one small life in exchange for a second chance at history?
            I'VE ALWAYS LOVED A BARGAIN

Naerys had opted for complete and utter silence throughout the meeting. Perhaps it was done to save her own hide or perhaps it was done to avoid any negative repercussions for her family. Honestly, we'll likely never know. Tembovu's hardened gaze had, after several minutes, the desired effect of softening the obvious glare of death from her face. He is, after all, still the king of the Edge and the Edge is her birthplace, her heart. She's more at home here than anywhere else in Helovia. And she isn't about to ruin that now. Although, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she altered her expression more out of fear than anything else. She is afraid of Tembovu; afraid that he will burn her, just as he'd burned Mauja.

And she doesn't think she can survive that.

The fear manifests itself as a deep-rooted anger in her chest. Anger that a king could ever dare to harm a man as loyal as Mauja threatened to consume her, to push her from the only place she's ever called home. No. She can't run. She can't leave her family, Mauja, and Caenan behind with him. She can't risk losing anyone she cares about to such a beast. So the painted girl stands her ground, waiting patiently (barely) for the meeting to conclude and the crowd to dissipate. Later she would find her favorite pirate and congratulate him on his promotion. Now is the time for answers (preferably without getting burned). Naerys watches as the others slip away, disappearing into the trees the way she so longed to do. Out in the open on the cliffs, with her aunt and mother gone from her side, she couldn't help but to shiver. The chill alone leaves her feeling rather disgruntled and she fights to keep the grimace off of her youthful face (he'd probably think it was directed at him).

Her teal gaze travels back to where she last saw him standing and she finds him alone. Finally. Exhaling a soft sigh, the girl swallows hard against the lump of anxiety building in her throat. It made her so nervous to be alone with him - a notion that left her feeling unsteady. No one should ever feel that way about their King. And yet, she does but it doesn't stop her from approaching him. There's no hesitation in her approach, no lack of confidence or self-assurance in the way she holds herself (but she isn't overconfident, either). Naerys is careful to betray nothing.

She can't let him see the fear in her heart.

Long legs and dainty hooves slow their movement and bring the girl to a halt before Tembovu. Once there, the passionflowers begin a steady though unnaturally quick growth surrounding her hooves, forming a fragrant bed of purple and white beneath the painted filly. Somehow, she manages to avoid shifting her hooves (which would only betray her anxiety over the situation) and instead, with a face so carefully sculpted and neutral, she lifts her vivid eyes in an attempt to meet his darker gaze. Naerys searches for the right words, for all the things she longed to tell him (or, better yet, yell at him for) but none of her inner rantings seem adequate now. Instead, a single word slides from her lips with a surprising level of ease. "Why?" she asks, her voice somewhat firm but highly feminine. And she falls silent, attempting to hold onto his gaze as though that were enough to force him to tell her the truth.

And she needs the truth.
She needs to know.

NAERYS