To Feel

Iria got up and steeled herself for yet another unpredictable day. She washed herself and wore her usual pieces of armor. It was early and there was enough time to sharpen her spear even if she went for a breath of fresh air at the palace balcony. She needed to clear her thoughts and act as if nothing had changed, that she was still an emotionless Killer Doll. Otherwise, she risked interrogation and reprimands if Dryst caught her acting in a weird manner.

But could she?

She didn't even bother wearing her helmet when she left the room.

At the Palace Balcony

Iria recalled the image of the tombstone in her dream.

The dog named Iria had such a grand tombstone, will he have a grave as grand as that made for me? She shook her head. What's wrong with me? That thought is too morbid. Iria, you're just a doll laced with strings!

She thought of what she had told Cador, the Death Knight, about how she was defective yet human. Human because King Dryst showed her… love?

Love? Was that too strong a word? What does love even mean to someone who has never felt anything until a few months ago? Does love explain her unusual awkwardness? Does love explain the shame she felt when she was fired for being selfish and disgraceful?

Iria gazed at the mountains to the north. The view at the palace balcony was unmatched, and because of the breathtaking view of the mountains at near dawn, her thoughts were pushed to the background, like white noise that lingered in her mind, unheeded.

"I didn't expect to see you here so early." That tone of voice, so casual yet unnerving, pulled Iria's thoughts down to earth. "Shouldn't you be preparing, sharpening your spear?"

Iria turned around to see Dryst still in his silk night robe. It was a garish purple, like the cloth of his cape. He was holding a glass of red wine. She recalled that Ulster had complained about him drinking so early in the morning.

"Your majesty…," Iria sighed, like a meek child avoiding eye contact with the person scolding her.

Dryst raised an eyebrow. "You've been acting strange since that incident with Bulnoil. Don't give me another reason to discipline you, Iria."

Iria barely heard his words. Her thoughts were consuming her. How many years has it been since his majesty found me in nothing but tattered clothes, roaming the wild? Since when did I have this feeling? Her thoughts spiraled, no one knew for sure whether it was a result of emotions which were unconsciously repressed for years, suddenly bubbling up to the surface, like anger that was long bottled up and suddenly bursting into rage. The feeling was far from rage but Iria knew she had to do something. She needed a release.

"Iria?" Dryst called, a bit irritated that she was just mindlessly staring at the floor in front of him. He walked toward her, thinking of whether to slap or shake her out of her trance. "Iria, are you-"

Before he could lay a hand on her, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. Dryst's eyes widened in surprise, he was so surprised that he lost his grip on his glass of wine. It fell to the floor and shattered, precious red wine spilling on decadent white marble.

Iria parted her lips from his and looked into his eyes with an expressionless face.

Dryst furrowed his eyebrows. "What did you do that for?"

Iria's face contorted into an expression of unease and all she could say was, "Your majesty," before she bolted down the stairs to the palace, running to her room.

With eyebrows still furrowed and face in a full frown, Dryst looked down at the broken glass and the spilt red wine. It looked like blood. It was as if she stuck a knife in him by surprise and he bled.

"No use crying over spilt wine," he mumbled. Did she at least taste it?

…

What a pain.

Iria's private room

Iria looked at herself in the vanity mirror and placed her pointer finger slightly into her mouth.

…

It was bitter.

It was going to be a long journey to Logres.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Thanks!