Under the Maltese Skies

[Omi]

Walking side-by-side with Enma herself, Charlotte's boots crunched along the gravel pathway, listening to the Dona's reply. Her eyes flicked to the communicator as Enma withdrew it, following it back into the pocket with a slightly narrowed gaze.

"I have no desire to work on Malta in the near future," she reaffirmed, her tone a little harsher than she'd perhaps intended. "I've been stuck here on this world of yours for years; I don't intend to stay a day longer than I have to. I know about the Cardamine as well, damn it -- I've had more than enough time to read up on its effects. I'll be certain to bring some with me; no doubt you or some of your retinue will be happy to help show me how."

Her gloved hands shoved into her pockets, the princess cut an almost petulant figure as she rounded on the resting Loyola again, blocking the path forwards to take a final stand.

"I appreciate that-- that we find ourselves in a complicated situation, both politically and personally, but I won't become a piece in Malta's politics while my own people -- my family, too -- need me as well. That can wait -- this whole world can wait. If things are as you say, and your position in Maltese politics has changed to the point where I can roam more freely, then yes; I've had more than my fill of this villa, to say the least."

Charlotte pursed her lips one more time, her expression softening a little as the snow began to fall in earnest.

"The one thing I want back more than anything again, Enma, is my freedom. If you can't give that to me in good faith, then you'll be coercing me to work with you -- and then we are no longer working together in good faith. If I'm still to be your prisoner and kept at your beck and call, just say so -- but if you're truly looking to help me and mine, then while I appreciate your advice, you need to recognise that I should be as free to make my own mistakes as my dear uncle was."

A rueful smile flickered across her features for the briefest of seconds, before being replaced by a somewhat strained look. The Sirian invasion had been such a curiosity for such a long time -- but, she reflected, curiosities had a habit of killing the proverbial cat. It certainly hadn't improved her own situation -- in the end, the war had been a bitter, deadly pill to swallow for them all.

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