"Right. So… lamb. Do you like lamb?" Quentin probably assumed she wasn't going to answer, because he didn't wait for her too. As they reached the top of the stairs, he was greeted by a servant– whom he immediately sent off to inform the chef to prepare them a meal of lamb and who-knows-what-else. He glanced back at her, arching an eyebrow. "You know, you don't have to look so angry like you want to kill someone. I don't bite, but I'm starting to think you might."
"You call me a monster? Then you know nothing." O/O (Closed but y'all can stalk)
"Don't try me," Cicada glared at him barring her teeth at him. She wasn't going to bite him, that was beneath her. Though she wouldn't deny the fact that she wanted to. And she had every right to look angry. She was being held prisoner, her kingdom had been taken over, and now she was going to eat with the prince whose armies were responsible for all of this. What had her life become? A mess, that's what her life had become.
"Alright, alright." Quentin held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Just calm yourself, Cada. Can I call you Cada?" Once again, he didn't wait for her reply, but rather led the guards– and her, of course– to the massive dining room, where an elegant table had been prepared for them. The food hadn't arrived yet, but the table was ready.
"Please don't try to run away. It's rude to eat and run," Quentin said as he took a seat and motioned for the guards to lead Cicada to hers. For safety purposes, the guards didn't leave.
Cicada was pushed to her seat and she sat down begrudgingly. She did not want him call her Cada, but she wasn't in a place to tell him no and she didn't know if he would respect it at this point. He didn't seem like someone that would do so. She also did not calm down remaining tense as she sat at the table with the prince and his guards. If she was at full strength it would be so easy to end all of their lives, but she wasn't. It was difficult to make a spark in the state she was in. She growled at the prince regarding his last comment, "You want to talk to me about rudeness?"
Quentin leaned forward, his elbows on the table in front of him. He folded his hands together and rested his hands on them, looking at her thoughtfully. "Okay, okay. Listen, I'm sorry about the way things went down. That wasn't desirable. It still isn't desirable. But we're not here to talk politics or governments here, now are we? We're here to enjoy a meal. Try to relax and enjoy your meal, poppet. I'm doing the best I can."
He glanced up just as the servants arrived with plates of steaming food, placing them in front of Cicada and Quentin.
Poppet? Cicada had heard that used before, but she was quickly distracted by the food placed in front of her. Her mouth began to water at both the sight and smell of it. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until food had been placed in front of her. She was careful not to let any emotion or even relaxation slip through as she cautiously reached for the utensils every movement rubbing the cuffs on her wrists a wrong sort of way, but it wasn't like she had a choice. She didn't bother responding to the prince though she kept an eye on him.
Quentin observed her only momentarily before starting on his own food, seemingly calm for someone dining with the enemy. Then again, she was bound, but maybe he had plenty of reasons to be relaxed. He resisted the urge to ask questions– after all, he promised her he wouldn't. He instead calmly began on his meal and allowed silence to fill the room for the next few minutes, as to neither break his promise nor annoy her to death with his constant socializing. Of course, the silence couldn't be allowed on for too long.
Cicada managed to not ravenously eat the meal remaining calm. She didn't speak and ate in small bites knowing if she ate too much too quickly she would end up making herself sick. That and it hurt to move any faster than she already was. She really hated these chains on her wrists more than she had when she couldn't move. Her wings were still sore but that compared nothing to the sharp pains that came with moving her hands.
"Do you like the food?" Quentin inquired after an uncomfortably long moment of silence. Considering his personality, the quiet probably made him anxious. He set down his own utensils to take a small sip from the wine glass in front of him. Though I guarantee he didn't have nearly as much of a taste for alcohol as someone else we know from a different universe. Ahem. I'm looking at you, Day. He glanced at her wrists, which he could clearly see were rubbed raw, but he dared not allow his guards to unchain her. Truth be told, he was too afraid of her for that.
OH MY GOD LOL
Cicada looked up at him pausing for a moment in her careful eating. The food wasn't terrible. But it wasn't quite to the intensity she had back in her own palace where nothing could be over-spiced. She swallowed the bite she had finished before hesitantly sipping the wine after sniffing it first trying to see if it had been drugged. She looked at him and let her wrists rest both of them throbbing in pain, "It's fine. I thought you weren't going to ask questions?"
"Oh–" Quentin placed the glass back down. "My apologies. I didn't realize that counted." He awkwardly took another bite of his food and swallowed it before saying anything else. "I'm glad you like it." He was regretting his no questions promise, because it was beginning to get difficult to keep a conversation going with absolutely no questions.
Cicada snorted slightly as she went back to eating. She didn't want a conversation with this man and was perfectly fine eating in silence. If he wanted to try and make conversation, he could most certainly try. She was not bound to respond to him, even if he had given her a decent meal. The lamb tasted amazing after not eating for three days, at least she thinks it was three days.
Quentin poked at his food, silent for several longs minutes. He came close to breaking the silence multiple times, but all of his ideas for conversation-starters involved questions. Maybe he could turn the tables on her, then. Maybe instead of asking her questions, he would tell her about himself. "So, if I can't ask you questions, maybe you'd like to ask me some questions," he offered, smiling at her lightly. "Or, if you don't, I could just monologue for hours. That works, too."
Cicada paused having almost eaten half the meal. She wasn’t sure if she could eat any more considering her stomach was already starting to protest it being to full. But he was now offering that she ask him questions? This man was desperate for conversation and she was not going to humor him with it. She looked at him taking another sip of the wine, “Go ahead then. Monologue away.”
Quentin frowned a bit, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "As you wish." He took another bite before he continued. "So, let's see. Where should I begin? There's so much to talk about that it's hard to pick what." He hummed softly to himself. "I suppose we'll avoid mention of the war, as I assume that's a touchy subject."
"No, feel free to mention how your kingdom unrightfully destroyed mine," Cicada half snarled her voice laced heavily with sarcasm. She continued to sip at the wine trying to wash away her conscious. Here she was, eating with her enemy while others were out there starving. Others were still fighting for an upheaval in her home kingdom, at least she hoped so. She had said nothing and had been the only one taken so it was unlikely his kingdom knew anything.
Quentin sighed. "Princess, kingdoms destroy each other all of the time. It's not personal. Look at history. Every kingdom falls at some point. It's unfortunate, truly, but it is what it is." He poked at his food with his fork. "Someday, as much as I hate to admit it, this kingdom– my kingdom– will fall, too. I hope to God it doesn't in my lifetime, but someday, it will. Because nothing lasts forever." He took a moment to sip his wine. "Is there anything I can do to mend this conflict between us? I mean, truth be told, I don't blame you for being upset with me. Why, I'd be pretty upset myself if the tables were turned. But there's no need for you and I to be enemies now."
Cicada felt her hand start to ball up into fists. How dare he say something like that? Kingdom's may fall, yes, but what happened, what was happening, to hers was nothing more than simply a part of history. He probably had no idea how bad it was to be a former citizen of her kingdom. Her eyes were hardened, in her mind, there were all the reasons to be an enemy of the man in front of her that tore her home to ruins. Whose people were ordered to kill her family and any person of noble blood whether an adult or child. Whose soldiers were enslaving anyone who dared to speak up about their treatment.
She took a deep breath before forcing out her voice cold and chilling, "You have no idea, do you? Of what happens outside these palace walls? Of what your soldiers are doing to my people? What they have done? Because if you did maybe you would know why we are most certianly still enemies."
"I didn't say I didn't know why we were enemies," Quentin responded calmly. "I just said maybe we shouldn't be enemies. Because, really, what good is it doing you, or your people, or anyone to hate me? To be quite frank with you, I didn't instigate the war. I don't even run this kingdom. And, frankly, no one sane ever wants a war. They're conflicts. They happen. I'm not saying they're good or right, but I'm saying they're quite inevitable in the long run." He sighed a little. "Your blaming us… for what, exactly? For winning the war? No offense, but I believe your side would've done the same, had the tables been turned. And, I guarantee if this entire situation had been reversed, and I were your prisoner, you wouldn't be attempting to make amends and offer me dinner." He put his fork down, scratched the back of his neck. "I am sorry for the casualties, but I didn't cause them. Again– I don't make the rules here. I'm not the king. You can't blame me personally for the unfortunate turn of events."
"You talk about the war like it's the only atrocity your kingdom has done against my people," Cicada responded her eyes narrowing at him. He spoke of winning the war and the people who died in it. But not of the slavery and the aftermath of their victory that had never been present in her kingdom. He spoke of reversing the roles, how she wouldn't even attempt to make amends. But she knew in her heart that neither she nor her parents would imprison the prince of the opposing kingdom nor torture and starve him for days. At least her of five years ago wouldn't. Her wings wanted to flare out, but were too sore to do much of anything, "What about the slavery? What about the murder of children? I do not care that you did not instigate the war. But at least accept what your soldiers, your people, whom you will rule one day did to mine. To feign ignorance and false apologies is to do the acts themselves."
"My apologies aren't false," Quentin muttered defensively. "And I'm not feigning ignorance, either. If you find me ignorant, then I must be. I never advocated the murder of children, Princess." He drew in a long breath, released it slowly. "Clearly you're missing my point altogether."
"You may never have advocated it, yet your soldiers still killed them in cold blood. I have no doubts that if I hadn't run that night I would have died with my parents. And what of the slavery prince? The enslaving of my people who have done nothing but express concern. If your clear ignorance and apologies are not your point, then do tell what is?" Cicada responded her eyes still glaring at him. She had stopped drinking and eating all together all of her focus now on him.
(Bump.)
"You're still blaming me for the actions of the kingdom's soldiers," Quentin said calmly. "As if I had any say in that. As if I personally went to those who make the plans for war and the aftermath thereof and requested that they do so." He tapped his fork against the plate and sighed. "What do you expect me to do here, Princess? Because lashing out at me in this way– blaming me for the pains and sorrows of your own kingdom– is doing neither you nor them any good." He paused. "I'm just trying to have dinner."
Cicada paused and forced herself to not speak any further. He didn’t, he didn’t understand. In her eyes doing nothing was the same as doing something, especially when that some was the prince of a kingdom. Her hands were balled up tightly and worse she felt like a child that had just been scolded for speaking their mind. She took a deep breath to stop herself from doing something idiotic before speaking again, “If all you want to do is eat, then I would like to go back to my cell.”
"Hm. But I thought you didn't want to talk to me in the first place," Quentin responded dully. Was that hurt in his voice, possibly? "So, if I'm not mistaken, didn't you only come to eat, too? You shouldn't mind whether or not I want to do anything else, since you so adamantly stated you wanted nothing to do with conversation…"
“Yes, and I have eaten,” Cicada responded looking at him. She hadn’t wanted to converse and then he had hit a touchy subject. She still didn’t want to talk with him but felt the need to. Now he, who had been trying to get her talk for most of the meal, decided to pull that on her? She repeated herself, “I would like to go back to my cell.”
"As you wish." Quentin waved his hand to the guards for them to escort her back, though he didn't bother accompanying this time. He didn't even bother rising from his seat. But he did offer her a closed smile. "Until next time, then, Princess?"
Cicada didn’t smile back or respond to the prince. She willingly let them drag her away although her sore wrist started to bleed with how rough they were being. Once back in her cell the first thing the guards did was chain her back down and put the nails in her wings. But not in the old holes, no they pushed them through skin tearing it open to make new holes. It took everything Cicada had not to scream or cry from the pain.
(Timeskip to the next visit, you think?)