★

who: @raviofthesun when and where: two days following lady ruqaiyah dayne's arrival to sunspear from starfall, she crosses paths with the oldest surviving son of house martell - also being her betrothed from their early youth. context: these two have known one another for many years, considering there was some time where ravi lived at starfall to train with baashir during the time of him being a second son.

feigning exhaustion and borderline sickness from the journey across the breadth of dorne had worked in the favour of the lady of starfall; even if she had needed to put her ability to dramatise anything and everything into good use, as though the journey was not one that was done regularly both in the past and the present. the daynes had ventured to the great sept of sunspear alongside the other courtiers of those who swore to be unbowed, unbent and unbroken; a moment of respite from the close monitoring she had been dealing with by her mother and brother alike.

and so the moment the door had shut behind her quarters, an entitled amethyst gaze had immediately turned toward the guard that remained in her room…who now remained a watchful eye on this golden sandy beach in the shadow of the fortress of sunspear and the shadow city itself.

the wonders of giving instructions with no falter or stammer, with the sound logical reason of fresh air helping her fight off the impending sickness she felt at the back of her entirely clear throat. truthfully, her stay in sunspear had been tarnished by a certain ghost's reappearance across from her at a circle table - and this trip was an important one, for a multitude of reasons. the daynes would need to cement their position, in more ways than one. one of such ways would end in her and ravi of the sun circling the marital flames a total of seven times.

but things were different; and as much as she wished to simply be able to navigate herself into his sphere to find a way to close the distance that was some months of business and distance, sunspear and the dornish sun were his halls. and he somehow seemed more of a prince here than in any other place. a part of her grew irritated with the fact she could not smoke under the gaze of the starfall guard, though now she knew this place existed, she would no doubt find some way to slip here.

and when a distant figure appeared upon one of the sand dunes, she narrowed her amethyst gaze, using her hand to shield herself from the glare of the sun behind it to try and see who it was that was walking toward her. feet remained in the sparkling intense blue of the ocean, silver anklets submerged, and pastel pink silk swirling at her feet. the sun continued to blind her, and she began to step forward from the sea kissing at her feet, when the dots connected.

"skipping the sept too, your highness?" she asked, her voice trailing over the soft sound of the waves as she walked too. and whilst she could comfortably refer to ravi as her friend, he was her prince too; especially in such a setting, and so she dropped into a graceful curtsy, not deep enough for it to be strange, but enough to signify respect and a comfort in doing such things. they knew the way their worlds worked - and whilst she complained of many things, he was not one of them. "i have been meaning to ask you what time you were born."

"but you are surrounded each time i see you." she had not realised how much the political situation had changed until she had seen it. rav was not a second son anymore, and a small part of her began to wonder. wonder what she had not wondered before. would marrying another, that was not her, make more sense?

★

"arrogant? no, it is delusional. she is a mad woman." she took another puff of her smoke, knowing she would need to bask herself in the strongest of scents for family dinner later. baashir was already on edge having seen an apparent imaginary orange glow coming from her balcony window. "i'd have slammed the gates shut in her face and ensure dust got into her eyes." there was a slight scoff that came from her lips, not aimed at safeerah, but rather at the idea that devani would get help from her.

"especially in the aftermath of what her disgusting brother done." no, even if she had come to starfall first, she would have been left to stand in the dust - ruqaiyah was sure of it. not once did the narcissistic grace of the evening consider that devani would know such a thing, and that could have been a reason why she ventured to hellholt. "you know, she speaks of her brother, we all speak of aditya toland, but i don't think they are that different. house of jesters. if ghost hill goes to her, don't trust her." her words were with good intention, and yet, they were detached from the reality of what safeerah would need to do to secure safety for the tor.

there was a peculiar possessiveness ruqaiyah felt for safeerah jordayne; the same way a toddler refused to share her toys, ruqaiyah also detested the idea of anyone else being as close to safeerah as she was. not once had she considered this was a toxic mindset to adopt, instead she seemed to glorify it in her own mind, as though this made her even better of a friend. any issue she held was their issue, and she would have no issue in dealing with it in ways that saf herself would not.

"auntie doesn't deserve this, neither of you do. why is it always the good people that suffer?" she puffed out smoke again, careful to do it away from the direction of safeerah as she knew she did not like it; they were different, but she knew there were certain things she would not do to upset her friend. her sister. the tor deserved security, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought of the scene of rashid jordayne's funeral. the pyre, and the scattering of his ashes within the water. the memory was enough to cause her to feel a sense of pain, wallowing up in the back of her throat.

"why even bother going for trial? just get baashir to cut him down, or maybe he can hold him down whilst you do it." the second part of her suggestion was merely a joke, and yet, a part of her caught lady jordayne's gaze - as though she wondered whether she had it in her. she then watched as safeerah took her hand and held her gaze, always comforting, always grounding. she was ruqaiyah dayne. she was ruqaiyah dayne. she could do it, and so, she squeezed saf's hand. "i'll get halima to make sure other women stay away from him, at least until we get married. see, us ladies have our battle tactics too."

"once you've gotten your revenge justice, i'll help you find a good husband." the blend of revenge and justice was intentional, and for a reason; she was sure it was both. it had to be both?

safeerah could not judge her cousin for her reaction to seeing devani toland again. she knew there was true pain hidden behind the venom that had dripped from her lips. “i suppose it was quite funny when you called her devina.” she was in no mood to defend devani. she knew what the woman had done to ruqaiyah, what her brother had done to her own sister. “it is arrogant of her to think she can just return and rejoin society as no time has passed.” the tolands had heads bigger than they had any right to. saf never liked that trait in others. she did see it in ru from time to time, but she also knew there were other sides to her friend. saf saw the quick emotion pass on her face as she mentioned dante. “what would you have done if she had gone to you first? if she had showed up outside your door?” there was a fine line between prying and supporting. she knew ruqaiyah would simply wave her off if she did not wish to answer.

she felt a shiver run down her spine as the trial was mentioned. it was something she sometimes dreamed about at night, half a dream and half a nightmare. she did not answer if she wished for bash to be the one to fight if it ended in a trial by combat. she knew that bash could do it, that he would do it, but it weighed on her to ask. “you ask questions i do not yet know the answer to.” it was a conflict that raged inside her. between ideals and feelings. safeerah wanted to show there was another way, but she also knew if bash handed her the sword then she would run it through the heart of lord toland. “if lord toland dies, you know what that will mean for devani. she has a claim to ghost hill.” safeerah knew if there was no trial that she would have to move against ghost hill ― or maybe she had to do it anyway. there would be no peace inside her otherwise. for a woman who spoke of peace, she could not bear the thought of the tolands getting away with their crimes.

“the prince has a lot on his mind, i would not blame him for feeling overwhelmed with it all.” safeerah could sense the doubt emitting from her cousin, so she leaned forward and took one of her hands. “listen to me.” dark eyes clashed with violet. “you are ruqaiyah dayne, you are beautiful and powerful, and if you want ravi as husband, you will have him.” saf would always be first in line to support her even if their ambitions were wildly different. “he will not say no to you.” she let go of her hand and leaned slightly back again. “trust me, i have tried and i know it's close to impossible.” a soft laugh escaped her then.

safeerah smiled as she observed her friend. she always enjoyed these moments where calm would fall over them, and they could simply talk without thinking twice of what to say. her smile faltered slightly at the question. “mother is coping.” it was the truth. but it was not easy for any of them. she knew her mother longed for rashid as much as she did, and the surrounding chaos only made the longing deeper. he had been their rock and now she had to find a way to become the same, not only for herself and her family, but for all of the tor. “we are not alone, qaiyah, we have our people and each other ― and most of dorne, it seems.” saf knew that her cousin saw the world differently. in some ways, they were as different as night and day, but yet their friendship persisted despite all the reasons it should not. there were none closer to her than ruqaiyah. none where there was no filter between what she thought and what she said.

★

"no it was not." the grace of the evening continued, no doubt rooted in immature, spoiled stubbornness the way she always was in refusing to acknowledge that she perhaps had behaved in ways that were too low for her. the conversation had not been a waste of time, because even for a moment, she had seen devani toland's face wipe clean with a numbing look of pain and shock.

she had made devani toland speechless, in the worst of ways; and there had been something toxic and malicious briefly ignite in the back of ruqaiyah's own amethyst orbs. "i got the reaction i wanted...no, the reaction i deserved, regardless of the rest of it. did you see her face fall? i hope she never gets over it." she recalled, a cruel smile playing on her lips at the memory as she brought the smoke to her lips again, exhaling it back into the night air.

"but did you hear her? she went to him first. him. fucking dante uller." ruqaiyah commented, as though she could hardly believe herself; there was no denying the way her heart twisted, for it reflected upon her own facial features. as though it were not only days earlier she had been within her own chambers in starfall, promising she only had eyes for one person. she had told her not to say that - so why did she believe it?

"you're right. she has no power over me." she spoke, melodramatic as she straightened her back. she would not speak of it anymore. "none. it was nothing; we were young. and now i am me, and she is...well."

"no saf, you don't get it. he has been so busy. i haven't had the chance to speak to him properly, but he hasn't mentioned the betrothal. not properly. he found me on the beach the other day when i skipped the sept, but it felt weird. like we were walking on coals."

...and then she returned to the topic of devani and dante. not having power over her lasted all but a minute. "they must have obviously stayed in touch, maybe he was the one who persuaded her to return." ruqaiyah dayne's first heartbreak had been a silent one, until she had been able to see her cousin again. she had been enough. she had been embarrassed; the other side of some joke that must have been a private matter between them.

"do you want bash to kill lord toland? you know he'll do it - properly, i mean. trial by combat, so it's not breaking any rules. or are you planning on speaking to her...?"

her gaze looked upon the constellations in the sky; it was in these moments with her sister was she able to decompress, to be who she truly was - and how it was a force for bad as well as good. moving her dupatta from being wrapped around her to instead being laid across her lap, she closed her eyes for a moment, and took the time to try and re-centre herself. "how is auntie? i don't like the idea of you two being in the tor alone with all this going on." ruqaiyah loved lady afreen jordayne; the most beautiful woman in dorne.

safeerah knew a night would never be boring if she was with ruqaiyah. they had been friends all their lives and there were none she knew as well as lady dayne. maybe except for her own siblings. so the minute that a conversation had started between ruqaiyah and devani, she knew it was a disaster waiting to happen. she had been trying to discreetly tell her best friend to stop engaging by sending her signs, but she was also not surprised when it did not work ― nor was she particularly surprised by her reaction afterwards when they had the chance to speak frankly.

and ruqaiyah knew her as well. "of course i was. the conversation was a waste of your time and energy." the jordayne had thrown herself on the bed in the room and was lying on her stomach with her feet in the air. she held herself up by her elbows as she sent her friend a knowing look. "you give her far too much power, qaiyah, don't let her get under your skin." she knew it was easier said than done when it came to people you had a past with. saf just wished it did not have to be a toland that her best friend had been with in the past. "i do not know if they are friends, but i do know that no one will care much about the word of devani. she's been gone far too long and she's from a family of known liars. do you not remember her mother trying to fool us into believing devani had greyscale?" that was not the only lie they had told. lord toland was nothing but the scum of the earth and she would see that justice be done. "but if she starts something then we will handle it."

she noted the jealousy in ruqaiyah's voice but she could not tell what its source was exactly. she had a guess though. she took the safe route and decided to just reassure her cousin. "you have no reason to worry. we both know nothing will be allowed to get in the way of you marrying the prince." at the end of the day, safeerah knew that was what ruqaiyah wanted. whilst she had never understood her friend's ambition for the title of princess, she supported her anyway and would do what was in her power to see it done.

she watched as ruqaiyah blew out another cloud of smoke. "it must be strange to see her again after all this time." it was bait for ruqaiyah to take if she wished. safeerah knew better than to force anything out of the dayne if she did not wish to speak about it. "it has been so long that i had actually forgotten about her being friends with dante uller."

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.

★

life was doing that thing it always done in the aftermath of a tense conversation or situation: replaying the words uttered over and over again in the mind of the grace of the evening, though in a striking contrast to the majority of humans with a conscience, there did not come waves of regret or even embarrassment for how the situation had unfolded. if anything, the only feels of ire and irritation were aimed at herself, for not escalating matters even further: she was unable to see how that would have done no favours, too wrapped up in her own scars, her own feeling of betrayal.

and so, ruqaiyah had no issue with acting as though devani was not in the room - and those who knew her, knew even that suggested something was there.

for in truth, it was unlikely the lady of starfall would have left anyone who had vexed her to their own devices. it was unlikely she would not have them looking behind their shoulder, or finding a way to further shame them - her cruel streak had apparently weaned, or perhaps it had morphed into a different sort of cruelty. the type where one pretends as though she never existed at all; as though she was not, and never had been, anything special.

it were not as though ruqaiyah did not know how to do such a thing. a pale pink, almost white mask remained upon her features; until it didn't.

there was the feeling of a hand quickly moving to rest on her hip, and ru's brows furrowed, lilac orbs darting downward - and her mask was gone. she had heard of such rumour, and turned to confront the thief - only to find herself looking within the jovial eyes of devani toland, who continued acting as though nothing had happened. it was something ruqaiyah took as a personal insult, a targeted attack on her - how could she do this?

they were in public, in the middle of the day; and as much as ruqaiyah wished to grab her by the hair and shake her, push her into a nearby fountain, she could not.

"some of us don't need gold from others." instead, she shot her a dirty look, her gaze glancing up and down the woman - acting as though the woman had entirely missed the point. her fingers snapped together, a dayne pageboy scurrying toward her; she went into the small pouch of money, and handed it roughly to devani into her hands, as though she were giving money to a begger. "and if you must know, somebody else was supposed to unmask me. thank you for ruining that. " a lie. pettiness.

closed starter for @ruqaiyahdayne setting: lann's day

it was a stupid, and reckless decision. and yet, stupid and reckless was what devani did best.

she had not expected ruqaiyah dayne to welcome her home with open arms. had she done so, perhaps devani would have been more wary, expected some sort of underhanded trick from the lady of starfall. no, ruqaiyah's rage was to be expected, the depths to which she would sink to get the upper hand? devani had quite forgotten just how cruel she could be, when she had a mind to be.

and yet. ruqaiyah had long been the one thing she could never quite let go of, no matter how many years and miles she tried to put between the two of them. devani did not like that. she had never belonged to anybody but herself, but when it came to ruqaiyah, that confidence was shaken a little. she knew she should leave it alone, stop picking at the raw wound that existed between them, but she could not when she was in essos, every few months an anonymous gift with no note attached finding it's way to dornish shores, to ruqaiyah's hands. she must have suspected who sent them.

and she could not leave it alone now. the tension of their last meeting gripped at her. perhaps it was because she was already so weighed down, by the boy who lay in the sewers of king's landing, by what was left of dante uller upon the floors of sunspear, by the selhorys sell sword who had succumbed to a terrible illness and the little boy who now needed to be, somehow, smuggled into dorne, but she could not let it go.

she approached from behind, one hand resting upon ruqaiyah's hip to keep her still, the other lifting the mask from her face. she had known it was ruqaiyah before she had even had to look too closely, the hue of her clothing giving her away, if not anything else. she did not wish to think about the anything else.

she released her grip, stepping backwards with her prize clutched in her hands, waggling it a little as ruqaiyah turned so that she could see what she had done. "i win," she let out a laugh, turning the mask over in her hands. "you ought to be more vigilant, ru. you'd never have won the day like that, anyway."

mask shifted to her left hand, devani held out her right, in the expectation that ruqaiyah would pay her the winnings she was owed. "come on, then. i believe you owe me a little coin now." there was a teasing lilt to her voice. though their last meeting was still fresh on her mind, devani was acting as though nothing had ever happened. as though she was sixteen again. if she were, would she have made different choices, knowing all she did now?

in her heart, she knew the answer was a resounding no.

Spaceballs (1987) dir. Mel Brooks

who: @baashirdayne when and where: baashir dayne returns from kings landing, deciding to divert to starfall first. his sister has little inclination of the idea, expecting not to see him for some time longer; that was until a sudden flurry of dayne guards came into the courtyard right beneath her balcony.

the smoke was between her fingers, against her lips as she inhaled and exhaled into the night sky; the sound of her bangles gently twinkling in the night sky. the eldest lady of starfall had been desperate for a smoke for the majority of the evening, and considering her mother had only left her chambers some moments ago, she practically flung herself onto the balcony. first ensuring none were in the courtyard, she used a candle to ignite her smoke, and relished in the peace. finally. why did her mother bother asking her for her opinion if she would not take it?

she was exhaling again, when there was a sudden flurry of horses stampeding through the smaller courtyard; horses, the flag of house dayne, and she found herself practically faltering backward at the sudden movement.

"shit." she muttered, her eyes briefly meeting with baashir dayne's for a split second: what was he doing back here? was he not supposed to go straight back to sunspear as first minister? had he seen her with the smoke in her hand? it was now lowered at her side, and as he entered into the grand keep, she knew her mother and the household fawning over him would buy her some time.

when he entered, she took the opportunity to drop the smoke - if anyone asked, she would blame one of the guards travelling onward to sunspear. slipping her lilac robe over her rose coloured nightgown, she opened her door, beginning to make her way down the halls. the peacocks were calling, almost as though they knew he was back. and then he turned a corner, where she met him half way.

"bhaiya!" ruqaiyah exclaimed, her voice feigning excitement. it wasn't that she wasn't happy to see him. but had he seen her smoking? "why did you not tell us you were coming back?" she asked, placing her hands together in the symbol of peace before reaching forward to embrace him, kissing his cheek.

"i would have ensured dinner would be served later. it is too late now, you need not put on even more weight for eating at this time." her words were casual, looking up at him. "you must be so tired."

"oh god, who is disturbing ru at early early time of the morning?"

★

ruqaiyah blinked, once, twice, as if trying to process whether the noise entering her ears could possibly be real. she did not deign to respond at first. instead, she turned fully around again—this time with the deliberate, theatrical elegance of a stage-trained courtesan—just to face the girl properly. the girl in question, with her feathered sleeves and painfully under-accessorised neckline in her own opinion, had the gall to smile. smile, as if this were some quaint misunderstanding between friends and not a textile crime punishable by exile.

“you think—” ruqaiyah began, then laughed. not the sweet kind. the sort that was brittle and glittering and unmistakably cruel, like glass breaking under a jewelled heel.

“oh, she’s one of those, is she? sweetling, if you genuinely believe my outfit is the issue here, then i fear we’re dealing with something more severe than clumsiness. we’re talking... mental defect.” she smiled sweetly, venom curling in every syllable. “and here i was thinking the reach only grew bland herbs and boring men. but no—they’re harvesting delusions now.” her tone had risen with each sentence, enough that a few girls nearby glanced over nervously, but ruqaiyah was not done. her blood was humming now, giddy with spite.

she gave a loud, emphatic tch and turned back to the stage, swiping her silky hair over her shoulder in the most pointed manner imaginable and not caring if it perhaps gets in the way of her face. her bangles clinked with regal finality. the concert, she decided, would now belong to her entirely. and so, as bard bieber launched into what do you mean, ruqaiyah lifted her voice. it was high. it was nasal. it was deliberate. “WHEN YOU NOD YOUR HEAD YES, BUT YOU WANNA SAY NO—” she all but began to bellow, slightly off the beat, swaying with renewed vigour - as though she could be the only one who deserves bard bieber's attention.

her hips collided with the girl’s side as though by accident, her perfume—jasmine, oud, something expensive and cloying—billowing like an attack. “WHAT DO YOU MEANNNN!” she sung again, louder, and tossed a look over her shoulder with a smile that was all teeth.

ruqaiyah shifted slightly to the left, blocking more of the girl’s view. a subtle manoeuvre, perfectly executed. she raised her hands dramatically as if summoning the gods themselves. the pearls on her sleeves caught the torchlight, blinding in their beauty. “oh, you can see?” she called sweetly, not bothering to turn this time. “how marvellous. perhaps next time you’ll look before you trample a legacy. if you know anything about real pearls.” because that was what it was, wasn’t it? not a dress. not merely fashion. dornish couture. the height of design, the apex of taste. stitched in starfall, where sun and salt kissed the hands of women more talented than anyone in this room could comprehend.

it wasn’t a gown—it was lineage. it was blood and silk and status. and she—whatever her name was—she had stepped on it like it was laundry. less fabric. hmfsh. ruqaiyah sniffed. she sang louder. the girl didn’t exist anymore. she was no longer relevant to the evening’s story. ruqaiyah had reclaimed the spotlight—and in her mind, it had never left her to begin with.

the music at the verdant concord was nearly deafening, a fever dream of strings and stomping feet and shrieking girls—matilda tyrell among them. she had not intended to get close to the stage, truly, but one glass of arbor wine had turned into three, and bard bieber’s return was, after all, a cultural event. a moment. and matilda was nothing if not timely.

she was mid-step, hands lifted slightly as she swayed in rhythm, gracefully, of course, when her heel caught on something soft and unfamiliar. there was the telltale sound of silk straining, the faintest tug beneath her boot, and then: a voice, sharper than a sandstepped blade.

“i beg your pardon?”

matilda turned, startled, brows lifting as she came face to face with a vision in lavender and lip gloss, radiant and wrathful, the embodiment of stage-front devotion. matilda blinked, instantly registering the horror. her heel had found its way to the trailing hem of the other woman’s gown, and judging by the way the other was glaring at her, one might think she’d torn the fabric with her teeth.

“i promise you, it wasn’t carelessness. i was just… using my eyes for the concert, not for my feet.” a faint, almost rueful smile tugged at her lips. “a poor strategy, as it turns out.”

she stepped back, careful now, hands lifted slightly, not dramatic, just deliberate. “i didn’t mean to step on you. or it. i swear that wasn’t, i wouldn’t.”

her gaze flicked down to the train, a scatter of tiny pearls catching in the folds of silk. matilda’s brows knit together, lips pressed briefly before she spoke again. this time, softer. “it really is beautiful. i should’ve been more careful. if it’s damaged, i can have it mended. i know someone in oldtown who does embroidery so fine it could fool the gods themselves. it’ll be returned to you better than it was, if you'd like.”

a pause, then a small laugh. “though if this is how crowded it gets for a bard bieber return...perhaps next time, something with less fabric to endanger?” her brows lifted, teasing, but her tone stayed warm. “not that I’d dream of telling you what to wear. only that I’d prefer we both make it through the next chorus dancing, without incident.”

who: @raviofthesun when and where: the royal apartments of prince ravi martell context: following her little temper tantrum, ravi followed through with the promise of a dinner.

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.

"for our private dinner." she did not want them stood inside.