Zinnia seemed to stare into Lyra's soul, pulling her personality apart on guesses, her royal heritage taking charge and making her seem commanding and imposing.  Not unlike a dictator stepping from his palace to silence a rioting crowd with a mere glance.  "He didn't lay a hand on you, girl."  She had a feeling that this young lady respected rank and rank alone, based off her cries for a butler.  But what was a Lady to a Princess?

	"I'm something of a princess, you know.  Last time I checked, I outrank you about fifteen times over.  If I can get myself a piece of toast without causing a doctor to draw a weapon,"  She made a quick gesture to Jace, who was still brandishing the blunt, wooden weapon his homeland respected heavily, "Then so can you."  The Ottoman descendant sheathed the dagger in her belt again, then offered a hand to Lyra.

	"I spare you only because I believe in second chances.  This is yours, I will not be as merciful next time."  Zinnia stopped to think for a moment, refusing to break eye-contact with the much younger girl.  "I'm Zinnia Afra, and I expect your name in return."

	She hated having to do this, she genuinely did.  She was more of the roguish-type, not the commanding imperial she had to pose as now.  But if this is what was needed to calm a teenage tantrum, so be it... [i]'If this is what kids are like, I want none.'[/i]