[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/231117/4397e947d9496e89a02a516a94d678c6.png[/img][/center][hr]After her unwelcome brush with Belle, Maya made straight for her room, helped along in her lightheaded and somewhat unsteady state by an attendant who led her by the arm to the apartment the royal family had prepared for her. She found the accommodations acceptable, for the most part: there was a parlour, a dining room, and of course a generous bedroom, all of the quality as she would expect. But she was most excited about the ensuite, and in particular, the large and luxurious bathtub. After the night she’d had, a bath was the very least she deserved. 

There was a butler placed at Maya’s disposal, and she made good use of him. Before long she had ordered dinner, wine, and a bath drawn with whatever fragrant and relaxing bubble bath they could find. A swarm of servants fell upon the suite to fulfill her requests, which expanded to include a wireless speaker and a smartphone to replace the one that presumably smashed on Giles’ floor, and soon Maya was fed and submerged in a hot oat and lily bath, the ensuite filled with warm, fragrant steam and soothing music. 

Not that any of it helped at all with her foul mood, as much as she tried to soothe it. Normally this would be just the thing to calm her: buried chin-deep in sweet-smelling bubbles, opening her pores, sipping her second glass of [i]very[/i] nice rosé - and all in the house of the Veradian Prince, no less. But all Maya could think about was the absolute vile [i]audacity[/i] of those godforsaken bear-fucking heathens to [i]dare[/i] put her through all this trouble. 

Every attempt to turn her mind from the events of the night only reminded her of yet another infuriating detail about it. When she tried to turn her mind to her social media, she was reminded that she was robbed of all the pictures she got when she was forced to drop her phone and fall onto the fucking [i]ceiling[/i]. When she tried to think of the high society elbows she got to rub tonight, her mind turned to how they all probably saw her crawling around the ceiling in a panic. When she tried to focus on her new lavish surrounds, she was forced to recall how her own penthouse was probably already on the heathens’ radar, and how she probably couldn’t go home. 

She made about a million phone calls once her temporary phone arrived (and once she’d  interrogated the servant about the security of the palace 5G) mostly to the effect of packing her belongings and having them sent to Veradis castle. She had no intention of leaving; first thing in the morning, it was her intent to call upon the Prince himself and beg hospitality, citing the relative insecurity of her home in Juniperus. She never even contemplated the possibility that he might refuse - the Prince of Veradis would never bear the ignominy of refusing hospitality, especially not to a Scion who was resident in his country - and was already making arrangements for a long-term stay. Among the things brought to her, aside from her copious luggage, had been an ugly black bag Maya immediately recognized as belonging to Edmund. No way her butler would have mistaken it for hers, so he must have called it in. She vaguely recalled him referring to a “go bag” in the past, and that must be what he meant. She didn’t know what was in it, and didn’t care to check, but she hoped it was an entire arsenal of weapons now that she was clearly being hunted. If he lacked anything for her protection, she planned to buy him three to spare. 

Maya certainly wasn’t going to be taking any more chances. She barely felt safe in the castle, let alone at home. If they could get to her in Duke Giles’ ballroom - and she practically quaked at the thought of that spineless fool - then they could get her anywhere. And she was [i]beyond[/i] angry at that prospect. She was beside herself with rage, her fingernails at times digging crescent-shaped holes into her palms as she contemplated her situation. She simply could not tolerate what was done to her tonight. Not just the threat to her physical safety, which was more than bad enough, but presumably rectified with more security, a safer lodging, and a renewed resolution not to let Edmund out of her sight ever again; but with [i]everything[/i]. Those masked gunmen - to Sheol with them all, and a slow and painful journey there - had humiliated her, reduced her to crawling around in terror mewling for her Templar, they had dared to lay their dirty half-breed hands on her, and she couldn’t even bear to think of what might have happened if they actually caught her. Would they have killed her? Kidnapped her? Held her for ransom? Defiled her? She hoped she would never know. 

But worst and most reprehensible of all, they made her feel just as small and helpless as she had on the Larme years ago, staring down Kaudian gunmen on her father’s barge. She had wondered the same things then, too, unsure what a gang of savages would do if they caught her and dispatched her father. And they had made her flee, as shamefully as she had tonight; back then it was jumping into the water and cowering under the pier instead of crawling on the ceiling, but it was just as degrading. 

Maya burned with hatred at the memory, wishing death and despair on her enemies in the surest and most vicious of terms, and wished she had her gun again - but maybe it was better she didn’t have it. In this mood, she could have put the bullets in them by hand. 

But in the meantime, she had no bullets. Only the heady scent of lilies and a bottle of rosé to tide her over until she could throw every single one of her enemies into the sun.
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