Who: @raviofthesun When And Where: The Royal Apartments Of Prince Ravi Martell Context: Following Her

★

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: @cfthornsandroses when and where: the verdant concord. context: bard bieber is performing his first show in years.

ruqaiyah had never been more radiant—at least, not this week. the great hall of highgarden had been draped in ivory silks and strewn with floral garlands that hung like lazy serpents from the beams, but truly, the decoration was incidental. the true centrepiece was her. ruqaiyah dayne stood near the front of the crowd, surrounded by sweating, desperate girls and the occasional knight too proud to admit he knew every word to bard bieber’s ballads. she, of course, did know every word. bard bieber was an institution. a cultural reckoning. the last time she had cried tears of joy, it was because he had winked in her direction during a performance in sunspear. and now—now—he was singing baby, and ruqaiyah was transcending.

the moment the minstrels plucked out the opening chords of sorry, she let out an excited gasp that would’ve embarrassed anyone who didn’t already think she was the centre of the realm. her bangles jangled as she lifted both hands dramatically to the ceiling. “you gotta go and get angry at all of my honesty—” she wailed, completely off-key and completely unbothered.

her silk was lavender tonight, barely-there and stitched with tiny mother-of-pearl beads. it shimmered like moonlight, the train pooling behind her like a spilled potion. she danced in place, twirling slightly to the rhythm, her hips swaying far more suggestively than the tempo required. “i know you know that i made those mistakes maybe once or twice,” she half-sung, half-declared, eyes fluttering closed. she tilted her head back, lip-glossed mouth open in heartfelt sincerity. "by once or twice, i mean maybe a couple of hundred times,” she crooned.

and then - disaster.

her heel stopped short. a jolt tugged backwards through her skirt. her eyes snapped open, fury already flooding her veins. she spun. someone—some painfully reach looking, dreadfully mannered girl—was standing directly behind her, her own heel planted on the silk like she’d confused it for a wine spill. ruqaiyah's jaw dropped in disbelief. “i beg your pardon?” she snapped, voice as sharp and clipped as the edge of a broken mirror. “do you—do you have eyes in that sweet little head of yours, or are they decorative?”

the girl blinked, clearly startled. ruqaiyah narrowed her eyes. “you just murdered a train of imported silk from lys, and you’re standing there like a startled sheep at a harvest fair.” she clicked her tongue, tugging the fabric back with a flourish. she yanked her train free with a dramatic flourish, setting her clutch down on a nearby table as if ready to get into a catfight. “this is bard bieber, not a barn dance,” she muttered, fixing the girl with a stare sharp enough to sheer wool. “if you’re going to hover, learn to hover with grace.”

★

ruqaiyah leaned back slightly, her glossy lips curving into a slow, calculated smile. the torches cast a golden light over her pale lavender gown, their glow playing across the delicate white gold embellishments that shimmered as though stars themselves adorned her. her hands remained extended, palm up, though her posture was anything but open.

“the stars are willing to speak, you say?” her voice lilted with amusement, soft and melodic, though laced with something sharp beneath. “how convenient for you, zahra. they always seem to have just enough to keep people intrigued, don’t they?” she tilted her head, dark hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of silk. her amethyst eyes, so renowned in the courts of dorne, locked onto zahra’s with an intensity that made lesser women falter.

as zahra’s hands traced hers, ruqaiyah feigned a contemplative expression, though her thoughts were less charitable. strength to lead? to endure? how utterly unoriginal. does she think this is what i wish to hear? she resisted the urge to snatch her hands away, opting instead to let her fingers twitch, an unsubtle display of impatience.

“great responsibility,” she repeated slowly, her tone a perfect mimicry of zahra’s gentle cadence. the girl then let out a cruel giggle, a jewelled hand resting upon her jawline as she looked upon the woman who sat across from her. such beauty, it woud be enough to turn her green someday. ruqaiyah’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments as zahra’s words settled into the air between them. “a decision that weighs on me?” she echoed, her tone deceptively light, though her fingers tensed slightly in zahra’s grasp.

her amethyst eyes narrowed, studying the seer with the intensity of someone probing for a hidden insult. does she think to pry into my betrothal? does she dare to insinuate that the choice is not already made? she resisted the urge to strike the seer that sat across the table from her. the thought rankled her more than she let show. ruqaiyah was a master of poise, after all, and the court of sunspear was no place for a crack in one’s armor. but still, zahra’s words lingered, needling her like a thorn caught beneath her flawless skin.

"what do you have in that empty head of yours?" ruqaiyah asked, her voice purposefully getting louder, as though she sought to embarrass her by ensuring others would hear their conversation. a fake, poisoned smile was still plastered over her glossed lips. "do you suggest that prince ravi would seek to marry another but me?" they were both stupid; zahra and that foolish sister of hers, that did not know how to take a joke. that did not know how to let go of her shawl.

the warm hum of conversation and music around them felt distant as zahra faced ruqaiyah, her words cutting but absorbed with quiet resilience. the dancer's fingers lightly smoothed the edge of her gown, grounding herself as she stood before the high lady. she had long learned that responding to remarks like these, no matter how sharp, was a path fraught with trouble. her smile was small but steady, a shield against the sting of the words.

“of course, my lady,” shesaid gently, her voice calm and even. she let her gaze drift briefly to the glow of torches illuminating the grand hall before returning to the other. “the stars are always willing to speak, even when we may not wish to hear them.” ter tone held no malice, only quiet patience.

she stepped closer, now, lowering herself gracefully onto the cushioned bench opposite the lady of starfall. taking the other's outstretched hands, zahra felt a familiar mix of uncertainty and resolve. though the night’s tension tugged at her, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. reading palms had always been a comfort—structured, almost meditative. a way to find meaning, even when her own questions remained unanswered.

“the reach has been kind to you,” she murmured, her touch light as her thumbs traced the lines of ru's palms. “there’s strength here—strength to lead, but also to endure. i see someone who carries great responsibility, and with it, great expectation.”

a faint crease appeared on zahra’s brow as her focus deepened. “but there’s something else… a decision that weighs on you, perhaps. something you must choose, though the choice isn’t clear yet.”

looking up, zahra searched ruqaiyah’s face, her expression kind despite the edge in the woman’s earlier words. “does this sound familiar, my lady?” she asked softly. a flicker of unease brushed the edges of her thoughts, though she pushed it away. Whatever weighed on the other wasn’t for the dancer of salt shore to know—unless ru chose to share.

Kalank (2019)

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 tilted her head, a cascade of dark waves brushing against her shoulder as she regarded devani with an expression both amused and cutting. the faint flicker of vulnerability in devani’s words—i’m not going anywhere—was enough to make ruqaiyah’s lips twitch into a slow, deliberate smile. “not going anywhere, are you?” she said, her tone as smooth as polished glass. “i suppose the winds of essos didn’t carry all your courage away, then. or perhaps...” she paused, her violet eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“you’ve simply run out of places to hide.” there was always something else, some other reason; it was never truthful. it was never simple. everything always had a million reasons.

she took a step forward, deliberate, as if each movement carried its own weight. the years had added a new polish to devani, but ruqaiyah could see the cracks beneath the surface—the hesitation, the weariness that lingered just behind her carefully curated smile. she had seen devani all but stripped bare once before, not just in body but in soul, and the memory lingered like a brand. she had seen her too, in ways no other had ever seen her. no one but her.

“you’ve always been good at playing pretend.” ruqaiyah continued, her voice light, almost conversational, though her words were anything but. “did you like the view?” she asked, her voice dropping, rich with something almost predatory. do you enjoy watching me? “back then, when you slipped into my bed and whispered things you only ever dared in the dark? did you enjoy seeing how far you could push me, how far i would fall for you?” her jaw tightened as a shadow flickered over her expression.

ruqaiyah's words were intended to slice, to cut through the many, many defences devani had thrown up over the years to prevent anybody from knowing her and her secrets. devani could take the jibes and the insults, could let them roll from her back without much trouble, but what bothered her was that ruqaiyah saw the truth of who devani was. it had been years, and yet she saw devani plain, and that was an unsettling thought.

"does that make you the flame?" she replied, smoothly. "burning so bright? you are still here, ruqaiyah, when you are free to turn and walk away. you could have done the moment you saw me, if you wanted me to stay away. funny, that."

they both knew it would do no good. walking away might have ended the conversation for the day, but devani would have sought her out again, like a dog needing to be chased off each morning, and returning without fail the next. and so, around it goes.

"habit's broken," her words were a little more decisive than her previous airy tone. "i'm not going anywhere, ru. i'm getting too old to run."

it was not the whole truth, but it was enough of it. she hadn't known, when she'd arrived back from essos, if she would stay or not, and though a part of her still longed to go again, to leave these shores without a trace of herself behind, she was resigning herself to the fact that wasn't a path left open to her. she needed to stay.

only a mere trace of her careless smile lingered on her lips. for a moment, the two merely looked at each other, the silence stretching for a beat longer than it should. and then, ru stepped back, and it was all broken in an instant. and there was a flicker of something, too fleeting to name, and too sharp to ignore, that she pushed away before her own response came.

"feels like standing too close to the edge of a cliff and hoping the wind doesn't tip you over," the answer came to her tongue a little too quickly, too easily. "but," she shrugged. "i like the view from up there."

★

ruqaiyah’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, her amethyst eyes narrowing as she studied devani, the words lingering in the air like smoke. she almost found the claim laughable—no winds strong enough? oh, there were winds strong enough. strong enough to carry you away from yourself. but she didn’t say that. not yet. “courage,” ruqaiyah mused, tilting her head slightly, her gaze running over devani as if she were a puzzle yet to be solved.

“you really think that’s what kept you running all these years? courage?” she stepped closer, the words laced with something cold, something biting. “or was it fear, darling? fear of being seen for what you really are. because you and i both know what it is. and it’s never been about courage.” and that was the twisted reality of all that remained in the fractured glass that had become of them; a knowledge, a clear ability to see through one another. there was no way to forget, no way to go back on it.

“you’re bored?” ruqaiyah’s smile widened, sharp as a knife. “as am i. how long did it take for you to get bored? all those years running around pretending—hiding, always hiding. you'll be hiding something over there, no doubt. something that spoiled the fun for you. but now you’re here. chasing a game that no one else is playing anymore.” she pulled away her silks from devani's smooth touch, ignoring the way she seemed to find herself zoning in more on it. on her.

“it is quite the view still, devani. is it not?” ruqaiyah’s voice dropped to a low murmur, an edge of steel in it. her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of the past catching her off guard. memories, god, they never leave, do they? she had given devani everything once, and for what? abandonment. emptiness. she had sat and wondered, rewriting and rewriting letters she would leave her parents. her family. how she would tell them she did not wish to marry. that she wished to be like the rest of dorne.

“you didn’t just look, though, did you?” she said, stepping closer still, her eyes narrowing; but her gaze was dark. “and then you left.” her hand reached out to devani there, moving away her hand from her silks. "we were girls, devani toland. and we are women now. i'll find it within my heart to forgive you, as my soon to be subject." a lie. a complete and utter lie. but she would never miss the chance to remind her of their difference. how lucky she were that ruqaiyah had ever looked in her direction.

"nah. don't think there's winds strong enough to carry me away from my courage." it was not necessarily true. a lover had once told devani she was completely without fear, and she had liked that. but it was not fearlessness that had kept her running all these years. it was quite the opposite, and she did not think any knew that better than ruqaiyah, regardless of whatever playful deflection devani threw her way.

she hummed then, pressing her lips together as though she were deep in thought. but it was another charade, another game. yet another way to see if she could still get under the skin of the lady of starfall. "or maybe i just got bored. hiding's less fun if you're not chasing me."

ruqaiyah pressed closer, and devani found her eyes sliding down her face, studying each of her features. those amythest eyes, with their long lashes, the curve of her cheekbone, the way her lips parted when she spoke and the memory of pressing her own against them. it was a treacherous road to go down, and yet, here she was, throwing herself down it headfirst, as she always did.

"i do." it had been so innocent, in comparison to the lovers that had come after. back then, it had simply been about lying beside one another, charged with something else that was not lust. ruqaiyah had given her an escape from the oppressiveness of ghost hill. devani had repaid that with abandonment. "but that is not the interesting question." she reached out, smoothing a fold in ruqaiyah's pink silks, touch feather-light against the fabric. "because you didn't mind the view either, if memory serves."

asoiaf meme: 1/9 houses

House Dayne of Starfall is a noble house from Starfall in Dorne. The Sword of the Morning is a title given to a Dayne knight who is considered worthy of wielding the greatsword Dawn, a blade said to be created from the heart of falling star. Their sigil is a sword and a falling star on a lavender background. A cadet branch of the family are the Daynes of High Hermitage.

★

why did he need a ball thrown for his return, as though his place was not starfall? were they truly throwing celebrations for a lord returning to his post after fulfilling his duty? the sound of her iridescent silks covering the path of the private, enclosed garden seemed to drape by it; truthfully, such an event was a time that ruqaiyah dayne would come into her own. she would flourish, and glitter, for she believed she could make the whole place shimmer; but this night was different.

all because the rays of starlight now had to be shared; she was no longer the single grace of the evening, the most beautiful woman of house dayne. now there was a new wife of his to take that title of lady of starfall, and that was easily managed. all she would need to do is prove the peasant girl from a basket was over her head. but a newborn baby, born under comet light? how was she supposed to compete against a baby that seemed to happily peer at everyone and anything that breathed? she detested the brat.

she puffed a cloud of smoke into the air behind this private garden, hidden within its private gates, not once considering that anyone would have the nerve to follow her on her own land. her own playing field. she held the smoke between her fingers, dark silky hair cascading down to her waist as she let out another puff, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. then she heard it—the taunting, all too familiar sound of a jibe.

"every day is a celebration for someone like me. there are many who are grateful for me in starfall." she responded, dramatically rolling her darker lilac gaze as she stepped out into the stone pathway, illuminated by candles. she put out her smoke and carelessly tossed it aside into the gardens her brother no doubt cherished. some gardens they were, compared to the rest of westeros. she looked at him with a deadpan expression, almost feeling a vein throb. what did he mean, on the road?

"i am to be your princess, lord wyl. i have been, since i was a girl," she all but sneered. or was she?

ryon wyl always knew how to get under her skin. the arrogance, the casual jibes—she could hardly stand it. but ruqaiyah would not let him see her falter. no, she would remain the untouchable jewel of house dayne, even if it meant sparring with words that cut as sharply as her brother’s prized blade. “what, are you still trying to prove you’re something more than a nuisance?” she added, her voice laced with disdain.

her words were a weapon, wielded with precision, each syllable dripping with contempt. ruqaiyah dayne would not be outshone, not by some peasant girl turned lady, nor by a man who barely deserved her notice. she would reclaim her place in the starlight, no matter the cost.

who: @ruqaiyahdayne when: flashback; starfall what: an event is being held in starfall for the return of the sword of the morning, ryon wyl attends as the new wyl of wyl.

The last time he saw the Sword of Morning a disagreement rose between them. One that went so far the Wyl of Wyl demanded to duel the other. It was the breaking of his old sword that saw sense come through that day. Still, the tension that existed was a light one, one that Ryon would not dance on. He respected Armaan Yronwood and therefore he would respect Baashir Dayne. That and he respected being alive more than his own pride.

"Is that his sister?" Ryon asked the man who stood across from him. It was the great debate of the Wyl of Wyl, should he show the respect needed or should he play his game. He never missed a chance to play the game. So, he made his way over to her, walking down the smooth stone path, the sound of the sea crash against the shore meshed well with the cry of birds and far off music that filled the air.

"Aur betee ko aisa jashn kab milega? (And when will the daughter get such a celebration?)" Ryon smiled, it would be the game, "Surely you are on the road to betrothal."

★

ruqaiyah crossed her arms, her irritation barely masked behind a tight, sharp smile. she tilted her head slightly, her dark amethyst eyes locking onto ravi’s. “dinner?” she repeated, the word rolling off her tongue with measured skepticism. “how... quaint.” her tone was light, but her words carried an edge, as though she were deciding whether to laugh or lash out. but she could not lash out, for then there was no denying the fact that she would probably end up pushing him away; and then she would truly lose her opportunity to be princess of dorne.

it was all she wanted in the world, something she had envisioned and pictured since she were a girl. her royal wedding, and the lavish jewels that would adorn her.

she stepped forward, closing the small space between them. the sun caught the soft sheen of her hair, and she gestured vaguely toward the horizon, her fingers adorned with delicate rings that glinted in the light. “it’s charming, really,” she began, her voice laced with a thin veneer of politeness, “that you think a dinner can mend this... limbo. our families need to have a discussion, really.” her lips curved into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. or was it not the families, but him specifically? did he truly think someone else was worthy enough to be a princess?

“let’s have dinner. you never know, maybe over food, you’ll finally say something definitive. like a date.”

the wind tugged at the folds of her flowing dress, but she remained perfectly still, her posture taut with restrained annoyance as her hair billowed around her. “you know, i do need to be married, ravi,” she said bluntly, her voice steady but tinged with exasperation. “i don’t have the luxury of sitting here, waiting for you to make up your mind. if this isn’t what you want, all you have to do is say so. tell my family. tell me. i won’t crumble. i’ll look elsewhere. believe me, there are others who have asked.” she turned away briefly, letting her gaze drift to the ocean. the waves shimmered like molten gold under the sun, but the sight did little to soothe her.

she had probably said too much, but she also thought herself to be entirely correct. “you talk about deflection like it’s some noble art,” she continued, her voice quieter now, though no less sharp. “but all it’s done is make me feel like an afterthought, your highness. and i am not an afterthought.”

the waves crashed softly against the shore as ravi kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ocean a mirror to the thoughts tugging at his mind. ruqaiyah’s words hung in the air between them, sharp and unrelenting. he could feel her eyes on him, could sense the weight of her irritation, but still, he hesitated. the sun bore down on them both, its warmth a stark contrast to the tension brewing between them.

for a long moment, the prince of sunspear said nothing. his hands rested loosely at his sides, fingers curling slightly as if searching for something to hold onto. finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “you’re not wrong,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful. “deflection is... easier. at least, it’s easier than facing something I might not have all the answers to.”

he turned to face her then, the sunlight catching the faint hints of weariness etched into his features. his expression was calm, but his dark eyes held a sincerity that was hard to ignore. “but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it, ru. about us. about what happens next.”

he couldn’t blame her, not really. years of silence, the undefined nature of their betrothal—it was enough to fray anyone’s patience. yet ravi wasn’t sure how to address it directly. instead, he focused on what he could do: ease the discomfort, find a path forward, and, perhaps, make her feel less like an afterthought.

ravi’s hands rested at his sides. “would you join me for dinner tomorrow? just the two of us,” he suggested, his voice steady but gentle. “no courtiers, no politics—just a chance for us to speak. about this, about us, and where we go from here.” his gaze softened as he met hers, though the tension in her shoulders told him she wasn’t ready to let the matter rest. “i don’t think anyone has been fair to you in this,” he continued, “least of all me. you deserve more than uncertainty. more than silence.”

it wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a beginning. a step toward understanding, toward making things right. and if it could bring even the faintest glimmer of peace to the frustration he sensed in her, it would be worth it.