Anger was an emotion Aisha had become well acquainted with since the day she had thrown herself at your feet and begged for clemency.

Once the gentle hands of your maids had bathed away her baby sister’s blood, once the fire in her newly assigned rooms had begun to thaw the numbness that had kept her alive long enough to get to your country, it wasn’t grief that was uncovered. Acrid, bubbling, infectious rage had seeped through the cracks of her shattered heart. There was very little that did not set her off in those first few weeks, and the sole comfort that never failed to calm her from her fury was you yourself.

It was not fair. Losing her family, her people, her country was not fair. Being at the mercy of a stranger was not fair. Aisha felt raw, like an open wound being constantly poked and prodded. Worse still, she found herself unable to escape the pitying stares and whispers of servants and other nobles alike.

’Poor creature.’

’A pitiful thing, really. I hear the maids live in fear of her.’

’When do you think she’ll be sent to Selemant? We risk war keeping her here.’

In fairness to you, you had never pushed her to do anything she did not want to. You were patient and kind, far more than she felt she deserved. If she’d wanted to stay in her rooms for the next ten years, she knew you likely would have allowed it. But Aisha was trying to get…Better. Trying to find some way, any way, she could be of any worth to you. Some way to thank you for saving her life.

This might not have been the best way to achieve her goal.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

Aisha could feel frustrated tears forming in her eyes the longer you stared at her with that unreadable gaze. She hadn't meant to cause trouble; she hated seeing you frown. Hated disappointing you.

How else was she meant to react? A visiting duke had made a nasty comment when he thought she couldn’t hear. She’d lashed out without thinking, and shattered his nose as a result.

"I promise, it won't happen again. Please don’t send me away."