Content warning: this contains themes that may be upsetting to the readers (sexual assault, drugging...) proceed with caution.
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Easteford, The Delegation Room
The day had come—the one Awin had waited for. He adjusted the ceremonial pin on his shirt and tried not to look too pleased with himself.
He had spent considerable resources sabotaging the mines of the Occident Coast. The damage was extensive. By now, they were still licking their wounds, and when the time came to honor the treaty, they'd be helpless. Still, something in the back of his mind—the irritating, pessimistic perfectionist—whispered that the Occident Coast wouldn't crumble so easily. But even if they'd caught on, there was no way to stop the wheels already in motion.
"What has you smiling, Your Majesty?"
Zachary's voice broke through the fog of Awin's thoughts—cool and sharp, like a knife sliding across glass.
Awin's expression hardened. "Ah. The prince of Occident Coast. We are, of course, honored to host you."
Zachary gave him a long, unreadable look, then smiled faintly and replied with a nod. The ministers of Easteford shifted awkwardly in their seats, watching the two men who once stood side by side behave like strangers.
The meeting proceeded swiftly—until it didn't.
"In the past year," Awin said, voice measured, "when the Occident Coast faced repeated attacks from barbarian groups bombing their mines, it was the Easteford military who intervened. We captured the terrorists and prevented further losses."
Zachary's brow twitched. Awin saw it—a tell, a win.
"So you're demanding payment. Because you protected us."
"Yes, Your Highness," Awin replied with a practiced smile. "It's a reasonable request. Unless, of course, you believe the treaty is meaningless."
Zachary chuckled, brushing stray hair from his face. "As our long-time partner, I expected some understanding. Our economy runs on those mines. We've lost almost everything. It's inhumane to expect payment under these circumstances."
Awin scoffed and stood. The tension tightened like a wire around every neck in the room. "Do you take Easteford for fools? You want to turn this around on us?"
His voice rose, sharp with anger. Even Zachary looked momentarily startled. Then, a flicker of amusement crept into his features.
"I'm only asking for understanding," he said softly. "But I see now that's impossible. There are only two members in this coalition—how can we possibly claim neutrality when one always benefits?"
"What are you talking about?" Awin snapped.
Zachary signaled. A group of men entered, carrying wooden and alabaster chests.
"This is 300 bars of gold for the Strategic Alliance Fund," Zachary announced.
Awin blinked. "You said you couldn't—"
"I never said that. I asked for understanding inthefuture. We don't know how many more 'barbarian' attacks there will be, after all."
Awin glanced at his ministers. Their faces were blank, unreadable. He was still standing—awkward, exposed. He sat down abruptly.
"I'm glad to see you're honoring our agreements," he muttered, masking his frustration behind a brittle smile. "If we're done here—"
"We're not," Lucius cut in.
Awin scowled.
"As I said earlier," Zachary continued, "this coalition is imbalanced. It's always tilted in Easteford's favor. That has to change."
"What are you saying?"
His answer came through the doors.
Delegates entered—representatives from Kusuk, Siera, Arayle, and Porto Jamon.
"This is a Southern Continent coalition. Who let outsiders in?" an Eastefordian minister demanded.
A tall woman in cream drapery, adorned in cowries, stepped forward. "Greetings. I'm from Arayle. We're here to form the global coalition."
"Why?" Awin asked, voice low but tight with unease.
"Porto Jamon has filed a petition for independence," the Kusuk delegate said.
"You're letting that happen?" Awin was incredulous. Surely, they wouldn't abandon such a profitable relationship.
"Kusuk, Arayle, and Siera failed in their protection clauses under the original agreement," the delegate explained. "Under the terms, Porto Jamon may exit the treaty unilaterally. They seek an amicable departure—no war."
Awin scoffed. "What about us? Easteford protected them for years."
Lord Jamon stepped forward.
Awin saw it then—the look on Zachary's face. Smug. Infuriating.
"We no longer require Easteford's opinion," Lord Jamon said coldly. "Not after your sabotage."
"Excuse me?" Awin stood again, fists clenched.
"For years, you've held us under your thumb—through the stocks, alchemies, and more recently, De Gei Jaune."
"Those are damning allegations, Lord Jamon."
"They are. And I can prove them."
He presented a royal bank note—an Eastefordian signature clear on the front.
"This note was found in the hideout of De Gei Jaune—proof of payment."
Awin felt his throat close. Anything he said now would sound hollow.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" Zachary asked.
But Awin was already walking out, ministers trailing behind him like shadows—silent, leaderless.
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That evening – Easteford Palace, Dinner
Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock was the only sound in the room.
Awin poured a glass of water. His hands trembled. He balled them into fists beneath the table.
What was this feeling?
Fear?
The thought sickened him.
With a sharp clatter, he threw a dish across the room. Servants flinched.
"Where is she?" he growled.
A maid answered hesitantly: the queen had just returned from her maiden home.
"Your Majesty,"
Mahalia entered. Calm. Unbothered. He hated that.
"Come," Awin said, forcing a bright smile. "Let us dine together."
She blinked. "You want to dine alone? With delegates from every major nation under our roof?"
"I've asked to be excused. I didn't expect them, after all." His voice softened—just enough to make it awkward. "Come. Let's eat."
She hesitated. He was desperate. Transparent. It reeked.
She sat, eyeing the table.
All her favorite dishes.
Or rather—Qaya Wright's favorite dishes.
She stared at him. He knew. He absolutely knew who and what she really was.
"Eat," Awin said, gesturing to the spread.
"I wish I could," she lied. "But I just came from my mother's. I'm full. I'll stay and chat, if that pleases you."
"Leave us." The command was curt. The staff fled.
"Then let's talk," he said, still smiling. Too sweet.
He doesn't care if I don't eat, she thought, why? Didn't he drug the food?
"So why did you go visit your mother?" he asked, chewing absentmindedly.
"Actually, I went to see my father, he came down with something"
"I see, is he better now"
Qaya knew that he didn't care for the answer, he sounded detached and he kept looking at her in a highly suspicious way, but she answered him anyway.
"Uncle Francis says he'll be fine with some rest and medicine"
Awin absent mindedly nodded and continued eating. The table became silent.
Mahalia was getting bored out of her mind, she really was hoping on having dinner with the delegates, she hadn't seen Zachary in so long, that's why she didn't eat when she went out but now she was longry....hunder, she was hungry.
Mahalia blinked back, her thoughts felt jumbled. She blinked and took a breath but that made things stranger, it seemed like someone doused the room in paint and there were harp strings that ran from one end of the room to the other. She reached out to strum it and a funny sound came out.
She giggled. "That's odd"
"Finally" Awin muttered dropping his cutlery, pleased at the sight of the inebriated queen.
He found it cute that she thought she was being smart by not touching the food and drinks when the very air she breathed was compromised.
He took one look at the cigar butt that was lying next to her, Sunshine sweets, most people smoked it and will gain a tolerance for it until it's in excessive doses, however people who like Mahalia who probably didn't know of the existence will become tipsy with just the smell of it.
"Come," he said, standing, sure she'd obey.
"Me?" she asked, blinking. "You want me to join your choir?"
He frowned. "No—"
"I think I'm more sciences than arts," she said, giggling again.
He rolled his eyes. Fine. He'd come to her.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, dazed, as he reached for her face.
"Science," he muttered. "You'll like it."
His breath brushed hers.
His lips—
To be continued.