“But, Mama, it’s my birthday!” Ellie grabbed a fistful of Penelo’s rose-colored gown, looking up at her mother plaintively.

           “I know, sweetheart.” Penelo knelt down, heedless of the yards of expensive fabric crinkling beneath her knees. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could put this ball off a few days. I wish I had realized earlier that it was scheduled for tonight.” She held both of Ellie’s hands against her cheeks. “But it can’t simply be cancelled. I promise, tomorrow will be a day for just the three of us. We’ll make it the best birthday ever, okay?”

            “But it won’t be my birthday tomorrow!” Ellie flung herself on her bed, kicking her feet angrily. “It’s my birthday today, and you don’t care!”

            “Of course I care,” Penelo soothed. “You’re my little girl, and I love you more than anything in the world. Nothing is ever going to change that.” She sat beside Ellie on the bed, but the child refused to be held, so Penelo settled for rubbing her back. “I know you’re angry, and I’m very sorry.” She looked towards Larsa, who stood in the doorway observing. Still a little out of his element with a child in the throes of a tantrum, he shrugged. “We have to go now, darling. Can I get a hug before I go?”

            Ellie turned her face away. “No!”

            Penelo sighed. “All right.” She kissed the top of Ellie’s head. “I love you, Ellie. We’ll be up in a few hours to tuck you in.”

            “No, you won’t. You’ll forget about me.”

            “I won’t, I promise. We’ll be up at bedtime.” Penelo stood, brushing off the front of her gown. “Well…goodbye.”

She heard some rustling sounds, and then a door closing. When Ellie raised her head off the pillow, she was alone in her room. Sniffling morosely, she pulled herself up in bed. It wasn’t fair. Just because of some stupid dance, her mama had forgotten all about her birthday.

But she realized – she did have one present. The one from Balthier, that she’d shoved at the back of her wardrobe so that no one else would find it. It was probably the only present she would get on her actual birthday.

She dug it out from behind a pile of nightgowns – the pretty paper was a bit crinkled and the weight of her clothes had flattened the bow a little, but other than that, it was undamaged. She untied the ribbon and tore the paper, reducing the package to a small brown box. She lifted the lid and pulled out – a model airship.

But she had several of those already. She studied it intently – it was a bit more elaborate than any of her other airships. The paint was shinier, newer; the frame seemed sturdier. And, there, on the side – a string of letters. She ran her fingers along them, watching the silver script gleam in the light.

She knew her letters – and she knew enough to form short words. Sitting down at her little table, she resolved to puzzle it out on her own. It was probably the prettiest airship she’d ever seen. And suddenly, her papa’s words came back to her: “They were going to destroy her, but I thought she was too beautiful to let that happen…”

And she knew what word was written along the side of the ship in that pretty silver paint – Strahl. He’d remembered how much she’d liked the stories of it, how she’d played airships with Vaan, always make-believing that her bulky, mass-produced model airships were the Strahl, and he’d gotten her a real model of it.

Tears welled in her eyes, and a shrill cry rose in her throat.

Her nanny, who had been waiting in the nursery for Ellie to calm down and resign herself to being alone on her birthday, came rushing in to see what was wrong.

“My goodness, what a fuss! Whatever is the matter?”

Ellie choked back her sniffles long enough to wail, “I want my papa!”

“Now, Miss,” the nanny soothed. “Lord Larsa and Lady Penelo will return in time to put you to bed. But I’ll be here to –”

“Not Uncle Larsa,” Ellie interrupted. “I want my papa. My real papa!” Her lower lip trembled.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to find your papa, Miss,” the nursemaid said, a little confused. Though she knew that Lord Larsa was not Ellie’s father, nobody else seemed to know exactly who Ellie’s father really was.

Ellie drew a shuddering breath. “Please may I see Vaan?”

“I’m sorry, but he is also at the ball, Miss.” While the nursemaid didn’t approve of the tantrum that Ellie had indulged in, it really was a shame that Lord Larsa and Lady Penelo could not be with the child on her birthday – of course the little girl would be upset.

“Please, Nanny.” Ellie reached out and caught a fistful of the woman’s apron. “Please, just for a few minutes? I’ll be good.” She made a valiant effort to blink back the tears that still filled her eyes.

The nursemaid hesitated. “I cannot bring you to the ball,” she said. “It’s not an event for children.” Her heart wrenched at Ellie’s forlorn expression. The child cradled the model airship to her chest, stifling a sob. “But I’ll send a maid to fetch him when he has a spare moment,” Nanny heard herself saying. “It might not be for a while, though, so you’ll have to be a good girl until he can come.”

“Thank you.” Ellie wrapped her arms around the woman’s midsection, managing a tremulous smile. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

---

The ball was lovely, crowded, and utterly boring. Penelo had never cared much for the elegant soirees of the rich – they were far too stuffy and pretentious for her taste, and even the dances were all wrong. Penelo loved to dance, but these nobles did it with an air of extreme nonchalance – they cared more for flaunting their wealth, and Penelo could not abide the tiresome indifference of the attendees.

Worse than that was the obvious disdain many of the nobles held for her – while she had known that most of them would likely disapprove of their monarch’s chosen bride, she had not realized that so many would make their hostility quite so evident. And at this, the ball that Larsa had given to formally announce their engagement!

She circulated the room, forcing a smile as she passed a group of beautiful – if haughty – young women who were gossiping about her in a loud whisper about her lack of breeding and beauty. Clearly they meant to be overheard, but she didn’t care what they said – she knew she wasn’t beautiful, perhaps, but she was pretty at least, and Larsa didn’t care that she was a commoner. That was all that mattered. She smiled at them with saccharine sweetness, fluttering her fingers. She had to just pretend she didn’t hear them talking, pretend it didn’t matter what anyone said. Eventually, the gossip would die down.

            She glanced about the room for Vaan and saw him leaning down to listen to a nervous-looking maidservant. His brows drew together as she spoke, and shortly thereafter they both left the ballroom. Penelo wondered if something was wrong – was he leaving the ball? She felt strangely deserted – Vaan was the only person in attendance of similar rank and circumstances. He alone would understand her discomfort.

            “I heard she kept company with sky pirates!” Came one scandalous whisper from somewhere behind her – probably those catty, jealous women.

            “I heard she was a sky pirate!”

            Penelo’s back stiffened – so what if it was true? There were worse things to be. A spiteful, vulgar bitch, for instance.

            “Don’t let them bother you,” Larsa said softly, having returned, carrying two flutes of champagne. He handed one to her. “They’re jealous. They have only their wealth to recommend them, and it galls them that you have outdone them without it.”

            Penelo drained the glass quickly. “They’re cruel and petty.”

            “Yes.” Larsa took the empty glass. “I doubt they know how to be anything else.”

            “Hateful. Vindictive.” She moved on to his glass – she was far too sober for comfort. He surrendered it without protest.

            “Quite. Don’t overdo it, you’ll be sick in the morning.”

            If she didn’t, she was going to be sick right now. “Vile. Insufferable.”

            “Indeed.” He watched her set her chin stubbornly. “What are you going to do?”

            She smiled slowly, passing off the other empty glass. “Why, I’m going to go introduce myself, of course.”

            “Are you certain that’s a good idea?” Larsa asked warily. “It’s not necessary – they’re not important. Likely the daughters of the lesser nobility. No one you need concern yourself with, if you do not wish it.”

            “No.” Penelo curled her hands into fists. “I don’t really care what they say – but I can’t let them get away with saying it. If they malign me, they malign you. And they won’t stop at that, either – they’ll harass Ellie eventually, if I don’t put a stop to it now.” She patted his cheek fondly. “Don’t worry; I won’t make a scene.”

            She turned away, gliding gracefully across the floor, leaving Larsa to his own devices. Discreetly he watched from not too far away as Penelo approached the group of young women. Surprise was etched on their features – obviously they had not imagined that she, a commoner, would dare to approach them in such a manner regardless of her currently elevated station.

            Though Larsa could not hear what she was saying, he could see from the scarlet blushes and horrified expressions of her current companions that her words belied her gentle appearance. She smiled sweetly, clasped her hands before her demurely, and tilted her head to the side just a little, appearing every inch a modest, elegant young lady.

            Evidently chastened, the group of women bobbed hasty curtseys, gathered their skirts, and turned to flee. Penelo fluttered her fingers at them.

            “Good night,” she called. “Do come again!”

            Larsa hid his smirk behind his hand – clearly, his bride was a woman not to be trifled with.

            ---

            It was rather late when Balthier arrived at the palace, having been summoned there by Vaan on behalf of his daughter. Though he was irked at the idea of Ellie being so upset by Penelo’s seeming defection, he had been raised in just such a world and realized that, as distressing as it might have been for the child, there had been no deliberate abandonment – it simply could not have been avoided.

            He had every intention of explaining that to the distraught Ellie – but he could not resist a peek at the ball before heading up to Ellie’s room. He had an overwhelming curiosity to see how Penelo was getting on at such a formal affair.

            With so many people coming and going, it was especially easy to sneak into the palace – and, usually a rather elegant dresser, he did not appear too differently garbed from most of the men present. He would blend in fine – unless Larsa or Penelo caught sight of him.

            He followed a cluster of elaborately-gowned women and the faint strains of music until at last the hallway opened into a large ballroom. A wide staircase lead down onto the marble floor and a semi-circular balcony extended around so that viewers from the top level could watch the dancing from above. He moved further down the balcony, scanning the crowd below for a familiar face.

            It didn’t take very long to locate her – she moved with a fluid grace that the other dancers lacked, a practiced, elegant glide. Her hair was curled and pinned up in an artful riot of silky locks and tiny pearl-tipped pins, and her pink gown swirled gracefully about her ankles. She was dancing with Larsa, and Balthier grudgingly admitted to himself that the two of them made a handsome pair. The darkness of his hair and features was balanced in the fairness of hers. Larsa clasped one of her small hands in his and held the other at the small of her back as he led her around the dance floor. She looked so small and dainty next to him that, had he not known the truth, he would have sworn Larsa was the older of the two – not Penelo, by five years.

            Though she still moved lightly, they were not so far away that he could not see the small frown that creased her brow or the tightness about her lips – and there, he was sure he’d seen her wince. How could Larsa not see she was in pain?

            He was halfway down the steps before he knew it, and even as he realized what folly it would be to reveal his presence, he was weaving his way through dancing couples until he came within a few feet of Penelo and Larsa.

            Larsa saw him first, his mouth shifting from its easy smile into a firm, compressed line in a space of seconds. Penelo, who noticed that Larsa had missed the step before she noticed his frown, spoke.

          “What’s wrong? Is something –” She turned her head, following Larsa’s heated gaze. “Balthier? What are you –” she turned to Larsa. “Did you…?”

            “No, I did not invite him. Clearly I will need to heighten the security – it’s obviously not keeping out the undesirables at its present level.” Larsa’s jaw tautened; obviously he was trying to keep his anger from showing too much in his face.

            Balthier ignored the deliberate jab and took a step closer. “May I cut in?” He held out his hand to Penelo, who hesitated.

            She looked around, noticing the attention they were drawing. She suspected the only reason Larsa had not summoned any guards to remove Balthier was that he did not wish to make a scene and incite further gossip about Penelo. She moved gracefully away from Larsa and into Balthier’s arms.

            “It’s just a few minutes,” she soothed. “Let’s not make a scene.”

            Though Larsa nodded once, a muscle in his jaw twitched and his hand s curled into fists. Before she could rescind her consent, Balthier whirled her away from Larsa, leading her gently across the floor. One of his hands clasped hers loosely, and she could feel the heat of the other at the small of her back. She kept hers light on his shoulder and stared somewhere just over it – it wouldn’t do for her to appear too interested in him.

            “Where does it hurt?”

            “E-excuse me?” The unexpected question startled her so that she missed the step, and it was only his hand supporting her elbow that righted her. Too late she noticed that he was leading her off the dance floor and towards a large set of double doors that lead out into the gardens.

            “I could see you wincing from the balcony. Larsa didn’t notice?” He asked.

            She tried to tug her hand away from his, but he held firm and slipped his arm about her waist, escorting her out into the night.

            “Now, now. We wouldn’t want to make a scene,” he teased. “Calm yourself, I’m merely borrowing you for a bit. Now,” he said after he had steered her into a secluded alcove, “where does it hurt?”

            She sighed. “It’s just these shoes, they pinch my feet. It’s not important.” She pushed away from him, waving away his concern. “Did you come here just to make Larsa mad?”

            “No, but that does have its merits as well,” he quipped. “I came because I was summoned.”

            “Summoned?” She scoffed. “By who?”

            “A very lonely little girl who does not wish to be alone on her birthday.”

            She blanched. “Ellie? But…she doesn’t even know you! How could she…why would she…” She made to push past him, but he blocked her in, then lifted her off her feet and set her on the railing behind her. Precariously balanced, she held onto his shoulders for support, gasping.

            “She does know me. Though it has been a few weeks since I last saw her, for a while I came to visit her nearly every day.” His hands settled on her waist, tracing tiny circles on the silky fabric of her gown.

            Stunned, her nails raked the fabric of his shirt. “She…she never said anything to me.”

            “Likely because she knew you would disapprove.” He cupped the back of her neck, caressing the tense muscles there. He heard the rustling of her skirt as he crushed the fabric in his attempt to get closer to her. Her warm breath brushed his cheek. He leaned closer – she carried the intoxication scent of cinnamon and all around them the heady fragrance of roses permeated the air.

            “Penelo…”

            “Don’t.” She clapped her hand over his mouth, stilling him. “Please. Don’t. It’s…it’s wrong, Balthier. I’m getting married.”

          He pried her fingers away, frowning. “You don’t love him. You are still willing to go ahead with this nonsense?”

            “It’s not nonsense!” She shoved his shoulders and very nearly toppled backwards over the edge of the railing. He caught her, easing her down onto her sore feet.

            “It is nonsense if you will resign yourself to a life you will hate simply to strike at me.” He caught her as she turned to storm away furiously, drawing her back against his chest. “You think to accomplish two purposes by this – first, you wish to aggravate me by choosing Larsa. You are smart enough to realize that it rankles to think of you with him. Additionally, you think that once you are safely married, your honor will not permit you to keep company with another man. Perhaps you hope that my honor is such that I would not pursue a married woman.” He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, hear her breath coming in hard, angry pants. “Allow me to assure that is not the case. It would seem I have no honor where you are concerned, my dear. None at all. So, go ahead and marry Larsa if you will, and we will see how this farce plays out.”

            He let her go abruptly, putting several feet between them before he dared to speak again. When he turned towards her, he was once again wearing the mantle of the sky pirate – his expression revealed nothing. His eyes were cold and detached.

            “Your actions no longer affect only you – you have our daughter to think of. Would you consign her to a life of misery as well?” He made a harsh sound in his throat, raking his hands through his hair. “You will allow me no part of her, no part of you. My hands are tied, Penelo. What would you have me do?”

            Before she could speak – before she could think – he turned and stalked away furiously, leaving her in the darkness. She touched a trembling hand to her cheek, not surprised when it came away wet. She wiped away the tears, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.

            “Did he kiss you again?”

            She jumped, wincing when her shoes bit into her already tender heels, turning to face Larsa.

           “No,” she said. “He’s here because he thinks it’ll irritate you.” Not the whole truth, but surely part of it, anyway.

            “He’s right.”

            She could hear the annoyance in his tone.

            “Penelo, I cannot protect you from scandal if you continue to indulge him,” Larsa said patiently.

            She gaped at him incredulously. “You think I wanted to go with him?”

            “I think part of you did, at least. Whichever part of you it is that is still having doubts. Perhaps it is because he continues to pursue you, and you find it flattering. Perhaps because you have a child by him. Perhaps you simply still harbor a few romantic dreams about him.” He eased closer, setting a hand on her shoulder. “He cannot offer you the life that I can. He cannot care for Ellie the way that I can.”

            Angry at being accused of being faithless, Penelo shrugged off his hand. “I didn’t need to marry you, Larsa. I had a good life, and I could have provided for Ellie on my own. I agreed to marry you because I thought I could find happiness with you.”

            He laughed, a harsh, self-deprecating sound. “You agreed to marry me because you thought it was the only way you could hurt him as he hurt you. I knew it then, and I would have taken you however I could get you. I will still take you, Penelo – but I want a real marriage. Even if you don’t love me, you feel some affection for me. The closer you allow Balthier, the farther I fall in your attentions – I am greedy enough to want more.”

He caught her around the waist, drawing her close. “You realize that I will want children, Penelo – an Emperor must have heirs. And as my wife, you will be expected to provide them.”

“I know.” She shoved away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think I know? How could I possibly forget? Believe me, all I ever hear is how I am expected to do my duty, to put Archadia before all else. I’m exhausted, spending my days in meetings and fittings and formal dinners and lunches and breakfasts. Not an hour passes without someone correcting me – either I’m using the wrong fork, or my stockings don’t match my gown, or I didn’t pronounce something correctly. I’m constantly kept away from my daughter – she sees her nannies and her nursemaids more frequently than she sees me. It won’t be long until she forgets me entirely! I hate this ball, and I hate these clothes and I hate – these – goddamn – shoes!”

She kicked off the offending footwear, gathered them up, and flung them angrily at his chest. Then she gathered up her skirts, and ran – barefoot – down the steps and far out into the garden.

“Penelo! Penelo, please…” Larsa started after her, but changed his mind halfway down the stairs. As upset as she was, his presence could only disturb her further. Perhaps she only needed a little time to sort out her riotous emotions. He sighed – but resigned himself to returning to the ballroom and making excuses for his missing fiancée.