Chapter Text
[Raya]
Everywhere she turns yields the gleam of another embroidered silk gown, endless sparkling golden trinkets, and feathers on fur on linen. To her left looms the stretched smile of a waiter offering alcohol in tiny glasses which make it seem like a classy refreshment instead of what gets all of these people through their nights. Behind ornately decorated masks in the forms of peacocks and tigers and butterflies there are the dull, far-away gazes of those with too much time left to live and not nearly enough life to fill it all.
Raya’s feet ache in her pointed shoes. They match her cinched dress, which forms a stiff wreath around her neck before falling to her toes in a flurry of red and gold, criss-crossed with plumed feathers similar to those decorating her own mask. It covers only the top portion of her face and is supposed to resemble some sort of bird, although it looks more like roadkill in her opinion. The look is complete with a pair of dainty earrings and elaborate braids piled upon her head - the styling of which took several years off her life to suffer through.
It’s horrific. She would rather climb every footpath of hell chased by flesh eating caterpillars than continue to be subjected to this prudish, uncomfortable, and overall loathsome environment adorned with even nastier company. Unfortunately for everybody involved, the woman in charge of this party just so happens to be the queen of hell on earth. And unfortunately for Raya, this woman also happens to be her step mother.
On cue, Raya hears her name strung among notes of flute and flippant chatter.
“Raya, dearest.”
A scowl tugs at Raya’s mouth. She swallows it down in time to turn and face her step mother, sporting a sickly sweet smile to mirror the one on the other woman’s thin lips. Despite nearly twelve years of practice, she can barely keep the sneer from her tone.
“Mutya.”
A short curtsy, but Raya’s eyes never lower. Mutya’s head tips slightly, and Raya cherishes the tiny display of irritation. Since her father’s death, the woman has been nothing but a menace to her and all of Heartland society. Without Benja in the way, she’d quickly crowned herself queen and set about altering many of the policies which had been in place for decades. One of the first within her own home had been restricting Raya’s travel to anywhere outside “designated” areas of the city and palace grounds. Of course, that little mandate didn’t do much besides make Raya better at memorizing the guards’ clock schedule, but it was the first straw of many to be broken over their less-than-friendly relationship - if you could even call it that.
Now, Mutya’s hands clasp in front of her, perfect nails falling delicately over each other in front of her small waist.
“Your posture is sloppy, dear.” Then, without skipping a beat: “Please ensure you speak with the Sultan Ramil and his wife - they travelled a long way to make a trade deal and expect a conversation with the daughter of the late king, whom they claim to have known well.” A cruel curl of her lip reveals obvious discontent with Raya being a more highly requested conversation than herself, but her tone of voice never wavers. “I believe I last saw them by the north tapestry.”
Raya opens her mouth to speak, but Mutya is already turning away.
“And do try and look less like an enraged paddy fielder when you stand - it’s quite unpleasant on the eyes.”
Raya stands shock still for a few moments, her blood boiling to steam throughout her whole body. How dare she be spoken to like that - Mutya may be queen, but Raya is still the princess of the Heartland. Usually her attacks are far more subtle, but tonight something must have her pissed beyond measure to pull an exchange like that in public. Raya’s half convinced herself to go storming after her step mother and hand out a hefty piece of her mind, but just before she’s angered herself into a task which would likely get her banned from the dining hall for a month, a flash of white and gold catches the edge of her vision.
That’s odd.
Usually, attendees to this kind of party don colors brighter than the sun. It’s all a pitiable attempt at displaying wealth, really: silk gowns are expensive, but dyed silk is enough to make a grown man cry.
Shoving her anger aside for just a moment to make room for curiosity, Raya turns her head. She’s barely in time to see a sliver of white disappear between swaying bodies. Curiosity shoulders anger aside entirely.
Suddenly, she’s overcome by an intense desire to follow the ghost. Likely it’s just some woman new to the class game, but Raya can’t help but feel intrigued by the prospect of something more. Her feet are in motion before her body registers it, and her anger at Mutya fades to its regular dull throb as she jumps into pursuit. The dress shouldn’t be too hard to spot; it stuck out among the rainbow of garnished color, and Raya’s eyes roam with purpose across the massive, open-walled room. Above, hanging balls glow with light and illuminate the ballroom from the inside out. Massive marble pillars supporting the roof around the perimeter are adorned with gleaming candleholders, though the light they emit is dusty at best and casts long shadows onto the floor.
After a few minutes of speed-walking the direction the woman had gone, Raya begins to feel slightly nervous. Had the woman left? Raya can’t imagine she’s fast enough to get that far in only the few minutes that had passed. Pausing for a moment, Raya spins in a slow circle, searching. Plumage and flying arms cross in and out of her field of vision, creating blockades in her view of the party. She bares her teeth, prepared to drop all nineteen years of her etiquette education and start shoving, until - there. Doused in shadow, leaning against a pillar at the very edge of the commotion: a moth hovering at the edge of night. Raya’s heart jacks up a notch. The woman is staring directly at her, arms crossed over her broad chest, and Raya gets the prominent feeling that either she is not nearly as discreet as she thought or perhaps she is the one being pursued. The thought makes her shiver.
Straightening her shoulders, Raya does not hesitate before striding towards her subject of interest. The woman stands taller as Raya approaches, and the crowds almost seem to part to allow Raya a path forward. She’s clearly an expected guest, and there is now no doubt in Raya’s mind that this woman doesn’t fit the cookie-cutter mold of every other person at this damned party. It’s exciting- if a bit unsettling- but at last Raya comes to a halt a few feet away from her ghost. The white dress is simple: another clear signal into her previous acknowledgement of this woman as somebody interesting. A loop of fabric clings round her neck in a halter before falling to the floor in a simple design that leaves her collarbones and arms exposed. Raya tries hard not to let her vision flash to the woman’s strong shoulders, and it gets a little easier when her opposer steps to the side and her face becomes washed in golden candlelight.
A golden lace mask in the shape of a cat does little to conceal the top half of her face, and behind it burns fire. Despite knowing absolutely nothing about her, Raya feels picked apart by this woman’s eyes. They are dark, and blaze with something fearsome and hidden. Those strong, slanted features scream that she’s not a Heartland native, and if this party weren't filled with wealthy allies from other nations Raya might find that suspicious. Still, her guard is high. The woman's lips curl into a feline smile, and Raya tilts her chin to match the small height difference between them.
“You look a little lost, princess.”
Raya’s brows quirk. No sort of formality is offered, despite clear acknowledgement of her status. This will be interesting.
“Where else should someone such as myself be at this hour?”
“Hmm. I could think of a couple places.”
The unchaste flash of eyes down her figure is absolutely deliberate, and for a moment Raya is lost for words. This is not what she was expecting.
Rather than stammer out an unbefitting response Raya is silent for a heartbeat more, gathering her thoughts. The woman throws her head back and laughs, revealing her smooth throat, and Raya doesn’t miss the significance of bearing one’s fragile life to a complete stranger. Either this woman is offering Raya something beyond party conversation or she’s just stupid, and it’s very hard to believe the latter. She’s a warrior, made clear in the mildly defensive stance of her tensed limbs and the prowess with which she stands; a predator in slumber. Raya feels foolish for her slow responses thus far but she was just surprised, that’s all. She’d thought the woman might have an interesting story or two, yet here they are flirting . Not that Raya’s complaining about it, either. She’s a predator too, quick-witted and rarely caught off guard, and this woman has nothing on her except the element of surprise - but now that that card’s been played, it’s fair game.
“Aren’t you going to ask me who I am, princess? That’s how you’re supposed to start a conversation, is it not?”
“Maybe I’m not here for conversation.”
The response signals her willingness to play along and yields a satisfied quirk of her opposer’s brow. Raya preens.
“I’m interested, I must say.” The woman takes a step forward and it’s definitely not just to hear her better, but Raya holds her ground. She aches to know her name, but asking would require giving in to her previous request, and giving in isn't something Raya’s fond of.
“You know,” the princess begins, tugging a strand of hair from her braid to twirl around her finger, “I did take a good long look at the guest list for this little... soiree, and I can’t say I recall seeing you on it.”
The woman offers no hint of unease.
“Maybe you didn’t look hard enough, princess. Although I am disappointed I didn’t receive any special invitation.”
Inside, Raya is still on high guard. She has no clue who this woman is, and despite the banterous nature of their conversation and the fact that she’s never in her life had any desire to look at a guest list, she really doesn’t recall ever seeing her before. Not that she keeps close track of everybody her step mother and kingdom have ties with, but most of these people are at least somewhat familiar. Her mind teeters between wanting to give in and wanting to stay alert in case all of this happens to be some sort of trap. Not everybody is a massive fan of the Heartland’s rule.
“Maybe you just didn’t look hard enough.” Raya supressed the urge to wink. It would barely be visible through her mask, and she'd look stupid anyways. Besides, the pleased smile of the woman gives her quite enough satisfaction.
“Namaari.”
Confusion laces Raya’s thoughts for a split second before she realizes that the woman is offering her name.
“And I’m a last minute guest from Talon - my mother is of high blood and our family has long been in cohorts with yours. It’s just usually my mother who attends these types of functions. I could never stand the dress.”
With that Namaari reaches up to remove her mask, scowling lightly. It didn’t do much to cover her features in the first place, but Raya is struck by her fierce beauty. Feeling eased from the explanation, Raya too removes her mask. It dangles by her side as she clutches it loosely.
“Ah. Well, Namaari-” the name rolls smooth off her tongue, and Raya feels lightning spark along her bones. “I’m Raya.” She grins. “In case you didn’t know.”
“Lovely to make your acquaintance.” Namaari holds out a hand, and Raya reaches out to shake. The contact sends something like excitement rushing over Raya’s skin, and it might just be her imagination but she thinks the handshake lasts a bit longer than a normal handshake should. When she pulls away, Namaari runs her opposite hand over the shaved side of her head, which draws Raya’s attention to the softly glimmering jewelry adorning her ear and two gold cuffs circling her bicep. Muscles bunch and release, and the image of her at this moment has begun to paint some unorthodox images in Raya’s mind. Suddenly, she feels very aware of just how close they are standing.
“So, Raya.” Tilted head, narrowed eyes. They’re playing a dangerous game, and they both know it. “Where else could someone such as yourself be at this hour?”
Raya lifts her shoulders in a little shrug. “Oh, you know. Just doing your average late night royal duties. Sewing, speech writing, swordplay. We also have some lovely heated pools, though it’s a little too dangerous out to be bathing alone at night, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d like to think I can fend for myself.”
Raya offers a pretend pout.
“Still, I don’t like being alone .” This conversation is going quick, but Raya senses Namaari isn’t one to bide her time so she won’t either. She offers up a little jab, testing the waters: “Perhaps next time I go you’d like to join me?”
The blatant request appears to leave Namaari somewhat taken aback, and silently Raya draws a mark on her own mental scoreboard.
“Careful what you wish for, dep la . I might not be so easy as some straw dummies.”
Dep la . The sudden nickname makes Raya’s head pound in the most electric way possible.
“We’re talking about bathing, not sparring. Though now that you mention it, I am in need of a new partner - most everybody around here is a little dry in the conversation area.”
“Conversation?”
“You mean to tell me you don’t enjoy a little friendly banter while you’re beating someone’s brains out?” Raya questions with feigned surprise. “Tsk tsk.”
A sniff, and then: “I suppose I’d consider it. But only for you.” Namaari winks, and Raya is both on fire and disappointed that she didn’t wink first. No way is this Namaari going to out-flirt her, though she has to admit: she’s good. Good enough that Raya is almost desperately beginning to hope that her night might end with something other than stealing alcohol and passing out on the observatory roof. Honestly, that’s getting kind of old anyways - and she’s not letting Namaari slip through her fingers if she can help it. There’s a delicious chemistry brewing in the small space between them, so thick Raya can almost taste it, and with every passing second she grows more enamoured with those dark eyes; wonders what they’d look like staring down at her from above. Honestly, the fact that she hasn’t got Namaari pushed up against a shadowed wall this very second is irritating but good things come with time, she supposes.
In the past, she’d been with a few men at the insistence of both her step mother and governesses, but even before the confirmation which came with those extremely uncomfortable circumstances she knew she was interested in women. Of course she’s now had her fair share of experience - some good, some bad, some in between, but the way Namaari’s gaze keeps flickering over her like she won’t notice sends Raya higher than she’s ever felt, and they’ve done nothing but talk.
“Not gonna lie, princess,” says Namaari, before Raya can bounce off her last words. “I’m thinking I might come to more parties now.” Again, her provocative expression gives away the true meaning of her words.
“And I’m thinking I might have to write my first special invitation.”
A little grin, and Raya thinks she might come closer still - but then Namaari is leaning backwards again.
“Tell me, Raya. What kind of people do you get around here?”
Raya groans lightly. “Horribly uninteresting ones.”
“Honestly princess, I’m hurt.” Namaari places a hand on her heart, and Raya doesn’t miss the way it slides up her chest before stilling.
“You’re doing pretty good so far, actually. But I’m definitely thinking of some ways to up your score.”
“Care to share?”
“Care to experiment?”
Namaari nods in contemplation but goes no further. Raya is becoming impatient.
“Blades or hand to hand combat?” Questions the taller, puzzling Raya for the abrupt change in conversation. She replies anyway, because she wants to know more about Namaari outside of their flirtation.
“Blades. You?”
“Touche. Blades always.”
Interesting , thinks Raya, but she’s done with casual talk. It’s rare that she so quickly becomes interested in someone, much less interested in the way she is now, but there are only a few more lines for them to pass on their way to a crescendo. Raya can’t imagine that the woman opposite her has any other intention, and they definitely aren’t going to stand around chatting for another hour. The mystery surrounding Namaari's person doesn't bother her much - if anything, it's a bit exciting - and it's not like she couldn't take her in a fight if for some reason that happened to occur. If Raya’s lucky they might meet again after this night, but the future's a story for another time. Right now, based entirely on the way Namaari had begun this conversation in the first place, Raya knows what she wants.
“My turn.” Raya tilts her head. “Why are you here?”
The words come out unprompted and not completely thought through, and Raya almost blanches at how grating they sound. Namaari is similarly questioning.
“Thought we already talked about that, princess.”
Raya can’t back down now. She steps forward, so the two women are less than an arm’s length apart. The rational part of her mind prays they’re shadowed enough from prying eyes in case this turns out how Raya hopes it turns out, but she doesn’t care enough to give it a second thought.
“No,” she whispers, voice low. “You told me why you’re at this stupid party. Why are you here .”
Namaari’s lashes drop along with her tone.
“Is there something different you’d like to hear?”
“I don’t know. Is there something else you’d like to say?”
“Depends, Dep La .”
Raya nearly scowls. Why is Namaari still playing this stupid game? Raya can feel the heat radiating from her body, can see her pulse racing beneath her tan throat. She knows what Raya wants.
“I think you know what I want to hear.”
Namaari’s tone is falsely sweet when she replies, nice and slow.
“And what’s that?” Her eyes bore into Raya’s core, and her next words are smoother than a spring river. “That I want to get you alone?”
There it is.
Raya can’t help it. Her responding grin is beyond triumphant, because Namaari is fucking hot and her whole body feels on fire from the insinuation of everything that’s just happened. Her skin aches to get out of this stupid dress and preferably into more comfortable attire, like Namaari’s hands gripping her waist.
She takes another step forward, intending to close the space between them and press lips to ear to whisper that they should really go somewhere else like, right now, when Namaari retreats, falling back in two big strides that leave Raya cold and blushing, her feathered mask on the floor where she’d dropped it moments before.
“Sorry, princess.” Namaari’s eyes flash, victorious. “But I think somebody else is looking for you.”
Confused, a little angry, and trying her best to dampen the red spreading across her cheeks, Raya spins around to look where Namaari’s gaze had flown. A couple yards away, Sultan Ramil and a woman Raya can only assume is his wife are quickly approaching, their smiling faces painted with the clear mission of speaking with Raya. She gives them a formal bow and quickly turns to look at Namaari before they reach her - but the woman is gone. Startled, Raya takes a desperate look around but it’s to no avail. Namaari is nowhere to be seen, and now Raya is left with nothing but barely tempered desire and an unwanted conversation about politics with people she must pretend to be nice to.
In between bowing and the exchanging of formalities, Raya curses Namaari’s name under her breath. She should really be more careful around pretty women who spell trouble with their every word, but truly, what can she say. You attract what you are.
-
It’s midnight before Raya finally escapes the clutches of endless conversation. Her shoes are off her feet the second she’s outdoors, and most of the other articles of clothing not directly attached to her body are either in her hands or lost by the time she arrives at her bedroom door. Outside, she’s bending over to undo the lock when she notices a square of paper on the floor, about half the size of her palm. Curious, she drops the shoes to pick it up. The paper’s cheap and flimsy and she’s scared she’s going to rip it before it can lay flat, but after dropping a few more things onto the ground she’s able to open it up all the way. On the paper in sloping handwriting written with black ink is a message:
You’re not winning that easy, dep la.
P.S. I’m a big fan of Buko Pie. Hope I’ll see you around.
Signed, XXX
Raya’s lips curl into a smile.
Well played, Namaari.
Her night is beginning to look up again.