i've got a thousand-one stories

can i tell you something just between you and me? when i hear your voice i know i’m finally free ( dimitri + esteri ) ! ( @tangodancerwrites· )

“Jebanyja prydurki - jany ničoha nie mohuć trymać u sabie,” a ferocity unlike anything Dimitri usually allowed himself to feel seemed to infect his voice– a rumbling fury that threatened to overwhelm him until he tossed the newspaper onto the drawing room table and ran his fingers through his hair in a harsh, rough motion that did very little to calm him. His heart gave a hard lurch in his chest– the irregularity that followed forcing him to take a deep breath as he pressed his fingers to a spot above his heart– feeling the staccato, not-quite-right beating of the muscle beneath his skin with a mounting anxiety that he tried to soothe with his eyes clenched shut and his jaw tight to the point of grinding his teeth into dust. He was vaguely conscious of the sound of footsteps entering the room– far more conscious of the way the anxiety gave way to mounting embarrassment at being caught so openly weak in any capacity. 

A cold ripple of terror flickered down his spine like lightning as his heartbeat quickened in his chest and Dimitri very nearly opened his mouth to apologize for the state he was in until he took a deep, slow breath and all of the tension seemed to drain out of him at once– until he felt nearly boneless at the scent of Este’s perfume, so familiar to him now he quietly counted it as one of his favorite scents in the world– second only to what he could remember of his mother’s perfume or the smell of bread baking in his grandmother’s kitchen so very long ago. 

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the change in light after having them clenched shut for any length of time and the sight of the Finnish princess was enough to make him smile when he felt very much like he wanted to do anything else in the world than express happiness for anything after the article he’d read. 

“How is it you always manage to find me when I’m not quite feeling like myself?” Dimitri asked by way of greeting, his voice the slightest bit rough from the effort of not outright losing his mind in a particularly public environment. The smile he offered Este was weak– a wan, diseased little thing in comparison to the bright, effervescent grins he usually greeted her with. He reached for the tea he had on the table in front of him before he patted the empty space on the couch he’d taken a spot on with an inquisitive expression on his face he hoped conveyed that he’d like Este to join him, if even for a moment. “I think it’s gone a bit cold now but would you… like to have some tea with me? I could… well, a distraction feels too small a word for what seeing you offers me but I could do with thinking about something other than…” Dimitri trailed off, gesturing to the newspaper article detailing his fight with another lord prior to his leaving for Thailand in the most unkind terms he’d ever seen. A grunt of frustration followed the gesture and he shook his head to clear it, “I’d really just like to chat about anything else if you have time to spare for me, malieńkaja kamieta.”

--

There wasn’t much that truly shocked Helsingin kirkas rubiini, Esteri Koivisto, anymore. Despite her youthful demeanor, the weight of thirty-two years and her homeland, her people, had exposed her to more than she liked to realize. When one was preparing to rule a country in the shadow of a devastating World War, rebel insurgences, and the like... Life had little it could shock you with. And it had tried. From public scandals to personal ones, bad friends and the whatnot, life’s twists and turns did little to thrill the Crown anymore. She would not bat an eye, her smile would not falter, and she would simply move on with her day. But as she stood in the doorway of a certain Belarussian Duke, she was reminded of a rule of life she’d long forgotten--it was in your best interest to not tempt the fates or think you’re above them.

And she’d not heard her sweet Dima talk like that before, not once. 

Unable to untangle the rapid-fire thoughts shooting off in her own mind, the rabbit-like way her own heart began to race as she kept her gaze on the person before her, a perch in the Gulf. Helpless. Confusion, first, and this deep pang of shock that rippled through the waves of her heart to hear someone she adored so dearly filled with such venom. Quickly, that was replaced by tangible fear as their eyes shut, and her feet raced into the room before she could stop herself. The sound of her own heels echoed in the room, only stopping as he observed her, relaxing only slightly as she took him in.

“--Kultaseni.”

It had been far too long since Este had gone to church, properly sat in the pews, but her tone was unmistakable to her own ears--the word was a prayer of sorts. A prayer that they relax before her, that they warm even slightly. She only wished her tone could offer any sort of comfort, and not for the first time, she wished she’d held her mother’s gentle alto tone, low and reassuring. Instead, even with years of practice, her shrill soprano, excited and vibrant, did little in situations such as this. She held too much... muchness within her being, within the weapon of her voice. Perhaps that was why she, fluid as the waters she was raised beside, moved closer to him, easily sliding atop the table to sit before him. Hand reached for his, stealing it in her grasp, as she watched a ghost of a smile she loved dearly cross his features.

Her eyes turned downward, unable to take in the sight, when she saw the offending paper. A recognizable one. “Ah. That.” It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard about the fight before she’d landed in Thailand. She kept close tabs on her loved ones, both in major press and in the tabloids, eager for some scrap of news on how they were doing. Dimitri was no exception. If anything, she’d used the papers to judge just when she needed to demand time off to see him, to hold his hand and envelop him in the warmth of her adoration and her tight clutch. A soft sigh left her lips, and she moved her free hand to his cheek, leaning over. 

“Nevermind that, kultainen sydän.” Her hand remained, hoping if anything to keep his gaze upon her instead of the paper beside her. Whatever warmth his smile currently lacked, she was sure her’s held, shining back at his as she tried to push the unpleasantness from her mind. A gentle pat on his cheek, and her hand slid down, resting on his shoulder. “I’m sure cold tea will help. Besides, could be a stroke of genius on your part, considering the weather.” She’d not been responding well to the sudden change, thankful for plenty of work to keep her inside and sufficiently cooled. 

@tangodancerxindie· | Ollie & Char

Though typically, he’d be enjoying the party, tonight Olivier was a bit on edge. Char’s confession that they’d snuck off without him had made him more vigilant than he’d been since he started this job years ago. And while he hadn’t been glued to Charlize’s side all night, he had kept a watchful eye on the princess. It would be all too easy for him to lose them in the crowd: staff, villagers, and royals alike all in costume, most of them blind drunk, it was a logistical nightmare for a guard. But he had his eyes on Char, in a costume that was very on-brand for them, keeping his distance but reluctant to let them out of his sight.

And maybe he was worrying too much- Charlize could handle themself, he knew that, but the idea of anything happening to them was nauseatingly unsettling. He’d only turned around for a second, to grab a drink- his first and only of the night- and when he’d turned back, he’d lost track of Charlize. 

His heart was in his throat as he scanned the crowd, and when he finally found them again, he made his way over, carefully weaving through the crowd. “Hey,” he said, keeping his tone light as he reached out to put a hand on the princess’s shoulder to get their attention. “Enjoying the party?” 

--

Charlize hadn’t been expecting much out of the party that evening, but there was one thing of note--Olivier had been fucking weird. He was normally a good enough guard, sure, but this evening, he’d been close enough that they had to wonder when he’d end up with little fake blood stains on his outfit. The pair hadn’t quite discussed Char’s sneaking away since they’d admitted it to him, and while they’d tried to remain good and very well behaved, for their friend’s sake, it had been... hard. They’d already snuck off once more to go to Alice’s room and smoke, and the small crush they had on her was becoming more and more pressing by the day. Compounded with whatever was happening with Bert... That was definitely something they were sure they were ready to share, confused enough about this burgeoning and suddenly undeniable attraction to their betrothed. 

It wasn’t like this spark happened to them often, but twice? It seemed like something that would be harder to ignore. And Ollie... knew more than their sisters, sure, but they weren’t sure they were ready to open up about it yet.

A drink in already, and they wandered over with him to let him grab a drink of his own, allowing his clingy behavior without much fuss. It wasn’t like they didn’t spend every fucking day together... They shook their head. Turning away, their eyes caught sight of something, and they took a few steps towards it, attention fully drawn. Bert and Alice... kissing. They blinked once, twice, not having the decency to turn away from the sight as their gaze lingered on the pair. They looked good together. That was the first thought, free of any sort of malice. They knew they likely should have felt the sting of jealousy, but all that came was this... intense fascination, watching as the pair pulled from each other. Heat rose from the furnace on their face, reddening their cheeks, and they felt more than thankful for the fake blood to blame. Warmth pooled in their gut, their heart beginning to pick up its steady pace. 

A hand on their shoulder pulled them from their thoughts, their sheer excitement sitting with the image, and they let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah, I am.” They turned their attention to the man beside them, before gently chuckling. “--You’ve got some blood on your collar, mon ami,” they teased.

@tangodancerxindie· -Nina x Valya, after halloween

There was a warning to anyone that pissed off Nina Popova-don’t. Nina was like a ticking time bomb when she became angry, and right now her anger is directed at Kostya after learning about what happened to him last night. She wanted to find him and curse him out after what he did, but after no sign of him, she wanted violence. But before she pressed the violence button, she went in search of her cousins, and was glad to at least remembered which door she was in. As she started to knock, quite irritatingly, she made an irritated sound-something she’d been doing since she found out. “Valya!” she called, snatching her shoes off her feet. “Open up before I knock the door down!” Well not actually knock the door down, but…she was close to doing it. 

--

Valya, after leaving for a smoke earlier that morning, had been hoping for a quieter afternoon--the sting of betrayal still lingered, sharp and unnerving. But with the sound of a familiar voice outside of her door, it didn’t seem like the quiet would come. Nina was someone she had never questioned loving her--passionate and bold, true-to-herself Nina was true family. As she heard the screaming outside of her door, she slid from her bed, slowly making her way to it. So strange that she, at only twenty five years old, felt unable to exude the same energy and sheer willpower that her cousin was. Careful feet padded to the door, opening it up and leaning against the doorway. “--You heard.” It wasn’t so much a question as a revelation. There wasn’t much other excuse for this sort of action. 

Last night had been grief, shock, anger. A deep set rage that had no other way to let itself out.

Konstantin had always been selfish; she had no qualms about that. She may be one of the youngest of her family, but she didn’t fancy herself a fool. He was someone who cared more about his losses than the losses of those he claimed to love. He was so lost in his own desires that he often didn’t see what was right before him. Unreasonable, even at the best of times, with his own incompetency hanging over his head like a noose. Still, beyond his faults, Kostya had been her brother. He was supposed to be her family. He was still supposed to care about those beyond him, even if it was less than himself. He, who’d she’d gone to for help so often in the past... And he hadn’t even thought to leave his own family a letter.

Shock, when she’d heard he had gone, tasted like the sharp tang of blood in her mouth from biting her tongue, swallowing back a reaction while her heart raced in her chest. Later in the evening, her grief had tasted like the stinging burn of vodka, her own family’s, in her mouth. Like the salt of the tears she’d not been able to hold back. Only for a moment, though... Her anger had looked like red ink, marking up her latest story, furied pen rewriting a scene with the monster of her story. She still felt sick, as she remember her own father’s biting tone from the page she’d written. She’d needed to be scolded for trusting the intentions of a traitor. Perhaps she’d forgotten how little family truly needed to care, at the end of the day.

The morning’s glow wasn’t pink like the last time. Fitting, since that morning felt like some childish daydream. She stood from her little desk, holed away in a corner of her room, and properly stretched for the first time since she’d sat down the night before. Eight long hours, and the relief she got did little to soothe her in the slightest. She rolled her neck, eyes shutting as a sigh left her. Her hands were aching, curling and uncurling at her sides in search of some relief. As her eyes opened, accepting stiffness and discomfort as the new normal for her day, she gazed out of the window. A hazy morning, foggy, with threatening dark clouds on the horizon... Fitting, truly.

Pausing for a moment, she turned on her heel, moving to grab a pack of cigarettes from underneath one of her pillows. Guilt pooled at the pit of her stomach--she’d told her siblings she was cutting herself off, truly, this time. And she’d meant it at the time. The pack was meant to remain buried under that pillow, perhaps to be thrown out by a maid who got too carried away with her room. But it hadn’t been, and now she couldn’t stop her hands from clutching the half-gone pack, lighter found easily in her side drawer. One thing after another, and she was grabbing shoes, heading out of the door, walking, walking faster, eager... Pushing open the doors leading outside. She hardly made it much farther than that.

Stinking of last night’s vodka and sweat, she lit the cigarette, leaning back against the wall, the morning air hitting her. The scent of tobacco, at least, was stronger. The sound of the doors opening after her startled her, and as she glanced over at the intruding person, she lifted the hand with the cigarette in a tired greeting. “--It’s early to be out,” she mentioned, voice gravely as she finally brought the cigarette to her lips.

Zeke was taking a break from all the coke and liquor just to have a smoke break. The man was going to end up with cancer, various ones at this point, but he really didn’t care, and so he lit up. He was not normally one to be into his siblings business. They did whatever they wanted, he did what he wanted, and they clashed often only to walk away more annoyed than before. Regardless, he never really gave much commentary to their choices, unless it was something he could torture them over mercilessly, as a brother would. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t love both of his idiot siblings. So when he saw his sister’s ex, it was too easy of a target not to latch onto. “On the hunt for some other fool to fall for your bullshit?” he asked, directed clearly at Candy before he blew smoke out from his cigarette puff. @tangodancerxindie·

--

The hot, thick Thai air greeted Candy as she walked outside, a familiar friend at this point. While she was used to jetting about different parts of the world, the stark difference between her two homes in Belgium and Thailand never failed to bring her some comfort, once she got used to one or the other. And her time on the island simply reminded her why she loved being in Thailand so much. The endlessly warm weather, the beautiful scenery... The gardens were perhaps her favorite part of the castle, and she fully planned on heading there when a voice made her pause, hair standing on the back of her neck. Ekezial... Sara’s brother had never made her feel comfortable, and despite the several times Sara had broken up with her, Zeke found a way to blame her for it. “Zeke, can we not do this?” she asked, a slight tremble to her voice. “I just want to go to the gardens.”

Besides, the mushroom look she’d gathered together seemed to be cheering people up more than that ever could. Bright mushroom cap hat in bright red and cream, a little cutesy makeup, the red blouse with a big cream bow she’d pulled from her wardrobe. She even had little mushroom earrings that matched the Mary Jane heels she’d painted with milky mushroom dots. All together, it’d made some people smile, if the little candy treat she brought hadn’t. That felt good enough.

She moved to grab her little cream cardigan, prepared to sneak a quick peek at the costumes at the party, when a familiar face wandered into the infirmary. Bright smile perked up on her face, a much more comfortable expression than she wore around any of the other royals. “You’re supposed to be enjoying the party, Mik,” she admonished, but the smile was still on her lips. “But it’s always nice to have you around. I’d have grabbed more candy had I known.”

She felt that calm now, head resting against Henryk’s thigh, gazing up as he worked on yet another little masterpiece--they were all masterpieces, in her eyes. What she had done to deserve the care, the absolute devotion he’d shown her within the last day, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was her tired, addled mind, but she didn’t question it too much. Didn’t feel the need to. She was breathing easier against him, the ease of having one of the dearest, kindest, warmest people she had ever known so near to her filling her to the brim with affection. The same warmth Henryk seemed to give off, like some blessed sun in her bleary little nightlife. 

Her finger gently traced a pattern on the side of his calf, nuzzling slightly against him as she repositioned herself slightly. He’d been rambling about the techniques he was using, and as she gazed up at him, she noted the way his focus was drawn to the piece before him, nose scrunched slightly in the way it always tended to. In her own mind, she was a painter, too. Could paint his expression from memory alone, if she closed her eyes, though his eyes--she doubted he could find the proper color for his eyes at any point. They weren’t the exact blue of the ocean, more similar to the blue of some serene lake in the middle of a dense forest. Some calm little sanctuary she could hide in forever. Hard to pick the proper color for that, though she hardly needed to, because all she had to do was open her eyes and there it was. Stunning.

The thought occurred to her, and not for the first time, that last night may have been the most distraught and miserable he’d ever seen her. The messiest and most drunk she’d been around him. And yet, here he was, of his own volition, and purely to keep her company. She hummed softly against his thigh, the memory of some old lullaby her mother used to sing coming to her easily. That, along with the sound of Henryk’s explanations as they came, were the only sounds in the room. It was a quiet symphony, but she knew all of the parts, and the warmth in her tone reminded her so much of home that, for a moment, she almost was.

Perhaps, though, this was home, too.

The song came to its natural end, and a soft hum followed as she gazed up at the absolute heart of Poland, soft grin gracing her features. “Talk me through the idea once more,” she pleaded, mostly an excuse to hear him babble some more. “You know me--rocks for brains, sometimes.”

He was running a tad late and Dae could only curse under his breath as he made his way through the maze they called a palace. Perhaps he should have sought this room out ahead of time to prevent this from happening but he hadn’t thought that far ahead, his nerves for properly meeting someone he was sure he’d already made a bad impression on keeping his thoughts occupied. It wasn’t even the late arrival that made him believe he’d already messed this up. No, it was his behavior at the ball when he’d run into her after speaking with Alaya.

He hadn’t meant to be cold towards Sanem, or rigid the way he seemed to have been, but seeing his ex before running into his future bride had been poor timing and it had resulted in an awkward meeting. Now here he was running late and the Prince was sure she was starting to think he would be one of those jerks who wouldn’t put in any effort towards their union.

He didn’t want to give that impression at all.

As soon as he had walked into the room he’d realized he’d startled her, Dae stopping in his tracks when he saw the tail end of her almost jumping out of her skin. The man hadn’t realized he’d walked through so…chaotically. “I apologize if I startled you.  I realized I was running late and tried to pick up my pace. I guess I did too well in that endeavor.” It was his weak attempt at a joke as he returned Sanem’s small smile, the Jamaican making his way over and taking his seat across from the woman. 

After Sanem had expressed the cultural aspect of Turkish coffee Dae had tried to do a little research on it all but had come up a little short. Admittedly, he wasn’t too great at that aspect of the job but he did know a few things. Which was why his small smile turned up more, the prince amused as he waited to see if she would add salt to his coffee instead of sugar. “How have you been?”

--

It shouldn’t have been the world’s biggest surprise to Sanem, by this point, that first, second, third impressions never quite went as planned. They always felt a little rushed, or a little awkward, perhaps even a little cold. She was aware that she could come off that way, sometimes, with how proper she could be--cold. The misinterpretations that happened early on never stopped unnerving her. Perhaps it was her incessant need to know absolutely everything she could about political allies, rivals... mere people on the street. It helped her navigate conversations, when she could figure out what they wanted.

It would be helpful, more so, if she could piece together Damerae quickly.

Despite his entrance, the energy he brought to the room was as warm and joyous as the summer day they were having. Though she hadn’t had a chance to truly admire it the other night at the ball, his voice held a richness to its tone, a fluidity that spoke to comfort. Perhaps confidence. Her cheeks radiated a slight heat, her own embarrassment at her reaction still racing through her mind, though she tried to quell it. “I’m just glad you took the time to make it, Damerae. I know the life of a Crown Royal is rather busy.” She let her smile soften slightly. “Your effort means a lot.”

He took his seat before her, and she began to move through the work of coffee preparation as he relaxed into his spot. “I’ve been well.” More than well, truly, as she remembered the small get together she’d be having with her family later that evening. The quiet morning she’d spent to herself. “It’s been quiet, here, with no event in the making. Gave me time for my studies.” She picked up the cezve and moved to pour his coffee, first, into the small mug, watching carefully as the thicker liquid poured out. She wanted to make sure nothing spilled, no imperfection could be found. “And you? How have you been finding island living?” She pulled back, pouring her own mug with the same precision, and as she went to grab the salt, she paused. 

It was tradition, she knew, and she had always been carefully watched when she was back at home, to make sure she fulfilled it. The story of Osman Fevzi was a romantic one, and it hardly felt fitting for a political arrangement such as these were. Still, she poured it into his, before she pulled back, deciding last minute to pour some into her own as well. Perhaps the solidarity might be a good show. “The next cup might taste better,” she warned, the only indication of what she’d done.

As Anna would have described it days before, she had been very “well behaved” or very “good.” Ignoring the ever-present feeling of abandonment that seemed to be slowly swallowing her whole had been no easy task, and while each distraction was growing a bit tired, she hadn’t broken. Not fully. The occasional spiral with someone she dearly trusted did not a breakdown make. In fact, it was nothing compared to the shit Rowan was used to from her back in Ireland, where she nearly killed herself medicating the pain away. Guilt, deep set guilt that her friend had to see that still plagued her, and she’d come to Thailand determined that they wouldn’t have to, again. That her friends wouldn’t have to know how bad she was hurting. That her family would be mostly in the dark, for all that’s left of them. She was determined to be bright, easy, fun, and hard to leave behind.

And look where it’d gotten her.

The silence in her room had all but driven Anna insane as she stormed back into it, red hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Shaking hands had shut the door behind her, hardly acknowledging the force behind the shove and jumping at the noise left in its wake. Shoulders tensed, hands balling into fists for a brief moment before they began walking towards the window, determined to get a breeze. Get some ambient noise. Get something besides the sound of her own trembling breaths. Rowan had been texted in the hallway, warned to get there to her, and as she waited for her friend, her guard, her dearest confidante... She couldn’t help but feel endlessly alone.

Her hands moved to the windowsill, supporting her as she looked out into the darkness of the island’s night, as if it could offer her some clarity that Lucille hadn’t been able to. They hardly knew anything, but if Aidan was betrothed... He was back. He had to be back. And all of the feelings she’d been bottling inside felt uncontrollable now, insurmountable. The sound of the door opening behind her hardly gave her pause, as the familiar footfall, the sound of panting... Rowan had always been attentive like that. 

“--Aidan’s back. Or he’s not, I don’t fucking know.” It was easier to let it out now than babble, though her watery tone, trembling lip likely gave away how she’d been crying. “Grab a bottle from my cabinet, please, Row.”

After all, there wasn’t anything major going on. Maybe it was just news from home. 

As she came across the door she’d been looking for, she knocked, taking a step back and rocking slightly back and forth, unable to really keep still. “Luce, babes!” she called out through the door. “What food have you gotten me? I’m starved, honestly.”

.

It was so risky.

There were far too many ways this could go wrong. If something went south, it jeopardized their families’ alliance. Sam hadn’t even given it a thought prior until they reached Thailand and she felt something while spending time alone with Valya.

And the more it happened, the more she wanted it to happen. A panic after being told she needed to actually open up about it, Sam had simply decided to talk about her lengthy skincare routine. The more things they did that actually felt like dates, the clearer the reality that they actually were dates. This was dating.

Unlike her relationships with Alice or Poppy where Sam went into them knowing they would likely end without issue, this was different. Valya was Kolya’s sister. Her future (probably) sister-in-law. Things ending poorly would have repercussions over the course of everyone’s lives. Neither were out fully.

Yet the more time went on, the less it all seemed to matter. 

Perhaps for the first time, she could actually let herself step into something. Seeing Valya now, however, made the nerves creep back up ever so slightly. Sam let a small smile creep on her lips and she ducked her head a little. “I hadn’t even bothered to change out of sweats, but it’s nice of you to say,” she replied by way of greeting. 

--

Valya paused in the doorway itself, taking a moment to simply take Samantha in. Cheeks flushed a soft pink, shy smile crossing her lips, those cheekbones that could cut her like butter... All of these had become fixtures in most of Valya’s gentlest daydreams, and to see them in person and know she was the one who put them there was mindboggling. The very sight of it had their heart racing, hairs prickling on their arms, their breathing turning shallow. She was reminded, and not for the first time, how similar romance and horror could be. 

“I mean it.” Surety dripped from her words, but only for a moment. “Not that you don’t look absolutely beautiful every day, but I--” Her hand moved to rub at the back of her neck, flush covering her own cheeks as she swallowed back her own words. This was not the place nor the time for rambling. Whatever eloquence she held in her writing seemed to evade her around Sam, though she could hardly blame herself. Still, she tried to regain that surety, that bravery, and she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her.

There was a quiet that settled over the room, the sound of her own breath, her own racing heart filling her senses. She let out a nervous chuckle, gaze dropping from Sam’s. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I really don’t want to fuck this up.”