Fantasy RP σf skєlєtσn kєчs & cursєs | SaltyRat & Sol

[Solaris-]

"My heart is open, Alice. Never closed, never locked. It needs no key."

Act I - Reintroductions

 

[Solaris-]

Andromeda had dreaded the idea of coming home after their studies. The idea of coming home to their family and the expectations that came with it. She knew that she could no longer make up excuses for why she'd not married the person they'd chosen for her to marry. Whilst the girl was grateful she'd not been victim, like many other orphans, to her adopted family's vampirism, it was times like these that she wished that they'd not spared her. The younger of the two heirs had taken pity on her as a dirty child they'd taken from the broken down orphanage, and at this current moment, she hated him for it.

The patriarch of the von Stratton family had come from his home villa several hours away with his dutiful wife that Romy had only met on rare occasions where they'd come to ascertain how well their sons were doing on their own. Romy had been home less than a week from graduating with honors that many of the young men she'd went to classes with had dreamed of obtaining from the prestigious university only to be greeted with their stoic faces seated in the drawing room. The older man barely looked a touch over forty years old despite his age, and the same could be said of the woman as well. All of the family was incredibly beautiful with bright eyes that nearly seemed to luminesce in the dim light. It was easy to see why they'd be accused of such unsanctimonious acts that they'd never attempted to dissuade.

"Lord and Lady von Stratton," Romy greeted them both with a polite bow. The loose braid she'd tied her hair in fell over one of her shoulders in the quick motion.

The man raised his hand and shook his head- letting out a soft laugh. "Come now, Andromeda, you know you can greet us as your parents. You are a von Stratton after all." Romy could feel the pull of his words. The hint of the suggestion. It'd become less effective on her over time as she'd become exposed to it, but it was still enough to make a cold shiver run along her spine at its influence. She wondered if this is how the normal villagers felt speaking to someone who bore their last name. "Right then. Come sit down. We've a lot to discuss."

He motioned to a nearby chair and Andromeda did as requested. Their body doing as told without much prompting. She swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered if they realized how terrible their suggestive power truly felt to someone who was not born into this damned family, but she didn't dare speak on that. "Is this about our deal?" She asked quietly- sea-glass colored hues looking down at her slacks to avoid making eye contact with the monsters she called parents. "I thought I'd be ready to honor it, but I've learned so much and seen so much. I'm not ready to do this."

"Shut up," The command fell against her harshly. The suggestion slapped her in the face like someone was throwing a brick at her head. Immediately, Romy fell silent- their face flushed with guilt about speaking out of turn. It wasn't like her to speak out like this as she knew that disobeying them got her nowhere. They were used to being the perfect child- the one who listened to each order and did as they were told. It seemed that being married off like a common woman was the only thing that she disagreed on wholeheartedly. "I have raised you, given you a home, fed you, and put you through the most prestigious classes only for you to throw it back in my face. We have given you nothing but the best, and you still cannot heed our simple request. My useless sons may be able to tolerate this level of disrespect, but I will not do so anymore. You've begged us not to use our influence on you on this matter, but my hands are tied. I have already promised that our families will be intermingled. We made a deal that you would return home from your studies, and then you would do as you were told, and so you shall. You will no longer be a spoiled, petulant child, Andromeda. At the end of this week, we are leaving, and you will make a good impression of yourself on the King and Queen and their daughter, and that is the end of it."

Her chest constricted tightly. It hurt so much to fight it. Their hands were balled into tight knuckle fists against their slacks and tears pricked at their eyes. Romy blinked them away. "Yes, Father," She said through grit teeth. "May I be excused?"

At that, Romy was waved away like an insignificant creature, and they left the drawing room quickly- nearly knocking over a maid in their haste to get away. This was the first time that they truly did feel like a spoiled, petulant child who desired nothing more to rebel against their parent's wishes. But it was useless to try and escape the influence of the words. It felt as though she were being pulled along by an invisible string that was wrapped tightly around her entire body.

----

The week came and went, and Andromeda was no more thrilled about leaving their home to travel to another kingdom to meet someone they'd only met once before when they were children. She hardly remembered anything about the other person, but yet according to their parents, they were destined for one another or some other stupid bullshit of the sort.

The carriage jostled, and Romy's head bumped against the window in a way that woke her from her tempestuous slumber. On the other side of the carriage were her parents. They would be attending this month-long endeavor to ensure that their child made a good impression. She could see from their grim expressions as she rubbed her forehead what exactly was at stake here.

It was a very long, very silent journey to the kingdom of Behzadi, and the pit inside of Romy's stomach only grew deeper as they neared the palace. "Remember your manners. In the public eye, you are one of our sons, and you need to behave as such." This was one of the first words that their mother had spoken to them this whole trip, and they carried a lot of weight on Romy's shoulders despite not being very harsh.

"I know, Mother. I'll behave myself." They swallowed the thick bile that creeped up their throat and looked out the window as the carriage came to a jostling stop.

There was a guardsman and an entourage there to greet them. Romy was first out of the cramped space- followed by their mother and father as well as their elder brothers. It was clear that the entourage had heard the rumors of the von Stratton family, and they wore poorly disguised fear on their faces despite their eagerness to help the family get settled in. They were shuffled along by the servants to the western wing of the palace, and Romy took the opportunity to look at her appearance in the mirror. Dressed in a designer suit trimmed at the shoulders with a neat tawny colored fur with ironed slacks and polished boots. Honey colored hair was brushed and groomed neatly on their head. Ocean colored hues continued to give herself the once over- attempting to find a flaw in the appearance that looked back. She was the son that her parents wanted of her.

"Sir," A mousy voice called from the other side of the door. "The Lord and Lady and the Princess
request your presence in the drawing room at once." It was such a far cry from the commanding voices of their family. A soft sigh left her lips, and she shook her head at the thought. Romy opened the door and caused the servant to jump. She offered an apologetic, charming smile to the poor girl whom she'd startled.

"Please lead the way."

The two of them came outside a rather impressively carved door which the smaller of the women had trouble opening. "My Lord and Lady and Most Esteemed guests. I've gathered the Young Master to join you all."

Romy bowed deeply in respect. "Revered Hosts, Honorary Margrave Andromeda von Stratton. Charmed to make your acquaintance." Their eyes scanned the room as they took a seat near their parents whom were already seated.​

 

[ASaltyRat]

​

"No dress?"

Azara felt the blade of her mother's eyes cutting into her very spine. Nonetheless, Azara stood firm. A person that embodies the likenesses of proud beasts should never cower, even before their own creator.

"No, there will be no dress. I agreed to greet them, not to curtsy at their son and bare my breasts in the study over tea." came the princess' sharp reply, a cross between exasperation and amusement.

She loved her mother, but they were always at this same impasse. She busied herself with her own tidying, preening her jacket and adjusting her cufflinks. No maids were currently present, she had even dismissed her own lady-in-waiting for the remainder of the morning to oversee her own attire. She stood before an ornate golden mirror that spanned most of the length of her bedchamber wall and was at least double her own height. She rather liked seeing everything happening in the room at once- no secrets, no hidden beasties. Well, save for her mother, of course.

"Greeting them like a proper lady is hardly the same as bedding him." the queen snipped. Her beautiful crimson hair never lost its glow, and the heat in her scarlet eyes never lost their spark. Azara was her mother's spitting image- if not for the prideful, boarheaded posture and tendency to smirk to the side.

"I've a campaign briefing soon, mother, can this wait?"

"No, it can't! You know how long it takes to prepare the proper attire for official meetings of this nature, Azara, can't you-?" continued her mother, her voice getting higher and higher like the trill of a panicked bird, practically a shriek.

As per her habits, Zara's left brow rose ever so quickly. "Mother, only dogs can hear you right now. Ah! I know, why don't you make Davar wear a dress for the meeting? He's got your attitude and your fashion sense, he's practically the perfect lady."

"AZARA!"

A shrug. "WHAT? Was any of that even a lie?" she laughed, her mother plopping down on the nearest settee as though stricken with grief.

"You've gone rogue on a dozen suitors! You are a PRINCESS, your brother is a PRINCE. Far be it for me to explain to foreign nobles why I've presented them a man in a dress. Just for one day, can-" her mother tried again, feeble, begging. Azara strode to the seat at her mother's side and gave her a very genuine and well-intended peck on the forehead before she could finish. "You won't be, you'll be sending them a woman in a suit." came the cheeky response, after which she straightened her jacket and headed for the door. "I've already forgotten when they're slated to arrive, send for me when they've hit the gates and I'll be along shortly."

Azara didn't wait to hear her mother's reply or to again analyze her mother's face. Perhaps this was her own form of rebellion, something like revenge upon her parents' constant and blatant attempts at marrying her off. She knew they meant well, and she had long since known how other princesses fates aligned with such a narrative. There was no shame in being a wife, a mother, a lover- but more than anything, Zara craved her father's seat. The seat above all, the seat that shook the earth, changed the legislature, the seat that could lift the burdens of tradition off of her for good.

A man in a dress. A woman in a suit. A woman on the throne.
These men could watch from the sidelines for all she cared- a husband was of little to no consequence.
Azara would have that seat, regardless of whether or not she had to cross blades with her own brothers to get it.
________________________________________________________________________________________
"No dress?"

Azara would've called it deja vu if she weren't seated across from the royal advisory cabinet and the strategist union. Yet again, her left brow hiked to the ceiling. This time, it was Davar. Spindly, jealous, conniving, salty wee lad that he was, ruddy brick colored hair and eyes like mud, angry and unfeeling. He was barely a year her senior, and yet he carried the appearance of someone highly inconvenienced by the slightest gust of wind. Practically from their wetnurse days, Azara and Davar were all hands, on sight, any time, any place.

Azara clicked her tongue like a mother hen. "Why? Are you cold? I'll have the finest silks brought into this campaign room and we," she gestured across the table before them, laden with plans, budgets, geography, and symbolic figurines and onward toward her constituents, "can ALL help you prepare for the arrival of the Von Stratton envoy." she chuckled, met with silence from the rest of the table. It was probably highly comedic for all present, but anyone save for the royal family that laughed at Davar would be in for a bad time. He was an incredibly vengeful little man.

"A woman with no decorum, no dignity, has no place in this war room! You're chickening out of uniting us with the noble families again!" he sputtered, slapping a thick packet of unsigned documents to the tabletop. His sister found the claim extremely funny. "I don't seem to recall discussing dresses and jewels for the past two hours before you decided they were of such high importance. Your royal highness, darling brother, let's wrap this up, hey?"

He stormed out of the room in yet another of his fits, likely to tell their father in over embellished detail. The heavy redwood doors slammed with a dramatic thud.

There was a brief silence that followed, interrupted only by another lady official, a senior on the advisory counsel. She adjusted her glasses and whispered just loudly enough for those nearby to hear. "I think you look dashing, your majesty."

Azara's lopsided grin didn't escape anyone. Usually compliments flustered her, but one such as this was a delicate yet symbolic reminder of what she could bring to women all across the empire. "Thank you. Let us resume- bring me the audit records from the famine seven years ago, and the crop yields for the past ten years. I want a list of which fiefs have unfarmed acreage in their territories as of this year. We need separate foodstores for the campaign that don't gut the kingdom's civilian grain supply." she instructed, the hurried shuffling of documents, scrolls, and reports marking the resumption of the review. Her father, having been weakened recently with a few strokes and physical rehabilitation to match, had been unable to take up his usual place at the helm of the campaign meetings. With his eldest son away on military missions, he had left Azara and Davar in his place during his leave of absence. It had been decided that if any sibling were to be left back home and stopped from participating in further military involvement, it would be Azara.

She could feel her heart break all over again knowing her father secretly hated how powerful she was alone, how much she could do if left unmarried.

She blinked the nasty thoughts away, sifting through the handful of paperwork she'd been given. Work to be done, no time to dwell on a man. Not Davar, and certainly not a fiance.
________________________________________________________________________________________

"My lady, they've come."

Zaya's voice was quiet, calm- gentle, always. Azara savored it for a moment before giving the council a final nod. She hadn't the words to dismiss them, not with the betrothal sitting like a pit in her stomach. She had ignored it all day, brushing it off as with any other suitor her parents had sent- a key tied to the barn cats around the palace. Spilling tea on them. Riddles. Intimidating them with her wit. Anything, whatsoever, to delay what was surely the inevitable.

Zaya, the finest lady-in-waiting in the empire, followed Azara in silence to the door of her chambers, patiently and instinctively stopping outside the door. Grateful, Azara maintained this silence and slunk back in alone. Again she found herself in front of the mirror, and not so haughty this time. There she was, dispirited, yet always awash in the vermillion shades of her mother's lineage. Her hair was cleanly but rarely deviated from a neat tail or simply hanging from her shoulders on its own.
No makeup. No gowns. Nails short to allow for her prized gloves.
Azara loved herself this way, and it was rather the way that others did not that incited her worst inner dialogue.
Surely neither the von Strattons, nor their son, would be any different.
A final once over- well dressed, tidy, red as could be, the royal crest shining and inlaid with her brooch. Fresh leather gloves, shoes still without blemishes. Her father's jacket, freshly pressed, no creases.

Elegant. Powerful. Respected. The only things she had ever wanted. And yet?

A knock at the door. She took a very, very deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "My lady, King Armand has come to collect you." Zaya announced softly from the hall. She opened the door for her father, waiting for judgment to pass.

"I see, then. No dress, eh?" he observed, a twinkle in his eyes despite the cane in his hand and the limp in his gait. Azara grinned, even if only a little wryly. "Wishful thinking won't drag me out of the palace, old man."

He smiled, crookedly, a thin man in fine clothes, a calm and peaceful father that Azara would always adore. "Or I could make it so dreadful that you run off on your own. Are you ready?"

"Is he?"
the king didn't hide the deep bellows of his laughter. If anyone was capable of creating peace in Azara's heart for even a moment, it was her father the king.

________________________________________________________________________________________

A servant threw wide the doors to the drawing room, and Azara was rigid at first. Something like a cross between her pride and her anxiety welling up all at once. Her mother gestured quickly for her to sit- almost as soon as she and her father were seated, the crisp click of shoes on the palace floor outside the drawing room were heard getting closer. She swallowed a lump before it could crack her voice.

"And still no dress?!" her mother hissed in the smallest whisper, accompanied by an annoyed but overly gentle slap on Azara's arm.

As the von Stratton family filed in and began their greeting, Azara found herself gazing upon their son immediately. He was dressed well- and certainly easy on the eyes. He seemed soft, refined, certainly a great bit more princely than her brothers had managed. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, though... a flaw, perhaps? A weakness? A reason to run? She cursed herself within the silent confines of her own head. It would be wrong to muddy the waters during a tea, she was already dressed like a bachelor herself. She had been told they'd met as children but there had been no memory to delve into. This man was a stranger.

"Thank you SO MUCH for making the trip here, how was your journey? Are you well?" her mother began, starting off as strong as usual as she looked earnestly toward Andromeda's family. Queen Sana was very proper, very deep in the etiquette rabbit hole. She waved the waitstaff over to begin placing refreshments, tea, a few scones, a few fresh pastries- nothing heavy, as the king and queen were certain the von Strattons would rather eat a larger meal privately in their guest chambers than be rushed into a royal feast fresh off the carriage.

The King, however, seemed to enjoy the graceful greeting from Andromeda, a light stroke of his beard signaling only to a select few his interest in the princess' new suitor. He seemed excited about the prospect of a peaceful husband for his daughter, of course. It had not gone fully unnoticed.

'Fuck. The ones he likes are harder to get rid of.'

Azara leaned a bit, extending a gloved hand across the table for her new fiance to shake with no care for any potential scoldings or the dozen or more eyes in the room. Not the most ladlylike gesture, of course. "Welcome, Margrave, I'm Crown Princess Azara Lashgari Armandokht. A pleasure. Thank you for coming all the way to Behzadi, we hope you'll enjoy your stay with us." Azara offered coolly, smiling and of course reasonably sincere. Her half smirk nearly gave her away. A test; Would he shake it or would he kiss it? Neither? Both?

 

[Solaris-]

​

If Romy knew any better, they would have said that this meeting seemed more akin to a funeral proceeding than a marriage arrangement. There was a gnawing dread in the pit of the boy's stomach that he couldn't escape. It ate away at him more than the never ending hunger he experienced on a daily basis.They'd been told they had met as children, but ever since they'd fallen ill in their adolescence, memories escaped them at times, and they had no recollection of what their betrothed could even be like. Would she be a vapid princess from their neighboring kingdom? One who would talk his ear off about things he truly didn't care about like makeup and fine clothes? Or would she be someone else entirely unexpected?

Andromeda gazed over to the woman draped in red across from her- taking in her appearance wholly, but taking care not to ogle or linger his gaze for too long in one place. The last thing that he wanted was to appear rude in the company of the royal family.

'A woman in a suit,' he mused the thought in his head. It would have been a lie to say he hadn't expected a made up woman in an elegant dress that was fashionable for their time. Still, she oozed authority, power, and respect all the while not having to bind her chest. That brought a pang of jealousy through the blonde that she'd never thought she would experience. Perhaps someday, she too could toss aside this charade of parading around as a man whilst not having to drown herself in layers of lace and corset like every other noblewoman seemed okay with doing. This certainly made things far more interesting to say the least. Romy had attempted to court others before, and had some experience in this field, but the fear that they would be rejected for not being a man or for deceiving them weighed too heavy in their heart for them to continue seeing the poor girls whose hearts they'd had to break. Then, they'd thrown themselves into their studies and the desire to travel the known world in search of knowledge about their family and why they were cursed the way they were. Would Azara treat her with disdain or disgust or some other horrible feeling if she were to know the truth?

It was Romy's mother's voice who broke through her inner thoughts and brought her back to the moment at hand. "We are all well; the trip was pleasant this time of year." She had engaged the other woman in simple pleasantries.

There was a subtle tenseness in the boy's body as Azara spoke. Even if the words were practiced kindness, they appreciated the olive branch they were given. Their gaze followed the hand that extended across the table, and suddenly, she was well aware of the eyes that glared daggers into her skull. Their own hand extended with practiced ease across their side of the table to take a firm grasp of the gloved one in her own. Firmly, she held it and offered a sincere handshake. This woman- Azara- didn't seem the type to want or desire a man to lower himself to kiss her hand- though it certainly felt wrong not to do so. "I assure you, Princess, the pleasure is mine." Andromeda's words were fluid, sincere, and honest. "I honored by the hospitality you've shown to my family and myself." He released her hand from the handshake and returned his hands to his lap. Romy chose their words carefully- choosing to stick with formal titles unless requested otherwise. She wanted to show tactfulness and grace with her words and actions. Her parents had made it painfully clear what would happen if she didn't make a good impression on this family. The way that Azara spoke to her showed the woman's intelligence, and perhaps Andromeda would have to give her far more credit than she had initially before their meeting.

"My parents shared with me that we had been friends as children when our family could make the journey here more frequently. I, however, must confess, that ever since I had fallen ill as a child, have no memory of this or of our friendship. As such, I believe that we should start anew. A clean slate, as it were. I expect no special treatment here than any of your other suitors." Andromeda hated the idea that because of a past friendship of sorts things might be easier on him. Their parents were burdening them both with this prospect of marriage, but the two of them were still their own people, and they had a feeling that this was as much of a burden on Azara as it was on themselves with how she carried herself and interacted with him. If Romy had been another man, perhaps he would have gone on and on about his own feats and accomplishments, but that somehow did not seem appropriate here- nor was he ever the one to speak about himself so highly. An educated scholar though he may be, it was clear to him that the ball was not in his court, and that the woman in red across from him carried a simple power over him she likely knew she had.

Tea was placed down in front of him, and he found it a happy reprieve for just a moment in time.

Their marriage had been slotted at the end of the month. Thirty days loomed ahead of them, and he wasn't sure what to expect to come of the following days. The invisible tug of the string had influenced many of their actions in the past, and even now they could feel it pulling at them. A promise she couldn't break. Even still, Romy wished it could be different- wished the two could be friends rather than a couple to be wed. "I know I am in no position to make favors of you, Princess, but could you permit me to make one? I understand, more than anyone in this room, that this situation is an uncomfortable one." A strange man in her home with his even stranger family in tow taking up space at their dining table and sharing their space would have left Andromeda stressed as well. Even being here under duress as he was, he was already stressed, but refused to allow it to shine through. "I humbly request an hour of your time each day for the next month so the two of us can get to know one another. An impartial retainer should suffice to be enough of a chaperone to ensure both of our, and our parents' comforts." While he would have preferred private conversations with Azara, he knew the two of them would never be permitted without someone to ensure the two of them didn't get into any mischief together- though that was certainly never his intention.

"I ask this of you, I assure you, not to win you over, to woo you, or even to gain your trust so quickly. Please do not mistake me for a simple man, and write me off as someone who is bull-headed enough to believe he can work such miracles. Simply put, I ask this because I wish for us to be equals now and in marriage, should such a thing come to be." His stormy gaze had met her own. They carried a look of sincerity in them- hoping that she too would ask something of him in return. It was only fair. The room was silent as he finished speaking save for the gentle clinks of tea cups against porcelain and the scraping of butter against scone which only made the tension more palpable.

 

[ASaltyRat]

PART 1
​

It wasn't as though no one had shaken her hand before, certainly knights and kingsmen had cast aside their aspersions of a woman on the battlefield after spending time by her side. Yet? This was the first time a suitor had done so. Azara was so subconsciously pleased with what most would consider the bare minimum that it had somehow gone full circle- she devoured the bewildered frown before it could surface and returned her hands to her lap. It was not lost on Zara that both of their fathers had taken a watchful backseat in this meeting as their mothers exchanged their pleasantries, nor was it lost on King Armand that Azara's attempt to pick and prod at this suitor were unsuccessful. She saw the merriment in his eyes and knew she was on borrowed time.

'This one isn't going home without a fight.'

Zara continued to watch Andromeda for a time- not unlike lions might watch goats. This one was more earnest, more forward than the rest. Her father would be raving about that later, she knew as much. He liked an honest man, honest men were honest subjects, after all.

Andromeda seemed bright, at least from what Azara had gleaned from his manner of speech. Proper eye contact, sincerity, carefully positioned and innocuous words extended in her direction without even a hint of disdain, disgust, or rejection. Yet more firsts, to be sure. The vague and unpleasant memory of suitor number two showering her in dresses to override her partiality to suits crawled across the leaf litter of her mind before scooting away again.

Part of Azara quietly mourned what she and Andromeda could have been if not for this betrothal. Political allies? Comrades? Friends, perhaps?

Azara was uncomfortable with the ease of interaction- noted that her fiance was too good with his words. There was something else in them, flavoring the conversation that followed. Was it simply nerves? Was it need? She was hard pressed to kick up a fuss or to prod any harder in close quarters such as these, least of all on such a short leash. There was no telling what her final consequence would be if she chased number thirteen out at the first tea. Her father was already impressed with this one. Thirteen and his family were the plague to top all plagues past.

It was relatable, as Andromeda had mentioned, to have a few holes or blurred tidbits in regards to any mention or meeting of one another as children. Even scrutinizing practically every feature on his face for a time hadn't rung any bells. The proposal of a clean slate had drawn her back into the exchange with a smile and a soft hum. Can't restart what never began, but she she would let him have it. The prospect of spending an hour a day with any man was enough to make her skin crawl, but she was in no position to say no. While her father's favor was not fickle, it could be swayed; Overly childish antics could cost her even the eligibility for the throne, and she'd already played a great many tricks. Long, leatherbound fingertips drummed the table for a moment. "An hour a day? My time, Margrave, is precious." Azara began, breaking only for a disingenuous swig of tea. She could feel her father tense. 'Ha.'

"I can spare you an hour- say, perhaps luncheon each day? If ever I could find the time for leisure, it would be midday. Your request isn't unreasonable, I suppose. Can't say I've ever been fond of a tail, though." she remarked without looking at her father ever once. He knew this to be true, she wasn't lying... this time. An 'impartial retainer' was the last thing Azara needed while trying to oust this man for the remaining thirty days. At the very least, were Zaya the retainer in question, Azara could get Andromeda all to herself.

Her expression dimmed for a moment, turning Andromeda's words over in her mind. Equals in marriage? It was a nice thought... but she worried it would only mean her father gave Andromeda the throne one day if he curried enough favor. A spouse receiving the crown did not put her in the position she needed. The only upperhand her brothers had was that they were men, they were bested in all else. The pool had been shallow up until just tonight, a potentially sizeable fish having entered the pond. Andromeda likely either did not know the threat he posed to his future spouse, or perhaps it was the very reason he was clinging to heavily mannerly conduct. Her plate stayed clean- she hadn't the stomach for tea and scones.

In order to be rid of him, Azara was going to need more ammunition. A flaw, a ploy, a crack in the glass. It was a hard thing to admit, but thus far, she had found fuck all in the way of shortcomings, at least in his social etiquette. Azara armed herself with another sharp grin and decided it would be easier to corner him, to study him with their families removed of their backsides in the days to come. "There is no doubt in my mind that you are unique to those that came before." parroted an entirely too focused princess. "I look forward to visiting with you during your stay, Margrave."
A half truth. Curiosity and desperation were leading the charge, she hated the idea of sharing space with this man, but finding out more took precedence.

"Tell me- Not to boast, but we've maintained a spectacular botanical garden in the southern wing's courtyard, I oversee the landscaping myself. If you'd like, we can start there for a meal and a stroll tomorrow if you'd like to familiarize yourself with the palace?"

Azara made the offer while gazing about the room once again, only to find that there was nothing else to gain. A fruitless scene of both of their fathers maintaining what was practically a vigil on two youth they clearly did not feel they could fully trust, mothers playing a game of catch with niceties and small talk, and two young people taught from the moment they could walk that every word needed an ulterior motive, a cover, a coat of sugar. Azara had neither the time nor the patience. She gave the table a gentle slap with the pads of each of her fingtertips and stood before her chair, seemingly quite cheerful despite her exhaustion. "Well, it has been a splendid tea, ladies and gentlemen, and I simply cannot wait to do this again. Zaya here was appointed by my father, her credentials are long enough to tangle and knot." She gestured toward the small woman standing at the wall to the far right of the room, her hair as black as night and equally as tidy. Intelligent green eyes zipped toward the princess- a quick nod, and then dipped down yet again.

"She will be the one to fetch you when I've completed my morning tasks, she'll lead you to the south wing for a light meal. I'm certain your journey here has been long, and I'm sure you're all quite spent- I know I certainly am. Fathers. Mothers. Margrave." she concluded, red eyes practically aglow with amusement as they rested upon each person at the table. Strong eye contact went a long way with Zara, though on the flipside, the act of exacting it upon noblemen or of those older than her did tend not to go well.

She did not stay to exchange further, instead adjusting the neck and center of her waistcoat as she strode away. The maids were not quick enough to help her with the door, and she was gone, gone WAY away. She did not offer Andromeda her hand again, as after much consideration she had decided it would be disappointing to receive a chivalrous door escort or a kiss on her hand as farewell after such a respectable handshake.

The king rolled his eyes and decided to take the opportunity to scrape some apple butter onto a scone in defeat. Her mother looked at the ceiling, wondering if breaking the windows would be a suitable response. Her husband unknowingly added pressure. "Forgive her, my recovery has been slow, Princess Azara has taken up many of my duties in my absence." he offered the couple across from them, quietly approving the pastry in hand. His wife, the seed and source of his daughter's attitude and confidence, bade them farewell with a smile and all but hauled her spouse from the drawing room to implode upon him in the private recesses of their chambers.
___________________________________________

Zaya did not tail her. Good. She had intentionally omitted Zaya's job title- for the moment, she would just take on the role of the average maid, it would make some maneuvers far simpler.

Azara stripped out of her slacks and dress shoes before peeling out of her waistcoat, stumbling around the room like a fresh lamb. With no recollection of nearly flying back to her bedchambers from the drawing room, she hit her bed like a ton of bricks. The day had spent all she had to spare, and she couldn't bear to think a single thought more.

 

[ASaltyRat]

PART 2
​

Azara was in a foul mood. Rather, the lingering pressure had started her off strongly in a shit direction.

Davar looked on at his sister in their father's throne with displeasure, coveting the seat, as most of her brothers did, but for far more superficial reasons than she. King Armand trusted Azara to keep watch on the kingdom, while at this point, any task given to Davar was busywork. She recalled their formative years- everything Davar was doing now was once simply the task of dragging colored sticks of wax on parchment paper in the hopes he'd shut his gob for a while.

"Always falling short where it counts, I see. You're dragging this one out to skip, arent you? You'll be jealous of yesterdays roast pork after father gets ahold of you."

Zara wasn't in the mood. Davar just couldn't wait to fuck her over.

"...the eastern granary in Falmuth needs resupply, send an inspector to double check that the stores are dry beforehand. Davar, you're the shortest living thing in the palace, and I recall mother owns a flock of Lynese ducks. Anything better suited for the pond should leave the gathering hall and move into the barns. Ah- Madam Chaene, give me the estimates for the number of troops stationed in Kulra. I want to compare the fees from their granary with Falmuth's estimates." she hissed, all while never taking her eyes off the report in her hand. The other held a half eaten apple, ravenous but knowing her mother would throw a fit if she ate anything heavy before her meal with Margrave Andromeda.

Davar, having just been called a duck, had begun to form something to fire back, but eventually the noise became some manner of hideous grumbling as he returned to his deswork, his ACTUAL JOB, for once.

It was a miracle she'd gotten through everything today on time, hungry and annoyed, with a literal talking tumor hanging off her hip at each and every meeting. She was glad to be rid of Davar, his judging eyes, and the pressure of leadership. She wasn't incredibly busy in the evenings, but if she had offered Andromeda the full of her evenings and afternoons, she had no way of knowing how much of her freetime he might take up.

Azara took it slow, the short walk back toward the southern wing. It was her wing of the palace, not that she'd shared that last night at tea, either. All of a sudden she didn't want to go back, didn't want to step outside. With the ugly feeling of her teeth grinding, she yanked a heavy waistcoat from her closet and flung the tunic she'd chosen to wear that morning across the room in a huff. What if she just accidentally fell asleep? Broke an arm? Got caught up in a fire?

No, she would HAVE to go. In a coat much too heavy for the moderate temperatures, to a meal with a man she didn't know. It was the first time there was no out, no life raft, no magic trick, and she felt sick.

______________________________________________________

After seating herself, she realized that Zaya had caught on- it was better this way, with palace maids there to greet her with a cart of fresh food. The menu was comprised of a split, approximately 2-3 things that Azara enjoyed, and a few things the palace had likely acquired after inquiring as to the culinary tastes of the von Strattons. A plate of her favorite danishes in the center, a tray of skewered sandwich bites, a grilled fish directly in front of her, and a pitcher of something purple to the side. YES. Iced tea, with blueberries and lavender! Maybe the universe didn't hate her after all?

She couldn't wait- literally, could not wait. She shoveled a bite of fish into her mouth, eyes shut tight, and could have cried. DEFINITELY fresh buttered cod in rosemary, she could taste it all. The half-starved princess reached out to pat the arm of the nearest maid in one of her well-known and very bizarre displays of appreciation. The weather, at least, was kinder to this lunch than their parents had been. It wasn't overly hot, and a gentle breeze carried the gentle aromas of any number of flowers nearby.

The gazebo under which their meal was to take place was tucked neatly at the entrance of the courtyard, accessible by the walking path but also inviting those seated to look upon rows of assorted roses, a variety of jasmine, lilacs, lilies, geraniums, petunias, and morning glories alike. Her mothers ducks made merry near the fountain in the center, within hearing range but more ambient than audible, incapable of overshadowing the chuckling of the maids as the cart was emptied and rolled away. Azara held off on a second bite as Zaya approached, Margrave in tow. Small though Zaya was, she easily pulled a wrought-iron chair free for his convenience.

She lazily reached for a cloth napkin and patted her face before rising to greet him again. "Good afternoon, Margrave von Stratton, please have a seat. I'm glad we both had the time!" she beamed, leaning in to offer him another handshake before seating herself again as well.

After a slow but careful look around, Azara slipped free of her coat, leaving only a navy colored doublet beneath- more agreeable for the weather. "I'm a bit hot, would you bring me something lighter?"

Zaya reached quickly for the garment, asking only, "How long?" before turning away.
"Mid-length. I'd hate it for it to drag." Zara said flatly, taking a moment to watch Zaya scurry off. Zaya didn't HAVE to leave, but she feared he wouldn't speak freely in front of a foreign maid, no matter how trustworthy. No, she needed complete privacy today, needed total discretion. She leaned, chin in her palm, twirling a tiny wooden skewer upon which a small and neatly cut ham sandwich lay waiting to be devoured.

'Not as insane as the cod, I'll bet.'
She set the skewer back down with a frown.

"She's quite good at her job, you know. Shall we?"
Her fingertips slid free one of the upper strings of her doublet to free up her neck and pointed at the spread before them, exhaling in relief. Even menswear was stiff and terribly impractical.

"It won't take her long to get there, but fiddling with my wardrobe might be another story. That should be at least enough time to get a little better acquainted- and last night was certainly a puppet show if I've ever seen one. I can't say I enjoy anything overly theatrical in conversation, it's among the growing number of reasons I despise attending formal teas. I mean I suppose I can't just ask you to leave, but it should be fair that I ask your intentions if there's to be a betrothal of any kind. So! What of you- it was Andromeda, yes? How keen are you on puppeteers?"

Azara, not presently capable of fussing over how she might look now that the formalities had been lifted, forked another bit of grilled cod into her face. If he was going to steal her hand in marriage and wed his way into the royal family, he could handle seeing her eat a few bites of fish.

 

[Solaris-]

The air had quieted for now. Tensions still high in the room full of both noble families, but it seemed as though through honeyed, sugar-coated words, they'd reached an accord. Surely, if their families had not been present, the princess would have likely dismissed them outright, and Romy would have been pleased to hear the rejection tumble from the woman's lips. She had undoubtedly done this many a time before, but with how carefully they BOTH were being watched, they were both on the last straws of patience their respective parents had. Perhaps, if nothing else came from this arrangement, the two could at least be on friendly terms.

"Thank you," Andromeda's voice carried a weighty tiredness she'd not felt upon arriving. "For humoring my request, My Lady. I too look forward to our meetings and seeing more of your beautiful home." It sounded, at the very least, as though it might be a more peaceful interaction than this one even with a retainer at their side to oversee their interactions. Her eyes once more glanced up as the tall woman rose from her seat and made her exit. Andromeda envied her in a way that she felt as though she'd never envied another before. A free spirit that was hard to tame- not that the blonde had any intentions of doing such a thing before, and certainly not now after their interaction. She wondered what it must be like to live one's life like that could be like for just a moment before her attention was pulled elsewhere.

The King's musings pulled a smile to the girl's lips. "You've nothing to apologize for, Your Highness. I assure you that I hold no ill will toward her or yourselves for what was said here." He felt her actions were justified in how she had acted toward him. To be wary of each action, word, and intention when she had likely put much work into what she had done and sacrificed to get to where she was. It was not a woman's place to take upon her father's responsibilities, much less the responsibilities owed to a nation of people, and yet Azara had seemed to want to carry that burden on her shoulders. It brought a great number of questions to the blonde's head, and yet, he refrained from asking any- keeping these curiosities to himself for the time being.

"It has been quite the day. I'm exhausted from traveling, and I will take my leave now as well." Andromeda offered a bow of his head in respect and rose from his chair to leave. As soon as they were out of eyesight and earshot, their posture slumped ever so slightly and a heavy sigh left them through their nose. It was going to be assuredly, a long long month ahead of them with no certainty in their mind as to how things would play out.

--

THE NEXT DAY

A headache pierced through the drowsy sleepfulness that had overcome the Margrave. The splitting ache right above their left temple that left them with a sense of vertigo as they sat up from the bed far too quickly. Unfocused eyes closed to steady themselves from the spinning room that was not their own. It had taken Andromeda a moment to realize that she was not in her dorm room back at university, but rather a well designed guest room in the palace. The events of the night previous pulled her back into the reality she was finding herself in.

The sharp, painful ache in their stomach and teeth both assuredly didn't help matters. It felt white hot, searing, and all consuming. A wholly familiar feeling that Andromeda had grown accustomed to over the years. Sooner or later they would have to fully accept the change they'd attempted to reject for far too long already. With unsteady limbs, they pulled themselves from the tangle of sheets and blankets and all but stumbled over to the vanity mirror where they'd placed a few of their belongings the night before. Among them, a small vial of tablets aimed to keep the hunger at bay. She grimaced into the mirror; they tasted like old copper coins, and she'd never quite grown accustomed to the taste. Her appearance seemed the furthest thing away from the proper young lad she'd appeared to be the day before; it was almost laughable were she in any such mood.

Andromeda was quick to dress themselves for the morning spar their brother had requested of them. She bound her chest and pulled on a loose cotton tunic and leggings that didn't cling to their body too tightly. Her hair was brushed to the side to keep it from getting into her face for the time being. Now, she was once again starting to appear like the face in the mirror she recognized. Once he decided that he was presentable, he met with Loren in an empty courtyard where the two could spar and not be bothered. Her brother was the spitting image of their father in his youth. Tall, dark hair, and reasonably muscular. Loren offered his brother a smile. Once upon a time, he'd looked at Andromeda with that same solemn smile- taking pity on them and their circumstance.

"I heard from father what happened last night," He let out a dry chuckle. His eyes, the color of fresh honey, glittered with amusement in the shade.

"She's certainly not what was expected." The blonde mused more to himself than to Loren. The feeling of dread had lessened somewhat, though it still loomed in the back of his mind. He had no doubt that today would be no different than the last, save that their meeting at midday would be, hopefully, more amicable than their last. Seeing a woman in a suit had surprised him greatly in a way that he wasn't sure how to elaborate. Her self assurance and way of carrying herself had played on Romy's insecurities, though not intentionally he was sure of it.

"You could learn a thing or two from her. She seems to be your type." The playful words were said in jest as the taller man readied his weapon. Andromeda was quick to do the same despite the light dusting of embarrassment plain on his pale face. His type? What exactly did he mean by that?

--

Andromeda emerged from his chambers once more when a quiet knock was heard on the other side. This time, the boy was dressed in tailored slacks held up by suspenders over a thin white shirt. Over it, they had pulled on a chocolate colored jacket that bore a small broach in silver of their family's insignia on the breast. His hair was still wet from the bath he'd taken after the long sparring session from the early morning, but had been neatly combed and tidied to its usual position. He offered the woman a gentle smile and once again bid that she lead the way to show him to their meeting spot.

The two walked in relative silence save for their footsteps, and the thrumming of the Margrave's own heart in his ears. To say he was nervous was an understatement. He'd asked for this meeting, for it to just be the two of them, but his nerves were surely shaken. Romy held his head high and his shoulders straight in order to keep his thoughts at bay. His gaze turning to look at the foliage as they'd entered the garden. Truly, it was beautiful, and put him a bit more at ease that such a place existed here in the palace.

"Good afternoon, My Lady. I have looked forward to our talks." She was a busy woman, and they were just grateful to get some of the time allotted to them every day. He had reached forward to take a gentle grap of her hand when offered and shook it- slowly growing accustomed to her ways of doing things he supposed.

He'd taken the seat opposite her where there was a cup of what was unmistakenably coffee sat. Warm to the touch and dark roasted. Hints of sweet toffee were unmistakable. This was a rarity for Romy as he'd grown accustomed to dormitory life, and the food was rarely as fresh as what was offered on the table. Much less coffee with any flavorings. His fingers picked up the cup and raised it to his lips- savoring the sweet and bitterness of it both as he listened carefully to her words.

Puppeteers and an invisible string. All of the boy's life they'd been drug by it, influenced by it, and still felt it now. It wasn't something easily resisted, and especially now.

Last night had been a shit-show for everyone involved and Romy wasn't about to pretend otherwise. "Since you expect my honesty, Princess, I, like you, do not wish for this. My parents concocted this plan, and as my brothers are already married, I was their only suitable candidate for this." The cup was placed back down against the table though still grasped in his pale hands. The warmth from the mug brought a sense of stability. He looked away from her for a moment. "While I do not wish to be here under the pretense of marriage, leaving is also not an option this time. I simply don't have the luxury of walking away and being done with this even if it isn't something that I desire for myself. I understand you have much to lose in marriage, and I won't make presumptions about just how much, but I too will lose much in this arrangement." Freedom, independence, and the desire for more knowledge would all be stifled upon them being wed. It would be stupid to deny that the joining of their families would be beneficial. The royal family would gain a wealthy and influencial lesser noble family in their ranks. And the von Strattons would finally gain the power they needed from being close in regards to the kingship.

His gaze wandered across the table to find that things that he quite enjoyed were there as well. Raspberry tarts with chocolate sauce and raw beef tartare with crisp bread with butter not too far away from them. Were his stomach not in fluxe he might have enjoyed more than just the coffee. "My parents desire influence- to rub elbows with wealth and power- but I have only ever wanted knowledge and information. This scheme of theirs was thought up four or more years ago, but I had delayed the inevitable by attending university. Upon my graduation, they were all too thrilled, I'm certain. You speak of puppeteers, but I've no way to break the strings attached to myself." Andromeda returned his gaze back to her own. Bright stormy hues conveyed a tiredness that he felt inside of him.

"Were it different, I would rather be a friend to you than your husband." He let out a quiet laugh through his nose.​

 

[ASaltyRat]

Not one to mince words or play coy, Azara watched intently every expression, every turn, every pore on Andromeda's face as he spoke with a deep crimson stare. She sought a lie, truth be told. She wanted to find some manner of mistrust, falsehood, or malintent. Unfortunately, all Azara found was a look of dejection, or perhaps exhaustion was the correct descriptor?

It was hard to tell what it was that she was feeling to be wholly honest. Was it sympathy, was it jealousy? She hardly knew Andromeda to exercise empathy on his behalf, but the pangs of ache in her gut were unmistakeable. Something had coiled up inside her like a snake as he spoke.

There was never a time, be it in her girlhood or now, that Azara's great wanderlust and unquenchable search for power, intrigue, and accomplishment had not superceded all else. When was it, perhaps in her 9th year? The last time she let the maids tug and pull at her hair, the last time she curtsied for her parents- the moment that radicalized the princess into the role-model she wished she herself had been given. Her brothers, even the eldest, were spoiled and overconfident. The moment the princess began formal sparring practice as a child and excelled beyond any living member of the royal bloodline, her father went out of his way to find fault with her. He was far more lenient in her early youth than now, if one could believe it. There was no doubt that he loved his daughter immensely, but despite that being the case, Azara was second to the nation's traditions. He was proud of her, but did not believe it a woman's place to take on the burdens of war strategy, to lead battles from the frontlines, or to meet every man's gaze with challenge, as was her way.

For this, she envied men and boys. No matter how hard she had worked, Azara was the only one of her siblings who had not, would not, ever be permitted to attend a foreign university as part of their tutoring and educational growth. No woman, not even a princess- was allowed to partake of this tradition in Behzadi. It was already more than her father could bear that she had strongarmed her way overseas to cross blades with enemy battallions. A school? Certainly not.

Azara's habits came to the forefront again, always fiddling with her hands or fingers. This time, she tapped the table a few times with a solitary finger as she considered her position, Andromeda's position with an absent nod. She could, at the very least, agree that his circumstances were not wholly foreign to her own- at least as far as having an audience, a judge and jury, present for every accomplishment and subsequent misstep. She made a small motion toward the garden with her thumb, with particular regard for the roses.

"...much of the garden is no longer my own doing, I have found far less time in recent years, but I was told that roses were the hardest. There's a chance they don't bloom at all, they grow wild, unruly, and with thorns. They don't last long, and they're also my father's least favorite for all of those reasons. He won't shout about it, but he cannot stand the extreme care it takes to grow a rose." she mused, setting her fork down for a moment after having cleared at least half her plate. "I, for one, adore roses. I worked hard on my first rows of them- perhaps in the spring of my 13th year? I believe that was also the year my father tried to introduce me to the first of you. It didn't go well, of course, and he took a break for a time in the hopes that I would 'mature'. For the last six years, there have been two suitors per year. I won't spare anyone the knowledge of how deeply I tire of the unimagineable tragedy of marriage."

A curtain of red had poured over her shoulder after all of her impassioned leaning toward the plate of cod, and her upper lip curled ever so slightly as she pushed her hair back and away. Anything to interrupt her meal would be met with a blade, even her own hair. It was another compromise, really- her mother forbade her hair to be tied in a tail unless it was to be made up by the maids, a regular tie-up was for combat- or for men. Azara would've happily gone bald years ago if not for the consequence of explaining it to her father.

It was not lost on her that Andromeda wasn't eating, but she wouldn't demand that he do so. If she were miserable enough, with a sea of nerves writhing in her gut, perhaps even her own plate would have been put to waste.

"The only son worthy of marriage in this palace has been moved to the forefront of the war for my family's convenience. The campaigns, missions, and battles he leads were all mine until my father took ill last year. If they were going to keep one of us at home to sell off like a common pig and send the other out to accumulate military accolades, it was going to be in my brother's favor. It's a chance for him to overshadow my entire life's work, he falls rather short and needs the handicap, you see." Azara snorted, peeling her hand free of her right glove. A long scar, silvering and pink, trailed the back of her hand, splitting her knuckles in heavy contrast. She was quite proud of this one.

"I have sacrificed much and more for what I currently have, and every aspect of it is being auctioned off by the day. I am in no position to eject you, Margrave, no matter what it is I do or do not want. I will not chase you out, although, for me, that would be the most convenient in this scenario. Every accomplishment is offset by the crime of my anatomy, King Amand means to erase it all and quietly make a proper housewife of me. He won't let me out of this one. You cannot afford to leave, and I cannot afford to drive you out."

Her face was grim for a time, this time not so apt to hide it. "Craving knowledge is an admirable desire, that I'll admit. Though, what would you say if what I wanted was the throne?" she asked this with a pointed stare, cutting clean across the table's space and into Andromeda's face like fire. "I'm certain you've surmised as much. I don't quietly pursue the things that I want, but I'm sure you'd ascertained that, as well. I want what no woman has been permitted for millennia- and I intend to have it, by any means necessary."

Azara held off on offering another olive branch for the moment. There was a chance she had come off too strong, or had in some way wounded his pride; Men were unpredictable, she never knew what she may have said to set one off. Andromeda, however, did not seem the type to mishandle his emotions or his reputation with tantrums. Davar came to mind with a quickness, a goose dressed in the finest suits and gemstones. Nothing like the Margrave, an unmatched elegance that Azara might've envied if not for the mention of puppet strings. The way Azara's mind turned and fussed over the word 'pretty' each time she was in his company was a little puzzling. Handsome too, yes, but in the way of cats, or mayhap that of marshbirds, like herons. Tall, quiet, soothing to look at.

For a second meeting, Azara struggled to understand why she might be so enamored of anything Andromeda is, was, or had to offer, even if only in passing. She chased the thought away, uninterested in what it could become if allowed to take in any sun.

For all Andromeda's graceful movements, careful speech, intelligence, lovely wardrobe, and the sweetness of his gaze, Azara so far could tell that she was not the only person at the table who had fought long and hard to adopt their current disposition. But what could be done? Was there some sort of symbiotic relationship, or allied position the two could take? She didn't want to propose something like that so early, after only sharing less than a few moments with him. Her desperation had hidden away in the skirts of her pride, Azara wasn't quite sure if she trusted him... Hell, she hardly knew him.

Admittedly, he was quite a bit different this afternoon than he was the night prior. Not quite so grand with his words, not so quick to please. Azara liked this plain-speaking deviation far more. She saw fit to say as much.

"I rather prefer this to last night's tea. I am inclined to agree that we would have been fast friends were we unified by means of any other circumstance." She poured herself a glass of iced tea and savored the sweetness, glad for the lessening of the dread in her gut. If nothing else, joint commiseration was on the table for the rest of their lives. Lovely.

 

[Solaris-]

The topic of flowers and the garden behind them was a welcome distraction. The tall shrubs and trees of their upper-middle class villa paled in comparison to the greenery at the palace. “Some plants, much like people can have temperamental natures.” The thoughts said aloud were mused mainly in jest in an effort to lighten both of their moods. There was a playful smile that pulled at the corners of the blonde’s lips behind his cup. “I’m quite partial to succulents, myself. When I lived away from home, they always reminded me of what I love about Euna.” Even despite their dysfunctional family, they still got homesick from time to time, and the plants had kept them busy when they weren’t studying.

Her own tawny colored brows furrowed in disgust at the idea of introducing many a man to someone so young. Andromeda counted their blessings that they had been spared from living a woman’s life for the most part, and had been spared the male gaze. It had always made her skin crawl watching the other boys and men at her school interact with female colleagues. How their eyes had grazed over every inch of them as though they were devouring them- as though they desired to own every part of her. Living as a man had been much easier when they saw her as their peer and not someone to be desired and chased. Her parents had known that she had much more worth to offer them as a man, and had instilled in her as such. Her accolades and thesises would have meant nothing if her educators had known they were penned by a woman’s hand. “I apologize on behalf of all of the simple men with more balls than brains you’ve had to endure. Some men can’t help themselves when their pride is wounded that a beautiful woman has any power over them.”

Andromeda had no such ego to assume they would know more than someone like Azara that had trained herself for years to one day inherit the kingdom. Their nerves had calmed if only just. It was far less nerve wracking than they’d imagined to sit in the once imposing woman’s company. It seemed they shared an interest in a great many things, and the longer things went on there, the more at ease he seemed to feel. The two weren’t so different save for the circumstance that bound them here. Just that Romy was much quieter and far more reserved in her own selfish desires that were more often than not kept to herself than spoken aloud. One day, perhaps, she would be free of these intangible strings that kept her from speaking her mind. She had released the mug from her hands and one moved to rest against her own forearm- ghosting a touch against her own scars that were concealed beneath long sleeves and a jacket.

The boy was quiet a moment. He’d nearly laughed- not at her, no, but the obvious statement she’d made about wanting the throne. It had been obvious since their first introduction that this woman was not simply one that could be made into a “proper housewife” or whatever ridiculous notion her father had of such a thing. “I would likely say that your ambition and goals are worn on your sleeve, Lady Azara.” In all their interactions, it was his first time calling her by her name. “I would also say that a woman with such ambitions does not scare me, nor does it wound my pride. You’ve given much to obtain what little you’ve been allotted to, and far from it for me to try and take that from you. I know very little of your people, your kingdom, and their customs. I feel as though I’m wholly ill prepared for the burden of the crown, and would not wish to take it upon my own shoulders just so that you can be sidelined to be the ideal wife.” It was clear in his words that he was disgusted by the idea of simply having her there as a trophy or some prize to tame. “You are your own person, Princess. Even if I had ever had the inkling of desire to be married, it would not be so that I can own someone to be the perfect shadow to me. Perhaps it’s because I was not born into wealth that I still cling to a commoner’s idea that what matters most about them isn’t how they were born: man, woman, rich, or poor: but the notion of their character instead.”It felt as though he were the only one that felt that way with those he had experience interacting with.

Their conversation had fallen into a comfortable pace. It seemed they had much more to talk about than he’d originally thought. There were still things that Andromeda held close to her chest. Perhaps their first interaction alone wasn’t exactly the best space for secrets, but there was a modicum of guilt that ate at her for not doing so. “It’s nice to speak to you without the pressure on both sides, I will admit.” Without their parents there, they were able to speak freely without being glared at and reprimanded for every mistake or a misspoken word. “My parents were sure to instill a fear into me that I must make a good impression. I apologize if my words have come across as dishonest yesterday.” His thoughts had been clouded by fear of being disinherited or worse as well as the exhaustion of travel.

“Be our circumstance as it may, I do hope we have more moments like this one. I’ve hid how afraid I truly was well enough, and I still have some trepidation, but it has eased immensely.” There was still fear of what the future would bring. Fear of what would happen when Azara became aware that their fiance was not quite what he claimed. And furthermore what would happen as they would not be able to produce heirs to inherit the kingdom. The thought made her head hurt, and so she opted to not think on it for now. “Thank you for hearing me. I’m sure you still hold some reservations toward me, but it means a lot to me nonetheless.”​