4

Chapter 4

Natural Charm

Etoile had long since come to terms with the fact that she loved Arslan.

Lying in that darkness, cold and alone, she had cried for him. Longed for the comfort he brought, yearned for him to appear and hold her hand, to not let her slip away without ever seeing his face again. She'd wept and cursed and regretted all the things left unsaid, begged her god to not let her die alone without him by her side one last time.

The road to Ecbatana was long and solitary, and she'd had plenty of time to argue with herself, to berate and damn and pray for forgiveness, enough time to reflect and examine that feeling, and then bury it deep inside her under guilt and pride and resignation to reality.

That's why it was such torture to be near him, she hated how much she enjoyed the touch of his hand on hers, hated the way her heart swelled no matter how many time she punched it down, hated the way he looked at her with compassion she didn't deserve, she wanted to spit and hit and kick that gentle, dumb face because she was such a stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

She still thought he was awfully cute.

The past half-month had progressed slowly, trying her best to adjust to a new lifestyle, a new culture, with no familiar comforts of home to relieve her anxieties. She felt restless; a burning desire to sprint around the palace til her lungs burst, swing a sword til her arms dropped off with exhaustion, that she just simply couldn't do anymore. Some days were a struggle to move at all, when her leg had decided she had pushed herself too much and just locked itself in place.
Etoile dragged herself upright with her arms and glared down at her leg tangled in the sheets. She tried to swing her legs out of bed, but her right dragged behind, tingling with an unpleasant numbness. Move. She tried rubbing at her leg, coaxing some extra blood flow into it, but it still fought her efforts to flex it. Move. Etoile found herself punching at her knee until she could feel the stabs of pain shooting through her bones, tears of bitter frustration splashing on her thighs. "You're my leg aren't you? Move!"

A pair of hands appeared to stop her assault, squeezing her tightly. Farangis' blurry face came into view, stroking her hair with a motherly touch. "It won't get better if you abuse it." she murmured to her.

Etoile rubbed at her eyes, sniffling. As per Arslan's request, she had opened up to her two female friends the night after she talked to him. She had been overwhelmed with their empathy, their promises of support as they hugged her tight, that the tears she thought had been milked dry spilled over once more as she wondered what she had ever done to deserve their love. It embarrassed her to be so out of control of her emotions as of late. She had done so well to keep it in during the journey here. Only once had she cried like that before, while she was laying in bed alone, feeling the life slowly drain from her body, unable to move or feel under the crushing weight of fever and loneliness, only weep quietly, yearning to see Arslan's face again. Wanting to tell him all the things left unsaid, about how grateful she was to him, how much he meant to her, but now, on the other side, somehow alive, she found those words still stuck in her throat. She didn't want him to know how she felt. She knew Arslan, of his bleeding heart, and she didn't want to be loved out of sympathy or kindness. She didn't deserve any of that. She didn't want Arslan to accept her feelings. And the only way was to make sure he never knew.

Farangis helped her pull her leg out of the blankets, settling it on her lap. She dipped her fingers into the warm oil in the bowl she had brought with her, scented with honey and wort, and gently started to massage her scarred knee. It had become their daily routine; Farangis would come each morning to treat her bad leg while Etoile drank the medicinal tea, she would help her dress and then they would depart to breakfast together.

"How are you settling in Etoile?"

Etoile sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "It's strange to live in a new culture. Everything is so different from home. I experienced a lot of it when I first came here, but it's still unusual to wake up every day to an unfamiliar bedroom."

Farangis gently dried off her leg with a cloth. "I see. So long as you're not feeling sick, you'll be fine." The priestess took a length of leather and fixed it around her knee, binding the lacing firmly with a wince from Etoile. She hesitantly stood on the primitive brace, pulling her chemise off over her head while Farangis fetched her clothes from the dresser. She sighed as she looked down at her bare body. Her body had matured a little too quickly for her liking; her ability to masquerade as a male knight had been all but lost, and the attention she drew now was something she was extremely ill-equipped to handle. While getting Farangis' and Alfreed's help acquiring more clothes, she had to practically beg them for practical attire, their fashion tastes showed far more skin than she was used to sharing. They did however vow to spend a day dressing her up prettily, which she was deeply dreading. Luckily she had arrived in autumn, and the fading amiable weather prevented their immediate apparel onslaught.

"You've grown." Farangis murmured, handing her a shirt.

Etoile sighed. "It's a pain." She glanced down at her chest. "They're a pain…" she grumbled, quickly tugging on the long-sleeved tunic.

Farangis smiled sympathetically. "I'll make a bandeau for you."

Etoile carefully finished dressing, leaning on Farangis for support as she put on the wide Parsian pants and secured it with a sarong and sash. It had taken her awhile, but once she had gotten used to the loose style of Parsian clothing, she had to begrudgingly admit it was incredibly comfortable. As she was slipping her feet into a pair of boots, the door burst open and in stumbled a young woman. Dressed in the usual servant attire of white robes and veil, under which sat wavy, light brown hair, neatly braided behind the ears, and hazel eyes, the girl bowed profusely to the both of them.
"I'm so sorry my lady, I should have been here sooner!"

Etoile waved her off assuringly. "Don't concern yourself so much Aisha. I'm not a lady."

Aisha huffed in protest. "You're my appointed lady! So you're a lady!"

Etoile groaned inwardly in embarrassment. She didn't want to give anyone the false idea that she was some fancy noblewoman. She wasn't a lady, she was a kn- well, she wasn't a knight anymore either was she?

Etoile hung her head, biting her lip while Aisha scurried about tidying her room. Farangis slid an arm around hers and they exited, walking down to the dining hall with Aisha in tow. The room was sparsely populated, the only other diners being Alfreed and Kishward, who gave her a respectful nod. They settled down on the cushions for some breakfast, fresh hot tea served into their cups, always the tea. Etoile pulled a bowl of fresh fruit towards her; ever since her injury, her appetite had been limited, without the stresses of daily rigorous work she had no lost energy to replace. The cuisine of Pars was decidedly more exotic than her homeland, and while she didn't dislike the flavours, she preferred to play it safe with the foods most similar to what she knew. She mashed some raspberries and figs into a piece of flatbread and rolled it up, nibbling quietly while Farangis stirred some soup beside her, humming under her breath.

A hand came over Etoile's shoulder to grab a pomegranate, a warm breath blowing into her ear. She shivered and shrieked in surprise, instinctively slapping behind her with a loud smack. Arslan slumped down into a seat beside her, sullenly rubbing his pink cheek. Etoile tried to calm her fluttering heart, smacking at Arslan a few more times for good measure.

"Don't do that!" she choked.

Arslan chuckled behind his hand, hiding a bright grin. "I'm sorry, you didn't notice me, so I couldn't resist." He settled down beside her, a servant quickly serving him his breakfast.

As she had always remembered him, Arslan still insisted on sitting among his vassals rather than at the head of the table as befitting his station. It surprised her, how much he had grown in the few short years since they parted. Some things never changed; he was still naive and kindhearted and guileless, but she had come to appreciate over time that perhaps they weren't bad traits for a king after all. Physically though, he had matured much more, that even Etoile, who had never considered herself to be someone who paid attention to men beyond their occupations, might be cajoled into admitting that she found him, perhaps, a tad handsome. What was even more surprising was Arslan's new playful attitude. He had always been an optimistic, good-natured sort, but now he had become almost childlike. She remembered the first attempt at a joke he'd made back outside her cell in St Emmanuel; his serious delivery catching her so off guard it successfully made her laugh, but it now seemed as though he took joy in joking with her whenever possible. And it maddened her really, because she couldn't help but find it just a tad charming. It gave an impression of flirtatious charisma that embarrassed her to be on the receiving end of, but most infuriating of all, she knew damn well that he wasn't doing it on purpose, so she couldn't even hit him for it.

Arslan carved the pomegranate in his hand, carefully splitting open the husk and tapping out the red pearls into his porridge. Etoile crept a hand over and stole a seed. She had always been quite curious about the pretty fruit, popping it in her mouth to taste. It was slightly sour, as was so popular in Pars, but not unbearably so like their green plums. Arslan threw another at her playfully, that she caught and ate. She watched him sprinkle cinnamon, sugar and a nub of butter onto his beef halim, stirring it to melt it all together, bright red jewels orbiting his spoon. Scooping up a spoonful, he blew on it softly and held it up to Etoile with a smile. "Have a taste."

Etoile gave him a hesitant look, but he urged her on, so she cautiously ate the spoonful, chewing thoughtfully. It definitely had a meaty flavour, but it was tempered by the seasonings to give it a sweet zest. "Well...I guess it's not too bad."

Arslan beamed happily, starting to eat himself. Despite the luxurious array of cuisine available to royalty, Etoile had happily noticed that Arslan was not a fussy eater at all. Even while travelling in his camp where rations were simple, he ate everything voraciously, with the healthy big appetite of a man. They ate while chatting in the low, pleasant hum of morning conversation, sharing dreams and inquiring about the day ahead.

"So, what do you have planned for today?" Arslan asked Etoile.

Alfreed leaned over from across the table. "I'm gonna get Etoile training with the bow!" she announced enthusiastically, pumping her slightly bruised arm.

Arslan smiled along. "Sounds good."

Etoile set down her empty plate. "Well, we mustn't tarry then should we? Though I don't expect we'll discover any miraculous talent."

As they left the dining hall, Etoile was met with Aisha standing patiently outside in waiting, clutching a cane to her chest, looking a little pink in the face. She looked at her quizzically, Aisha giving her a shy smile.

"His Majesty gave this to me before he entered, to give to you." She handed over the fine cane, carved with some kind of dog bird. It was a little heavier than the first, a little more molded to the hand. This again? Etoile sighed. Aisha wiggled in delight. "You're so lucky, to have the king looking out for you so much!"

Etoile blinked. "Ah, well, I suppose."

"Shall we go on a walk to warm up for the day?" she suggested.

Etoile nodded in resignation, shifting the cane to her left hand.

Alfreed agreed adamantly. "That's a good idea! You should work your leg before we get into training. I need some time to set things up anyway. I'll meet you in the training grounds." She waved as she sprinted off down the hallway, ever full of energy.

Etoile and Aisha made their way down to the gardens, taking in the warm morning sun as they walked and limped through the flowers. Aisha knelt to snip off a collection of blossoms to decorate the palace with, breathing in their scent in her arms.

"His Majesty is so talented, to create such beautiful things." Aisha's gaze was warm, a blush warming her cheeks. "I'm so envious that you get be close to him my lady."

Etoile squirmed a little uncomfortably. "I don't know that I would call us close...Arslan just likes to befriend everyone he meets, regardless of the situation."

Aisha hid her face behind the roses a little nervously. "You're...from Lusitania right?"

"Ah...yeah…" Etoile lowered her eyes, "Are you...afraid of me?"

Aisha stammered timidly, "No! My lady, you, perhaps a little more nervous maybe, because Lusitanians, disapprove of us right? They killed so many of us and, my lady does not harbour ill feelings for our victory?"

Etoile stopped, staring pensively at the ground, before lifting her eyes to Aisha. "I'm sorry. For what my people did." She crossed her arms, "I do believe that there is salvation in our god but...no one deserved to die for it. Arslan is my friend, and I don't want to hurt any of you…"

Aisha gave her a small, relieved smile, "How did you meet His Majesty?"

"Officially, at the siege of St Emmanuel fort but…" Etoile grinned to herself, "...technically, when I kidnapped him at age eleven and tossed him off the city walls."

Aisha gaped in horror, "H-His Majesty?! How!"

Etoile jabbed a finger at her gleefully. Somehow, amid the silliness of the situation and her changing relationship with Arslan, the ridiculous affair had become a fond memory between the two of them. Despite the way it had infuriated and scared her at the time, seeing the way Arslan lit up with warm laughter whenever he recounted it let her appreciate the absurdity of it all. "I was taken prisoner! By Andragoras, the swine, I was going to be made into a slave! Arslan let me take him hostage so I could escape the city! I had no idea it was him."

Aisha giggled softly, "Was he not regal? Not flanked by guards and servants?"

Etoile snorted. "Of course not. Is he now? He had one guard, that I knocked the light out of in one hit. I just thought he was a pampered little rich nobleman's boy. I just had to tuck him under my arm and run!"

The air was filled with their quiet laughter as they came upon the training grounds. Alfreed waved them over excitedly, bow flailing in her hand. Aisha bowed and took her leave with her armful of flowers while Etoile joined the Zot woman in the grounds. A small target had been set up at the other end of the dirt courtyard, a flag fluttering in the breeze above it. Alfreed stood under the shade of a tree, loaded quivers in her arms. The older girl had changed slightly over the years, embracing a little more femininity, no doubt in an effort to appeal to Narsus. Her hair was slightly longer and unbound, falling to her shoulders and bouncing up in sharp curls. Two extra streaks had been added to her face paint, and today, the blue scarf sat tied around her neck. Her heart-shaped face however still gave her a youthful aura, and standing side-by-side, they could be mistaken for the same age.

Alfreed cheerfully bumped her hip against Etoile's, handing her a small, curvaceous bow. "Here ya go. Ever used a bow before?"

Etoile hummed ambiguously. "I was officially trained with one, but I never used it. I preferred the sword. It...has a more heroic image." She admitted bashfully.

Alfreed giggled. "Well, I'll teach you from the ground up then. Parsian archery is probably different from yours anyway."

Alfreed patiently guided her through the techniques taught to her in the Zot clan growing up, laughing at her grumpy frustration, til the sun blazed high overhead. Alfreed slumped against a tree, wiping the sweat from her brow. Etoile took a seat on a stone retainer, rolling her stiffening knee. She rubbed her sore hand, fingers tense from prolonged grip on the bowstring.

Alfreed laughed nervously, "You're...getting better?" Etoile shot her a sour stare. "Look, well, I've seen worse. This kid Babak once managed to shoot himself in the arm. Plus, I'm the best markswoman in this country, you mustn't compare yourself!"

"If I can't at least learn archery to the same level as my swordsmanship, then there's no point is there?" Etoile grumbled.

Alfreed clapped her on the back, "Don't think so big! Just focus on little steps. I'm gonna go get us some water, don't stress ok?" With renewed energy, she jumped up and skittered back into the palace in search of refreshment. Etoile sighed and took up her bow once more, returning to practice in the waning sun.

Focused so strongly on the rhythmic strum of arrows piercing air, Etoile jumped with fright as she felt a hand suddenly touched her waist. The bow twanged and her arrow went sailing off into the bushes somewhere. She tried to twist around with a snarl, but her back hit against Arslan's chest, the king staring after the lost projectile with an amused expression.

"D-Don't sneak up on me!" she hissed up at him, heart thumping for two different reasons.

Arslan smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to this time. I was just coming over to see how you were coming along."

Etoile pouted. "Well sorry, but archery isn't my strong point. Don't expect any miracles."

Arslan hummed. "It's alright. It's not mine either." He gestured for her to nock. She huffed and drew the bow, only to have Arslan's hands come around to gently claps hers. "Don't draw until you're ready to fire, you'll just tire your arms." He walked around her, plucking the arrow out and twisting it around the correct way. "Cock fletch out." He murmured. He returned behind her, hands on her hips to slightly adjust her stance. His touch made her shiver with warmth, and Etoile could only do her best to ignore it. "Draw for me." She drew, trembling. Arslan's warm hands slowly drifted up her body, pushing her elbow down and back, straightening her spine.

"Let your back muscles do most of the work." His fingers needled into the spot between her shoulder blades, showing her where to tense. She squirmed under the ticklish sensation, grumbling. As Arslan reached out to adjust her grip on the bow, she snuck a glance at his face. His focused expression gave his profile a handsome, mature look Etoile hadn't seen before, and she felt her chest tighten. Arslan returned his gaze to her, bemused to see her pointedly not looking at him, tilting his head to the side. "Let's see you shoot." She flexed her fingers, hooking the string on the ring on her thumb and pulled back. Her first shot thudded into the ground before the target, the next two into the outer rings, the last few a scattered mess of misses and hits. Etoile lowered the bow and gave Arslan a dry look. He gave a shrug and chuckled. "We'll get you there."

Etoile sighed and rolled her shoulders, walking over to sit on a bench. "I wonder about that." She toyed with the reflex, twanging the tightly wound bowstring. "This is a strange bow. It's so short and curved."

Arslan sat down beside her. "It's a bow designed for use on horseback. A long bow would be a hindrance. Alfreed understands well."

She fixed him with an incredulous look. "I hope you don't actually expect me to fire this thing on horseback."

"A bad leg doesn't mean you can't be a knight anymore. On the back of a horse, it doesn't matter if your legs work or not, right?" Arslan remarked cheerfully.

Etoile spluttered. "Well, I, I guess not?" She felt a little ashamed, and touched, that Arslan put so much thought into trying to restore her capabilities when she had given into despair so easily. "But I don't think it'll be so simple. As soon as I'm dismounted, I'm defenseless."

Arslan pondered it for a moment, before clasping her shoulder with a smile. "In those times, I'll be there to protect you."

Etoile blushed and looked away. "That defeats the purpose then you idiot. Knights are supposed to protect kings-"

"And friends look out for friends." Arslan affirmed. "If I insisted on such protocols, I would have corpses for friends. You needn't persist on such formalities with me Etoile, I'm not your king. You have no obligation to protect or serve me."

Etoile clenched her fists. That's not the point. What about my duty as a friend? She wondered then, if she could really call herself Arslan's friend. Even if he stated it as such, Arslan called everyone his friend without much effort. Friends didn't use each other. It mustn't be so one-sided! If she were his friend, she'd be able to do something for him. Etoile stared at the ground, churning over her thoughts. Arslan suddenly snapped his fingers in realisation, drawing her attention. "Speaking of horses, there's something I'd like to show you."

They walked around to one of far sides of the palace complex. Arslan found himself instinctively walking on Etoile's right, ready to offer support if needed. He took her to a large courtyard rimmed with trees and featuring a large fenced arena in the center. A few inquisitive heads poked out of the main building there, neighing at them.

"The royal stables?"

Arslan nodded with smile, leading her inside. A couple of stable-hands working there, raking out the straw, bolted upright at his entry, bowing fervently with their address.

Arslan waved them off, "Please, don't mind me."

A large white mare poked her head out her stall to nuzzle at Arslan's hair, snorting it in all directions. The king turned to give the horse a big hug and a kiss, cooing at her.

"Is this your horse?" Etoile questioned, walking up to give it a pet.

Arslan nodded. "Yes. This is Dinah." It was certainly an incredibly beautiful horse befitting a king. The glossy white mare sported a long, silvery mane, flanks flecked with dappled grey and darker points; grey legs, ears and nose, with deep black eyes. Arslan's natural animal allure applied here too it seemed, Dinah enjoying the affection doled on her by her master, rubbing against him hard enough to push him over.

"Well, did you bring me here for anything besides showing off the royal horses?"

Arslan beamed. "Of course! Let's see…" he thought for a moment, "Ardia, could you bring Zahra to the yard?" The young stable boy looked flustered to be addressed by name, scampering to find the correct horse. Arslan took Etoile back outside to the arena, leaning against the railing to wait. Soon, the boy lead out a large mare, handing the rope to Arslan. Compared to the elegance of Dinah, this horse was strong and muscular, with a beautiful creamy-gold coat. It's sturdy legs were black feathered by zebra stripes, along with a black mane and tail. A dorsal stripe travelled up its spine to a broad, black-pointed head with dark eyes. Arslan gave her a stroke, Zahra's ears flicking around curiously. Etoile gave him a questioning look from the other side of the war horse.

"This is Zahra, one of the many horses belonging to the royal family, bred from our personal Nisean bloodline." Arslan sighed, cuddling the side of the mare. "Royals are always expected to ride white horses into battle and on formal occasions, so wonderful girls like this go to waste. I want you to have her instead."

Etoile froze. "This again Arslan? You need to stop giving away such valuable things like this to me! Besides, I have a horse!" she protested.

Arslan stared at her skeptically. "That's just a normal workhorse though isn't it? We're trying to teach you mounted combat, you're going to need a suitable horse for that."

Etoile scowled and looked away, "Well, yes, but, it's good enough for me. I really don't deserve any of this Arslan." She turned around and tried to walk away.

Arslan quickly reached out and clasped her hand, pulling her back. "Talk to me Etoile. Tell me why it's so wrong for me to give you things" he implored. Zahra, lose from his grasp, wandered off to raid the hay stacked outside the sheds.

Etoile stared at the ground, biting her lip. "It's just...I grew up working so hard for every single thing; anything I got, I got because I worked for it. And now, I'm being given all these precious things for free and I don't deserve it. It...it makes me feel even worse, because I still haven't done anything for you." Etoile shut her eyes. The guilt of her worthless state gnawed away at her heart. No matter what Arslan said, it still felt as though she was leeching off his goodwill. Her debts were piling higher and higher, and she had nothing to offer to anyone in repayment, not without destroying the last remnants of her dignity.

"If I expected payment for everything, would it really be an act of friendship anymore?" Arslan protested.

Etoile grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down. "And if you never receive anything in return, aren't you being taken advantage of?!" she snapped.

Arslan placed a hand over hers. "I don't mind being taken advantage of then. I'm not losing anything, and it's not hurting anyone."

Etoile pulled her hand back and slammed her fist into his chest. "It's hurting me!" she yelled.

Arslan was silent for a few moments, slowly coming up to gently hold her quivering hand, giving it a squeeze. "Alright…" he sighed, "I'll make you work for it then." Etoile blinked. He smiled reassuringly. "I've been meaning to tell you. It's why I'm giving you this horse right now. I have a job for you. Something that only you can do."

Etoile gave a shuddering exhale, looking down in embarrassment. "Say so earlier then…" She crossed her arms and leaned against the fence. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the heat in her face. "What is it?"

Arslan reclined next to her. "I need you to talk to some refugees."

"Refugees?"

He nodded. "A few weeks ago, we received sightings of a congregation of Lusitanians near the border, moving through Maryam. People were worried it was a surviving sect of the Templars, or remnants of Guiscard's army planning an attack, but they've reached out to the border cities. They're a group of refugees fleeing the civil war in Lusitania."

"Why would they come here? To the land of the evil heathens that defeated them…" Etoile's mind was already churning, trying to picture the mental reasoning of these people.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps they are truly that desperate. I heard one of the knights among them giving them protection is Parahuda though, so perhaps he had a hand in convincing them."

Parahuda...the last she had seen him, he was in the company of her friend Parizad. She hoped they were both doing well. Certainly, someone who had come into contact with the new king of Pars could have enough leverage to convince others that he was not deceitful. "...So, what do you need of me?"

Arslan smiled. "I do not think Lusitanians will so quickly trust the word of a heathen king, if I could speak to them at all. You are probably the only person in Ecbatana fluent in Lusitani. I'd like you to act as my translator and ambassador. It would calm their nerves to see a fellow Lusitanian advocating their cause to the king."

Etoile shuffled uncomfortably. Sure she had demanded to work for her keep, but to be immediately put into a position of influence for Parsian politics was a little too much, and frankly irresponsible. "This is a lot of responsibility...it's not like I have any skills in negotiating."

"You'll mostly be translating," Arslan reassured, "Don't worry, I'll be there too."

Etoile frowned."You're coming too?"

"Of course! I want to speak to them personally. This could be a valuable opportunity to improve relations between our countries!" Arslan's eyes sparkled with optimism like only his could, a spring of eternal hope.

She sighed. "You never give up do you?" Only Arslan could possibly believe in establishing a peaceful relationship between two countries with such a volatile recent history. They were just too different; two opposing cultures and religions both fighting to expand their influence. She did have to guiltily concede to herself that a lot of the blame lay on Lusitania for its complete and utter intolerance of those outside of the faith, but they were merely following the teachings of their ancestors, born into a world where they knew nothing else and knew no better. Occasionally she did find herself repulsed by the customs of the Parsian people, an instinctual rejection of that which offended her beliefs, and she had to hold herself back from vocally objecting in anger. Always reminding herself that Parsians were not sinful, just different. She wanted to become better.

"If I ever gave up, there'd be no progress. No one else will do it right?" Arslan remarked.

Etoile crossed her arms, "Well, I suppose." Zahra wandered back over to them, trailing her tether along the ground, Arslan quickly scooping it off the ground. The mare nuzzled against Etoile, the girl rubbing behind her ears. Arslan smiled, glad to see the horse welcoming her new master.

"Also, I have another favour to ask." said Arslan. Etoile looked to him curiously. "I'd like you to teach me Lusitani."

Her jaw dropped. "W-What?! Why? Besides, I have no idea how to teach!"

Arslan pouted. "But I want to learn. We have a hundred and twenty farsangs to travel, why not use it to learn something new?"

"But why Lusitani? Wouldn't you rather know something more useful?"

Arslan smiled, gazing at Etoile warmly. "I want to be able to speak to your people in my own words. I want to be able to understand them. And...I want to know you." He murmured softly.

Blood crept up into Etoile's cheeks and she turned away, feeling the frustration bubbling up in her chest. Why was he always like this? Why was he always so...loving. To her, and everyone else. She clutched at her tunic, feeling her knee starting to throb from standing too long.

"I...you won't learn very much from me…"

"That's fine." He stepped closer, noticing her trembling posture, and silently tucked an arm around hers in support.

She shyly held on, watching Zahra sniff around Arslan's clothes for treats. "By the way...why is my horse called Princess?"

Arslan choked.

In Persian, "Zahra" means bright and beautiful. In Hebrew/French, "Zara" means Princess.

I'm so sorry for the delay in updating, I got stuck on one conversation, and also became busy in real life and other fandoms. I don't know how long the next chapter will take to drop, from here on the story is largely unplanned.