He was, without much exaggeration, even better looking when he was exhausted.

  Something about his lowered posture, the grungy sunken eyes and messy hair all together made her brain activate; how this vulnerability was bringing forth a festering desire deep within the young woman.

  Sophia Elise wants to have him spill whatever he had within him, to tell her in honesty what was going on within his mind; and what he truly was.

  What was his favorite food? What sorts of food did he dislike… or even hate (Sophia hoped he would never ask that of her, she couldn’t even begin to list out the numerous dishes she wouldn’t eat). What did he do when he was not at court or on official duties… did he have any hobbies?

  Sophia’s mind swirled at the thought, extrapolating her own siblingship’s personal vices onto him.

  She supposed he would probably fall into the usual royal imports: hunting, collecting various esoteric items…

  Maybe he was of Natan’s constitution, Sophia thinks (her brother was the only male she really knew of so she had at least something to work with). The acquisition of ancient swords, guns, and even now armored vehicles was most definitely a hobby; though Natan’s collection had grown in recent years to such a scale he had decidedly turned it into a public museum on East Central Court.

  Zai probably couldn’t afford something as ridiculous as that. Even Natan was starting to charge a gold penny per head for admission into the Imperial War Museum.

  Perhaps Zai fell onto something more effeminate. Sophia recalled how Naomi’s main friend group of girlfriends in Capital would, on the occasion when they were all free (such a rare opportunity it was becoming), don bright red overalls and carry shotguns and fishing poles a few miles up the Amoureuse River; returning with several geese or fish for supper.

  Yes but you can’t see any sort of violence in his eyes can you? None of Naomi’s usual bloodlust.

  How about something more simplistic, sporty; athletic. Beatrice loved playing handball, and back during her time in boarding school (before being home-tutored for her final five years) she was lauded as the terror of the court.

  Yeah, you think he was out playing handball while his people starved to death? Doesn’t feel like he’s that evil.

  Sophia grits her teeth at the nagging thought process, snapping at it like a dog. What, you think he knits quilts like Alice does?!

  The thought process, along with a majority of the central committee of consciousness, replies with disappointment. Perhaps he does, it’s not like you know cause you haven’t asked him about it.

  Sophia Elise curses quietly under her breath, once again leaving her husband of all people waiting in silence.

  “Whatdayaliketodoforfuncutie.” She stammers out with a completely composed stance, hiding her panic with a masterful butchering of her words.

  He’s so tired he just blinks, keeping his gaze leveled at the untouched sandwich on the plate in front of him.

  The Central Committee claps. Nicely done speech center, you truly are the best of us. Can’t wait to see you actually make a speech for once.

  Silence, let’s see what the eyes are up to!

  Part of her keeps observation of the male specimen, taking the opportunity to really grasp the frame, the build of him. How his torso tapered off from the narrow shoulders, how his clothes curved alongside his skinny abdomen. She watches as he rubs his hands together in the chill of the mess hall, those long and slender fingers massaging flesh to continuously pour circulation into capillaries.

  Imagine how it would feel if he was massaging you, those digits gliding across your firm skin with a slick film of olive oil. So gentle, yet forceful in all the right places. Imagine his breath breaking on you, that handsome face mere inches away as he stares right into your eyes. Imagine if he was…

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The central committee drops the guillotine on the thought process, the horrible crunch of severing bone and flesh resounding through her mental faculties as Sophia breaks out of this wildly inappropriate fantasy.

  The ethereal voice gasps in both embarrassment and pity. You have a crush on your arranged husband?!

  … I do… She fully admits to it, wearing a painful expression on her face so obvious that even Prince Zai catches it.

  Such a pure love, reminds me of my own. The voice wallows to herself, the tone somehow getting fuzzier as the sea beneath them shifts to city and land. I was going to try and dip you over the edge of your strange ship, but you have passed a test I didn't even know I was proctoring.

  Sophia lets her overactive imagination continue discussing with itself. So as a thank you, I’ll give you just this last parting bit of advice:

  The Tianci is so afraid of you. You must prove him wrong.

  Prove him wrong? Sophia blinks suddenly at this revelation. How?

  …

  Whatever this revelation was, it wasn’t very telling; so Sophia just continues the silence from her awkward attempt at flirting with Zai.

  Report from the digestive system, we’re still hungry!

  Sophia Elise, despite demolishing her sandwich like a starved ghost bear to a fresh seal pup, still craved for more substance. Not an entire sandwich’s worth though, that would be too absurd (although crushing two Croque sandwiches in one sitting was… not unheard of for the Fourth Princess, eating that much food while traveling ran the risk of an air sickness she never wanted to experience again).

  But there was half of one still available, and it didn’t seem like the man wanted it.

  “Prince Zai.” She begins sternly, sipping on her cold tea. “Are you going to eat your sandwich?”

  The question is directed right at him, forcing him to respond. Not enough mental power to actually lie or give any sort of defense, he simply speaks the truth. “No, I wasn’t.”

  An evil part of the Princess breaks free from its cage, the animal within unleashed.

  They panic. In the central committee chamber thoughts arm themselves with sharpened lances of logic and rifles of philosophy, listening as down the depths of the unconsciousness an animal roars with terrible purpose.

  It was coming through the halls of electrical impulses, growing closer with each millisecond.

  If that thing gets in here we’re done for!!! One of them barks. Be ready for…

  It's already here, every committee member instantaneously pulverized in a blender of destruction as the misshapen ball of instinctive neurons fires all at once to command the body to action.

  Prince Zai can’t even see the act, the Princess’ movement so fast he was certain she had somehow enchanted him. In one moment a half-sandwich was on his plate, and in the next the thing was already half eaten by the young woman in front of him.

  “Forgive me.” She speaks with her mouth full (a breach of basic manners, to say the least of her crimes committed here). “But croques aren’t as good when they get cold.”

  Zai’s instinct tells him the truth, his body still frozen in shock. If she had a blade on her, it would be your lifeblood splattering onto the bare metal floor right now.

  “I-... I suppose not.” The Prince clears his throat.

  Sophia notes his shocked reaction, watching as his heart rate rises and breathing elevates. He was, now more than ever, awake.

  Some reconstituted line of thought emerges from the annihilated Committee Chamber of Sophia Elise. Yeah, maybe stealing his food isn’t the best impression you wanna give him.

  Oops.

  But Goddess this sandwich was so good.

  The Prince just stares, trying to regain composure from what could’ve been his final moment on this world.

  Princess Sophia Elise the Eighth gracefully completes the final bite of the small item, looking back up to her husband. Words honeyed as best she could’ve in this given situation, a dismissal as well as an apology. “I’m sorry for keeping you Zai. May you have a restful night.”

  She leaves him to decide the outcome of this, averting her gaze back out to the rolling lands of Tianci.

  Run. Zai’s instinct tells him, and he follows: quickly standing and moving towards the far door. A stomach still growling, a throat bone dry; none of his needs met here except the rebuttal of just one of his theories:

  Those sandwiches were not poisoned as he suspected.