[center][h3]Aymiria Unalim[/h3]
[sub]Interacting with: Zakroti [@darkwolf687][/sub][/center]

The walk from Zak’s manor had been a long one, but rather uneventful. Miry had settled on his arm for the entire journey, ogling all of the sights and sounds of the city, periodically babbling about some beautiful building or another that had attracted her attention. It was a lovely day, and much of it was about to be spent inside a stuffy fighting pit watching people brawl to the death. Theoretically, it wouldn’t be to the death, but it was Drakka – and the East, at that. Filthy barbarians. Gods knew the injuries that could be sustained.

She found her mental commentary to be quite amusing. Clearly Zak’s vague superiority complex was rubbing off on her. She stifled a giggle as the blackguard ushered them into the arena entryway, leading them up to a private viewing balcony up a flight of narrow stairs. As she took the seat Zak pulled out for her (legs dangling comically – she really did despise how awkward it was for her to use Drakkan furniture) she spent a long moment observing the setup of the arena below.

She was startled back into the present by the clinking of armor, and she half-turned in her seat to see the Blackguard moving to admit… a gem girl. Clad in the sheerest, finest muslin Miry had ever seen, even among those of the Gemmenite court. Bile rose in her throat and she pressed back into her seat, forcing her nausea down and looking away again, focusing blindly on the podium in the center of the arena. She took the goblet from the table with a trembling hand and sipped from it, trying to calm her racing heart. Zak would remember his honor, she was certain of it.

…Or perhaps not. Though she’d vowed not to, she glanced back a few moments later, to see the girl pressing her husband back into his chair, her mouth close to his ear so that she might whisper – and his hands going to her waist.

A quiet, strangled cry escaped her, her hand tightening on the goblet’s stem so hard she was sure she heard her bones creaking. The water in it instantly froze, a fine patina of frost already forming on the outside of the metal cup. It was placed down onto the edge of the table with a quiet thunk as she inhaled sharply, trying to calm herself, tears immediately welling in her eyes and freezing on her cheeks as soon as they dared spill over her eyelashes.

Every muscle in her body tense, fists balled so tightly her fingers turned white, she turned away from the spectacle, eyes focusing with lightning’s intensity on the scene unfolding in the arena. With every fiber of her being she tried to focus her hearing on the drums and wishing they were louder, to drown out the quiet murmurings and rustling of clothes behind her. The beautiful Drakkan woman on the stage spoke in a cheery voice, a cheery voice with a razor’s edge and curdling lust for blood.

Miry heard none of the words. But, they did their job – she could focus and pretend the scene unfolding beside her wasn’t. As she did, she felt her breathing return to some approximation of normal, the crystals of ice finally sliding off her face and leaving the skin beneath red and raw. At that point, in the clarity of the moment, she began to cry in earnest. The tears spilled freely down her cheeks, though she fought to keep her crying quiet, biting her lip until it bled – she would not make a sound. Her head bowed over, dusty blonde curls spilling forward to obscure her face, hands clasping in her lap and lacing tightly over her lower abdomen.

So she really wasn’t enough for him. She would have slapped herself – not two days previously she had told him she would leave his bed if he would rather have the new bride in her place – but this was… different. At least with the other bride she would be part of the household. But he was choosing a… nobody. What even was her name? Evey? Over her. Over his wife- no, his [i]bride[/i], she wasn’t worthy of being called a wife really. But she was carrying his child. She knew the arrangement was… hardly fair on him. They had spent most nights entwined, before the unpleasant side effects had kicked in at least, and since they had stopped he had seemed very tense in the past few weeks. But… could he not have even waited a few more nights, to take the new bride to their wedding bed? Did he really have to indulge this… whore?

She sat like that for gods knew how long, listening until the gasping at last subsided to normal breathing, quiet, indistinct words being spoken again beside her. As quietly as she could she slipped out of her chair, soft-soled boots making little sound on the floor. Without even looking at Zak, or any of the Blackguard, she passed between them, moving to the stairs and starting down them. She made eye contact with no one, pushing through the crowd of people entering the arena, pushing her way out onto the street.

She moved with the purpose of going home, but for the moment she was alone, and in a street full of blood-lusting drakken. It was arguably not the safest place to be in – but then, neither was sitting next to her husband and his whore. She’d take her chances. So she set her jaw and proceeded up the street, sticking to the edge (and collecting water from a nearby aqueduct to pool in her hand, ready to chill into ice- just in case.)

[hider=summary]
Miry is a very happy sappy in-love bride, until she’s subject to listening to her husband’s…. infidelity. At which point she has a meltdown and flees the tournament grounds. Yay.[/hider]