Lisette hurried down the corridor, loose hair flapping in the currents of air created by her haste. Far be it from her to be the last to attend a meeting held by her father. She wanted to show her love and respect, and she knew that being punctual was part of how she could do that. She had also donned a lovely pink dress for the occasion, one that was entirely feminine and betrayed nothing of the woman's interests and aspirations. Lisette was always trying very hard to be exactly who her father (and mother, but mostly her father) wanted her to be. She would keep her hands behind her back so that he would not see the calluses on her palms that her sword had caused. She would make comments here and there about her olive complexion so that her father would not notice how much time she spent outside. Always a long dress with sleeves, too, lest he see the bruises on her legs and arms.

Lis entered the big room, first by at least thirty seconds, and dipped into a respectful curtsy before closing the distance between herself and her parents. She would seek to hug her father's shoulders if he let her, and then place a kiss on her mother's head. Lakeview was a great estate, after all, and everyone was busy; it was easy to go days without seeing family members.

"Father. Mother." She spoke their titles as greetings before taking a seat beside Ibrahim Bashar and smiling over at him with large, adoring eyes.

Paris would arrive polished to perfection. The sleeves of his suit jacket were almost long enough to cover the hint of a ruffle underneath his shirt sleeve. Paris knew how to push right up to the boundary of acceptability without overstepping. Or at least, he thought so. His father’s opinion was the only thing that mattered to Paris so, when Ibrahim called, Paris swiftly made for the library. He arrived just after his sister Lisette Bashar, which was cause for a momentary prickle of irritation. Lisette could play their father like a violin if she wanted—and she often did. If only he knew he and Lis were both acting—putting on the face that their father wanted to see.

“Father,” Paris would dip in a slight bow to recognize his father and recognize his mother with a kiss on the cheek. He’d consider his options for a moment before taking a seat across from Lisette at his father’s other side.

Ares had received the call and was quick to respond. If there was one person he needed to keep on his side, it was his uncle and Ares couldn't afford to appear as the troublemaker with Ibrahim. He knew his father would not be in attendance though his mother would try to attend unless Idris was feeling too ill today that she didn't want to leave his side.

He strode into the room just as Paris was sitting and nodded respectfully to his aunt and uncle, tossing Lis a little grin before he took up a seat beside Paris, leaning towards him so that he could whisper. "Hello cousin," into Paris' ear.

Ares turned his attention to his uncle as soon as the man started to speak though he remained minutely aware of Paris at his side. The news that a relative of theirs had been captured by with little information on why or anything else had him curious indeed. It was those damn Rainecourts again, he was sure of it. His brows lifted at the mention of the new estate, it would be very useful for when he visited Skia to not have to always come back here or find an inn for the night.

He perked up when Ibrahim Bashar mentioned him by name. "Unfortunately he is not doing well at all, uncle," he said, looking a bit sad about it with a somber expression tossed towards his sister. "I'm afraid it won't be much longer until his body can no longer hold onto to his strong spirit." Truth be told, Ares was kind of glad for his father's turn in health but he wasn't about to say that. "My training is going well, however, and my father believes I'm ready to fully take up his position in Skia as courtier. I have made many connections there during my training and am ready to serve the family well," even better than his father if you asked him, "as soon as you think I'm ready to do, uncle."

Lisette's narrowed eyes on her brother served as the stuck out tongue she might have flashed had they still been children. She knew the mirrored sentiment for what it was, even if he continued looking pleasant for their parents. When Ares entered she did not make eye contact, focusing instead on Violet behind him. A sorrow filled her to see her cousin's beauty, even as a pride did, too.

She smiled earnestly, though it lost some of its purity at Violet's words. She could hear a tease in them, whether Violet meant it or not. Never one to play the hurt card, Lis didn't respond, but turned her attention to her father. She wished he hadn't stopped covering her hand.

Talk of Skia and court likely didn't mean much for her, but she waited to see if her father would give them specific duties so that she would have something concrete to anticipate.

Paris could somehow always feel Ares Bashar enter a room, even if he couldn’t see or hear him. When his cousin’s voice ticked in his ear, Paris was already tense though he dared not let it show. He decided to fix his gaze on Lisette Bashar who sat straight across the table from him though his attention was fixed on Ares Bashar’s voice as he easily chatted with his uncle—Paris’s father. Jealousy sat sour on Paris’s tongue.

So, he decided as always to take it out on Lis.

“You’re looking a little thin, dear sister,” Paris said, appraising her, “Thin wives bear frail children. You should take care to eat well.”

Approval from his uncle filled Ares with a swelling of pride and his chest even puffed out a bit as he nodded respectfully to the man. "Thank you Uncle, I won't let you down." The thrill of this newfound control in his position of courtier was intoxicating. No longer did he have to trail along in his father's shadow. Now was his chance to make the decisions and do it better than Idris ever had.

Ibrahim's chiding of the others was something that Ares found rather amusing as well as feeling lucky that he wasn't now sitting in the heat of his Uncle's wrath. He looked over to Paris expectantly and subtly moved his foot to bump up against his cousin's shoe underneath the table.

Paris’s blood immediately started to boil. He winced away from his father’s scolding for a moment before he found some modicum of masculine toughness to conceal the hurt. Always Lisette Bashar. Always Lis, his sister who for some reason had made herself the apple of their father’s eye. Ibrahim Bashar’s weakness—his softness—had blinded him to what Lisette really needed: someone with a strong hand. It was for her own good, after all.

Paris glanced at his mother, before turning to answer his father’s question. “I speak only out of care for my dear sister,” Paris said matter-of-factly, looking at Lis, “It is unbecoming of a woman to train so rigorously she loses her feminine curves. Seems she is more intent on being like one of the Rainecourt soldiers than a proper wife and mother,” Paris shrugged with a soft smile, “I’m simply looking out for you, sister. I meant no office. Forgive me.”

It was then that he felt Ares Bashar's foot nudge him under the table. Paris immediately tensed, trying hard not to let his eyes flit to his cousin.