She sighs and gets up and leaves.

He watches her leave.

(If he could just - but it never ends well, when someone finds out they've been talking to the Emperor.)

She isn't there the next time he shows up.

It - could be nothing...

Yeah no it's going to bother him until he knows for sure.

He goes to the spot where they first met, and touches the flower he grew for her, and closes his eyes and looks for where the rest of it has gotten to. The simplest thing to try, although it'll only work if she kept the flower.

The flower is braided into her hair again.

The rest of the scene is...not nothing.

She's sitting in the back room of an auction facility, wearing manacles.

...ah, fuck.

He widens his view until he can see which part of the city she's in.

...he could just - not interfere. Let her go on with her life never knowing who she was cuddling in the eastern gardens.

But, as he well knows, legal protections for slaves in his empire are shit. She might genuinely be better off with him at this point, though she's very unlikely to see it that way.

He spies on the auction house's schedule. He considers sending a servant to buy her, or just showing up and confiscating her, but - he wants to be able to look her in the eye one more time before she finds out.

So when she goes up for auction, he's there, in his (pristine) sage-green coat.

She comes out looking scared but determined. She looks out over the crowd--

and her eyes land on him, and widen, and she meets his eyes with an expression of bare pleading.

...oh, that hurts. He winces slightly, breaking eye contact, but then looks at her again and nods.

She relaxes slightly and gives him a small, grateful smile.

One of the other bidders - he recognizes him by sight but can't place the name - is a known collector of redheads. He makes the opening bid for the girl with the flower in her hair. It's high but not outrageous.

Solekaran doubles it.

The collector makes a startled choking noise.

...It would be so inappropriate to giggle right now. She does not. Even if she's really tempted.

The collector, hesitantly, raises by half his original price.

Solekaran doubles him again.

No one else in the room wants this girl badly enough to part with the price of a modestly sized house in a good part of town. The auctioneer calls perfunctorily for further bids, is unsurprised not to get any, and sends her over to the scribe with his enchanted brush.

Solekaran gets up and comes down to collect her, looking... well, sad and withdrawn.

"...Are you okay?" she asks quietly.

He can't seem to meet her eyes.

"Ah, begging your pardon, sir, but whose mark...?" asks the scribe, picking up his brush and reaching for Lyrame's arm.

"Imperial," he says.

The scribe flinches.

Oh.

Well, that.

Um.

The Emperor waits patiently for the scribe to recover. It's only a few seconds, and then he holds the brush firmly and draws the Imperial seal on Lyrame's forearms, one and then the other, right above where the manacles circle her wrists. The ink glistens as it sinks into her skin, anchored indelibly there by magic.

"There you are, majesty," he says, ducking his head nervously.

"Thank you," says Solekaran. He flicks his fingers at her chains, and they unlock themselves and fall away.

"I--

I--

I--"

She looks at his face again.

She thinks.

"...Thank you.'

...he smiles slightly, the smile of someone who doesn't quite feel secure enough to be relieved, and gestures for her to follow him.

She follows him.

As soon as they step into the empty corridor outside the auction hall, he makes a gesture like he's brushing away cobwebs and the air in front of them opens up into a shimmering portal. He steps through.

She hesitates before stepping through after him.

The room on the other side is... Imperial.

Emperor Solekaran created this island from scratch with magic, palace and all. The walls and floor and ceiling are all of a piece, and it's a beautiful piece, a pale glimmering cloud-white stone with faint grey patterns not quite exactly like marble. The lights are magical, of the highest quality; he probably made them himself. Likewise the furniture - it's some sort of sitting room, and everything is sleek and plush and gorgeous and obviously exquisitely comfortable.

He plops himself down onto a lovely soft couch and looks up at her with a... somewhat mixed expression. Hesitant, regretful, affectionate, wry...

...maybe a little appreciative.

She considers this, and then sits down beside him and hugs him.

"So. The thing my father was worried about. Kind of turned out to be a big deal."

He goes briefly still with surprise, and then wraps his arms around her and scoops her into his lap for a proper cuddle.

"I noticed," he says wryly. "I went to the garden and you weren't there, so I followed the flower." He kisses her hair, just behind the fading blossom; it perks up at the touch of his breath.