★

This barbie is desi

Katrina Kaif behind the scenes for Kalyan Jewellers

★

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 feel you’ve made no effort,” she observed plainly, gesturing vaguely to his tunic with the sweep of her eyes. “unless the brief was ‘freshly roused from a sand nap.’” she turned, just slightly, so the back of her lehenga swished and caught the light again. “do you greet all women like this, or only the ones you’re legally promised to?” she finally moved toward him, slow and disdainful as a cat, stopping just before his hand but not taking it. instead, she raised one perfectly threaded brow again and asked, “what is for dinner? or is that also arriving late, princely style?” she clicked her tongue softly, folding her arms.

ravi heard her before he saw her.

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.

his voice softened as he turned back to her, now entirely hers. “come,” he offered, reaching a hand out in invitation, fingers adorned in rings, palm open and warm. “they're setting the table, but we can talk here until everything is prepared for us."

who: @devanitoland when and where: sunspear, shortly following the murder of dante uller by baashir dayne and the introduction of ruqaiyah dayne to the court of sunspear. there is a grand feast going on with specifically assigned seating, and ruqaiyah finds herself sat at a table with a very, very, familiar stranger. tdlr: that feeling when ur 10 year long situationship shows up

her visit to sunspear would most likely be permanent this time, and it was something she had not fully thought through until the wagon was already days into the journey - she found herself wondering whether that had been intentional, to make the change of setting as easy and minimal as possible. ruqaiyah hoped not, for she wished her departure from her home to be full of emotional theatrics, with elephants adorned in colourful fabrics and colour filling the air.

now she was here, back in the capital city: where she had been before, though it felt like each time she arrived, there was some update. someone had died.

there was assigned seating at this table, and she noted there were multiple notable women of various houses of dorne: and she did not pay enough attention to one of the names that would have been enough to cause her to get up and demand to sit at another table. perhaps because she was too engrossed in gossip about what the princess loreza martell was wearing, she was within such conversation when another face appeared before her.

"my eyes are increasingly fixed on one person." "don't say that." "but i did." "who?" "you've run out of questions now, ru." she had seen it, and heard it, through a rose coloured haze.

one would be able to see her expression change ever so slightly as she looked upon devani toland for the first time in over a decade, as though she had risen from the dead: of course she had heard of her return and all the rumours attached to them. a flicker of realisation, her words slowing for a moment, before she simply looked away; acting as though she was not at the table at all. none would have noticed the way her heart was thumping, and how suddenly increasingly numb she began to feel.

a door slammed. "you said your eyes were fixed on one person. one. person." "did you take it seriously? we were drinking." "but you said it." "so?" "do you tolands know how to count?" she had seen it, and heard it, through no haze.

how she wished to get up and demand to be sat elsewhere. she found herself looking anywhere but at her, speaking to women and aunties of various social circles as they walked by her; and still, she had not said hello. she would not say hello first. she refused to say hello first.

and if devani toland did not say hello first, then devani toland was not sat opposite ruqaiyah dayne. it was an empty seat.

★

ruqaiyah's smile did not waver, though something within it shifted, like silk catching the light just so, revealing a different texture beneath; it were not one of anger, nor even of the sting of wounded pride, but rather one of feeling as though a blow had come to her stomach. "what, you think it a slight to look at me have a place for myself, and act as though it is not you that is the outlier between us?" as though it were dawn itself which had cut away the corset which seemed to hold her together, stitch by stitch; and ruqaiyah did not know what happened when stars burned. combusted, and yet, she felt it weigh heavily upon her at simple words. "do you understand i would have done anything for you? do you understand what it is you have lost?" the fervent loyalty and dedication of the daynes was a birthright; and somewhere along the years, ruqaiyah found herself thinking herself sworn. devoted. she were no knight, and devani was no princess; and yet, it felt like she should have been. in anoher life, perhaps.

and yet - i'm not talking about you and i, ru. just you - was enough to cause her mind to twist.

it were no revelation: there needed to be no sounds of hymns or mantras, nor the ringing of holy bells, or red powder placed between her brows. there was no moment of being awakened, nor no moment of realisation: for she knew. she had always known, and yet the words of devani toland had been made into something they were not in the mind of the grace of the evening...who held such little grace, in reality. there had never been a devani and ruqaiyah. her fingers brushed idly over the rings on her hand, turning them in place, a gesture of lazy indulgence. but in her mind, she were all but bubbling, spiraling; a concoction of toxic substances, brimming over, and there was no stopping the way it burned her hands too when it spilled.

"you speak of my betrothal as though you know of it. you don't. you speak as though it is me whose parents could not stand my presence, and shipped me between various vassal houses. it was not." she had just said it. whether devani noticed it, was something she was no longer privy to; no longer was she able to tell anything. and it angered her. "you return because this is home, devani. and no matter how far you ran, it was always waiting for you." she folded her arms across her silverish coloured blouse, amethyst encrusted bangles glittering as did the pink jewels in her dark tresses.

"you were never satisfied, always wanting more... everything you made for yourself, and in the end, you just...come back. to do what exactly?" she looked at devani there, her nose slightly twisting in judgement: as if to ask, is that supposed to be something special? was devani toland not always supposed to be more than the cage they had all decided to call home? what ever happened to you? "i do not wish to step away. i wish to watch what will become of you. you will end up hating what has become of your life each passing day, doing something you hate. and you know - i am glad for it." there was no anger in her voice, only the cool, effortless confidence of a woman who had never doubted her place in the world.

ruqaiyah dayne did not need to chase after meaning, after purpose—it had been bestowed upon her from birth, and she had embraced it with open arms. it were abundantly clear that, considering devai could not admit her wrongs and put aside her pride, there would be no way to recover the tense relations between the two women. so what now? would she open her mouth to ruin her chances? would she prove to be an issue for her at court? would she attempt to find her way into ravi's bed in an attempt to get in his ear? her mind started whirring, fixating. hating. craving. how could she just be done with her? how did it not bother her, as much as it made ruqaiyah wish to scream into her pillow? why had she not needed her the way ruqaiyah needed her?

"your destruction impacts none more than yourself. when i find you on your knees, i will find great pleasure in the silence you get from me. only then will i forget you."

devani's laugh was soft this time, warm as summer as untroubled. "you speak of me clinging to things that do not exist, but look at yourself, ru. what has changed for you since we were girls? you are still in the same place you were." there was no mockery in her tone - instead, something that danced closer to pity. devani may not have spent the last fourteen years in dorne, but she had not spent them idle. when age etched lines on her face and her body began to fail her, she could say that her youth was not one wasted. ruqaiyah was of the stars, burning stationary and untouchable in the heavens above, but devani was a comet, burning a fiery trail behind her to remind those whose lives she blazed through of her very existence.

"i don't want to replant them." her words were firm. "i do not want to go back to the way things were before i left, or else i may as well have not left at all." she had never spoken to ruqaiyah, to anybody, about what had drove her decision to disappear, one of the many secrets she kept close to her chest. "your brother will kill mine. i'm banking on that. and when he is dead, ghost hill will look to his heir. he will pay the price for his actions. i'm just here to see what's left when he does."

it was more honesty than she had offered to anybody about her re-emergence. even dante uller had not managed to coax the truth of it from her like this.

"i'm not talking about you and i, ru. just you." because that was another truth that ruqaiyah seemed determined to bury. no matter how hard she tried to reduce devani's place in her life to that of a bedmate of her youth, it did not change any of it. "ravi martell is a good man." she said, finally. "and far sharper than you give him credit for by pretending there is nothing to tell. do you think it will take him long to note that you enjoy his title far more than his presence in your bed? to piece together why that is?"

she paused for a moment, shrugging her shoulders in a way that almost seemed as though she cared not. "because for all your talk, ruqaiyah, you aren't subtle. you're still here, because you don't want to step away."

who: @scfeerah when and where: following the arrival of lady dayne and lady jordayne to the court of sunspear, most notably, following the tense interaction between ruqaiyah and devani. what: a good old bitch fest.

it did not take long for the ladies of house dayne and house jordayne to find their skirts wafting through the bustling great domed hall of sunspear, the sound of their anklets being drowned out by the sound of the tabla and the laughter, though there was a silent simmer that lingered between them. the epitome of ancient kinship flowering into something of far more substance, the ladies had always remained inseparable, despite the differences in their nature, temperament and ideology.

"gods, she is going to ruin this for me, isn't she?" ruqaiyah asked, her voice low, but as though she were ready to explode into what could only be seen as a tantrum. "she'll see to it to somehow break the betrothal. or she'll try to have me embarrass myself." the marriage that was supposed to go through between herself and the prince of sunspear.

still, there was none other that would be able to read the mind of the grace of the evening without even having to utter a word. so many fleeting looks, slightly raised brows, and expressions that said all words could not say. and gods knew, if there was a sound that matched this nights situation, it would be the sound of blaring trumpets and shattering glass in the background of knowing looks.

"she was even speaking to the prince." she commented, and there was jealousy laced in her voice. gods knew for what, apart from the idea of devani taking the life that was meant for ruqaiyah. "are they friends? do you know? i had no clue." safeerah constantly trying to get ruqaiyah to stop engaging in the conversation, even if it were to stoop to low levels of malice and utter spite. "why can't she just crawl back to whatever hole she came out of it, and take dante uller's crumbs with her?"

if the situation were less personal for ruqaiyah, she would have found herself giggling at the look which crossed the expression of lady jordayne; one of quiet surprise, as though she did not want to make any sudden movements in the tense interaction. the discussion happened after they retreated to the grand ornate chambers given to the lady of house dayne, and the smoke had been lit using the candles already ignited: she did not wish to fill her sister's room with the smell of smoke, so ruqaiyah leaned out of a window, blowing it out into the night sky before her.

"i should have ignored her. i know you were trying to tell me to ignore her."

★

ruqaiyah blinked, caught off guard, her lips parting slightly before she snapped them shut again. she had not expected this—this approach, this sentiment. for a moment, she almost laughed, not out of cruelty, but from sheer disbelief. ravi martell, princely and poised, wanted to try. it was flattering, yes, intoxicating even, to think that he saw beyond the politics, that he considered her worth more than the alliance she represented.

but was it so complicated? really?

“ravi,” she began, her voice soft, though there was still a trace of incredulity in it. her fingers toyed absently with one of the rings on her hand, a nervous habit she refused to acknowledge as such. she did not want to see this slip through her fingers, especially considering how she had spoken so often about it. “you make it sound as though we’re embarking on some impossible quest. we’re betrothed. it’s been all set for years.” her tone was laced with her surprise as her aemethyst gaze flickered at him, the sea breeze cause her hair to move around her as she looked at him.

her gaze lifted to meet his, and for a moment, something flickered in her dark amethyst eyes—something vulnerable, quickly masked by a small, composed smile. “but... you want more than that.” the admission felt strange on her tongue, like tasting something both sweet and bitter. “you think we could be... happy?” the word was almost a whisper, as though testing its weight. her arms, which had been folded tightly against her chest, relaxed as she let out a slow breath. “i can’t deny that the idea is... appealing.” her voice softened, losing its earlier edge, though her words still carried a hint of scepticism.

“but ravi, i’ve been raised my entire life to think of this as a duty. to expect... well, not this. not you, standing here, asking for something so—” she gestured vaguely, searching for the word, “—real.”

ruqaiyah stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking as she studied him, her expression carefully guarded. “but let’s not get carried away, your highness,” she added, her tone light, teasing, though her gaze remained steady - this was all practiced. she needed it to be perfect. “i’ve spent years perfecting the art of expectation. if you fail, i promise i’ll let you know.” she was not joking; she meant every word she said. she smiled then, a genuine, if tentative, curve of her lips. “fine. we’ll have dinner. her voice dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial. “and i don’t despise you. you have given me no reason to despise you.” there was little reason for ravi martell to know of ruqaiyah's narcissistic ways; not yet, at least.

"when is dinner? i am currently watching what i am eating, so if possible, keep it leaner."

the prince of sunspear stood tall, his gaze steady as he regarded ruqaiyah, the flicker of amusement in his eyes tempered by something deeper—earnestness. “i know what this is,” he said, his voice calm, princely but kind. “a match like ours isn’t about just us. it’s about our families, our houses, and the future of dorne. i understand the weight of that. i always have.”

he paused, his tone shifting slightly, softer but no less resolute. “but if we’re to be tied together for the rest of our lives, shouldn’t we at least try to understand who we are beyond our titles? to ensure that we can navigate all of this together? a marriage can’t be built on politics alone, ruqaiyah. it’s not enough to survive—it has to work.”

the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a small effort to lighten the mood. “and forgive me if I don’t want to spend my days locked in a union with someone who might secretly despise me for all the ways i fail to meet expectations.”

he stepped closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening, the weight of his kinder demeanor matched by a genuine humanity. “dinner is a small thing, i know. it won’t solve everything or answer all the questions. but it’s a start, a chance for us to figure out if we can work together, not just as prince and princess, but as people. i’d like to know if you’ll be able to stand me in the quiet moments when no one’s watching, and i’d like you to know the same of me.”

ravi’s voice remained light but carried an edge of quiet insistence. “so, let’s sit, let’s talk. for ourselves, not just for the realm. if nothing else, you’ll have the chance to tell me exactly where I fall short over a fine meal.”

★

she knew not what test it was that dictated her choices; her words, actions and thoughts alike that felt as though she needed to live up to something the other sat across from her would not understand or be able to fathom. the concept of living according to an established set of rules, rules she decided did not apply when conversing with others that were not the same as her.

"you admire people who try hard to be different, yes." rules she would set ablaze and burn her own skin to discard of, just to feel the sensation of throwing it to the wind, to the tornado, to the earthquakes.

"some people are just above others." there was a cold glint that came over sparkling orbs at the sound of the laughter that slipped from the woman opposite her. there were many things that caused ruqaiyah dayne to become unpolished: the sparkle to cease, and the roughness around her edges becoming sharp - to feel as though her pride had been wounded was a fatal mistake. "some even have the lowest of low above them."

and in this moment, as she found herself doing the opposite of disassociating, she only fixated on the sound of the laughter; and she wondered if that very same laughter had rung atop the deck of whatever vessel, in whatever bedchamber, at the mere prospect of the words that had been whispered between one another. she felt herself burn even more now, a silent simmer; of shame, and of longing.

there was a tut that came from her when the wine spilled onto the table cloth from lady toland's goblet.

"thankfully, my lord brother discarded of such a stain within our sphere." another instance of house dayne proving themselves to be the most worthy of houses in dorne. the most valiant, and the most dedicated - to themselves, and to duty. she saw a flicker of pain cross over dark features, and she felt a thrill to know she was able to do achieve such an effect. it meant ruqaiyah was not the same woman who fell into the web of such a spider.

it meant she too was poison - why did she want to be poison? and then she felt her stomach twist in a warped irritation. even after all of these years, it was him that could get her to stop. to get something human to cross her features, rather than the colour red.

"and now we move on." she spoke, her words illicit with a double meaning as she reached forward to take another goblet of wine from the centre of the table.

there was an attempt at an insult, and it took everything in devani not to laugh out loud at it. perhaps ruqaiyah had forgotten, in their years parted, that devani cared little for being like everyone else. it was the precise reason she had departed in the first place, so that she could do as she pleased, wear as she pleased, live in exactly the way she wanted to and enjoy every moment of it. she knew little of lady dayne's life since she had left it. had she ever had a moment like that? ever filled her days with something not because she had a duty to it, but purely because she wanted to? devani didn't know.

"all the more reason not to wear dornish fabrics, then," devani waved a hand dismissively. "i've always admired people who take it upon themselves to make their own mind up about these things, rather than paying attention to what everyone else is doing." once she had crossed the rhoyne for the first time, it had hit her how little the life she had left behind mattered. dorne was a small corner of a wider world - one ruqaiyah had never seen. devani could almost pity that.

she couldn't help it this time: when ruqaiyah called her by a name that wasn't hers, devani laughed, and it was genuine, because it was utterly ridiculous. call it arrogance, but she did not believe that ruqaiyah had forgotten her. the more she tried to make it seem as though it was so, the more it felt like a farce. "i don't agree," she raised her shoulders in a shrug."i think people like to believe they have changed. risen above," she rolled her eyes. "but the core of who you are stays the same. there's no changing that."

the reaction from devani at the hint of what had happened to dante uller was not instant. rather, it dawned upon her face slowly, the light in her dimming as her smirk fell, her eyes widened, and she lapsed into silence. she looked like she might be sick. ruqaiyah had aimed for her jugular, and the knife had slid under her skin like butter. devani set her cup down upon the table, so hard that the wine spilled over the edge and stained the cloth that covered it, and she finally tore her gaze away.

in the back of her head there was a phantom cry of pain, and she did not know if it belonged to dante uller, or the boy who had been buried under the filth of king's landing.

it hit her then how calculated the move had been. ruqaiyah had commanded the attention of the others that sat with, made sure all had heard the comment and had their eyes on devani as she reacted. the silence echoed loudly. she had no words for ruqaiyah dayne in that moment. for the first time in almost as long as she could remember, devani was rendered utterly speechless.

★

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.

her finger idly traced the rim of her goblet. “but perhaps i shouldn’t repeat it,” she mused. “you know how people are—always whispering, always inventing. and yet…” she trailed off with a shrug, elegant and unbothered, “...every rumour starts somewhere.” she wasn’t sure if there was truth to it—whatever it was. the rumour had been half-formed, little more than a sliver of gossip overheard through silkscreen partitions and perfume-drenched courtyards. she didn’t even care what it meant, really. what mattered was the reaction. did he have something to hide? or was his poise simply that: a performance refined over years, polished until even discomfort gleamed like calm?

ravi didn’t bristle. he didn’t laugh, either. he simply watched her—chin tilted ever so slightly, eyes warm, patient, amused in the way a man is when a storm meets him at the door and he decides to let it in.

“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.”

he motioned toward the doorway that led into the next room, where the meal would be set. “as for the meal.” he continued, “spiced lamb, roasted vegetables, honeyed dates... all served with a wine from the hills of dorne. i think you’ll find it quite delightful.” his eyes met hers, “though, if you had something else in mind, i would have been happy to prepare whatever you preferred.”