Nahla had to use every bit of her prowess to not chuckle as the words left the vizier’s lips. [i]Her,[/i] being cared for by [i]the Sultan?[/i] As if she hadn’t spent this time letting Grace-of-Heaven practically wrap her consort around her like a blanket in the middle of winter. As if she needed to be cared for, as if she ever had been cared for and not vice versa. [i]As if [/i]she would ever picture being comforted at Grace’s hand, her palm gently rubbing against the underside of her consort’s chin, forgiving her for her misdeeds and assuring her that it was all for the best…

As her mind raced with impossibilities, her hands gently glided over a few of the items so kindly offered for her to pick from. The sapphire’s deep blue gleam reminded her of her Sultan, the chains of her interwoven links of lies and tricks. The lavender rope was so gentle against her fingertips compared to the normal hemp rope and carried the faint pleasant aroma that practically cleared the way to your lungs with a whiff. 

“I thank you for this generous reward, Lady Ruz. Your kindness shall not be forgotten.”

Ultimately, when her thanks and bows were said and done, Nahla stood outside the Grand Vizier’s chambers, heavy, pondering eyes examining every inch of the unsheathed dagger in her hand. The silver polished metal and gemstones embedded into the hilt was a thing of beauty, the shimmering sun reflected against the walls by the blade, some stones even leaving an almost rainbow-like refraction scattered about the corridor. She thought the dagger could make an excellent addition to the spectacle of her mirror sword, once she was forgiven for her indiscretions and her blade returned to her. Perhaps it could also make for a useful concealed means of protection when she went about her little nighttime errands, though she would certainly have to find something less flashy in time than the similarly encrusted scabbard. Perhaps a simple dark leather, dark as that urchin girl’s eyes, as tough yet smooth as her hands…

When the artist would eventually abscond from her card game shenanigans, the hallway would be occupied by a concubine, eyes and expression dulled in deep contemplation as her gaze locked onto an unsheathed, extravagant dagger in her hand, standing just outside of the chambers of the Vizier.