Lady Nabile

Daniellas pov

As I sit on the damp mat, one of my maidens begins to wipe my back with a damp cloth, preparing me for dinner and bedtime. Miss Motan enters the tent, her expression stern and disapproving. The maiden quickly covers me with a wrap as Miss Motan addresses me with palpable anger.

"You went to the woods with a man," she accuses, her voice sharp with disapproval. "You are a maiden, and the guards are talking."

"Miss Motan," I respond, rising from the mat, "I assure you, nothing happened."

"How am I supposed to believe that?" she retorts, her grip tightening on her staff. "You are an unmarried woman, and the last thing I want to hear is that you were defiled by a nobody."

"And what does it matter?" I counter, moving to a drier mat and taking a seat. I signal for the maiden to come and help me with lavender oil and shea butter. "His name is Vider, not nobody."

Clearly irritated, Miss Motan takes a seat on a nearby stool and gazes down at me. "Marriage may not mean a lot to you, but keep your pure, it means a lot to me as your guardian."

"Then you get married," I whisper, feeling the weight of her frustration.

"Do you know how it feels when Miss Mary's princess is getting married at 19, and you're still here, dead weight at 28?" Miss Motan vents, her voice rising in frustration.

"Lower your voice," I caution, trying to maintain composure. "You also have a very smart princess who understands her priorities."

There's a moment of silence between us as Miss Motan considers my words. Finally, she nods, a hint of resignation in her expression. "Very well, Princess," she concedes, her tone a mixture of acceptance and reluctance. "Have a goodnight," she says, walking out angrily from the tent.

I look at the handmaiden as she wipes off the excess butter on my body. "You will bring my dinner to me," I say.

The handmaiden nods silently, understanding my request, and continues with her task. As she finishes, she gathers my belongings and arranges them neatly, preparing to leave the tent.

"Thank you," I say softly, acknowledging her efforts. "And if anyone is talking about me, tell them I will have them decapitated."

"Yes, Princess," she says. I lay down on my bed with only a small cloth wrapped around my body. I grab hold of one of the spell books that describe what to think of when casting a spell. Most spells have no writing; you either envision it or you can't do anything. That's why most people use potions and wands; they at least have formulas.

My handmaiden comes in quicker than I expected with a large tray of food. "Princess," she says, placing it down on the mat, "Lady Nabila would like to have your audience."

''She can join me for dinner,'' I say. I had heard of Lady Nabila, Sinbad's advisor, but I had not yet had the chance to meet her. I get up from the bed, and she quickly retrieves a fabric from the trunk and wraps it around my body to create a dress. I sit down and wait for Lady Nabila to be announced.

As I wait, thoughts whirl through my mind, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension about meeting Lady Nabila. She's an enigmatic figure, and I can't help but wonder what her intentions might be in seeking an audience with me. Hope Miss Motan didn't send her to talk to me.

Before long, the tent flap rustles and Lady Nabila enters, her presence commanding attention. She exudes an aura of confidence and grace as she approaches, her gaze steady and discerning. Dressed in richly embroidered garments that hint at her royal status, she carries herself with poise and authority.

"Princess Daniella," she greets me with a nod, her voice smooth and measured. "Thank you for granting me this audience."

"It's my pleasure, Lady Nabila," I reply, trying to match her composed demeanour. "How may I be of service to you?"

Lady Nabila takes a seat opposite me, her posture regal as she clasps her hands together in her lap. "I've heard much about you, Princess," she begins, her tone carefully neutral. "Your reputation precedes you."

I resist the urge to fidget under her scrutiny, choosing instead to meet her gaze with as much composure as I can muster. "And what have you heard, Lady Nabila?" I inquire, curiosity piqued.

Her lips curve into a faint smile, though her eyes remain inscrutable. "That you are a woman of intelligence and strength," she replies cryptically.

I swallow back a retort, choosing instead to maintain a polite facade. "If you heard the story from my sister, she overexaggerates my strength," I say diplomatically.

"Actually, I heard from Miss Motan," she says, diverting the conversation.

"Miss Motan has a way with words, indeed," I remark, attempting to lighten the atmosphere as Lady Nabila. I hope Miss Motan isn't setting me up. The aroma of the food fills the air, tempting my senses. 

As Lady Nabila washes her hands, I watch her movements with a keen interest, noting the grace with which she carries herself. It's evident that she's accustomed to command, her every action deliberate and purposeful.

"The food looks so delicious," she comments, her gaze lingering on the spread before us. "My maids have also cooked something; we can share my meal too."

I nod in agreement, gesturing for the maid to retrieve Lady Nabila's food. We pause our meal, waiting for her dishes to arrive, the anticipation adding a sense of anticipation to the air.

"What is it you want to discuss?" I inquire, adopting a more casual tone as I lean forward, resting my hands on the stool.

"I've heard you are really good at magic," Lady Nabila states, taking a sip of tea. Her words catch me off guard, and I feel a slight flutter of unease in my chest.

"I wouldn't say that," I reply modestly, averting my gaze to the table before me. The topic of magic always brings with it a mix of emotions, I practice magic but very few people know what level am on.

"Care to demonstrate so I can be the judge of that?" she asks, her tone teasing yet laced with underlying seriousness.

I hesitate, feeling the weight of her request. "I don't like using magic anyhow," I admit, my voice soft yet firm. "I reserve it for dangerous situations."

Lady Nabila studies me intently, her expression inscrutable. I can't help but feel a sense of vulnerability under her scrutiny, the depth of her gaze piercing through my defences.

"I too hate using magic recklessly," she finally responds, her words carrying a weight of understanding. "But I would have liked to see how magic looks for someone who has mastered the art."

"Mastered is a strong word," I murmur, a hint of self-doubt creeping into my tone. "I believe you are greater at magic than I am."

"Can we shake on it and see?" Lady Nabila suggests, extending her arm towards me. I hesitate, uncertainty gnawing at me as I weigh the implications of her request.

"No, thank you," I decline politely, offering her a small smile. She withdraws her hand gracefully, and the arrival of her food provides a welcome distraction from our conversation.

"We should perhaps eat," Lady Nabila suggests, steering the conversation towards safer shores. I nod in agreement, grateful for the reprieve as we delve into the meal before us, the tension of our previous discussion momentarily set aside.

We dig into our food, the silence between us somehow comfortable despite the weight of our previous conversation. Lady Nabila's meal turns out to be far spicier than I anticipated, and I can't help but feel the heat rising in my mouth with each bite. Taking a sip of palm wine to cool off, I comment on the intensity of the spice.

"The spice is a bit extreme," I remark, my voice laced with mild surprise. Lady Nabila smiles in response, her amusement evident in the twinkle of her eyes.

"I apologize if it's too much," she says, her tone light. "I tend to enjoy a bit of heat in my meals."

I nod understandingly, though I can't help but reach for the palm wine once more to soothe my burning tongue. "I appreciate bold flavors," I admit, "but I think I might need some time to adjust."

Lady Nabila chuckles softly, her laughter carrying a warmth that eases the tension between us. "Perhaps I should have warned you beforehand," she muses, reaching into her dress to produce a small flask. Pouring a clear liquid into her glass, she offers me one as well.

"This usually helps with the burn," she explains, her expression encouraging. I sniff the drink cautiously, the scent of alcohol hitting me instantly. Despite my reservations, I take a sip, feeling the liquid slide down my throat with a burning sensation.

"Wow," I exclaim, feeling the warmth spread through me, "that is an interesting flavor." Lady Nabila smiles in satisfaction, her eyes glinting with amusement. 

''Sinbad may be a handful if you drink this on a daily basis,'' I jest, trying to lighten the mood.

"You read right through me," Lady Nabila responds with a smirk. "I would have killed him a long time ago if I didn't start drinking."

I chuckle at her candid admission, feeling a sense of camaraderie in our shared understanding of Sinbad's antics. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I venture to ask about Sinbad's own magical abilities.

"Does Sinbad practice magic?" I inquire, hoping to learn more about his mysterious talents. Lady Nabila's response is deliberate, her pause before answering not lost on me.

"Yes," she confirms finally, her tone guarded. "Why do you ask? Are you interested in him?"

I quickly shake my head, eager to dispel any misconceptions. "No, simply asking," I assure her, raising my hands in protest. Lady Nabila takes a sip of her wine, seemingly satisfied with my response, as I return to my food.

"You know, he's just 39 and single," Lady Nabila remarks casually. Her words catch me off guard. I can't believe he's 39, he looks so young. "His mother was a supreme mage," she says, as if reading my mind. That explains it. Children born of supreme mages have a slow ageing process, like Miss Motan. I stopped counting when she turned 250.

"Don't get me wrong," I clarify, "I'm not in the market for a husband. But if you don't mind my asking, why isn't he married?"

Lady Nabila's answer is thoughtful, her gaze distant as she considers her response. "There are many factors at play," she begins, her words carefully chosen. "Sinbad's responsibilities as an emperor often take precedence over personal matters. Additionally, his adventurous spirit and penchant for mischief may have deterred potential suitors."

I nod in understanding, her explanation shedding light on Sinbad's enigmatic character. "He seems quite... unconventional," I remark, struggling to find the right words to capture the essence of the man I've come to know.

"Indeed," Lady Nabila agrees, a hint of amusement in her tone. "But beneath his roguish exterior lies a man of great integrity and loyalty. He's just someone trying his best for his people and hopeful one day find someone like him."

"Princess," Lady Nabila begins, her tone softened with understanding, "I think it's beautiful that you don't want to be tied down by marriage. I, too, am an unmarried maiden, but..."

"It does get lonely," I finish her sentence, a wistful sigh escaping my lips. The weight of my own solitude settles upon me, the quiet moments of contemplation often punctuated by a sense of longing for companionship.

Lady Nabila nods in agreement, her expression mirroring my own sentiments. "Indeed," she acknowledges, her eyes reflecting a shared understanding of the complexities of solitude. "But it also offers a certain freedom, does it not?"

I consider her words, the dichotomy of freedom and loneliness intertwining within me. "Yes," I concede, "there is freedom in being able to do what I want without the constraints of more expectation."

We share a moment of quiet contemplation, the gentle rustle of fabric and the soft clinking of utensils the only sounds to fill the space between us.