#*through gritted teeth* it's not that serious and everyone is entitled to their opinion. it's not that serious and everyone is ent

[synthwwavve]

eyelid twitching as i resist the urge to argue with dumb/inaccurate/"he would not say that" takes about my favorite character(s)

[sabraeal]

HAKIZANA FIRST MEETING. I WANT IZANA'S HEART TO STOP DEAD. ESPECIALLY WHEN SHE OUT SMARTS HIM WITH HER CLEVER WIT. JUST. DESTROY ISANA. DESTROY HIM.

Haki is running late.

This is not just an unfortunate happenstance or a personal failing; it is against her very nature. She has not once been late in all of her fifteen years, not even at her own birth, when she arrived a month to the day before expected. Or so her brother said, a smirk canting his normally serious mouth. It was a story he never seemed to tire of; a piece of family lore their mother had oft-repeated. When he says it, sometimes Haki thinks she can hear her voice still.

In the way of such things, it has become a part of her.

Haki is never late, but she is now.

She is half-tempted to break into a run; it will get her there all the faster, perhaps even close to on-time, but her father’s voice echoes in her ears, keeps her pace elegant, reserved.

We are not servants, daughter, he told her so many times. Our blood is just as old as theirs. We do not hasten ourselves to please them.

Of course not. They will only make their daughters bend and scrape to make themselves desirable. They will only make them still their tongue and wear a smiling mask, if only to not offend.

Her steps hasten. She will not run, but she does not need to be slow either.

It is better than before, she reminds herself. Queen Haruto is kind and clever; were these easier days, she thinks she might like her.

But these are not the times she lives in. She must do anything to keep her family above water. There are no hems too muddy for her to kiss, no matter what father may think. The Bergatts are gone from Wilant, and if their house is not to follow, they need better allies than a family offered the next best thing to exile.

She takes a moment outside of Her Majesty’s quarters to straighten her skirt and press her pins back into place. The Queen Regent has an eye for hurried dress; once one of her handmaidens came in with pins loose, and she requested the girl avail herself of her toilette, if needed. Hana had spent the rest of the afternoon holding back tears of shame.

Haki could not make such a mistake, not if she wanted to be considered for her entourage when the queen inevitably returned to Wistal. That would be where she could make a good match, both for herself and her brother.

She lets out a single nervous breath, and pushes open the doors.

It is not Her Majesty that waits for her.

He waits alone on the Queen Regent’s divan, little more than a few years her senior, long limbs folded one over the other. There’s no mistaking his cool countenance, his shrewd yet affable gaze, that spirits-may-care smile. They have never met, but there is enough of his mother in him for her to know who he must be even before he speaks.

She drops her her knees, head bowed. “Your Highness.”

“Ah, good,” he drawls, his voice a little reedier than she expects from a man so composed. “You recognize me.”

She bites her cheeks to keep from blurting out the first thing to mind. Of course she knows him; who else would be sitting so comfortably in Her Majesty’s chambers, availing himself of Her Majesty’s tea.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He hums, as if there is something interesting in her even tone. “As you can see, you will not be taking tea with my mother today. She seems to think it would behoove us to…get to know one another.” He gestures to a chair across from him. “Come, she informs me you are a…delightful conversationalist.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” She alights onto the cushion, perched just on the edge, legs cross at the ankle and tucked beneath her. “I would be all too glad to make conversation with your esteemed person.”

“Would you now?” His mouth quirks at the corner, not kindly. “Any particular reason?”

She raises her gaze to him, only to find his attention fully on her. Her heart flutters uncertainly in her chest. She lets her eyes slip away, pouring a cup of tea for each of them. “Your mother speaks of you highly.”

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, is that all?”

Her delicate smile goes rigid. “Is that not enough, Your Highness?”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” he condescends, brows furrowing in mock pity. “It is only that…”

She decides not to give him the satisfaction of asking after his meaning. Instead she offers him a tray of tea cakes, smile empty.

His mouth twitches. Impatient, for a prince. “…It is just that even an imbecile’s mother would speak highly of him. It is in their nature.”

It takes a larger imbecile to admit it.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she says instead, setting down the plate a little too hard.

“Come now, everyone knows.” He’s goading her, she knows, trying to get a rise out of her. “Surely you have heard your mother talk of your brother.”

She grits her teeth. “I wouldn’t know, Your Highness. My mother is dead.”

He has no smart response to that.

“We may drop the pretense, my lady,” he says after a long moment. “I can see that my mother believes you to be a suitable match.”

She arches and eyebrow, taking a bite of petit four to keep from clenching her fists. “And you have some cause to doubt her opinion?”

“No.” He says the word like he’s testing ice, wondering if he can put weight on it, or if it will break. “It is only that I’m sure Lady Bergatt thought the same, and I am loath to take Touka’s refuse.”

She cannot keep her fists from clenching this time. His smirk says he has noticed.

“That betrothal never went through,” she says, so even. Her father would be proud of such a lie.

“And so I should take what he would spurn?” His smile stretches wide. “Come let us be frank with one another, Mistress Haki. I think you are friendly to my mother only to further your own worth. I would take no issue with this normally – alas, that is the way of our world is it not?”

He leans forward, and its then that she notices how powerful his slender frame is. She remembers Makiri had called him the best swordsman of their generation. He did not give that title lightly, it seems.

“But for some reason my mother believes you to be genuine.” His eyes flash, ice cold. “And you see, that is what I cannot forgive. You are good, I’ll give you that, but I won’t have some viper break her heart, Mistress.”

She can barely see for all the red in her vision. “If you are quite done, Your Highness,” she begins, calm. “I would beg that you let me be as honest with you as you have been me.”

“Ah, I did ask it of you, didn’t I?” He smirks, amused. “Please, I am eager to hear your rebuttal.”

“If I might be so bold, Your Highness.” Haki smiles, and she know it must cut like a dagger because the prince startles. “I think you are an entitled, arrogant child who fancies himself smarter than everyone is the room, and when he is unsure if he is, turns to petulance.”

His mouth has dropped, halfway to an answer, but oh, she is not done. “I think you believe kindness in a dull man’s tool, and that everyone around you is too stupid to notice your rudeness. But please, let me assure you, it is not that other are unaware, but that you are suffered due to your rank. If you enjoy your game it is not because you are sly, but because you find pleasure in cruelty, and in that you are just like Touka.”

“He would catch beetles you know,” she says conversationally, even as her stomach roils, “and he would make me watch as he tore off their wings. He would ask me if such a thing was more merciful than death. If you are so concerned about the dissolution of our betrothal,” she spat, taking pleasure in the way he had gone pale, “it is because I could not be in the same room with him without breaking into tears. It was a great embarrassment for everyone.”

“Now if you would excuse me,” she says, standing so forcefully the chair scrapes behind her. “I am afraid the tea has turned my stomach.”

She makes to leave the room, but cannot help but add, “And another thing, if I may, Your Highness.”

“Please,” he says weakly. “Go on.”

“When you wear your jacket around your shoulders like that,” she says, drawing herself up haughtily. “You look like nothing more than a child running out the door whose mother hasn’t yet caught him.”

She drops a curtsy with not a trace of mockery. “If you would excuse me.”

It is not until she is walking down Pavilion Street that her words catch up with her.

Spirits, she spoke that way to the prince. She feels faint.

No one is more surprised that her when, so many years later, His Highness arrives at Lyrias dressed as a pharmacist and says, “I am here to discuss the conditions of our betrothal.”