when i am weak, then i am strong.

Bash brushed him off, laughing as he shook his head. "Earned the right? My sister is lovely, but she is also mouthy without reason. Then again, I've heard it said that when you give the women in your life everything then prepare for them to want more. I suppose it applies to sisters as well as it applies to everyone else." He reached forward eating olives from the tray, his eyes watching another group walk by them. Even as relaxed as he was his eyes searched the men and the women for the bulge of dirk handles strapped to legs and backs.

"Perhaps not but I trust that you will keep her safe. You are familiar with courtly life and can help her adjust in a way that I can not help her adjust." Because he would always be the big brother would be over protective and never let her grow. It was the reason he wasn't great with flowers, he over watered them and then they died. He drowned them.

the prince reached for a few grapes, popping one into his mouth before shaking his head at the mention of greedy sisters. in truth, ravi was not really familiar with such a feeling. having been in braavos, he did not feel he knew his sisters as well as she should. "nevertheless, she’s got a spark that hasn't been smothered by the court yet. let her have her words. the world is going to try and quiet her soon enough anyway; i won’t start that work for them, but i won’t let her get herself into trouble, either."

his attention drifted back to baashir, noting the way his eyes moved, always watching, always measuring. ravi didn’t interrupt it. if anything, he was quietly grateful for it, for it allowed him a rare ease, knowing someone else was keeping count of the room. though he did simultaneously wish bash could find a moment of peace in a crowded room.

at the mention of his brother, ravi’s mouth curved into a familiar, wry smirk. he lifted his goblet in a small, almost teasing salute. “making friends with my brother is a talent few possess. i might’ve wagered against you myself,” he admitted, a soft chuckle following. the humor lingered only a moment before something more sincere settled in its place. “but i am grateful for your trust. truly.” an open palm came briefly to his chest.

there was little noise as the prince of house martell spoke, only the slight sound of jewellery moving as ruqaiyah shifted herself, as though to appear overly engrossed in the words of the man sat across from her; to the point where the palm of her hand moved to sit below her chin as she fixed her orbs upon him, as though she were hanging on to every word. the martell family dynamic was one that made her so entirely curious, one that she wished to crack and to understand; who was closest to who? was there any sibling who was no doubt seen as the favourite amongst their parents, when both were alive? who is the one who holds the most sway, at least in front of everyone and behind closed doors? it was imperative a new daughter in law worked such things out in her future household, to know where and how to place herself: she had watched her own aunt do it when she married into the tor, as well as other cousins.

and so, whilst she hung on to every word to learn more about ravi, it was ultimately about how it would come back around to her. "a punishment?" she echoed as he spoke, as though she urged him to continue speaking - as though he could fully trust her with what it was he was about to say.

and then he spoke of company with reckless men, of duels that went too far for no little cause that were without honour, and then being sent away: and though she would never be willing to admit it openly, that era of who ravi martell once was had seemingly fascinated her. she wondered how bad he must have been to be sent away to essos to learn self correction, and whether a part of him resented any in his family for letting it happen. for ordering it. "but who did you duel?" she asked, her hand still placed comfortably beneath her chin as her jet black silken hair framed her face; there was not an expression of disgust on her face, or even that of fear. it was one of curiosity, of wanting to know what many did not - as it made her feel special, and as though she were privy to something about ravi martell that most others did not.

"did it truly go so wrong you needed to be sent away as punishment?" her questions were poised to make it clear to him that she was listening - his future wife, that was so lucky to be marrying, was listening to him. that she would be a good wife.

"duels are duels, and everyone knows the risk - it is not something you should have been sent away for." he would hear words that protected him, defended him, took his side: and if there were no sides, she would wonder how soon there would become sides. as he spoke of being more deliberate and careful, she nodded, as though she were entirely impressed and engrossed by him - but within her, there was a sense of growing disappointment. he was less volatile now, meaning he would make her think about her actions and her wishes. meaning he would think about his own more often than not, rather than listen to whatever it was she quietly suggested and put forward. "well…it is good you are mature now. and i will help you be careful." she offered him a smile, one that was meant to make him feel as though she saved it only for him; ruqaiyah dayne was mature, too. so that would work…wouldn't it?

would he not ask her questions about herself? was she so predictable? no, her maids told her she came across illusive and mysterious, they told her so when she ordered them to tighten her corset more. and then, she pressed her lips together as he spoke about partnership, about someone who would support him - it all sounded so terribly dull. where was the excitement? the fun? she blinked as he spoke, and then finished; slowly moving her hand from beneath her chin as she peered over at him. "and do you think i would be a good fit for that?" she asked him, as though she were being earnest and honest - in reality she was looking for more praise. fishing, her brothers would say: wanting to hear something good about herself and about why she was his top pick for a wife. "what did you hear about me?" she asked, giving him a knowing, playful look.

the mention of his niece made her face falter slightly, perhaps in a way it should not - especially considering her own brother considered the girl an important part of his life. still, the memory of it all and the social backlash house dayne dealt with was an embarrassment to her - she did not want to think about it right now. why should ravi fix dorne, only for it be handed over to leila martell the moment she becomes of age? what if she sends it into the dragon's belly, for all she knew - the girl was a brat. perhaps ravi did not know that, but ruqaiyah knew the girl was a brat considering her own mother was far more than that. what about the children she would have with ravi? what would they get? scraps? she was irritated, and she pressed her lips in a thin line at the idea of it all - but she knew there was nothing she could say or do. for now, at least.

“he was a son of house wyl,” he said evenly. “the issue was the recklessness in which we behaved.” his gaze did not harden, but it steadied. “he was eager to prove himself. i was eager to prove i did not need to.” a faint breath left him. “it went wrong because neither of us intended to stop when pride should have stepped in first. that is reason enough.” he paused briefly. “a prince does not get to bleed for sport. not when others must answer for it.”

when she insisted he should not have been sent away, that duels were risks freely taken, he regarded her with quiet patience. “perhaps,” he allowed. “but punishment is not always about the act itself. sometimes it is about what it reveals.” his voice did not sharpen; if anything, it deepened. “i was sent away because i had not yet learned control of myself.” there was no resentment in the words, no hint that he blamed his family. “it was necessary. i see that now.”

her offer to help him be careful earned the smallest lift of his brow, curious rather than mocking. “as much as that pleases me, i do not think i need a keeper… mostly.” a small grin surfaced then, brief but genuine. while he had not yet fully deciphered ruqaiyah dayne, he would not pretend he disliked the attention she paid him. he was still a man, after all. “but i would value your thoughts. on matters that concern us both.”

when she asked if she would be a good fit, he did not rush to soften the moment with easy praise. he considered her as she leaned back, as she weighed him just as carefully in return. “i think you are intelligent,” he said plainly. “you listen closely, even when you pretend you are only admiring the sound of my voice.” the corner of his mouth hinted at warmth. “i think you are ambitious. you understand that marriage is not merely affection, it is placement, influence, survival.” his gaze sharpened slightly. “but partnership requires more than strategy. it requires steadiness. the ability to care for something beyond how it benefits you.” he would not fault her if her mind lingered on the power her place beside him might bring. becoming a princess was no small thing.

her remark about rectifying misfortune with the right bride did not provoke him. “a bride does not fix a house,” he replied calmly. “the people within it do.” when she mentioned children, whatever children he might have, his expression softened, though his tone remained certain. he noticed the flicker on her face at the mention of his niece; it did not escape him, though he chose not to linger on it. ruqaiyah dayne possessed many admirable qualities, but she was also clearly strong-willed, perhaps even difficult at times. that was not necessarily a flaw, though it meant some lessons could only be learned with time. the inheritance of leila martell would be one of them.

lady ruqaiyah felt the words tumble over her like silk slipping through her fingers, and she stiffened slightly, a sharp edge to her composure. she tried to place them, to catch the meaning beneath the measured calm of ravi’s tone, but it seemed to elude her entirely. what was he talking about? his sentences meandered like a river curling over stones, flowing somewhere she couldn’t follow, and for the first time she felt her sharp confidence falter into a sense of being unmoored. she narrowed her thin, penciled brows, pressing her lips into a line as though to hold herself steady, as though keeping herself composed could make sense of him.

she did not, could not, understand, and she hated that she did not. if duty had been too much for him and he craved the relief of freedom, why was he sat here across from her now?

the mention of essos hit her next, subtle at first, then prickling into something hot and bitter beneath her skin. why did it always have to be essos? why did everyone charged with keeping her, or watching over her, vanish there as though she were something to be left behind? first devani, now him. it was infuriating, and a little humiliating; the protective veil of those who were meant to care for her had always been ripped away by distant shores. she felt herself bristle, a sharp, almost imperceptible flare in her chest, and yet she forced a small, brittle laugh from her throat, masking the jealousy she did not want to show. "i hate essos. and i hate the essosi."

she could not allow herself to soften, not now, not with the way he watched her with that infuriating calm, that patience she had claimed she had, and yet he seemed to find amusement in her indignation. he laughed lightly, the sound flicking against her nerve endings, and she instinctively tightened her posture, crossing her arms in front of her chest though the motion was half gesture, half instinct. too forward, she realised briefly, for a fleeting moment admitting to herself she might be impatient, but immediately she bristled again at the thought, the flare of pride rising. he would not know her. they had barely spoken.

he had not endured the countless small rebellions of her youth, the sharp words spat in anger, the whispered mutinies of her own mind. he could not presume to judge what she was or had been.

“sorry - i don’t even know what you are saying,” she said, the words clipped, precise, her voice lifting just slightly as if volume could enforce clarity. “you speak in riddles as though it were a game, and i have no interest in playing.” her bangles chimed as she shifted, fingers brushing along the rim of her goblet, anchoring herself in something tangible. and yet, she could not stop the tiny flicker of unease from settling in her stomach, the way his calm presence filled the space around her, pressing lightly against the edges of her certainty. she had prepared herself to challenge him, to dismiss him with sharp words, and instead she found herself uncertain.

why did it matter that he went to essos? why did it matter that he spoke so deliberately, almost as though every word were a brushstroke on a canvas she could not comprehend?

she hated the vulnerability it forced upon her, and she hated, too, that she noticed it. her bangles tinkled once more as she reached for the honeyed orange on the table, her hand deliberate, protective, a small anchor to her own composure, and she let a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escape. she would not surrender to confusion, not yet, not entirely; and yet she could not entirely deny the subtle, growing disquiet that his calm, his slow words, his unexpected humour stirred deep within her. "i am not a bard. i don't wonder. and the way you speak makes me need to wonder." her bangles tinkered again, this time louder for her movement to push silken jet black hair back behind her ear was sharp. "do you need me to ask you directly, my prince? what is it you want from a wife?

a beat. oh, why not.

he set the slice of orange aside, untouched now, and folded his hands loosely before him, as if anchoring himself in the truth of what he was about to say. “essos was not an escape,” he continued, more directly than before. “it was a punishment, one i earned.” his mouth curved faintly, not with pride but with wry self-awareness. “i kept company with men who liked danger for its own sake, who mistook recklessness for courage, and who believed a prince could borrow their habits without ever paying the cost.” his gaze did not leave hers. “a duel went wrong. not honour, not glory, just blood, consequence, and the sudden understanding that i was not invincible, nor interested in becoming a cautionary tale whispered to children.” he drew a measured breath. “so i was sent away. not to be free of duty, but to endure it somewhere my name held no weight, to learn what remained of me when all the titles were stripped away. and only then to return.”

for a moment, his eyes drifted, not away from her but inward, as if measuring a version of himself that no longer quite fit. “there was shame in it,” he admitted, quietly. “not only in the mistake, but in how easily i believed i could outrun its consequences.” his jaw tightened, then eased. “i came back changed. not always for the better. i am slower to trust my instincts, quicker to doubt my own certainty.” a pause, thoughtful rather than regretful. “but i am more deliberate now. more aware of the weight my choices carry, not just for myself, but for everyone tied to my name. if that is the price of maturity, i accept it. i would rather be careful than careless again.”

her question lingered between them, and he did not rush to fill the silence. when he spoke again, it was slower, more deliberate. “what i want from a wife is…” he paused, then sighed, not in exasperation, but in thought, knowing the answer mattered enough to be handled with care. “i am not looking for blind obedience, nor for ornament. i have seen what loneliness looks like when it wears a crown and is surrounded by courtiers.” his voice lowered slightly. “i want partnership. someone who will speak when i am wrong, stand when i am tired, and walk beside me rather than behind me.” there was quiet firmness beneath the warmth now, conviction shaped by absence and return. “someone who understands that duty is not a chain, but a weight you choose to carry, together, so it does not hollow you out.”

but he looked at her as though they had been friends once, and that was enough to unsettle her, because she could recall him very little. "survival is everything," she agreed, though almost immediately, something tugged at her train of thought, reminding her that it wasn't. there were greater things than survival to her, desires that ran deeper in the blood than the simple will to survive. "though i do think you are looking upon dorne far too kindly. steel that's been tempered badly is brittle, and brittle things shatter." there was an irony in her words that she could not deny - it would not be a stretch to say halima herself was brittle, but not yet broken.

she nodded her head, her expression taking on something that rang a little like understanding. it was easy to take for granted that the halls of home were a place of safety, but not so when you realised the weight that it pressed on you. sometimes it took leaving, and coming back again. others, it took a monumental shift in the trajectory of your life. "that," she said, the twist of her lips almost rueful. "sounds like the words of a man who expected the memory, and is trying to convince himself reality isn't a disappointment."

he stepped a fraction closer, the polished stone cool beneath his boots, yet kept a respectful distance, mindful of the barrier she raised. “and yet,” he continued, voice low and deliberate, “even the strongest steel is tempered best when it knows it is watched, tested, not simply thrown to the world blindly. perhaps i speak too kindly of dorne, which is why there are those like you who remind me where our weaknesses lie.”

his gaze softened further, resting on her with steady attention before drifting briefly to the corridor beyond, lost in thought. “survival is everything, yes,” he said, “but it is not living. i would not hope the people of dorne feel the need to endure each day merely to survive, without the chance to take in the lives they have, what this kingdom can offer.” he shifted his stance slightly, deliberate. “perhaps the challenges we face will not all be resolved in my lifetime, but i intend to see their solutions take shape, however long it may take.”

ruqaiyah laughed, the sound light but edged, as though she’d been waiting for him to ask. it spilled out of her before she could catch it, that rich, slightly theatrical laugh of hers that filled the space between them, brushing against the quiet calm he carried like it were silk meeting stone. “oh, you played the role very well then,” she said, setting her goblet down and leaning back, her bangles clinking, like wind chimes - but they chimed with a sense of pride, as though she wanted them to be heard for the heaviness of them. “the serious knight, all honour and temper. very dornish. what every man ought to be, according to the songs.” her smile twitched wider, a glimmer of mockery—at him, or perhaps at herself. her laughter faded into a small hum as she adjusted her dupatta, the silk slipping again from her shoulder as if deliberately testing her patience. she fixed it with a precise flick of her fingers, sitting straighter, chin lifted.

“i was very patient with you back then, you know. painfully so.” the words came out smooth, practiced. a lie wrapped in lace. “and i still am.” she met his gaze, defiant and composed, as though she hadn’t just contradicted every inch of her own history with him.

of course she hadn’t been patient. she had been impossible—stormy, proud, a girl convinced the sun should rise when she said so, he would have heard all the outbursts and the arguments and perhaps seen the small orange glow from her balcony when the sky was darker. and yet, looking at him now, she almost wanted him to believe the lie. to think her changed. composed. like him - if that was what he wanted from his consort.

his eyes didn’t waver. of course they didn’t. that was the thing about him—he saw everything, but said so little. it made her uneasy. no, not uneasy—curious. as if there was a riddle carved into his stillness, one she hadn’t quite deciphered yet. she had spent the better part of her life being looked at; rarely was she the one looking. and yet here she was, trying to read him like a script written in a language she didn’t yet know. “what do i see?” she echoed at last, brows lifting slightly, as though tasting the question before deciding what to do with it. she could have lied—easily. said something charming, clever, something to make him smirk that little half-smirk she’d already learned to anticipate. but instead, the words caught somewhere between her throat and her pride. she took another sip of wine to buy time.

when she finally spoke, her voice had softened, just a touch - not out of genuine softness, but a sense of uncertainty. it was better to be honest rather than him realise she did not know what she was saying in the slightest. “i don’t know what i see,” she admitted, fingers tracing the rim of her goblet again. “you were gone for so long, ravi. i used to wonder what you were doing out there. we all did.” her lips curved faintly, not in humour this time, but something else; rather the feeling of embarassment that came in not undertanding if her betrothal had remained or not. in not knowing what was happening with her future. she was a prideful girl, and an even more prideful woman; it had scalded her. “and now you’re here."

she caught herself then, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression—she hadn’t meant to sound so earnest. she tilted her chin again, covering the slip with a brighter tone. the candlelight danced across his face, softening the sharpness of his jaw, making him look younger for a heartbeat. she wondered then—what had silence really taught him? and why did it make her feel like she’d missed something vital, something that might have explained him, if only she’d been patient enough to listen? ruqaiyah straightened, her bracelets chiming as she reached for a slice of honeyed orange. “you’re a man trying to do his duty,” she said finally, with the confidence of someone who had decided that was the safest answer. what had he been escaping from? was mors martell the golden son, and ravi the forgotten second? was that all it had been? had he been deeply in love and it had broken into less than nothing?

“if you had been patient,” he said finally, voice low, unhurried, “i think i might have missed it.” a small shrug, almost too casual. “you were impossible. gloriously so. i think half the reason i listened in those days was because no one else made silence sound like a challenge.” there was no accusation in it. if anything, there was a quiet sort of fondness, a recognition carved into the space between them, she had raved, and he had endured, and neither of them had been entirely wrong for it.

her bangles chimed again, and his eyes flicked briefly to the movement, then back to her. “and now you want me to believe you’re patient,” he mused, amused but not unkind. “you’re asking more of my imagination than my faith.” the corner of his mouth lifted, but his tone shifted, softer beneath the surface. “but if you want me to believe it… i will.” and there it was, not quite surrender, not quite agreement, but something gentler. an offering.

when she accused him of duty, he inclined his head as though accepting a title. “duty keeps me here,” he admitted. “but it didn’t take me away.” he reached for his own slice of orange, not eating it yet, simply holding it between his fingers, as if weighing what to say next. “i didn’t leave dorne to escape it. i left to understand it. and by the time i did… there wasn’t much of the boy you remember left to bring home.”

the slice of citrus touched his lips then, and he paused before taking the bite, meeting her gaze fully. “you ask where i went,” he said, a hint of something unreadable moving beneath the calm. “i went where silence was the only company that didn’t ask anything of me. and when i had nothing left to argue with… it started answering back.”

ruqaiyah’s smile widened at his response, slow and deliberate, though it did not reach her eyes—not entirely. her face shimmered in the candlelight, the gold pressed to her cheeks catching against her high cheekbones like sunfire on marble. she took a sip from her goblet, unhurried, and watched him over the rim as she did so, the curl of his mouth and the quiet confidence in the way he leaned—reclined, really—as though the whole world were a comfortable thing he could stretch into. so unlike her.

she, who had spent years learning to sit just so, to hold her chin at the precise angle that made her look proud rather than petulant. he had never needed such precision. his carelessness came gilded with charm.

“they would never dare call you dull, for fear you'll decide to reawaken whatever it was you put to sleep and smite them.” she said lightly, swirling the wine with idle elegance, the garnet liquid catching a glint from the chandeliers above. “it’s far more fashionable to pretend you’re dangerous. to wonder what you might do, rather than what you might say. i imagine it keeps them entertained, whispering behind fans. better to be a rumour than a bore, don’t you think?” she leaned forward slightly, not enough to betray the rigid grace of her posture, but just enough to suggest interest—of a kind, though what interest she was not sure of.

the table was strewn with little details she barely noticed: fine meats, orange blossom honey, toasted almonds. none of it mattered. not yet. not when the real feast sat before her, golden-skinned and languid, waiting to be pried open like a fruit too long left unsliced. “and yet,” she murmured, lashes lowering just slightly as her gaze drifted over his face, “i remember you differently. from before.” she tilted her head then, the heavy, ruby-encrusted earring catching the light. “you trained in starfall, obviously. i was sixteen. you were... what, all elbows and defiance?” she gave a laugh, short and soft, the kind that curled like smoke.

“i remember thinking you were dreadfully boring then. polite. obedient. far too eager to please my father.”

she reached out to pluck a fig from the silver platter between them, nails glinting like tiny polished mirrors. “but now?” her brow arched. “now they say you vanished, years ago. left sunspear without a word, turned your back on it - and your patience shortened. angrier, like you carved a kingdom for yourself in the dunes.” her voice dipped there, not sultry but inquisitive, as though she were leafing through a book with half-torn pages. “i want to know if it’s true. if you truly changed, or if everyone else is simply trying to explain why you no longer bow as low.” there was no accusation in her tone. if anything, there was admiration—however reluctant. ruqaiyah had grown up believing that the world ought to move for her. that men should fall into orbit as if she were a planet, not a girl. but ravi… ravi was infuriatingly unmoved.

he leaned forward slightly, the distance between them narrowing by instinct rather than intent. “and as for anger...” a faint, wry sound escaped him, not quite laughter. “i had plenty before i ever left sunspear. i only learned how to carry it better. to choose what deserves its weight.” his gaze flicked briefly to her hand, to the fig held so precisely between her fingers, before returning to her face. “so maybe they’re right, in part. i changed. not by fire or fury, just by finally stopping long enough to see what i’d become.”

he took a slow sip of his wine before continuing, tone softening. “you remember me too kindly, i think. i was too proud to know i was being polite. too young to realize obedience was just another way of surviving. your father was a man who filled every room he walked into, i only learned how to breathe again after he left it.” the admission came without bitterness, only reflection, and in a way, fondness. “if i bowed too low, it was because i thought loyalty looked that way.”

he tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting now in genuine amusement. “and you, ruqaiyah, thought i was boring because you, if i recall at the time, hadn’t yet learned what patience looks like.” a beat, his tone light but threaded with something deeper. “though i won’t hold it against you. most people mistake stillness for sleep, until it stirs.”

Some times, he remembered in fleeting moments, his father would tell him his Reachly features would fetch them a strong match. Bash never thought he looked like a Reachman. And as he looked around he knew it to be an untruth. Too pale and too unlight unles one took notice of the false Rhoynish. The old way.

"Sharp is a polite way of calling her mouthy and she is quite mouthy." Bash would be honest with the man who would be his brother and he approved. He knew they'd been seen together. Dinners and conversations and Baashir approved of it all. The Lord of Starfall was not politically minded when he was asked to describe it but most knew he wasn't empty in the head when it came to smart moves.

His sister marrying into House Martell would be good for them all. Martell would be seen to join once again with a house of the Dawn Age. The Dayne's, to him, were the swords of the realm and this marriage would be a display of strength, unity, and power.

he let the air between them stretch, quiet but not uncomfortable, before answering the rest. “mouthy,” he echoed with a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “she’s earned that right, i think. the world talks plenty of nonsense, it’s good she learned to talk back.” his voice softened then, the humor tapering into something steadier, more sincere. “whatever sharpness she has, it’s not misplaced. she just hasn’t had to draw her edges yet. i don’t plan on dulling them.”

his gaze settled on baashir again, earnest and calm. “the world may not be kind to her, no. but she won’t face it alone.” his thumb brushed the edge of his goblet absently as he spoke, a quiet rhythm grounding his thoughts. “and if she’s fiery, well, i’ve learned to weather flame. i won’t cage it, but i'll make sure it doesn’t burn her, either.” it was not boast or promise, but conviction; the kind that came from a man who meant what he said.

there were memories stirring somewhere in her mind that halima wasn't sure belonged to her. she didn't stop to ruminate on them, did not examine them beyond the faintest flicker of acknowledgement before shutting them away, locking herself up tight.

"no poison is quite the victory. harder to avoid than you'd think." her tone was dry, but in her mind, there was enough truth in her words to serve as a warning rather than a jest. he may not have been poisoned yet, but there was still time. "dorne has a way of striking when you least expect, so you can never be too certain."

it was easier to give her warnings than it was to answer questions. halima had always been something of a closed book, a woman who rarely talked about herself and didn't want to now. "dorne treats no one," she retorted, flatly. "you either survive it, or it breaks you." and she was still here, not yet broken. that should be all the answer he would need.

what else was there she could say to him? she had raised her blades in the name of dorne, for house yronwood, but that was hers to keep hidden. she would not speak of dead septons, dead gargalens, the price that loyalty had cost her, for that was for none to know but her.

he drew in a soft breath, leaning lightly against the carved column nearest him, the polished stone cool beneath his palm. “sunspear has changed,” he agreed, though there was a faint, almost wistful curl to his mouth. “or maybe it’s me who has. the halls don’t feel smaller, but i walk them differently now. every corner carries a ghost i didn’t notice as a boy. every shadow feels older, heavier.” his shoulders shifted slightly, as if settling the weight he named. “still, there’s a kind of welcome in that. at least i know i’ve come home to something real, not a painted memory.”

he let his eyes return to her then, steady, the hint of fondness beneath his calm impossible to miss. “and though i’ve missed much, i see that dorne has not bent in my absence. you, least of all. whatever else has changed, i’d call that a comfort.” a pause, deliberate but gentle. “you are what you are, yes. but that doesn’t mean you carry it alone.”

He fell into step beside Ravi as they moved toward the quieter space, away from the loudness of the gathering. Dastan’s gaze traveled across the room before it landed on his friend, and he observed him with curiosity. “I know that look,” he murmured, a knowing look crossing his features. The Prince spoke of responsibility, and that was enough of an acknowledgment of the burden that Ravi carried. “You’re not juggling all of it alone. You have a council”. A Prince's responsibility was not the same as that of his advisors, of course, but Ravi's burden wasn't one to bear in solitude. “House Martell has built a circle strong enough to stand with you. If the weight grows too much, lean into us. We’re meant to share it,” he added, speaking not only as a Master of Laws and a man devoted to House Martell and Dorne, but as a friend willing to share any burden.

“they will wait,” he said quietly, echoing the thought with a tilt of his head, “but they haven’t come this far to leave empty-handed. not the lions. not the northerners.” his voice was steady, but not without a wry note at the edge. what they expected to leave here with, what peace looked like to them, he still had yet to decipher. “still, for now… i’ll take the illusion. better that than another round of grave-silent halls and letters sealed in wax.” the flicker of weariness in his eyes didn’t quite reach his tone; it remained warm, steady, as if drawn from some deeper reserve. the kind that weathered years.

he glanced toward the archway and sheer drapes they’d passed through, the noise of the hall still murmuring behind them like waves hitting the shore. “and i know i have the council. you. the others. i lean more than i let on.” a small smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, all too self-aware. “i just don’t always say it aloud.” there was no apology in it, only truth. ravi rarely offered his weight outright, but he never assumed he carried it alone. he’d learned better than that. learned it the hard way.

it came down to one simple reason - it had been so long. she had been young when he left for essos, younger still when he went to starfall, and there was so much of each other's lives they had missed. every milestone of her life, both joyful and those of grief, had passed without ravi present, and it would take more than one conversation to put that right.

"what burdens?" she asked, suddenly, the question blurted out before she could stop it, but also preventing her from having to give him an answer she wasn't ready to give. "you said you'd carried heavier," she explained, before it hit her that perhaps he might not want to share that with her. "sorry. you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

her tongue ran absently over her teeth, as though checking for a jagged edge. "i don't think i'm either." she shrugged. "not soft or sharp. what does the world do with those of us in between?" she did not expect him to have an answer, for she'd never had one herself. if she had, she might have already found her place in sunspear, in dorne, in westeros, but that was something she'd yet to accomplish.

was she in a cage? elia did not think so, and yet, a pampered pet that has only ever known a menagerie cannot envision the rest of the world outside it. "was it different in essos?" her head tilted as she looked at him. "do you feel like you've returned to a cage, ravi?" she asked not to pry, but because she was genuinely curious. perhaps it was because she saw sunspear similarly, but had never had an avenue to talk about that with anyone else.

her question, blunt, sudden, landed with more force than she might’ve intended. he blinked once, then again, his brow furrowing as if searching for the right shelf to place it on. the burdens? they were many. some old, some new. most were quiet things that didn’t speak often but weighed heavy all the same. “truthfully?” he exhaled, the smallest puff of air. “i think they’re not all that different from what you may be familiar with yourself.” he offered a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “just the weight of our name is enough, sometimes.”

he glanced sideways at her when she said she wasn’t soft or sharp. “then you’re in good company,” he murmured. “those in between tend to survive longer than the rest. we learn how to bend, how to observe. we make the world believe we belong wherever we stand.” there was no mockery in his voice, only something that resembled understanding.

her next question made him quiet again. “essos… was different,” he said, thoughtful now. “the air was freer. people saw me as a man before they saw a prince. or didn’t see me at all, which was its own kind of gift.” he smiled faintly. “but yes… coming back to court, to expectation, to eyes always watching—it feels narrower.” he tilted his head toward her. “but maybe it doesn’t have to be a cage. maybe it just feels like one if no one leaves the door open.”

The gardens of Highgarden were in full bloom, their perfumes clinging to the warm air like whispered secrets. The Reach sun poured gold across the gravel paths and trellised archways, and music drifted faintly from some distant courtyard—light, polished, meant to charm foreign lords into forgetting they were surrounded by Tyrell spies. Baashir Dayne did not forget. Not the music, not the eyes. But for once, he allowed himself a measure of ease.

He sat with one ankle resting on his knee on a cushioned stone bench beneath a shaded alcove of flowering wisteria, his posture relaxed but not idle. In one hand he held a small porcelain cup of bitterleaf tea—cooled and nearly forgotten. In the other, a heel of bread slathered in honey and butter.

“Bonjour, Prince Ravi,” Baashir said, voice smooth as the breeze weaving through the leaves. The Reach tongue—graceful, fluid, and utterly unsuited to the battlefield—still came easily to him, a relic from his mother’s softer heritage. He studied the younger man for a moment longer—less as a soldier and more as a brother, now. His expression softened slightly, and he turned his gaze toward the gardens again. “I’ve been thinking about marriages,” he said at last, tone shifting into something more grounded, more deliberate. “Specifically about Ruqaiyah.”

“The betrothal has lingered long enough,” he continued, eyes not on Ravi, but on the canopy of wisteria above. “There were reasons, of course. The war. The crownlands. The dragon.” A faint, bitter smile touched the edge of his mouth. “We’ve had little time to think of wedding feasts when we’ve been tearing gods from the sky.” He paused, then turned his gaze fully to Ravi, serious now. “But those reasons have faded. The fighting isn’t gone, but it’s no longer swallowing us whole. And Ruqaiyah…” He trailed off for a moment, searching for the right words. “She is ready. Or she believes she is.”

There was affection in his voice, the kind only an elder brother could carry—guarded, but genuine. “She is inexperienced in court life. You know that. She’s never been far from Starfall. And the pageantry of Sunspear, of these grander courts—” He gestured vaguely toward the garden beyond them. “I worry it could overwhelm her. She’s proud, but proud in the way that makes her stubborn, not always strong.”

Another pause.

“I want her to feel welcome. Not overwhelmed. Not small. I’ve kept her waiting because I feared what marriage might do to her. I feared what ambition might do to her.” His jaw tensed, and he looked away again, thoughtful. “But I’ve realized—I may have done more harm in delaying it than if I had simply let her find her place beside you.”

The tone softened again, shaded by guilt. “I know I’ve made this difficult. And I know she’s made her displeasure clear to you.” He shot Ravi a sidelong glance that wasn’t quite apologetic but close. “You have my blessing, not just for the match, but to begin. Openly. No more half-steps. No more delays. Let the court know what we already know.”

“bonjour… monsieur baashir,” he said, attempting the reach tongue with a sheepish smile and regrettable accent, every syllable heavier than it ought to be. he winced a little, half-laughing. “that sounded better in my head.”

he settled onto the bench across from the older man, folding one leg over the other and accepting the cup of tea a silent servant placed beside him, untouched. his eyes drifted toward the gardens, toward the courtiers laughing beneath the vines, then back to baashir—who had always seen more than he said.

as baashir spoke, ravi didn’t interrupt. he rarely did with the man. he listened, thumb brushing the rim of his cup, head tilted slightly as though trying to memorize each word. when the silence came, heavy with meaning, ravi finally exhaled, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

ravi’s brow lifted faintly, and a soft huff of breath passed for laughter. he shifted in his seat, one hand resting against the curve of his jaw as he glanced sidelong toward the courtyard. “she’s always been sharp,” he said, not without admiration. “but that’s not a flaw, it’s how she survives.” his voice carried a kind of quiet fondness, even reverence, the sort reserved for someone long understood and never forgotten.

he looked back at baashir then, more certain now. “i know how to speak to her. she was never a stranger to me.” a pause, then something almost like a smile. “i don’t need her to be soft. i only need her to be herself.”

the prince leaned back slightly, his gaze steady but warm. "you haven’t made it difficult," he said with an easy smile. "quite the opposite, actually. i understand why you worry about her, about her place in all this." his voice softened with genuine reassurance. "but i’ll make sure she feels welcome, is welcomed, because she will be. I know her well enough to know she’ll find her footing, and i’ll be there with her every step of the way."

it was not often that she spared much of a thought for her martell cousins. the sunlit corridors of sunspear, to her, was not the home of family, but a place of state. it was the same feeling she had when she looked at ravi now - not blood, not in the way armaan and ishaan and kabir were, but a prince she happened to be related to.

but something tugged at the recesses of her memory, the darkened crevices that she barely touched. i was a place that felt like it wasn't hers to claim, as though it belonged to another. she shared a name and a face with that girl, but very little else, and that was enough for halima to block her out entirely, but it stirred now - whoever the halima of before had been, they had enjoyed spending time with ravi martell.

it was not enough to rid her gaze of the measured detachement when she looked at him, nor the feeling of suspicion that curled in her stomach at the warmth in his greeting, like a beetle scuttling away from the sun when the rock it lived under was lifted, but it was enough to take the bite from her voice when she spoke. "you ought to be careful," she said, and despite the fact she was trying to offer the words as a warning, they still sounded like a threat in her voice. she cleared her throat. "but... it's just me."

as though she was harmless, as though she were not the blade in the darkness when she needed to be. but ravi did not know that about her - and so, for the moment, she would be just halima.

"it has indeed been some time, my prince." her words were clipped with formality, and it hit halima then that she could not remember the last time she saw ravi martell. she could scarcely recall his face, as though he had always looked as he did now, and simply sprung into being like this. her hands clasped behind her back, the steel in her posture unyielding. "i trust your return to dorne has been met with the welcome you expected?"

her tone might have brushed like steel, but the words themselves lingered longer than they should have, softer at the edges than it seemed she had truly intended. ravi caught it. he always had a way of hearing what wasn’t said.

“just you,” he echoed, a hint of a smile catching at the edge of his mouth. “somehow, i doubt you’ve ever been just anything.” there was no challenge in it, only warmth, and a quiet acknowledgment of the weight her presence carried. he understood what she meant. and what she didn’t say.

the corridor around them hummed with quiet. no servants, no courtiers, just the heat trapped in stone and the old sunlight slanting through the narrow windows. a memory bloomed, unbidden, of them as children running through these very halls, voices echoing like birds through the sandstone arches. but memory was a slippery thing. he didn't always trust his own these days. perhaps it had never happened like that. perhaps it had.

his gaze flicked over her, noting the belt she touched, the formality she wore like armor. not unfamiliar. not unwelcome, either. “my return has been...interesting to say the least.” he said, feeling the weight of all that befell him in one breath before shrugging it off. “but no one tried to poison me at the gates, so i’m counting that as a success.”

a beat. then, more gently, “though i admit, i wasn’t sure who i’d see here. and what kind of welcome i'd stumble upon.” a breathy chuckle escaped him.

ruqaiyah did not reply at once, though her silence was anything but demure. instead, she blinked—once, slowly—and tilted her head the way one might when presented with a painting one could not yet decide was genius or simply grotesque. he stood there, now in gold, his silhouette haloed in the buttery candlelight, and for the first time this evening, she allowed herself to consider him properly. not just ravi, the boy who once stained her favourite sandals by kicking mud into the lilies, but prince ravi—taller than memory, and with that particular manner of standing that suggested he knew exactly how to command a room. even barefoot. even smug.

"lady ru is never early. everyone else is merely late."

she nodded, eventually, just once, a gesture so small it could have been missed were one not watching her the way he was. that flicker in his eye—was it amusement? something fonder? ruqaiyah wasn’t sure. she didn’t like being unsure. she preferred certainty. absolutes. like the perfect shade of pink for her lips, or the fact that no man who arrived without fanfare could be considered properly on time. “that sundial is skewed,” she said mildly, stepping through the doorway as he held it open, her lehenga whispering across the polished stone floor. “besides, a man should prepare for the unexpected. if you are ready only at the appointed hour, then you are already late.”

she glanced back over her shoulder as she passed him, pausing just by the chair. she didn’t sit. not yet. she waited, lips curled ever so slightly as she looked at him from beneath thick lashes. would he remember his manners? would he understand that power, real power, often lay in the smallest of courtesies? he did. when he pulled the chair open, she gave a satisfied hum and lowered herself onto it with grace that could curdle queens. she propped her chin on her hand and looked up at him. “you should always wear gold,” she said with mild approval, letting her eyes linger a little longer than necessary. “it reminds people you’re important. even if you forget it yourself.”

then, as if moved by nothing more than a passing breeze, she added, “by the way… someone said something rather strange about you the other day.” her tone remained light, idle even, but her eyes sharpened, subtly, like a blade hidden in satin. she let the sentence hang between them for a moment, watching him through lowered lashes. “quite strange, really. almost… intriguing.” she patted the table, a smile crossing over her glowy features, a hint of shimmer reflecting upon as the sun rays hit her face. she found it important, to ensure not only her outfit, but her face shimmered too.

“then i’m glad i was late, this time,” he said easily, a flicker of a grin tugging at one side of his mouth. “would’ve been a shame to miss your entrance. though it certainly won't happen again, i'd hate for our dinners to cease."

she stepped past him then, her lehenga whispering against the cool stone, and he caught the mild jab about the sundial with a quiet laugh. not loud, low, warm, like a shared joke between friends in on something no one else could quite grasp. “i’ll have it turned,” he said, half-serious. “the sundial, the hourglass, the stars if you like. better to be out of step with time than out of step with you.”

he followed her in, catching the faint scent of rose and saffron trailing behind her. when she paused at the chair, not sitting, just waiting, he understood. not a test, exactly, but something close. he didn’t hesitate. he stepped forward and pulled the chair out with a grace that didn’t draw attention to itself.

her hum, satisfied, unmistakable, made something flicker behind his eyes again. amusement, maybe. or just the quiet thrill of playing a familiar game after too long apart. he took his seat only after she had, and before he could even reach for the wine, a servant stepped forward and poured it without a word. ravi offered a small nod of thanks, but his attention never quite left ruqaiyah.

when she told him he should always wear gold, he let the moment breathe before answering. her eyes lingered, and he let them. didn’t flinch. didn’t preen. “i wear it when i know who’ll be watching,” he said, finally lifting his goblet. “i think, gold only matters if someone remembers it.”

he leaned back slightly, one elbow resting on the arm of his chair, the other hand draped over the stem of the glass. relaxed, but attentive. the look he gave her was amused, yes, but also curious. open in a way he did not often allow himself to be.

“is that so?” he said, as if she’d mentioned the weather. no stiffness, no surprise. just a calm tide lapping at her bait. “strange and intriguing, dangerous combination. i suppose it's far better than being called dull. unless they say that about me, too?” his gaze flicked down briefly to where her finger traced the rim of the goblet, then back up. not lingering. just enough to let her know he noticed everything. especially when she meant for him to.

“you can’t just dangle a mystery like that and expect me to be gracious about it,” he said, voice low and amused. “you brought it up. which means part of you wants me to know. and i’m curious by nature, ask anyone.” a pause. “well. don’t ask everyone.”

"suppose if you wanted to ease some of the burden, you don't have to be a stranger." she didn't look at him when she said it, as though doing so would be too much of a revelation.

she listened as he spoke of the steadiness of the sea, and there was almost poetry in his words. a part of elia envied that. it was an ugly trait of hers, something that drove her to throw a challenge his way. "i've never thought of the sea as steady," she said. "i mean, even the tide never stays in the same place, does it? and i've heard that when it feels like it, it can drag a ship under quick as blinking and drown everyone on board." she sounded almost amused, even as she was being contrarian.

"is that how you see me?" her head tilted, a frown appearing on her face. "a sharp-toothed beast in cage?" appearances mattered to elia, the carefully curated performance of her public persona all meant to ensure she was thought of in a certain way. ravi didn't seem to be cruel, but something in her recoiled all the same. she let out a quiet breath, as though she was trying to laugh but couldn't quite get it to sit right. "the thing about cages is nobody suits them. not really."

"maybe it is too much for one man," he said, his tone low but not defensive. “but i’ve carried heavier burdens.” his gaze drifted, not in avoidance, but reflection. “i don’t need to be all of them at once. just one, maybe. the right one, at the right time.”

he almost laughed at her contradiction of his view of the sea, not because it was wrong, but because it was so clearly hers. it was a part of elia he did not really know, not yet. “i didn’t say the sea was safe,” he replied, meeting her amusement with a quiet glint of his own. “just steady. it does what it’s meant to do. even when it destroys you.”

he didn't rush to deny her question of how he saw her, instead, he considered her fully, a flicker of thought crossing his expression like a shadow passing over still water. “no, you are no beast,” he said at last, his voice even but edged with something honest. “but i hope your teeth are sharp.” a beat. “we don’t live in a world that rewards softness.” there was certainly time and place for such a thing, amongst the right people.

"and the cage isn’t for just you," he said. "it’s the whole court. all the performances, the quiet wars behind silk smiles. the pretending. it polishes the bars so well we forget they’re there." he looked back to her, something gentler in his expression now. “i’m glad you’ve found something outside of it.”

he meant the stables, of course, but more than that, the choice itself. the space she had carved that didn’t belong to politics or pretense. in truth, he envied it. he'd only just returned and already felt the noose of expectation tightening around his neck, like the ghosts of essos hadn’t quite let go.

The Lord of Godsgrace found himself at ease in the presence of Ravi. The two men had been teens and grown into adulthood together. Dastan's loyalty to House Martell began as duty, but it had also grown into something rooted in kinship, in deep friendship. The Prince had never treated Dastan as merely a vassal, nor tried to shatter the silences Dastan often kept. Especially as the lord had slowly been crawling out of the destructive spiral of grief he'd sunk into since the North, Ravi had been there —not to fix things, not to chastise him, merely to remind him he wasn't alone.

“well, i’m glad to hear you’ve avoided the paperwork for now,” ravi said, his voice light but edged with an undercurrent of weariness. he glanced over at the crowd, a swirl of nobles and courtiers. “but knowing you, it’s only a matter of time before you’re trapped in the office with a pile of parchments taller than any of us.”

he shook his head, taking a small step back from the bustle of the hall, his eyes scanning the room as he tried to relax. despite his outward demeanor, the gathering of kingdoms felt like an anchor around his neck tonight, like he was juggling too many pieces and waiting for them all to fall at once. “pride, sure," he mused, though there was no arrogance in his tone. "but mostly... responsibility."

ravi's gaze flicked to a veiled-off room just beyond a row of tall columns, where wisps of smoke curled from the doorway, disappearing into the cool evening air. it was a familiar scent, the sharp, sweet perfume of hookah smoke, and for a moment, he allowed himself a small, relieved breath.

ruqaiyah raised a single brow at the audacity of it—calling out to her from the other room like she were some girl summoned from the kitchens, like her heels hadn’t just sung her arrival down the corridor with the clarity of temple bells. she stood perfectly still for a moment longer, letting silence stretch in reply to his voice, her lip twitching with disbelief. you’re early, he’d said. which means i’m technically on time. technically, he was technically a nuisance. he had not come to greet her. not risen, not bowed, not offered even the pretence of preparation. and worse—he dared to mimic her.

and there he was: barefoot, lounging, still in loose garments like he had just woken from a nap rather than risen to receive her. "excuse me, put some shoes on. i hate feet."

if he had been anyone else—anyone less—she would have turned on her heel without so much as a word and left nothing but the memory of her scent clinging to the doorframe. but no. he was ravi. prince ravi. and unfortunately for him, that just saved him. when he called it war paint, ruqaiyah blinked. slowly. deliberately. her head tilted ever so slightly, lips pursed in disbelief as though she hadn’t just spent two hours ensuring every element of her appearance looked effortless. war paint?

“war paint,” she repeated, tone dry as sunstone. “it’s called gloss, actually,” she corrected, setting her small jewelled clutch down with a loud thunk on the nearest marble surface. the sound echoed, sharp and petulant. “hydration, you may have heard of it if you were not here smoking all day.”

she didn’t take his offered hand. not yet. let him stand there a moment longer, reaching—just to remember she was not his to summon like some courtier in need of favour. instead, she let her gaze travel the room as though assessing its worthiness. she was bored, she decided. utterly unimpressed. and she would act as such, even if the flutter in her chest betrayed something more viciously alive.

“i see,” he said softly, as though she hadn’t just dressed him down in a tone that could curdle milk. “then it’s a good thing you came early. gives me time to make a proper greeting.”

he let his hand fall without frustration, merely folding it behind his back with the other, as if to say: very well, try again later. his smile, however, remained—slanted, thoughtful, a touch brighter than it had been moments ago. the flutter of her lehenga had caught the sun through the archway and thrown a kaleidoscope across the tiles. and here she was, unimpressed and luminous. of course she hadn’t taken his hand.

his gaze flicked toward the archway again. “bring the gold kurta,” he called, voice smoother now, low and even. “and sandals. not the ones with the jade buckles, plain leather.”

in mere moments, the servants appeared. one draped the fine gold kurta over his shoulders, a rich silk that caught the candlelight with a quiet shimmer, while the other knelt to slide soft leather sandals onto his feet. their movements were practiced, reverent. ravi stood still for it all, gaze still on her, unbothered by the ritual, as if it were no more personal than donning armor before a battle he didn’t intend to lose.

when they finished, he gave a single nod. they bowed low, and without a word more, slipped from the room, the sound of their departure hushed like a turning page.

he rolled one shoulder, adjusting the fall of the fabric. “acceptable?” he asked, not without a flicker of mischief. the gold brought warmth to his skin, the embroidery subtle but deliberate, fit for a prince, yes, but also for her.

“now, i’m ready,” he said with a soft chuckle, his tone a touch lighter. ravi stood still, watching ruqaiyah as she considered him, her posture still as a marble statue. the silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of her coolness, and ravi’s expression softened into something quieter, more genuine.

dark gaze drifted over to the small sundial perched in the corner of the room. the shadow had shifted just enough to catch his attention, and for the briefest moment, he studied it, the subtle arc of time catching his eye. his expression shifted into a quiet amusement as he realized the truth.

"well, it seems i was on time after all," he said, glancing back at her with a playful glint in his eyes. "it’s exactly the time we agreed to meet, you know." he gestured to the sundial with a soft chuckle. “i suppose i’m not as tardy and unprepared as i made myself out to be.”

he cleared his throat, his smile warm, a little teasing. “i didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, his voice low but light. “i suppose i’ve gotten a little used to this,” he gestured to the room around them, and the pipe still resting on a nearby table, “.would you prefer i not smoke at all tonight? i never imagined it would bother you.”

she arrived precisely ten minutes early - expecting everything to be set up and perfect, as no man in his right mind would leave anything of this nature so last minute. she did not knock. ruqaiyah had never once announced herself like a servant waiting to be received, and she would not start now, least of all at the threshold of the private martell apartments, where history had already decided she was to one day belong. and she very much agreed with that rhetoric.

and so, the guards glanced at her, but none dared question her entrance; what could they say, with the sun itself stitched into her lehenga and a gaze that did not ask for permission?

the corridors glowed amber beneath the sconces, but they paled against the pink heat of her attire, the silk whispering against her skin with every step, embroidered thread catching the candlelight in glimmers of gold. each anklet, each bracelet, each chain at her waist and glittering around her neck added to the crescendo of her presence—she moved, and the world jingled in acknowledgment. her heels clacked unapologetically, arrogant and sharp, the kind of sound meant to precede news.

ruqaiyah could see herself walking these halls everyday. telling the governess to tell the children to be quiet. making the servants display her outfits lined up.

she had worn pink—not rose, not blush, not any dusty rose, but pink—hot and commanding, like the inside of a pomegranate freshly torn. it clung to her waist, her sleeves sheer and beaded, the skirts full enough to swallow entire population of smallfolk girls whole. her lips were glassy, unapologetically reflective, and her long hair—every strand straightened to a blade—cascaded down her back like a curtain of ink.

she stood now in the outer solar, though no servants were in sight. fine. let him find her here, composed, statuesque. she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve and let her gaze drift to the arches and pillars carved with sandstone vines. the martell taste for excess was more subdued than dornish fire might suggest—peach marble and muted earth tones. it made her seem even louder by comparison, a gem mistakenly placed in a bowl of stonefruit. "so this is it," she murmured aloud to herself, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of a table carved with sun motifs. "the belly of the beast."

she had imagined it before, of course. had imagined countless evenings where he would finally remember the promises laid out for them before they could even speak in full sentences. imagined him, not as he was—cool and absent and impossible—but as he might become, if only he would stop stalling. "tell the prince i am here." she did even bother to introduce herself - in what world would she need to? the most beautiful in dorne, on the continent; the sister of the sword of the morning, and the oldest lady of house dayne.

the soft chime of jewelry, the crisp tap of her heels, the imperial hush that followed her into a room. ruqaiyah. he didn't look up from the open book in his lap, not yet. there was a certain joy in letting her simmer, the kind only an eldest daughter of house dayne could manifest with a lift of her brow and the faintest curl of her lip. she expected the world to keep time with her, and so, he made it a point now and then to remind her that he was not the world, he was the sun, too, and suns did not rise early for anyone.

he shifted in his seat, lounging not in the dining room, where a table had, admittedly, only just begun to be set, but in the adjoining room, low on cushions, barefoot, still in a half-loose tunic the color of smoked amber. incense curled lazily toward the ceiling, and a small tray of pomegranate seeds and sugared dates sat beside him, untouched. the air smelled of sandalwood, citrus peel, and something sharper: expectation.

"you’re early," he called out, his voice warm, bemused, and deliberately languid. "which means i’m technically on time."

he rose slowly, with the kind of unhurried grace only a man absolutely certain of himself could wield. he did not come into view immediately, just allowed his voice to roll through the solar like the wind curling through desert canyons.

"tell the prince i am here," he mimicked softly to himself with a grin, crossing into the room at last. and then, louder: "consider him told."

ravi’s gaze swept over her, thoughtful, appreciative, just a little amused, like he was deciphering the difference between invitation and challenge. she was a vision in pink, yes, but also a storm wrapped in silk and fire, and gods, hadn’t he always known she’d arrive like this? not just beautiful, but inevitable.

“you wore war paint for dinner,” he said, mouth tilting into a lazy smile. “should i be flattered… or concerned?”

his bare feet padded over the cool tiles, and he stopped just short of her, not too close, but close enough for her perfume to make him want to forget every plan he'd half-laid for the evening.

then, with the offhanded authority of a prince too used to being obeyed, he glanced toward the archway where two servants lingered at a distance, still, watching. “leave us,” he said quietly.

a bow, a shuffle of sandals on stone, and they were alone.