| To her surprise, he does not deliver the swift punishment that she knows she deserves. Instead, he…apologizes? Wide eyes watch her brother as he pleads with her. They are together, he insists, promising that he will always be there, and that she will be able to find him whenever she wants. He’s better, he claims, he’s grown up. If she wasn’t in hysterics before, she is now.
The princess knows how to hold her tongue; it was a lesson instilled in her early on, taught by stern warnings and brisk wing cuffs (gentle ones, but corrective nonetheless). She knows that she should mind her manners, respect her elders, and above all else, she knows that she should not question her king. But every second with Quilyan is forcibly reminding the girl that they are not in Th’orqui, and his apology has made her bold. Nasreen’s retreat halts, and she looks up at her brother with grey eyes gone as wild as a storm at sea.
“Better?!” she screeches, copper and ivory wings flaring at her sides as if to emphasize her anger. “Better?! Where was better when we left home and you came here without me? Where was better when I finally found you, and then I don’t see you for months on end? Where was it when I was wandering around in those--” here, angry tears spring to her eyes and she chokes on a passionate sob, “—in those awful caves, lost in the dark and wondering whether you were down there at all? Were you even looking for me? So don’t tell me that I can come find you any time, Quilly, because I can’t.”
The more she speaks, the more exhausted she becomes. The power of her own voice startles her as she releases all of the hurt, all of the abandonment, all of the fear she’s felt since leaving home, gathering the worst of her woes and heaping them one by one upon her brother’s shoulders. Wings droop in deflated defiance, but Nasreen is not quite done yet. There is one more thing she needs off of her chest, one last thing to drop at Quilyan’s feet and watch shatter. She will finish what she started. “And this?” she asks quietly, voice thin, but resolute. The girl spreads her wings, gesturing to their surroundings, the herdland that is decidedly not his. “You say you’ve grown up, Quilly. I always thought that when you were grown up, you were supposed to be a king.” It is a childish insult, but an insult nonetheless. Final blow delivered, her ears slump, and she turns to leave. Perhaps tomorrow she will regret her outburst, but for now, Nasreen has worn herself out with her tears and her anger, and she is weary—she is certainly not about to stay here for the consequences that Quilyan will surely dole out. In Th’orqui, to turn her back on a king would be the ultimate disrespect, but as she pointed out only a moment ago, he is not her king; he is only a brother whose title is lost and whose love she misses.
@[Quilyan]
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