A complete wipeout of my files, a major depression over the Si Chuan earthquake, and a ridiculous amount of completely asinine projects, performances, and competitions. And those are just some of the reasons for why I haven't updated in months. But now that I have, why not read? And hope with me that the next chapter doesn't take as long.

Kalasin had learned at a very young age that there were ways to get around the image of an eternally serene and pleasant-faced royal. In particular, she'd learned that tilting her head to the side just slightly allowed her hair to act like a shield as her mask broke, during those rare moments when she had to let her real feelings come through, protocol and composure be damned.

This was one of those moments.

Thankfully, her hair was hanging loosely around her shoulders, not yet swept up into whichever elaborate hairstyle she had to carry about for the day. It only took a slight fidget before the first strands of black began to fall over her face, perfectly timed to cover the grimace that had just emerged upon it.

When Kalasin had imagined Carthaki servants, she had always pictured timid, withdrawn little maids, scuttling around in fear of a sharp rebuke or a raised hand. Kalasin had thought fondly of how, with kind words and gentle gestures, she would slowly be able to draw them out of their shells until they became strong, independent women and trustworthy friends.

How had she been so naïve?

She hadn't considered the free, paid servants that she'd specifically requested could act quite differently from the terrified slaves that the others remembered.

And now? She wasn't sure whether to be appalled or delighted that the respect she received from the maids that The Princess had handpicked (it had seemed so nice of her at the time) couldn't have been farther from the never-ending 'Nobilities' that Daine was always complaining about.

As the pointed whispers captured her ears again, Kalasin shook even more hair onto her face, wishing the curtain it provided would block out sound as well as sight. Appalled, she decided. Definitely appalled.

It wasn't really the gossip that bothered her per se. Even she had often been caught up in the wicked throes of court gossip, giggling with clusters of other girls behind open fans at the newest scandalous rumors. Living at King's Reach for most of her teenage years had spared her much involvement in the intricacies of court life, but she knew how to charmingly discredit false rumors of a more personal kind, with little more than a bemused glance.

Unfortunately, she could hardly glance individually - bemused or otherwise, at all the women that were bustling around her dressing room. And while on that thought, Kalasin was hard put to decide which aspect described her position as seen by this country better; the fact that there was deemed a whole room needed for putting on and taking off clothing, or the fact that the amount of women seen as required to help her filled up that entire room.

She honestly couldn't see that there could possibly be enough jobs to merit so many helpers for any one body, Empress or not.

But obviously The Princess thought there could be, and what she said was law – in the royal palace at least. At that thought, Kalasin deepened her grimace into a scowl. For all the chess games she'd played with her father that were meant to 'expand her thinking', she just couldn't wrap her mind the twisted power situation in this palace.

She was the Empress (but for the formal coronation at least) of what was essentially the most powerful country in the known world…and she was forced to let her mother-in-law pick her clothing. Or, at least, her mother-in-law had to power to veto any of her personal clothing choices – which happened often, much too often.

Kalasin remembered the one time someone had tried to force her mother into something she didn't want to wear. It had been her unfortunate father who'd been stuck with the task of convincing her to wear a rather tasteless dress that had been sent by the Cobbler's Guild. After delivering a resounding slap to the side of her husband's head, Thayet had quietly demanded a dress with 'more dress than holes!' – and she'd gotten it.

However, Kalasin thought the chances of her being permitted to slap The Princess were about equal to her odds of be able to ask furiously if she had so little of a life that she had to resort to torturing a girl who was still in her teens over how high her heels were for amusement! (If she'd thought there was any possibility of either, she'd have done it by now.)

Heels which, to her great pain, seemed to rise higher and higher with every occasion. The only thought that comforted her was that it might be a breakthrough from the Carthakis' ridiculous gender issues if she soon towered over Kaddar at social functions.

And speak of the Dream God's nightmare...

"So, our little Tortallan Empress," the voice beside her ear made her freeze – the curse with which the speaker said the word 'Tortallan' identified her, "what do you think about wearing these for the charity luncheon?"

Kalasin darted a peek at the shoes The Princess was holding, and immediately wished she hadn't. Her skin lost its normal tint of ivory as she stared at the gaudy horror blazing in front of her.

"Yes, products from the Copper Isles are always so distinctive, aren't they?" Kalasin couldn't see how anyone could sound like they were making idle conversation while holding shoes that...well, looked like they could either be used to stab a person to death, or blind them.

She was still talking, oblivious to – or perhaps because of Kalasin's revulsion, "Everyone always says they have a tendency to put jewels everywhere, but this completely fits that case, doesn't it, little Empress? Why look, there isn't an area that doesn't glitter copper and blue! Quite impressive, think you not?"

Fazia's voice lifted into what Kalasin could swear was a cackle at the next phrase, "But that's not even the best part! These actually have gems sewn inside the shoe as well. I suppose it's their idea of a joke, that you have so much wealth that not all of it can be shown! Isn't that simply adorable?"

Inside the shoe? But…wouldn't that mean…

"Of course, it'll be a little prickly to wear. But you can manage it, can't you?"

Aghast, and desperately praying that what she thought The Princess meant was wrong, Kalasin reached out and seized the shoe. Seeing the glinting edges of the large sapphire inside, she snapped and threw it to the floor.

"I. will. not!"

Hearing the furious outburst from the normally reserved Kalasin caused all the maids in the room to stop dead and stare incredulously. The Princess sharply snapped her fingers twice, and glared them all out of the room.

She paused for a good while after the last had exited before speaking.

"We need to have a talk, little Empress, you and I…"

Realizing she was now alone with Fazia made Kalasin's throat clench, this hadn't happened since the wedding night weeks ago...that she really preferred to forget, but her determined gaze never wavered. She was her mother's daughter, and this...witch was not going to get her way again. "I said, that I. will. not. wear that death-trap!"

To her surprise, her opponent rolled her eyes. "Not about the shoes."

And though the next words spoken completely contradicted that statement, Kalasin couldn't help knowing that it was merely an analogy for something bigger.

"The sapphires were especially for you, you know, that famous Conte blue…" She gave an amused chuckle at that, not believing that anything related to Kalasin could be worthy of fame.

Fazia bent down and carefully picked up the shoe, turning it around in her hands. "Do you see? It's not even scratched from your little...temper tantrum. They put their best workmanship into this as an offering for you, and that means you must wear it as an acceptance."

"No. How do I even know it's a real gift? For all I know you could have had it fashioned, and lied about it just to make me miserable!" Even as she knew she shouldn't say the words she did, letting them rush out in a livid, barely-coherent stream. This was the most honest she'd been since coming here, and it felt liberating, with just a touch of cold fear at the reaction it would cause.

"Silly girl," her tone was contemptuous, yet almost…pitying?

"You're on Carthaki soil, yet all your actions can have direct reprisals for Tortall. The Copper Isles are one of our most prominent allies, even with that ugly mad one on the throne. It may seem like only a pair of…interestingly crafted shoes, but it's a symbol of more than that, and do you honestly think rejecting it will be seen as fulfilling your purpose to us, and therefore to your homeland?"

"And as for your previous accusation…Yes, I could have just made this up, because no matter what, it will be my power against yours, my influence against yours."

Fazia dropped the shoe and put her hands on either side of Kalasin's face. She was frozen, unable to move, the hollow thud of the shoe contacting the floor matching the feeling in her lower stomach.

Surprisingly, her touch was soft… her words anything but.

"My poor little dear, you oversee your position here. I am mother of the Emperor, whilst you are only the unofficial peace treaty between Tortall and Carthak. You were put here for two purposes only, you surely know that; as a human exchange for good relations, and to produce heirs to tie the knot yet closer."

"You're failing one of those terms as it is," her malicious words and glinting eyes stabbed through that accusation in Kalasin's heart together, though she knew full well it was her own son, and not Kalasin that prevented that particular goal from being fulfilled.

"Even if I had fabricated this gift story myself, would you risk it?"

"Could you dare risk it?"

Knowing she'd won, Fazia didn't wait around for the tears. She simply swept out of the room. Kalasin could hear her summoning the helping-women back inside, and while hastily wiping away the hot droplets on her cheeks; she missed the last sentence that The Princess told them.

She knew soon enough.

As the maids streamed back into the room, she could hear them murmuring a new tasty piece of information to each other.

"Poor little dear, she's weeping because her husband refuses to let her in his bed. The Princess told me herself! She wouldn't specify why of course, what a stately woman she is! But surely it's something horrible..."

Minutes after the luncheon started, Kalasin managed to sneak off and pry off the jewels that had been attacking her feet. Dropping them into the dung pit, she felt no triumph at ridding herself of the torture.

It was far from a victory, and she knew it.

A/N: Review please, constructive criticism please. Praise if you think this deserves it. And flames if you'll tell me why - no wait, that's CC...look how well that works out!