused, some of the force dissipating from his gaze. "Go on."

"Heck, yes, I may have stolen a doublet and in it wrecked a whole garb shop, but... but... crap, I've done some nice things too, you know?! Are you going to overlook them just like that?!"

This princess took her austere father's following silence as encouragement.

"I made a friend! A young female pauper, if you must know, who'd spent every day getting beaten for every loaf of bread she could lay hands on, while playing cat-and-mouse with our basiras--skulking in every shadow she could afford to find. Heck if I know how many others out there are forced to be like her even as we speak! You bleat so forcefully of dispensing justice, Dad--well, have them stop being hounds to our own people!"

"So you're not going to tell me who had you wreck that shop, I take it?"

"Know what, Dad--I could give you any name for that, and your 'loyal' lapdogs will then strike with 'righteous' fury, safe in the assurance of royal backing. But before you preach on how I should apologize for the damage done to that freaking shop, why not give their proprietors an earful for putting on display all those flashy garments for jeweled folks only, without ever pausing to clothe the alleyway urchins for free? Least they could do, for crying out loud."

Urdin let a low growl while gazing at his second daughter for a while longer. Mentally he noted how he had never really seen her like this--the fiery ball of energy, Azalea Husniria, presently sobbing like a common girl. Thoughtfully, he now stooped down and used his left thumb of the hand to wipe away the princess's tears--to her wordless but profound surprise.

"So unseemly," the Amir murmured, "and I used to think you may have been the stronger-willed of my pair of daughters."

"I, the stronger of... You truly believe so?"

"I do," Urdin affirmed. "Do you really want me to put it to words? You have not only this House to protect, but also your siblings. Leia is obedient and has a princess's graces; Rashid, a prince's perceptiveness--but let's face it, he's too young as yet to broker anything; Dastra even less so. You, on the other hand, do have this luxury... which you've put to shambles when deciding to wreck that shop. Making a friend is nice and all, but still a long way to go."

"I have lots of heck to prove," this princess offered, "haven't I?" The father nodded. "But you're right, Dad... I am far from the paragon that Akhi Mustafa is."

"At times we'll have to rely on what is," came the Amir's unfazed response, "not what we dream to be. Mu has his merits and faults; either way, he's leagues away and you, Azalea--you are the one who is with us. This tardiness may not have been the best that you could've pulled off, but from that realization I hope you'll start being the princess I know you're meant to be.

"Now," Urdin resumed, "with regards to the basiras and shop proprietors--keen observations you've got on both. The shopkeepers have social functions too, best not let them forget that; and the basiras are upholders of law and order, not the wreckers. Invaluable basis for new regulations, these--I'll see what can be done, thank you."

Azalea sniffled. "Promise?"

"Royal promise. At the same time, by having put that shop to wreck, you had tampered with the economic chain, Zalea; to even the scales, yes, this will necessitate redress... and here's how. You will apologize in person, and thereafter suffer your allowances to be deducted cognizant of the price for the ruined dresses, in full; and that's excluding the fine for not having been a proper model for people entrusted to be under our benign protection."

"What the crap--"

"Come now," the father resumed, more kindly, "'tis almost time for the afternoon prayers. Perform that together, shall we?"

(Part 3)

The prayer having been properly concluded, Azalea now directed herself to her own chambers as the next port of call, pondering all the while about the marked differences on how spouses of her father had been treating her in the same single day.

Lady Vestra--whom the princess had learned to be wary of at best and loathe at worst, since the latter could walk until a while ago--had repaid such a favor by showing this princess 'the art of apology' in ways she had scarcely heard before; not even from the ubiquitous tutors in her witch of a mother's pay.

Contrast that with Mirani. She had made the princess's only true brother cry (for who else would have dared to?) even as Zalea had been away, acting in ways that the latter had hoped would please her! And for what?

What would have happened, had the Izurian cause prevailed? this princess found herself wondering, not for the first time. Mom's--no, wait--Mirani's never quite clear 'bout it anyway. Little else but shadows and doubts... and dreams.

And to think I've been trying so darn hard to espouse its cause; fool me.

In almost-perfect silence she stood behind a partition facing a full-body mirror in her chambers; took off the fateful doublet, and exchanged it with a deep-violet dress with a ribbon on the chest-part; her favored color, for some reason. This done, she stared again at the now-folded doublet in her hands, speaking to it.

"Lei treated you so much like another brother, did you know that? Lucky you. I've got no elder bros of my own line..."

As she unbarred the door to her chamber, still pondering on this fact, Azalea made a resolve to try and make amends to Rashid too, when next she got to see him. If she had learned anything at all that day from the 'display' pulled off by the Husnirite pair of royal siblings (coupled with Vestra's newfound encouragement), it was that they had stood covering each other's backs.

It might well be the right thing to do.

***

Following the witty conclusion of his brief but fierce first encounter for the day with Azalea (then again, something told him that he ought not have expected anything different from that quarter), and seeing that there might still be sufficient light on that day to at least have a minor progress on the self-bow that he had been laboring on for the best part of a week, young Prince Rashid directed his steps to one of the capital city's armory. His tutor on this subject, Veersan (himself one of the apprentice bowyers working to restock the capital's arsenals), might have been waiting.

The project had 'officially' begun following rounds of workbench conversation while the young prince had been observing the artisan at work, and was at its keenest at the topic of horse archers, which Rashid had gleefully dubbed 'phantoms of the desert'.

'My father was said to have been one of them, once,' he had thus related, to earn Veersan's slight smile in response. 'What it must've felt like, to be shooting shafts from a full-on galloping horse! How they must've looked to the opposition!'

'Would you not like to be one, sir?' the artisan had offered.

'Oh, I'd love to! Then again, at my age... I could hardly master a pony, less so shoot arrows from it at a gallop."

'Takes time, undoubtedly,' Veersan had acknowledged, 'and horse-archery, far as I know, is in itself a combination of several interweaved arts. But you can always try to get a shot at one of these: riding, archery, or physical fitness.'

'Think I could manage with the latter two, for the moment,' Rashid had mused. 'Doing it with the horse's an extra boon.'

'In that case,' the artisan offered, clapping his own hands together once, 'we might get to engineer a self-bow for you.'

Thus had the project begun. For the next three days the princeling had been personally scouting for timber, with the willing aid of Ronan, an aspiring stable-hand; shaping up the timber had likewise taken Rashid the best part of that day.

The rift about the doublet had, no matter how unwelcome, nevertheless been a nice change of pace. And now...

"Hey, it's you again..." Rashid remarked, then smiled upon perceiving the folded garb in his fiery half-sister's arms, being carried as if to make an offering of it. "Ah, trying to make up at long last, are we?"

"One can be a trial for so long, Pipsqueak, I thought you'd agree," came the princess's terse reply. "You gonna let me know where your big sis is, or what?"

"Or what, indeed," the princeling grinned. "Sis Lei could be anywhere at this hour, see."

"Oh, throw me a bone here! Lass gave me twenty minutes to return this damn thing, or it's my entire wardrobe!"

"It had reached my attention that a garment shop had been laid to wreck today," came Rashid's cool response. "I wonder if similar consideration had been given then."

"Please, Ras? I just need to know where that freakin' pighead is, and I feel I've seen 'nough mess for today, darn it! Still got your mom's summons to heed, too!"

Rashid shrugged. "We did spend some time cheering each other up, Big Sis and I, after our earlier nowhere-pleasant encounter with you--but like I said, I've no idea where she currently is. Might still be waiting for you to return that 'damn thing', but other than that I got no clue whatsoever--"

Azalea took a step forward. "Not in cahoots with her to make damn sure my wardrobe's wrecked here, are ya? Lass seemed so eager 'bout it back then, and you were there!"

"In cahoots with... Dear Zalea, I only paused to compliment your willingness to make up; I too need to be somewhere right now, so how about we cease stalling each other, huh?"

"Fair 'nough," the she-wolf pup growled. "Least if I find my wardrobe a mess today, I'd know where to look."

"You know, sister..." Rashid huffed, holding his own head with one hand, "I don't think I might endure being threatened too often by elder siblings whom I'm supposed to look up to..."

"Wimp," Zalea snarled back. "That's the sort of dish, cub--the only one this side of the line, in fact--that we get to taste. If you think we've been savoring it, you gotta be a bigger fool than Dastra. Now, wherever ya'll be goin'--best o' luck."

"Right back at you, Sis."