Tales of the Betrothed (closed)

[Overlord Gizmo]

x x x x x x x x x ✗ K o r a x Z h a d d a g h

The princess fanned a wayward feather away from her nose, as Kunal’s scrambling set them astir once more. She didn’t have a clue what he was doing, and was even more confused when he threw a pillow at her. She caught it on reflex, although it might be more accurate to say that she managed to wrap her arms around the large pillow just as it hit her. “What?” she gasped, her voice somewhat muffled by the bulk of the pillow before she managed to lower it. She was incredulous, already beginning to protest before she quieted, listening to him finish what he had to say. Her expression softened slightly as she took in his words, looking down at the feather pillow in her hands. The princess flinched involuntarily at the shattering of the glass, more out of surprise than anything else.

“I don’t really…” she started, before letting her voice trail off. Loosely hugging the pillow to herself, she considered the idea. Kora didn’t really think that it would help, but there was something that gave her pause. Her grip on the pillow tightened, her eyes finding their way to the shattered remains of the glass spread across the floor. Allowing the notion to turn in her mind, she mused silently to herself. “Zaara’s gone…” she said quietly, still looking at the broken glass as it caught the warm golden glow of oil lamps. “Doing this won’t make it any better…” she added, stubborn and oddly resigned. The thought was more for herself than for Kunal. Her fingernails dug into the pillow where she gripped it. Despite what she had said, the idea still taunted her. It was egging her on, whispering... ‘Why not?’

Kora gave an uneasy sigh, before looking at Kunal for the first time in a while. Seldom, if ever, had she seen that face wearing any expression other than rage or cold superior indifference. It was strange and slightly disorienting to see him otherwise. One could almost say he was being kind. There was something oddly sincere in his actions. It was as though he needed something... anything… to placate whatever it was that was going on in that mind of his. It was a feeling she could relate to, even if she couldn't understand it. Although she didn't really understand it all that well in herself either... Something inside of her relented, accompanied by a relaxed drop of her shoulders. She supposed that there was nothing wrong with humoring him… for just a moment...

Without really putting that much effort into it, she pulled at the edges of the pillow. The seams didn’t budge at all, so she put a little more force into the attempt. Still there was nothing. Something akin to irritation flared up inside of her. She grit her teeth and yanked as hard as she could, one thumb digging at the seams linking the edges of the fine cloth. A somewhat unladylike curse that could be mistaken for a grumble escaped just beneath her breath, as she continued to pull on the pillow, without so much as a rip. Suddenly feeling incredibly angry at the inanimate object, she sank her teeth into the fabric and tore at it with all the strength she could muster.

The princess struggled with the pillow until her teeth hurt. She was frustrated and angry about so much that had happened. About Zaara… this marriage to Reriic… the accusations against her father and the queen… and everything else… Things that for the most part she tried not to dwell on… always distracting herself if it were possible in anyway. And now this damn pillow wouldn’t even tear when she wanted it to. She struggled with it, clawing at the seams where it was supposed to come apart easily, but refused to do so. Her frustration reached a point where she could barely stand it. Without a single thought that would quell the sudden impulse, Kora cast the pillow away from her, wanting to be rid of the thing. In an unforeseen consequence, it crashed into a small table by the wall. A painted vase on the table wobbled precariously before toppling over the edge of the table and shattering.

Wide eyed and horrified, the princess started to stammer out an incomprehensible apology, but only managed to choke on the form of the words in her throat. She froze, quiet and unmoving for several moments. Eventually an unbelieving breath of a laugh accompanied a small smile. “I… suppose that was sort of the point…” she said, passing a hand through the hair on the top of her head, and laughing nervously but a little more openly.





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[Rada Han]

ImPeRfEcTiOn is в є α υ т у,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxⓂⒶⒹⓃⒺⓈⓈ is gєníus,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxand it is better to be absolutely ɾïḋïсυløυṡ than absolutely ๒◊ЯⅰиG.
.........




Satisfied by his first ever Gradian meal, Jean-Baptiste felt like a new man, eager to explore the rest of the city, perhaps even with his faerie friend. Their conversation brought several serious topics to his mind, a few of which had been itching at him since they even first entered the volcano.

Annabel’s attitude towards the monarch baby made him laugh heartily and drape an arm around her shoulder like he thought she was making a very funny joke. It never occurred to him that she was being serious about the child. “I lobbed ‘er into the volcano, sweetheart, like any responsible adult would have done!” He cackled, and pulled his arm away from her when he was done.

“Honestly, though, you don’t know about my father? Ah!” Slapping his palm against his forehead, he remembered. “You weren’t at the meeting when we first arrived here, were you?” Jean-Baptiste lowered his voice a bit and looked around to see if anyone was still staring at them. They were. He rolled his eyes. For a while now, he’d been going over the details of it in his mind. The thought of what might’ve happened to his country plagued his dreams. The fact that his father may have become a warmonger was immensely upsetting, especially since the Prince was too far away to do anything about it, and hadn’t been informed of any of the King’s decisions to begin with. “I can’t tell you about it right now, but apparently, my father does care to involve himself in faerie affairs to a disturbing degree. I’m eager to confront him about this.”

The Zuleidan placed both of his hands on the table and stood from his seat. He had finished wiping off what he could of the mess he’d made on his face and hands before offering an arm to the faerie soldier. “If it makes you feel any better, you don’t look like a monster to me. At least not yet. Come walk with me. There is someone that I need to find.”



xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx《The Trickster Prince》
.........

[Sierra The Captor]

_________________________________________________
take a ℓeap of fαith. I ĸnow wє'ℓℓ makє it.

Clenched teeth and seized palms loosened when the faerie was caught off-guard in the way Jean-Baptiste had reacted to her emotion about the infant. Her eyes became wide-eyed when she turned to his draped arm around her shoulder, surprised and appeared slightly disgruntled that her sentiment was not taken seriously. She was hoping that his comment was true although she knew well enough it does not seem to be in their nature to kill an innocent, cursed or not. But the beast that threaten to gnaw its way into her skin quieted once more, so whatever tactless remark the prince made calmed her down.

Still, her face scrunched when the prince removed his arm away from her, and proceeded to discuss in regards to his father. Her annoyance was slowly replaced by confusion as he spoke; face incredulous as she took in every word he said despite not having much information other than telling her about her absence “No, I know nothing,” she replied, and intuitively Annabel lowered her head, following Jean’s gaze as she too looked in her surroundings. They attracted a few looks throughout their time in the area, so Annabel could not find herself hiding her disappointment when Jean was not unable to disclose whatever he wanted to say. But he spoke enough to make the faerie’s fingers tremble slightly on the table.

Annabel took too long in her thoughts to reply much of what he had said. Her face was calm, but her heart was racing. What does that entail? That the king of Zuleidi also had a part in helping the Monarchs? What motive would he have in destroying a kingdom? Revenge? Threats? Pure spite? Should Annabel really consider Jean’s judgement in her own father’s involvement? She was sure Jean would not mention his father’s name out of a whim if he did not feel there was a bit of truth. The fact that she was left out of the loop of this conspiracy made her frustrated for some reason. Were there other things she was unaware of? There was something oddly unsettling about all of this that Annabel had not even noticed she was biting her own nails. She blinked and kept her fingers away from her lips, surprised even by her own actions as she stared at her hand, dumbfounded. It was the first time she had done something so compulsive.

“If it makes you feel any better, you don’t look like a monster to me. At least not yet. Come walk with me. There is someone that I need to find.”

Putting her fingers away, Annabel watched as Jean offered his arm for her to take, as though staring at him for the first time. She mulled in for a moment, wondering if she should follow along. She has many inquiries, and it seemed Jean has answers she does not. With a long sigh, Annabel took his offer, standing up and brushing off whatever existing dust in this heat of weather.

"I'm content to know you don't see me as such," there was a tinge of bitterness in her voice as she spoke, trying to carve a warm smile to the Zuleidian prince, though it came off slightly sad and uneasy "It seemed a few people have perceived me as a nuisance as of late," Annabel thought back to when Reriic had said about the forest and how he would not have more pleasure than to pull off the faeries' wings. It was a vulgar statement, and it did not help that Annabel felt herself inadequate at times. Coupled with the occasional pulsing beneath her skin, it was difficult to feel completely in control of her own being.

Shaking her head, Annabel pulled back her hair into a ponytail “Who exactly do you need to find?” she asked, habitually and already moving her feet to exit the food area before bowing apologetically to the woman that came to clean the mess they had made.
__________________________________________________

ℓocation |- food area -| 00C |- O.o -|

[PhantasmicRose]

♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠ ♢ ♣ ♡ ♠

Gradius, despite its people and the horrors their volcanic home had endured, turned out to be the most gentle city on Sonya's body. Her skin was marred by its fair share of bruises and scrapes, but she hadn't been cursed by a demon or run through with a sword yet so she had little to complain about. The only trouble she found was in all the attention the royals and their companions had garnered after their heroic endeavors freed the city of its icy captivity. Every Gradian eye was watching their new company, even Sonya could feel that. She could barely leave her room without some servant or guard questioning if she desired anything, if she needed another escort, if she was hungry or thirsty or blah blah blah. The royal treatment would've been welcome at any other time, but Sonya's hands quivered like an addict's as her demon thirsted for fresh blood. How long had it been since she'd felt the energy of pure life flowing through her? She remembered the sensation just enough for it to sensually tease her, but not enough to help her forget how her body ached and shivered weakly now. Her powers gone, Sonya could do little more than fumble down the halls bumping into people and daydreaming of getting away with murder.

The day felt long, the hour uncertain. Sonya had done little more than lay in bed and rest her tired body, never leaving her room and barely uttering a word. Eventually a bath was drawn for her, as it was every day, and the whore sank down into the soothing water until her nose was just above it, her quiet breaths sending little ripples outward into the delicate porcelain basin. She let the silken, floral soaps seep into her skin, a luxury she would miss when they took to the road once more. It wasn't until the water began to chill that Sonya finally hauled herself out, unceremoniously dripping water across the polished floor as she shuffled over to the plush red robe hanging up for her. The crimson fabric was stark against her pallid skin and brown hair, like blood staining a winter hare's coat. Sonya dragged her hand over the vanity until her fingers met the handle of her brush, and snatching it up she finally returned to her bed, sinking down onto the edge of it. She'd barely started running the bristles through her long hair when the door opened and immediately shut. The whore's sightless eyes snapped up and her lip curled in obvious irritation at the intrusion.

"I don't need any help-" she began, but her jaw tightened and her teeth clicked shut when his voice reached her keen ears.

"Sonya, I want to talk."

The brush didn't lower from Sonya's hair and her eyes drifted back down to the floor, her facade instantly fading. Her shoulders drooped, relaxing carelessly, though an aura of mild irritation still lingered in her countenance. The dark circles under her eyes and the trembling of her hands betrayed how tired she was. Her skin hung on her bones like she would never truly get any meat to her. Her lips, still plump and sultry but a sick, faded sort of soft pink parted with a sigh.

"Talk? Or push me around until you feel better about yourself. Or get what you want. Do you want something? I won't sleep with you, if that's it. I've got a better deal lined up than what you can offer me." The bath made her even more tired than usual and her voice didn't hold as much venom as her words implied.

"Did your brother tell you that I saved him down in those catacombs? You owe me. Keep that in mind." Sonya was certainly defensive, but anyone else would be if a man like Reriic showed up unannounced and wanting to "talk". This sort of thing never ended well for her.

❝ I'll ¢υт your little нєαят out 'cause уσυ made мє ¢яу ❞

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xx

[Angst Werewolf]

By the time Chandar's temper had cooled, he'd left the hot spring area far behind and had ended up at the palace. Several servants had tried to stop him, but he'd snarled out that he had been one to have helped break the curse and he could damn well go where he pleased. Most of the servants gave into that, but one guard had been particularly stubborn. Chandar had nearly burned his hand off again in a violent display of his newly-found powers. It had worked, but he was perfectly aware of their eyes on his back as he stalked away. There had always been rumors about him ever since his father had brought him to Gradius as an infant. They had escalated when Faxhir had married Aruna and had more children. Surely if Chandar's heritage was legitimate, there would be no need for another heir, let alone two.

Chandar kicked a heavy metal vase angrily as he passed.

He'd had the forethought to put his jacket back on once inside the castle, though the buckles turned out to be too much of a pain with his half-burned, half-blistered fingers. So he left it open, exposing his chest, and shoved his feet back into his boots before continuing down the halls. He really should have thought better than to go flaunting his flames like that. His one remaining glove was too ruined to cover anything and the marks on his hands would take the rest of the day to heal.

But the deed was done and there wasn't anything he could do now. Chandar turned a corner, accidentally bumping into a servant carrying a pile of sheets. She snapped at him, eyes narrowing distastefully at his disheveled appearance. The hot springs had gotten most of the blood off him, though his clothes were still stained and ripped. He'd refused the change of clothes offered back when he'd been cleaned up earlier. That, in retrospect, hadn't been the best idea. He was just full of bad decisions today.

"Out of my way," he spat, pushing past her. Several doors on this hallway were cracked open, but he paid it no mind. "Go look down your nose at someone else, like the damned faerie and fish we have wandering around." You'd think here he'd garner a bit more respect than the foreigners, but no. Go figure.

[Rada Han]

ImPeRfEcTiOn is в є α υ т у,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxⓂⒶⒹⓃⒺⓈⓈ is gєníus,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxand it is better to be absolutely ɾïḋïсυløυṡ than absolutely ๒◊ЯⅰиG.
.........




The Zuleidan offered Annabel a playful grin as she took his arm. Nothing could make a man feel better than having a beautiful woman at his arm, except maybe having that beautiful woman in his bed. He snickered to himself at how ridiculous the thought was because Anna, like him, seemed to prefer the female persuasion. Then, when he realized that they had that trait in common, and could possibly enjoy sharing another girl between them at the same time, he almost forgot to listen to her while she was talking. He even almost stopped moving entirely, but managed to gather his thoughts back together in time to catch the end of her last sentence and maybe some of the one before.

“Err, I don’t remember,” It seemed like he hadn’t gathered his thoughts together after all. He shook his head and led her out of the dining area and back onto the road.

“Say,” He remarked, waiting for her to catch up. “You’re quite good at sword-fighting, aren’t you? I mean, you would have to be if you’re a knight, right?” Speaking redundantly, he slapped a hand over his forehead. “Of course you are.” He sighed.

“Back home, I used to have to attend the fencing classes. I haven’t attended the majority of them, clearly, and admittedly, after experiencing all of this madness, I do require some instruction. On the matter. Sword-fighting, that is.” The Zuleidan sighed. Again.

“I am asking you to teach me how to fight. There, I said it. You should be honored that I’ve come to you about this, of all people.”




xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx《The Trickster Prince》
.........

[Ariiadne]

Bashirah remained pensive for hours after Basanti departed, staring out the window, sometimes venturing to the balcony and letting the warm air wash over her. More than once she glanced to Kunal’s room, hoping perhaps to catch a glimpse of his shadow, but she wasn’t so lucky. Either way, it was intensely comforting to see her city gradually kindle back to life below her. Light, color, and movement returned much faster than she’d anticipated; it seemed everyone, despite their losses, was eager to get back to normalcy. In the end, the princess resigned herself to rediscovering her own room. Her hand drifted over all of the jewels and trinkets and books, all of the decorations and furniture. There was something strange about it all, a newness and a familiarity that made her unsure if her mind was any less broken than her body. Her eyes skimmed over the spines of each book until they came to rest on one with a particularly stale title. Removing it, Bashirah let the volume fall open in her grasp, crackling like old bones awakening from a long rest.

The page it opened to was not random. Pressed flowers, feathers, and insect wings, among other things, crowded the two pages, some haphazardly floating to the floor. Gently, thoughtfully, her fingertips ran over her collection of artifacts she’d accumulated as a child.

Her attention, as deep as it was, became ensnared elsewhere when some unexpected activity brewed in the corridors. Though her quarters were quite a ways from the main hall, sounds easily echoed along the obsidian walls. Curious and demurred simultaneously, Bashirah eventually closed the book, returned it to its place, and limped as gracefully as she could towards the door.

She encountered a servant not too far down the hallway, catching her off guard as her back was turned. She regained her poise in an admirably Gradian fashion and bowed to the princess.

“Apologies, your highness. I know it is not my place, but you should be resting.”

Bashirah waved away the last comment. “What is going on?”

The servant sighed, disgruntled. “Some pale fool is storming down this way. He managed to somehow bypass the guards and find his way here. It is forbidden.” The servant hadn’t looked away for more than a second before Bashirah decided to confront the situation herself. “Your highness!” the help exclaimed. “You are inappropriate! Please, return to your quarters!”

Bashirah ignored her pleas. Instead, the Gradian princess emerged from around the corner, composure and posture serene and dignified despite her injuries, informal attire, and somewhat haggard appearance, with her hands clasped at her waist. The intruder didn’t notice her immediately; he was too focused on scowling and mumbling to himself.

“Are you lost, Chandar?”

[Sierra The Captor]

_________________________________________________
take a ℓeap of fαith. I ĸnow wє'ℓℓ makє it.

“Sire?”

Annabel repeated when Jean made no attempt to reply to neither her question nor her statement, resorting to shaking her raised palm in front of the Zuleidian prince to get his attention. He stopped moving, his face appearing in mute thought right in the middle of the dining area. The guard looked around amidst the queer stares, slightly embarrassed and annoyed until her hands were on her hips “Jean-Baptiste,” was her last firm statement before Jean finally returned to the reality from whatever fantasy he was dreaming of.

As usual she rolled her eyes when it was made obvious he was not exactly listening to what she said and followed his lead out of the dining area. It was a habitual thing now. Once they were within the bustling street, Annabel felt the excessive warmth rushing through and so she groaned. Even with less material on her body Annabel could not adapt to the heat as well as she should. She listened to Jean’s bumbling words while flapping the sari that enfolded parts of her exposed skin to the intense heat, her face a light pinkish glow. Only when she felt cool enough to her liking did her attention focused on him, and her eyebrows creased at the way Jean seem unusually nervous about something.

She didn’t answer throughout the course of the prince trying to grasp for the right words. Rather, she was waiting for him to compose himself so that he would make whatever point he needed. She was unsure at how where this is going, she had a gist of them, and it was only until Jean finished his sentence did a gradual expression came forth upon her face.

“You want me…to train you?” Annabel worded her sentence as though she could not believe a word he said, as though she was in disbelief that Jean would ask such a favour, or that someone had valued her subpar sword-fighting skills. She had always thought she was the inadequate one compared to the other royal guards, confirmed by her inability to slay Hanzo on the spot before Laelie was destroyed. Now someone had come to ask her of a favour, and it was the very thing that made her insecure in the first place. Her feelings were indecisive for a moment, unsure of how to make of this quandary. She was flattered indeed, and honored, but then a “No,” had escaped her lips, squandering whatever feelings she had left. Her eyes flickered for a moment at what she had uttered, becoming flustered.

“I can’t, Jean, I just…” she paused, unable to meet his eyes, hands in all directions and grunting in frustration “I am not as good as you think I am. I'm not good enough, ask someone else. A-a-ask Adele,” it was the first time she had mentioned her name since she had carefully avoided such action throughout their encounter. Good, God, what is wrong with her? She was unbelievably twitchy now, fumbling at her words more than necessary “She has years of training and is a much better swordswoman than me after all. Yes, that’s right. You should ask her instead,”

Before Jean could interrupt her, Annabel turned around, her wings dispersing right behind her as she trudged through the crowds.
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ℓocation |- Gradian Street -| 00C |- D: -|

[Angst Werewolf]

By the time Bashirah appeared, the maid that had taken the brunt of Chandar's temper had left. She was muttering something about getting the guards to remove him, but the smith was beyond caring. He didn't even know why he'd come to the palace in the first place. Most people after such events would seek out their family, make sure everyone was alive and in one piece. He hadn't even spared them a thought until now. All his life, he'd nursed a grudge against his family for the situation he'd been forced into and convinced himself that he didn't care the least about them once he'd left. And now, the thought of his family left a heavy lump of indifference in his chest. He really didn't care.

"Gods take them," he spat angrily. He'd been outside Gradius for years and they had made no move to contact him. After a time, even the transactions with the forge had been handled by some injured miner they hired to help deal with the "commoners". The smith cursed again, ready to go lock himself in a room and stew in his anger when Bashirah's voice cut through his thoughts.

He stiffened in alarm and jerked around to face her, his upbringing kicking in during his moment of surprise. "Princess Bashirah," he replied, dropping into a weak half-bow out of habit. Chandar was suddenly aware of how ragged he looked. He was barely dressed, with his coat hanging open and pants ripped and bloodied. At least he had shoes on.

"I... did not expect to see you here." Which was stupid, considering how the royal family lived in the palace. He shook his head. "No, not lost. I am avoiding the masses," he added, giving a pointed look to a nearby servant who looked like she was trying to will him to explode on the spot. Clearly some people did not appreciate the position they had been stuck in. He scowled as well as he could with the burns.

In the back of his mind he knew he was not being anywhere near as formal and respectful as he should have been in front of a member of the royal family. But after facing the ice and seeing that the fall of Gradius had come from a Gradian, the illusion of perfection had shattered. At least they hadn't all mutated into giant insects.

Chandar shrugged half-heartedly. "I didn't mean to disturb you." He really hadn't. The attention of the royal family, while in the past would have given him joy to no end, no meant questions. Questions he most certainly did not want to deal with at the moment.

[Ariiadne]

Bashirah’s brow delicately furrowed at Chandar’s appearance – in the physical sense. Though time had somewhat melded together to her, after having been practically comatose for a few days then bedridden the rest, it confused her as to why he hadn’t seemed to clean himself up. All of their companions should have been tended to adequately. For a moment, Bashirah felt a pang of fear. In their absence, were the others being treated well? Gradians certainly made a point to be welcoming, but after recent events, did their coldness overshadow that?

“You look almost as bad as I do,” she jested, easing her way into the topic without seeming rude. “Have you and the others been met with the hospitality due to you?”

She didn’t allow much time for Chandar to answer before her gaze fell upon his mangled hand. Without any second of delay, the princess turned to the servant in the corridor and ordered her to find a healer.

“Come,” she ordered, sternly yet not unkindly. She started towards he quarters so that he could not refuse.

Bashirah’s quarters were indeed befitting of a Gradian royal. It was furnished and expansive enough that she could remain there for long periods of time and have everything she might need – which she had done. The foyer led to a common space, and there is where she would gesture of Chandar to take a seat. In the center of the tiled floor lay a lush rug abounding with pillows surrounding a low-lying table, a bowl of oil burning in the middle. Above it the ceiling was draped in a deep crimson fabric, an elegant glass chandelier dangling from its epicenter. Incense burned along the far wall.

“Please. Make yourself comfortable.” Again, she left Chandar with no room to object.

Within minutes, a healer scuttled in. At first, he started towards Bashirah, but she deftly redirected him.

[Angst Werewolf]

Bashirah's question made the smith pause. He had never expected the princess of Gradius to openly care about his well-being. Outside of if he was alive and capable of doing his job, she really wouldn't have bothered to ask. But he followed her anyway, taking a moment to shook a smug look at the servant's back. First the fire and now this? Gradius was full of surprises, it seemed.

He paused in the doorway to the princess's quarters. Chandar had by no means been living in poverty, not when you smithed for the royal family, but Bashirah's furnishings were almost overwhelming. He followed her further in, very aware of how out of place he was at the moment. Ignoring the fact that he wasn't even a full-blooded Gradian, he looked like he had just crawled out of some hole in the ground. After making sure he wasn't about to keel over, the healers had left him alone to deal with the other Gradians and he'd spent a good chunk of time ignoring everyone. Someone had offered him a change of clothes, but he'd refused when the person let slip they thought he was a member of the fish prince's entourage.

He sat down on one of the chairs in the room, back stiff. It would be impossible for him to make himself comfortable in this situation.

The healer entered, giving Chandar something to focus his attention on besides how out of place he was at the moment. He scowled when the healer gave him a look that clearly showed how little he wanted to deal with the smith. But with Bashirah right there, he couldn't ignore him. Chandar offered up his burned hand to the man, who took it in the same way someone would take a dead fish.

Chandar's eyes flicked back over to Bashirah. True to her words, she didn't look much better than him. "Have you recovered?" he asked after a heavy pause. There was the pressing need to say something and not simply sit awkwardly in the princess's common room.

[Ariiadne]

“Well, I am awake, so I suppose that is good,” she lightly joked, instinct suppressing the smile that nevertheless flickered briefly across her mouth. She cleared her throat nervously. She felt entirely out of her own skin. Bashirah never thought about how she would act around people after what had happened. It proved to be extremely confusing, conflicting, and difficult. She straightened up and continued.

“There is no need for your concern. It looks worse than it is,” she reassured him, though her fractures and bruises protested otherwise. Two servants suddenly entered the room with a platter of fresh chai tea, its robust spices immediately invading the room’s atmosphere, and two small plates of pakoras. Bashirah grabbed ahold of her mug with both hands, savoring the warmth it provided, staring into the milky brown contents, cinnamon swirling about the rim. She waited a moment before sipping.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about, however, Chandar.” The princess brought the cup to her lips and drank, filling the air with some suspense. The tea was divine. Bashirah almost lost herself in the flavor. She had missed it so. Bolting back to reality, she looked up again to the smith. “You showed great bravery and strength against Drona. It was you who felled him, and for that, the entire nation of Gradius is thankful.” Bashirah bowed her head to him respectfully. “It is with great shame on my behalf that I could not do it myself.”

After a slight pause, Bashirah returned to her upright position and reached for a pakora. “With this in mind… I would like to extend to you an offer. Since we have met, you have been the unofficial guard for my brother and me. I brought you here to ask if you would like to make it a bit more official.”

[XSenkoX]

“Don’t start—,” Reriic bristled at her words and started to lash out before he got control of himself. If Sonya could see the young prince struggle to fight his temper, she might have found some personal amusement at the pained look that settled on his face or the way that his whole body shook as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He took a deep, ragged breath and forced his attention onto Sonya’s haggard appearance; his hateful gaze lingering on the bags under her sightless eyes. Exhaustion was the worst injury she appeared to have sustained during the Gradian trials, as opposed to Reriic’s own deep wounds and ravaged pride. The blank stare, unfocused and directed at the floor as it was, unsettled him more than he would ever care admit to anyone; her fatigue did nothing to push aside the feeling that she knew more about him than she let on or could possibly be privy to. That she somehow knew what it was he truly came here for and was simply playing a game with him until the prince was forced to beg the whore for her favour.

Blowing out his held breath in a steady jet, he stepped away from the door, only to stop in the middle of the room as if a barrier prevented him from getting closer to his consort. If she was in bed with someone else, what was to keep her from telling them what Reriic was about to tell her? She could reveal his weakness with a coy smile and a blade pressed into the hand of her bedfellow just as easily as she was holding her knowledge of the mysterious woman over him now. As they currently stood, the only thing she knew for certain was of his ambitions and furies; news that would not come as a great surprise to anyone with even a vague awareness of the younger Dradecan Prince.

For the first time in years, Reriic hesitated on his path. Was the power he stood to gain worth the leverage he would give the manipulative harpy sat before him? He tried momentarily to stir the power needed to knock a pitcher of flowers off of the table they were sat on and was met only with the magical equivalent of a cat looking up at its master when called, only to turn away and fall asleep again. Even the simple failure rekindled his desire to never be powerless again.

“I thank you for saving Cin,” Reriic finally replied. His voice was low, and while not necessarily soft, it lacked the violent undercurrent that his words usually carried. “But I imagine that I will owe you for more than simply the life of my sibling by the time we are through,” he lapsed again into momentary silence where he found himself unable to look in her direction.

“Before, outside the city, you offered me power in exchange for my service. I reacted… poorly. In the tunnels, I—” He choked, but his gaze snapped to Sonya and was suddenly unfaltering, “Whatever you wanted from me, I will do that and more, so long as you can promise me that a day will never come where I am without my skills. However you can provide me this, I do not care; no cost is too high.”

While he was speaking, Reriic had breached the centre of the room and strode forward until he stood before Sonya. Biting down on his tongue, he carefully dropped to one knee and knelt before her, bowing his head like she was some visiting dignitary he was forced to pay homage to. Amber eyes bored into the Gradian carpets below him, seething at the necessity of the situation.

“You have my word, however much or little it means to you, that I will act as your servant so long as it is within my power and you uphold your end of this agreement.”

[K33LA]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kora’s display was delicious. It was a vicarious experience, perhaps morbidly so. He soaked in her struggle, from her initial hesitation all the way to her serendipitous triumph. The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly, creasing awkwardly at the corners. It wasn’t a true smile; it was more akin to an afterthought. His eyes remained on the wreckage she caused.

“That was… perfect,” he said. His expression was numb, though his voice held energy. “It felt real.” He sighed and sank into his bed, goose feathers billowing harmoniously around him. He became still – not uncomfortably so – and looked at the mural detailed on the wall above Kora’s head. It recanted the tale of Basanti, who tamed a tigress with nothing but her gaze. The story itself was supposed to be an analogy for Gradian resilience. But his people had been wrong about everything their culture dictated, so this too was most likely incorrect. The artistry that went into the illumination was exquisite, however. It might have been the first time he’d ever really looked at it. A thought struck him.

“Kora, do you hate me?” he asked, looking to her again. “I hated you. And everyone else. Even my sister, eventually…” A forlorn shadow passed over his face, as a cloud does when it passes beneath the sun. “I’m not sure where all that hate went. I think it’s there still, but different...”

xxx

[Angst Werewolf]

The fact that the princess was making small jokes was something that Chandar could not fully wrap his mind around. Sure, people acted differently around different people but he had somehow assumed that Bashirah was always the princess of Gradius. This was casual, almost like they were...friends. Maybe not quite friends, but comfortable around each other to drop the Gradian act. Chandar slouched a bit, a very un-Gradian thing to do, especially in the company of a royal.

He accepted the tea with his free hand as the healer began to rub some sort of cream over his burns. It stung, but the smith kept from making any sort of vocalization of his displeasure. Instead, he glared at the healer, who ignored him completely.

His attention went back to Bashirah, a faint sense of unease overriding the casual atmosphere that had built up. His initial fear was that this was conversation he had been dreading- He had failed to project the twins, his secret was out, and Gradian royalty could not be seen with him. A new guard had been found, and he would be released from his unofficial duties.

It went the exact opposite way. Chandar fumbled with his cup of tea in surprise, hastily setting it down before he managed to spill it all over the floor. The acceptance was on the tip of his tongue but he paused. The thought of completely abandoning Gradius had been slowly building up in his mind. After all, what had the nation ever done for him, aside from the years of silent disapproval and the crushing effort of at least trying to look Gradian. Back with the kebirs, he'd been inches away from finally accepting that he wasn't Gradian, and never would be, but then he'd been given the fire that had always set him apart.

Chandar stood, shaking off the healer who had finished bandaging his hand. But what else was he supposed to do? The Stone Hammers were gone, and he was surely no longer welcome back at the family forge. There had been his recent search for the diamond, but in the light of whatever was going on with the gods, he'd almost forgotten about it. The whole purpose of that search had been to gain the favor of the royal family, but it seemed he'd already managed to do that.

"I would..." He cut himself off. Being the guard would be a permanent deal and put him in a situation that he would not be able to get out of, probably short of his own death or a disastrous screw up. But he couldn't find it in him to deny the offer. It was about time someone acknowledged the fact that he could do something. And there wasn't anything that could top rubbing the fact that he was the royal guard in everyone's face.

He returned Bashirah's bow. "I would be honored, Princess Bashirah," he replied as he straightened up. "I must admit, I had not expected such an offer. I had assumed someone more well trained would have been called to do the job." Chandar returned to his seat. "And I had thought there would be more questions about..." He trailed off to glance at the healer, who looked like he was mustering up the courage to go near the burns on Chandar's face.