"Valentine, you'll be visiting, of course?"

"Of course, we'll visit as soon as we can."

"Good. Beldon? What about you?"

"Of course, I'll try. It all depends on whether my regiment gives me leave."

"Constantine, I assume you'll have at least a little time to visit your poor sister, if you can drag yourself away from married women."

"Hah, now Fey! Don't be cruel. You know my sisters always come first."

"You'll write to us soon, won't you, Marie?"

"Don't worry, Antoinette, I'll write as soon as I reach home."

"We'll reply as soon as we know when we can visit."

"Well don't take too long, Rosa, I can't bear to be stuck with those people for too long."

"Marie-Fey, are you really so miserable?"

"... No, Papa, I'm only teasing. They're wonderful. I'm just going to miss you all."

"We'll miss you too, as always."

Marie-Fey opened her eyes.

Those goodbyes had been a month ago.

In that time, she'd been trapped on a ship then a carriage that had hauled her and her company half a world away into the godforsaken land she called home.

She now stood at the edge of her world, arms folded, as a hot wind blew past her, throwing her dress and hair out to the left, tendrils trailing across her face as her eyes narrowed at the sea before her.

A sea of earth with waves of sand that rolled in the wind.

Wretched, horrid place.

Not even the sea so perfectly imprisoned someone like the desert did.

Behind her she could hear the fuss the horses were making and the low voices of her men as they muttered to each other in their own language, waiting patiently as their mistress looked across the desert, as she always did whenever she returned.

Eventually the sand blowing on the wind grew irritating and she turned away to face her world.

Her oasis kingdom in the middle of a barren wasteland.

Her city was beautiful; lush and green and vibrant.

Trees and plant life bloomed from every building. Cannels ran alongside the streets, crystal clear water supplying the city with life. The air smelt like sun and fruit. Colours burst from the houses, rugs and clothing of every shade shining in the daylight.

Marie-Fey suppressed a grimaced and walked back to her carriage that was drawn from four stunning black stallions.

Climbing inside, she settled on the velvet seats and tapped her fan against the glass window. One of her men called up to the driver and they set off, turning into the city and on towards the walls that surrounded her home.

It was a fifteen-minute journey and Marie-Fey sat with her eyes closed and fan open the entire journey, ignoring the streets they passed and the people outside until a shadow fell across her eyes and she opened them to see the gates of her home pass by.

The carriage drew to a stop and the door opened, a footman holding a hand out to her as she climbed down and looked up at her home.

Her palace.

It made her miss the palaces of her own country.

The white walls gleamed, the intricate latticed windows of stars and flowers releasing the laughter and voices of women. The rooftops blazed vivid blues and golds. The doors were so finely carved they depicted entire legends.

Vibrant greens of plant-life fought to be seen amidst all the thousand colours of flowers.

Marie-Fey's eyes drifted towards the high wall in the distance, where she could just see the roofs of the second palace over it, where the council, offices rooms of state and men could be found.

Snapping her fan open, she lifted her skirts and swept to the doors that glided open for her, female servants bowing low in greeting as she passed them by without a glance.

She felt the hush that had fallen across the palace the second the doors were opened.

The women of the palace knew she had returned.

She had been gone three months – all that time and she had only had a month with her family – and a tension rippled through the walls as the 'foreign princess' returned home.

She was not a princess, in her single nor married life, but that was what they called her. It was not a kind nickname.

The marble below her feet echoed the strike of her high heels as she strode across the grand entrance hall towards the three steps where her two closest ladies waited for her.

Maanah and Gharam bowed low to her as she walked up to meet them and fell into step behind her as she turned left to head to her apartments.

"Any news while I was away?" she asked, keeping her fan up and head high as she glided through the airy, bright halls of the palace, girls and women stepping out of her way as she passed, bowing their heads as she avoided their eyes. She asked it in her mother tongue, refusing to use their native language.

"Our Lord has sent many gifts while you were away in anticipation for your return," Maanah replied with her beautiful, perfect diction, her sweeping deep brown hair pinning in an elegant knot at the back of her head.

"Of course he has," Marie-Fey replied, "Is he in residence?"

"No, My Lady, I'm afraid he is not," Gharam replied, her voice pure and soft, she was calming to listen to when she recited stories, with her huge guileless midnight eyes filling with the emotions of her characters.

"Of course he's not," Marie-Fey muttered, snapping her fan closed.

She flung it aside, where it cracked against one of the bright walls that was painted with a grand illustration of a legend and walked on, leaving one of the silent serving girls to pick it up.

She threw open the doors to her apartments and looked to her right.

Presents were piled in one corner. A mountain of them waiting for her to unwrap them.

She dismissed them and looked around, debating on what she wanted to do first.

"Our Lord sent you another letter," Gharam said quietly behind her.

"Saying what?" Marie-Fey asked as she walked towards the room that housed her numerous gowns. She was longing for something supple and light, her corset was growing uncomfortable in the unforgiving heat.

"He wishes you write him again."

"Why? I wrote him when I arrived on land," Marie-Fey said, indicating for Maanah to help her undress.

"He wishes you to tell him how you are faring."

Marie-Fey sighed with annoyance as the silk of her gown trailed down her arms.

Gharam quickly slipped by to find a suitable gown, settling on one of sapphire blue that was impossibly light to the touch, hugging her body like mist.

She changed first, putting her hair up from the back of her neck before turning back to the main room.

"Fine, I shall write to him," she said and Maanah quickly pulled out the chair at her writing desk, laying out the paper and quill.

She took her seat and began to write without a thought.

To my honourable husband,

How kind of you to ask after my wellbeing. I am very well, having finally returned to this most majestic of kingdoms. Your gifts are impossibly beautiful, and I thank you for thinking of me while you are always so busy, I delighted in opening each and every one.

I pray this letter finds you well and happy and successful.

Your ever-obedient wife.

She tossed the letter aside as soon as it was scrawled out, leaving it for one of her ladies to deal with before she stood up and walked out to one of the balconies, setting on the sprawling settee that was draped in silks, until a huge umbrella, from which chiffons rippled in the wind, and looked ahead.

From this floor of the palace, and from this balcony, she could see the city and, beyond that, the ever-present sea of sand, mocking her with its ever-shifting tides and dunes.

"Where would you like to eat this evening, My Lady?" Maanah asked, looking out at her.

"I'm not hungry," Marie-Fey replied, not looking away from the golden sea.

"You never are when you first return, My Lady," Maanah said, "but for your wellbeing, I would still bring you something small."

Marie-Fey looked towards Maanah, really looked at her for the first time that day, eyes narrowed.

Her servant was tall, willowy and beautiful. Her deep brown hair was streaked with gold when it hit the sunlight, her skin warm and tanned by the sun, which only served to highlight the hazel of her eyes.

She liked Maanah. There was a confidence about her. She knew she was beautiful and carried it well. She was straightforward and calm. She could easily be a high ranked lady of the palace – if her master ever bothered to call on any of his ladies – but she wasn't. She had been hand selected to be one of Marie-Fey's personal serfs.

Her eyes drifted towards Gharam who hovered in the doorway to the balcony, Marie-Fey's abandoned gown in her arms.

Gharam was Marie-Fey's height, but delicate and fragile like a hummingbird. She also had deep brown hair, but hers flared with auburn in the sun. She was shy by comparison to her colleague and mistress, Marie-Fey knew many of the other girls in the palace were irritated by her quiet disposition.

She had annoyed Marie-Fey too when she had first arrived, whispering her replies and questions, never making eye-contact, clutching whatever clothes she held to her like a shield, hiding behind Maanah.

It had reached the point where Marie-Fey had lashed out at her, demanding she show some sort of backbone.

She never had.

Marie-Fey wasn't sure she had a backbone.

But Marie-Fey would also never have another girl take her place – though others had been suggested.

"Maybe some yogurt and fruit?" Gharam suggested softly, her eyes meeting her mistress's.

Marie-Fey sighed and dropped her head back, closing her eyes.

"Fine," she said.

Maanah smiled, glancing to Gharam who blushed and looked down.

"We'll prepare a small tray and some tea," Maanah said, walking to the seating and holding out a new fan.

Maire-Fey took it without looking.

Maanah's soft fingers on her hair made her open her eyes as she looked up at her servant.

Maanah gave her a genuine, contented smile, her beauty painful to look at.

"Welcome home, My Lady," she said gently.

Marie-Fey just pulled a face of displeasure and closed her eyes again, leaving to servants to attend to her things and find food.