PeaceMaker

"I'm not sure but it should be sometime after you have recovered your eyesight," Axel replied.

"My eyesight?" Dominic asked.

"If we let in Desilva in at his highness' current state, I can not be sure of your safety around her, but if you are able to see and watch her, then you just might be able to deflect her hits if she attacks you," Axel explained, "This way guarantees your safety. We could also let her in now to show that we trust her and restore some of her trust in us but that could also backfire if she chooses to attack you."

Dominic laid in thought, weighing the two options and their possible outcomes.

"Whatever you choose, I will go along with you, your highness," Axel assured.

"Ok then," Dominic sighed, "Let her in now."

Axel turned around sharply to face Dominic, "What?!"

"Desilva isn't like her mother. She doesn't know the connection between my kingdom and her village like I don't and has no other reason to hate me except the fact that I hid I was the prince from her," Dominic explained, "therefore, she shouldn't feel the need to get rid of me or try to destroy me."

"Oh…" Axel muttered, understanding Dominic's take on the situation.

Dominic gave a slight smile. "There's no need to be hostile towards people who have done nothing to deserve it and Desilva understands that so the most she will do to me is ignore me for a while, but I doubt killing would ever be on her mind."

"You want me to kill his highness?!" Desilva yelled.

"QUIET DOWN!" Memoline ordered.

Desilva shrunk back into her seat anxiously, unable to look at the eyes of the people staring at her.

She was in a tent with her mother and a handful with elders who sat around a crescent-shaped table while she sat in front of the arch in the crescent. It was the usual format of their council meetings, the elders or dictators sat along the long back of the crescent table while the target of their dictation sat on the other side of the table, with the crescent surrounding them. The tent's door was tightly shut with some of the village's men on the lookout outside while staging an arm-wrestling game while on the inside, the meeting was carried out calmly, quietly, and quickly.

"Yes, we would suggest the assassination of his highness, Dominic Aarvi," an elder explained.

Desilva stared at the elder, unable to comprehend her words. Rossy Morge, the sixth oldest in the village, had been with Desilva for as long as she could remember, but in those 21 years of her life, Desilva had never seen the strong and calm mix of rage and hate in Rossy's eyes at the mention of any name. Even saying 'Dominic' twisted Rossy's calm and collected face into anger.

'This wasn't something to be taken lightly,' Desilva thought, avoiding direct eye-contact with any of the elders peering straight through her. The tension in the room was so thick, she hesitated to even speak back, afraid the hate in the eyes of her elders would turn on her. 'Aarvi…' she pondered, 'why did that name sound familiar?'

"Why?" she asked cautiously, "he is simply a prince and nothing more. Why is that worth killing?"

"Aarvi, Silva, is the last name of the kingdom in our past," Memoline sighed.

"What?" Desilva asked, her mother's words completely passing by her ears.

"Yes, Silva," another elder, Ide Milti answered, "Aucacia Empire, led by the powerful royals, Aurelius Aarvi and Rilvia Aarvi and now their 3 three kins, including Dominic Aarvi."

"No…" Desilva muttered, the color draining from her face, "it's not true."

"It was them Silva, who killed your father," an elder

She blocked out the elder's answers, refusing to believe them, "it's not them."

"It's not them?" Memoline cocked her head, her eyes piercing through Desilva, as her anger built, "THEY ROBBED ME OF MY HUSBAND AND YOU OF YOUR FATHER! AND YET YOU TRY TO DEFEND THEM?!"

"Because it's not them…��� Desilva retorted emptly. She heard the words come out of her mouth and felt tears grow at the tips of her eyes when she realized how fake they sounded, but she didn't want to believe it… she wouldn't believe it.

She looked up at the elders, defiances glowing in her eyes, "YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THESE PEOPLE-" she pointed to the door of the tent and turned back to the elders, "THE PEOPLE WHO GAVE US THE HELP WE NEEDED FOR THESE PAST FEW WEEKS…

She pointed at Ide, "THE PEOPLE WHO HEALED YOUR LEG," then to another elder, "THE ONES WHO SAVED YOUR SON," then to another, "THE ONE WHO GAVE YOU NEW CLOTHES

And finally to herself, "THE ONE! THe Ones… who gave me a new light to look at in this endless field," she took a few steps backwards as Dominic's smile passed through her mind, "and friends to pass my days with…" She looked up at the elders, tears running down her face, "you mean to tell me that those people… those heroes… are the ones that brought me to this hell?"

Memoline stared blankly at Desilva, unsure of how to reply to her daughter's question, her lips quivering at the sight of the tears running down her face.

"Yes…" Memoline replied, looking away from Desilva despondently, "they are."

Desilva's legs trembled and her face was wiped clean of all emotions and tears ran down her face freely, dripping off her chin and hitting the ground on which her legs stood unsteadily.

"No," Desilva retorted, her voice barely above a whisper. She clenched her fit and bit down on her lips, "NO!"

A wave of rage washed over her and her feet lifted off the ground, running towards the direction of the doors of the tent.

"DESILVA!!" Memoline called after her, quickly standing up from her seat on the other side of the crescent and was about to run after her when a hand held her back.

She looked down at her mother who held onto her hand tightly. "Mother?"

"Sit Down," Ide commanded with so much authority that the room itself shivered, "Let her go."

"But mothe-" Memoline begged, her eyes trailing to her daughter who slammed her body into the door of the tent, pushing it open by force.

Ide shot a glare into Memoline's eyes, her bluish-gray eyes so cold that Memoline froze in cowardice, "Do NOT make me repeat myself."

"Yes mother," Memoline gave in, sitting back down on her seat dejectedly.

Memoline looked at the door, her daughter's figure running further away from the tent and clenched her fist in restraint.. 'The rest is up to you Silva.'