The Golden Cage

[Omi]

Charlotte's teeth clenched at the mention of her guard's demise, although it was not the Maltese who could take credit for that. The half-dozen of them had simply been outnumbered by the crew at large - it had been six versus over a hundred. The pain of losing them still stabbed at her, a constant reminder that she was in fact the luckiest of the Calliope's passengers. What had happened to the rest of them, particularly the fat, drunken, and almost useless Labourd, was something not worth thinking about. She took the veiled threat for what it was, though, shifting into a mental reverse gear. Enma's smile never quite reached her eyes, and that flinty gaze left her worried that she might have pushed too far.

"Perhaps you're right," she said, though she was thinking exactly the opposite. "Politics can bring out the worst in people." She had meant to apologise for her outburst, too, but that was asking the impossible. The words would have stuck in her throat - it was an effort even to accept Enma's outstretched hand. The idea of spending more time with the woman was thoroughly unappealing, but it was clear that the Maltese leader had some kind of personal interest in her. It was almost like a curious sort of fascination, as if true royalty was something to have never before graced Maltese lands. In fact, Charlotte supposed, that was quite likely the case. It was entirely possible that she was the most illustrious trophy a raiding party had ever brought in, and the other woman seemed almost unsure how to treat her. She had expected to be thrown to the wolves - that had very nearly happened, although they had not known who she was - but apparently the orange world's administration had had other plans for a person of her standing. The situation was now more curious than it was frightening or intimidating. She was still a hostage, a prisoner alone in a strange and unfamiliar world, but the cage they'd thrown her in was gilded and soft.

Unfortunately, a cage was still a cage, and she was beginning to suspect she might have rattled the bars too much for one night. If this Enma wanted to enjoy her company, there was not much she could do about it. It wasn't as if it would be dangerous or unpleasant, not unless they decided to poison the wine, but Charlotte was beginning to suspect the other woman wanted something from her. There was something she was missing, a tugging at the strings. Enma had not struck her as a particularly powerful person, but there was a shrewdness in those calculating, cold eyes that belied a sharper intellect than what first appeared. Had she been manipulated into snapping back at her, manoeuvered into this current situation where 'no' seemed too dangerous to consider?

In the end, she decided not to press her luck. The viper was smiling now, but that didn't mean the venom had gone anywhere. Besides - there was the smallest chance that an extended, more casual discussion could give her yet more answers, more insight into this Maltese way of thinking. As long as she was careful to mind what she said in return, and dodge the more probing questions about Gallia and her own life, what could go wrong? It was her blood that made her special, not anything she knew or could unwittingly let slip. As long as she kept up her guard and weaponised her own status as an object of deep interest, it might even be fun. In a strange way, she would still have the stronger negotiating position - it was Enma who wanted to know about her much more than the opposite. Watching her pry and dig for answers could be something to look forward to. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Please, after you," offered the princess, following Enma's lead from the dining room. As the pair left, the room bustled with activity behind them, a swarm of servants descending upon the remains of the meal. They wiped it out with almost mechanical efficiency, sweeping plate after plate of untouched food up and away from the table in seconds. Within only a couple of minutes, it was as if the room had never been touched.

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