They remain in this position for a while, squatting in the corner of this dressing room, staring at nothing as they plot nothing.
Sophia breaks the uncomfortable silence. "So what happens now?"
There's politics, so many unknowns in this unforged path.
"I don't know." Zai returns, staring at that box of crumbs and greasy cardboard. And for a moment, he makes conversation instead. "What happened the last time someone defied your mother, Sophia? What happened when someone defied a direct order from the Empress of the Ensolian Imperium?"
"Uh…" The Fourth Princess of the Ensolian Imperium thinks about it, back to that graying haired, blue eyed woman sitting on that throne of Silver. "I mean… they went through the nominal channels so nothing really happened. It was a taxation issue in one of the Hautwarden Provinces, got all the way into the Silver Chamber before it was resolved."
Zai nods, driving his line of questioning to something more personal, lethal. "B-but something like what you did: refused to bow to a sovereign lord of your nation."
"Well, I don't think anyone's done anything like that to my mother." Sophia thinks on it for a moment, thinking of the first historical example to come to mind. "But I mean it's done before. My great grand uncle had an enlisted soldier yell at him in court once, with pretty much everyone there since it was a petition hearing."
"And what happened to that soldier?"
"She got her petition pushed through with the Emperor's signature." Sophia remembers now—this case practically required reading in every Imperial Law school. "But, she was charged with disorderly conduct since she swore so much in front of all the courtiers. Served with a five Denar fine for that."
Zai nods, taking this story from that far off land. "I-Interesting."
"Not that I would've swore in front of your father…" This girl defends herself. "I would never!"
"I'm certain you would not." He nods gently, those formless thoughts coming together.
"Z-ai?" Sophia turns to him now, her voice quiet. "What would've happened if you stood against your father? L-like I did."
And he doesn't hesitate in his answer. "He would've killed me."
Plans within plans, games within games—politics weighed down by five thousand years of tradition and ritual.
"You have power here." Zai breathlessly states, drawing that ocean from his soul. "All the courts saw how you stood against my father. That's something nobody has ever done before, no outsider has ever done. The Court of the Dominion knows what you represent, but they don't know what kind of person you'll be here. You just demonstrated that you'll be something more than a token of Imperial goodwill."
We will be the destroyer of this place. A poetic thought process speaks. In this place built of fear, we are feared.
This girl at least has some level of character development, this uncut confession spoken days prior repeated again. "But I just wanna rot in bed all day."
"Sophia…" There's a tragic tenderness to that cold edge, Zai watching as that wife of his begins to tear bits and pieces from the empty cardboard box. "I…"
And she cuts through the emotions, straight to the point. "There are factions here, playing their games—I know you know that. I might be the unpredictable piece on the board… but you, Zai, you're the board itself. You're not just a player, you're what they're fighting over." She pauses, not a long one but enough to sow some doubt. "T-that's what I think… of course!"
There's something within that Crown Prince that processes that half-admiration, half-denial—only needing an extra sprinkling of political reality to complete it. "And you're my wife, Sophia. Whatever we do here, it casts shadows across both of us."
Oh yeah… Sophia realizes it a little too late. We're pretty much ball and chained to this young man too. A political necessity for this national alliance, and we're just one of the victims in it!
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She wallows for a while, stuck on this half-tragedy until she takes a hit of uncut cope. Still, it could be worse. At least he's very attractive, and very nice.
"What is the point of a political marriage anyways?" She whispers the question, the cardboard in her hands now nothing more than scraps of browned paper. "Here… I mean."
"Power, hostages… I don't think there's one answer for this place." He sighs, remembering that conversation with that mountain of a man. "Your father told me that you were here as a symbol; proof that the Imperium wants this… relationship with the Dominion to be a permanent union. You're supposed to be proof of goodwill—a hostage to represent something more than just an alliance."
"Well, I'm not a good hostage." Sophia tells him, coldly this time. "My mother would order the Dominion burned to ash if you even touched me. And I'm certain my auntie would hunt you down to the ends of the world if you managed to run."
Zai tries to make a joke at that statement, but still pulls away a bit at what was a national level, existential threat. "I'll be sure not to touch you then."
"And… I'm married to you by law." This Fourth Princess continues to extrapolate. "Would the Courts see me as a way for the Imperium to control you?"
She's got a good point on that side of her argument, with the Prince taking a sharp inhale at that implication. "I… I'm afraid that's what might be happening now. I never was pro-imperial in my policies, but now that might have to change."
There's a balancing act there, and this Princess could see it.
Overlapping factions competing against one another, a diversity wrought in the multi-culture petri dish of any political machine. It's her Imperium's shunned federalist party calling for war against the democratic powers in the Axial Continent, it's the expansionists demanding a halting of mass manufacturing for the sake of stable economic growth, and it's in her mother's call for peace in the midst of war that consolidates her power.
Zai's keeping this place on the edge of a butcher's knife. Sophia thinks to herself. By being here, we can change everything.
Her consciousness committee agrees, snapping at that leverage. Yes! Girlboss this thing! Establish your power, make him fear you just a lil' bit. Get that power dynamic set in stone before we end this conversation!
"I-I mean I could be anti-imperial too!" Sophia trades her patriotism for romantic brownie points, those words possibly (very) treasonous in the wrong context. "I-if you needed me to be, of course."
Zai actually does consider that for a long second, his lips tightened and posture still. "I… I… I'm not certain if that would be a wise decision."
Yeah, like we would actually go against mother, father, Naomi and Natan, Beatrice or Alice. A thought process rolls its eyes to the rest of the committee. We're so comically loyal if dad guilt tripped us enough we'd put the blade of error into our own stomach…
"Y-yeah… nah…" Sophia nervously laughs. "Th-that was a funny joke right?"
Zai keeps his longing gaze towards the darkness, feeling the walls close in around him without answering that politically married wife.
And for a while it's silent, quiet in this place, waiting for one of them to speak, to break this hollow emptiness.
But it's one of his guardsmen who breaks the stillness of this court of two, approaching at a light jog from her post at the edge of the dressing room.
"Sire—the Court has adjourned. Magistrate Yun Zhexian is requesting an audience. He says it's urgent."
The Crown Prince of the Dominion doesn't even glance up from the darkness ahead. "Then I suspect First Admiral Han will be a few seconds behind him."
The waves of this oceanic soul rise, those clouds returning with their crackling thunder and sheets of rain.
"I'll deal with Han first." Zai tells the Guardsman, standing from this squat. "Have her wait in one of the meeting rooms in the central complex, north-F section. No aides for her. Make it clear it will be a short audience, one talking point only."
"Y-yes, Sire." Guardsman Wei hesitates slightly before gently bowing, putting a hand to a strange device on her shoulder as she returns to her corner of the sitting room.
The Fourth Princess' internal monologue analyzes those words, giving her the context with implication: With fleets of warships come trade, communication—leverage for the economics, the guns; especially in a crisis. Words come with promises, caveats; but with the right words you can threaten, you can bring the power behind them.
Make them fear your words.
But Sophia sees something more brewing in that soul of that young man, that longingness in his gaze colder, emptier; before he turns back to her with that last fragment of hope.
"Guardsman Fushimi will get you settled. You'll have part of my staff for your needs, please choose from them wisely."
And with no farewells, no further words; she watches as he steps back into his world.
Leaving her with nothing but the torn fragments of this box of donuts and the darkness of this place.
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