Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So she said, what′s the problem, baby?
What's the problem? I don′t know
Well, maybe I'm in love (love)

Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows

Soft summer sun cascades along the countryside, the gentle breeze ruffling the leaves of strong oak trees scattered along the winding castle road. Along the edge of the normally packed dirt, a rainbow of wildflowers blooms: yellows, pinks, purples, and blues, like stained glass speckled across a blanket of vibrant green. The previous night had seen a mild storm, but by early afternoon, the muddy road had dried to a soft mush beneath quiet llama hooves.

Light flickers between lush branches, prying mossy green eyes open to watch the gentle sway of the trees. The soft slosh of uneven cart wheels sends another wave of nausea through the cart’s only occupant, the third promise to the Turali throne, Wuk Lamat. She doubles over the side of her cart, expelling what was left of her early morning breakfast in a desperate gasp. 

“ Uhnng… ”

Beside her, on their own additional llamas, ride her brothers, the second promise, Koana, and the first promise, Zoraal Ja, who steer their mounts around her most recent expulsion.

“Must we always bring these awful things?” She moans, a pale green sheen to her fur-covered face 

“Lamaty’i,” Koana begins, offering her an apologetic smile, “It seems we are not far from Alexandria. Would you rather walk the remainder of the way?” 

One, two, three rotations of the mismatched wheels is all it takes before Wuk Lamat rises, leaping from the cart to the muddy road with a wild roar. Long limbs stretch high above her head as her joints pop at the gentle exertion. 

They’d been on the road for four days, and despite the beautiful scenery, Wuk Lamat had found it hard to focus past the constant squeak and slosh of the dying cart, never mind the beasts that pulled it.

“It feels good to walk on my own two feet again,” she sighs, dropping down to a crouch before bouncing back up, a wild grin against sharp fangs.

“You could have simply ridden your own llama instead of insisting on the cart to bring us all this way.” Zoraal Ja scoffs, his narrowed eyes never leaving the rising spires of the approaching kingdom. 

“You know Lamaty’i gets sick anytime a llama is involved, brother.” Chides Koana, ever the pragmatic. “Without the cart, it would have only taken longer for us to arrive.”

“And we would have missed the tournament!” Wuk Lamat cheers, bouncing on the balls of her feet joyfully. “Can't have that!”

Zoraal Ja rolls his eyes, spurring his mount with a flick of both wrists to outpace his siblings. “We should be so lucky .”

With a chuckle, Wuk Lamat sprints forward, her long stride able to close the gap and keep pace with her eldest brother as she watches the ornate castle rise into view.

The Alexandrian palace is stunning, Wuk Lamat thinks, looking at the rising spires capped in melted bronze and gold. It looks like something out of one of the fairytales Tankwa would tell her as a child, white stone with glittering gems embossed. She imagines Queen Sphene, the subject of some of her favorite stories, sitting upon a white gold throne, her smile kind as she attends to her people. Dusty blonde hair that bounces with each quiet smize, and gentle green eyes, Wuk Lamat’s heart skips a beat.

“Lamaty’i, don't get lost, we have a job to do.” Koana reminds, hopping off his own mount, a black, white, and brown llama with a bored stare.

As they pass through the entrance gate, Wuk Lamat slows to a stop, her eyes wide as she takes in the vivid colors. The town surrounding the bastion glitters just like the castle, bordered in strong stone towers and rod iron fencing with roads paved in cobblestone and bursting at the seams with people. She is surprised to see several recognizable races, Hhetsarro, Shetona, Tonawawta, and even a few Hanuhanu among the crowd, and it feels like home, she thinks, filled with excitement. She wants to see all the shops, sample all the foods, and meet all the people!!

“Lamaty’i,” calls Koana again, his tone more firm as he crosses his arms.

“I'm coming, I'm coming.” It's hard to take her eyes off everything, brilliant smiles, and delicious smells. She takes a step towards her brothers, eyes focused on everything but her companions. “Don't you want to look around?” She tries, sure of Koana’s imminent denial. “We don't have to meet the queen right away, do we?” Truth be told, she was very nervous for that meeting. With the number of books she’d read about the Alexandrian Queen, she wasn't sure she wouldn't make a fool of herself.

“It would be best to conclude our business before letting you run wild, I'm afraid.” Koana was always a doting brother, and so his tone was soft as he placed his hand on his sister’s arm. “But if you want to look around as we make our way there, you can.” 

“ Woo!! ” Wuk Lamat cheers, one fist triumphantly thrust into the air.

“But we aren't stopping!” He adds on, watching his younger sister bound from storefront to storefront.

“I will find a stable and lodgings.” Zoraal Ja says evenly, his hand opened to accept the reins to Koana’s llama. Behind him, his deep black llama chuffs, kicking Wuk Lamat’s cart with annoyance, the duo of white and grey llamas pulling it spit in retort. The first promise rolls his eyes, his blue scales rippling as he stomps away.

“He's no fun.” Wuk Lamat adds, her good mood souring at the display.

“You should give him some space, Lamaty’i. You know he’s still sore about the contest.” 

For the first time since entering the city proper, Wuk Lamat lets her gaze follow her brother’s retreating form, his broad shoulders and stocky gait filled with frustration and irritation. 

“Papa only wants what's best for the kingdom.” She recites, in a hushed tone, rhetorical, more an affirmation for herself than anything else. 

Her excitement quelled for a moment, she let herself sink into the crowd alongside her brother, eyes flitting from clothing racks to bright, colorful flags, then to the delicious-smelling food. Her stomach rumbles, a reminder of her forfeited breakfast still stale on her tongue.

“Koana, can we get some of that?” She points to a strong-smelling stand surrounded by people, a raucous hum of energy that flows like a tide. Scrawled across a hanging sign is a haphazard painting of the meat offered and the words: Turkey Legs .

“Lamaty’i-”

“Just one for me then,” she presses, stepping towards the crowd gingerly.

“I don't think-” 

“I'll be quick.” 

Koana doesn't have a chance to protest further, sighing as he watches his sister’s taller form wade through the waves of fairgoers. 

The smell only gets better the closer she steps, and Wuk Lamat fishes out a few gold coins to thrust them into the face of a Tonawawta man positioned behind the counter, covered in soot and grease. He eyes the foreign currency and pushes it back towards the third promise with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, miss, we only take Alexandrian coins ‘ere.” 

He sounds genuinely apologetic, to his credit, but it doesn't soothe the grumbling ache in Wuk Lamat’s stomach. She presses a hand to quiet another grumble and prepares to leave before a small hand rests upon her wrist.

“I’ll cover it, Gabbro.” Comes a light, airy voice, enriched with the same accent as the mused shopkeep, but more regal.

Mossy green eyes trace the pale hand resting on her wrist up to a billowing white sleeve and the smiling face of a woman who could only be Queen Sphene of Alexandria. Standing right there. Touching Wuk Lamat.

The foreign royal blanches, her mouth falling open as the queen hands the man two sparkling silver coins. He accepts and passes her two of the glistening turkey legs, the larger of which she hands to Wuk Lamat, before taking the taller woman by the hand and leading her out of the crowd to an unoccupied stretch of cobblestone.

“I’ve never seen that currency before,” Queen Sphene offers, releasing Wuk Lamat’s hand and tugging a tuft of turkey from the bone with two dainty fingers. She savors the meat with a delighted hum and smiles up towards her newest companion.

Belatedly, Wuk Lamat snaps her jaw closed, eyes searching for Koana as her thoughts race. “You’re Queen Sphene,” she balks, the turkey leg forgotten in her hand.

“That I am.” She takes another string of turkey from the leg and lets her gaze slide across Wuk Lamat curiously. “But I can’t say I know you.” It's not accusatory, resting more so in the curious range. “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” 

Wuk Lamat’s brain short-circuits at her choice of words, thoughts lost in a snowstorm of awe and wonder. “I-uh-”

“Third Promise of Tuliyollal, Wuk Lamat.” Koana steps around Wuk Lamat swiftly, his shoulders back, radiating confidence. “Soon to be the Vow of Resolve, and I am the Second Promise, Koana.”

“The Vow of Reason,” Wuk Lamat says resolutely, remembering the common tongue in the wake of her brother’s arrival. “Or soon to be.”

Koana smiles as he offers his hand to Sphene. She quickly takes the offered hand, her own smile brightening as the information settles between them 

“Wonderful,” her shoulders straighten as she eases into a more formal tone, “I received your letter just a day ago, Vow Koana.” Her gaze shifts back to Wuk Lamat, lingering for a moment longer than might have been necessary. “I have to announce the next joust at midday, so perhaps we can hold our business till dinner tonight? Oh, and I’ll have some rooms prepared for you two in the castle as well.”

“Our brother, too,” Wuk Lamat adds, finally biting into the gifted turkey leg. “He came along with us.” She should probably avoid talking with her mouth full, but the savory meat nearly melts on her tongue, rich with flavor.

Sphene nods, her smile no brighter than it has been thus far. “Excellent, I’ll get the arrangements started.” She claps once, awkwardly around the turkey leg, before continuing. “For now, would you two like to accompany me for the day? It's fine to get lost in the joy of the crowd, but I’d be remiss were I not to give you a proper tour.”

“I should locate our brother,” Koana confesses with a resigned smile, “But Lamaty’i has been alight with excitement for the tournament since she heard of it.” He pats his sister’s shoulder as he continues. “Have a good time, we’ll find you when the joust concludes.” 

Wuk Lamat whirls on her brother, jaw dropping again as he leaves with a wave, now alone with the woman whose stories she used to drift off to sleep to.

“Your brother seems to be quite a character.” Queen Sphene offers, stepping back into Wuk Lamat’s line of sight. “Do not feel obligated to join me, Wuk Lamat, but would I have the opportunity to escort you, there would be more snacks.”

It's a foul choice she’d have to make; food at the price of utterly embarrassing herself. (Glimmering green eyes twinkle up at her, brilliant flecks of gold highlight Sphene’s pupils as they dilate with patient curiosity.)

“Who am I to refuse such an offer?” She almost gasps, winded and nervous as Sphene takes her hand again. It's going to be a long day.

Three stalls in and Wuk Lamat hasn't regretted her choice. Queen Sphene has handed her some sort of breaded sausage impaled on a stick, a mess of orange potatoes cut into long spirals, and a haystack of fried dough powdered in sugar. 

“It all tastes so good.” She swoons, self-consciousness left behind at the turkey leg stand. 

With each treat, Sphene beams up at her, verdant eyes shimmering with joyful energy. “I’m so happy you approve.” 

There's something so relaxing in the queen's tone, like she would love nothing more than to show the world the light that blooms from her kingdom. It makes Wuk Lamat’s heart beat a little faster, a little harder.

“Everyone looks so happy!” It's true. She’s sure she hadn't seen a single frown on a single face since her arrival, and it did wonders for her mood. When there were so many happy faces surrounding you, you could scarcely frown yourself. “Is this all because of the tournament?” She's finished off the breaded meat and is halfway done with her spiraled potatoes as the two women round the stables.

“Mostly,” Sphene smiles at a young woman behind a storefront, her haggard face lighting with the attention of her queen. “We have so many who travel here for it; it boosts the economy by large margins, but I think we get by fine enough in the time between.” 

A young child brandishes a sword a few feet away from the queen, his excited face shifting to something serious as he turns to march at the queen’s side vigilantly. Sphene hides a gentle laugh behind an open hand as she kneels before him, “My loyal knight.” She pats his head as he squeals, running back to his mother with a wide smile.

Wuk Lamat watches, the scene settling atop her shoulders comfortably like a well-worn blanket. Queen Sphene is exactly what she’d expected, right down to the slightly lopsided way she smiles. She is beautiful in a way that leaves the taller woman breathless and grasping for a new, more intense way to describe her. When she would slow their pace and gesture towards something new to point out, she’d trail those pale fingers down strong arms, wrap them around Wuk Lamat’s wrist, and the Xbr'aal woman would have to hold her breath before looking. Whatever spell Sphene had cast on her is overwhelming, and Wuk Lamat is struggling to stay afloat amongst the swell of near-natural affection afflicting her. 

“This is our last stop before the joust,” Sphene announces, her heels clicking together as she gestures towards the last shop before the entrance to the arena. “This is my favorite stand, but don’t tell anyone.” She finishes with a wink, a subtle motion that sends a flurry of butterflies through Wuk Lamat’s chest.

The storefront doesn't look much different from the other shops in the area, the same dark wood, hanging sign, and smiling faces. Wuk Lamat glances at Queen Sphene again and takes a step forward. There’s a menu sign nailed to the back wall of the shop: bright colors spell out several items available for purchase, but she’s unsure of what she’s looking at. Brow furrowing in confusion, she taps a clawed finger to her chin.

“Opal?” Sphene’s voice tilts up, a soft indication of her excitement as the dark skinned woman behind the counter turns to smile.

“Your Highness,” Opal, a taller woman with dark hair pulled into a tight braid down her back, drapes herself across the counter and wraps Sphene’s hands in her own, her shoulders hunching as she squeezes herself into the space between the two royals, giddy. “You’ve come at a good time.”

Sphene smiles in return, glowing with gentle exhilaration; she almost bounces in joy. “Tell me they’re fresh.” She sighs, creeping ever closer to the shopkeep.

“Better,” Opal coos, her accent fluttering off the word like birds in the wind. “We got a new shipment of blueberries, so I made your favorite.”

Sphene almost moans, kicking a leg out behind her with glee. Something inside Wuk Lamat gnarls, tightening around too many vital organs. It's an odd feeling, not at all comfortable, so she shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

The Alexandrians seem to notice, and Sphene offers an apologetic smile as she releases Opal’s hands. “Opal is a dear friend.” She offers, watching the woman as she begins gathering two freshly baked pastries. “I come here so often she feels the need to stock my favorites.” 

She sounds embarrassed about it, but Wuk Lamat finds it so charming it sends a chuckle from her lips 

“One for you and your friend,” Opal offers, sliding the pastries wrapped delicately in a piece of light purple fabric. “On the house.”

A frown carves its way across Sphene’s lips, a delicate pout that betrays the woman’s age. “I told you I can-”

“Accept this gift,” Opal finishes, smiling slyly as she pushes Sphene’s offered hand back. “Because you are my good friend.”

This placates the queen, her pout morphing into an amused smile as she accepts the treats with a shake of her head. 

“Blueberry for you, of course, and cherry for your friend.” This time, Opal winks, but it doesn't twist Wuk Lamat’s insides quite the same.

“I'll see you soon, Opal,” Sphene offers her friend, squeezing the woman’s hand before drifting back to Wuk Lamat’s. She tugs once again at the other royal’s hand, leading her towards the arena with a coy smile. “We should get to the arena before the crowds get too dense.”

Wuk Lamat allows herself to be led without hindrance, her thoughts fluttering between what was happening in her chest and the sights before her. She focuses on the towering walls and the way the stands are slowly filling with people, all looking towards the queen, leading her towards a sitting area flanked by two knights.

“Otis, Zelenia,” Sphene begins, nodding towards her knights. “This is my guest, The Vow of Resolve, Wuk Lamat.” Belatedly, she drops the vow’s hand and gestures to the two seats in the section. “I have to make the announcements, but that will only take a moment.” She smiles again, offering Wuk Lamat the seat to her right. “You may stay here till then.” With a final fleeting glance, she walks through the seating gate and stands upon the small stage at the edge of the jousting lanes.

The two knights follow their queen up to the stage, bastions of protection that follow like shadows. Wuk Lamat is left alone as the stands continue to fill, the low drum of conversation becoming a white noise to the vow's muddled thoughts. She finds herself staring at the delicately wrapped treat sitting perfectly in her lap, the care given to the way the corners wrap into a neat little knot.

Opal seemed nice, so why did the interaction make her feel so… off? Mindlessly, she releases the knot, revealing the puffed triangle of dough sprinkled with large granules of sugar. The edges ooze with warm red syrup where the pastry has been folded, creating a cute pocket of fruit filling. She takes a bite, returning to the memory of Sphene’s hands in Opal's. It's not as if Sphene had been shy about physical touch. All day she’d trailed her hands down Wuk Lamat’s arms, held her hand, and even adjusted the way her leathers had shifted as they walked. Was there a hope that she was the only one Sphene was so physical with? They’d only just met…

When Queen Sphene finally takes her seat to her left, Wuk Lamat nearly startles, lost in the weight of the day. She smiles at the queen, and is treated to another brilliant smile in return. 

“Did you like it?” Sphene asks, pointing to the remaining crumbs of the pastry in Wuk Lamat’s lap.

The taller woman pauses. She was so caught up in her thoughts, she’d hardly thought about the taste, but decides that it must have been good, and nods. “I’ll have to try a blueberry one next time.” 

Another blinding smile ignites across Sphene’s face as she offers her own pastry to her friend. “I don't mind sharing.”

They split the pastry, and Wuk Lamat insists Sphene takes the larger half before biting into the other. Now that she’s focusing on it, the treat is very delicious. The blueberries add a pleasant tartness to contrast the sweetness of the dough, and the sugar on top rounds it out nicely.

“I think yours may have had more love baked into it.” Wuk Lamat chuckles, offering Sphene a cautious glance.

“Mayhaps,” Sphene coos, finishing off the treat with a happy hum.

“Are you familiar with jousting?” Sphene asks, her hand settling back on Wuk Lamat’s arm. 

(It’s warm , a soft weight that settles in the pit of the taller woman’s stomach.)

“I’ve read stories,” Wuk Lamat confesses, hands flexing into fists awkwardly. “I read a lot of stories about you, actually.” It's been a figurative elephant in the room the entire day, something at the tip of her tongue begging for release. 

The admission does less for the regal queen, though. Her shoulders slump, and her usually vibrant smile seems to dim in the light of it. “I was worried about that, actually.” She shifts, pulling her hands into her lap and wringing them together. “I often get visitors boasting about The Eternal Queen Sphene from the stories; it pains me to confess they are not stories about me .”

This deflates Wuk Lamat, her hopeful expression falling like broken glass. “They’re not?”

“Alas, no.” Sphene begins, her face falling past neutral. “She was a legendary queen, and my inspiration besides, but I am not she. Would that I were…” She coils into herself, her knees tucking against her chest as her gaze shifts back to the jousting lanes.

Otis is a contender for this round, his solid silver armor glittering in the sun as he waves to the cheering fans. He mounts his horse and places his helmet over his head, urging his horse into a playful trot to rally the crowds.

“Sorry, I cannot be the queen you expected-”

“You’re great!” The words spill out like a waterfall as Wuk Lamat nearly falls out of her chair, panic solidifying like ice in her veins. She hadn't meant for things to become so dour, but she can see the pain etched across pink cheeks and regrets ever bringing up those damned stories. “I did think you were her- I mean,” she fumbles, her leg bouncing nervously. 

Sphene shifts her gaze back to Wuk Lamat, resting her head on her arms folded around her knees. The way she looks like the next thing the Vow says might break her to pieces pulls at Wuk Lamat’s heart painfully.

She deflates with a sigh, her nervous hands tapping out a beat on bouncing knees. “What I mean to say is,” her heart drops, a void opening in her belly as she swallows. “I think you’re pretty great, so far.” It comes out as an awkward croak as she scratches roughly at her neck, her chest a bundle of brambles that coil and prick.

As she glances back towards Sphene, she’s gifted with a hopeful smile, a fragile little thing that feels like a baby bird barely hatching from an egg. Heat blooms in her chest, a rosebud on a warm spring morning, and the air around them settles.

“Thank you, Wuk Lamat.” Sphene’s voice is soft and earnest as she lets herself recede to a more neutral position. “And you are far more interesting than I would have guessed at our meeting.” Her smile is still bright as she speaks, her hands no longer tensed in her lap, but returning to toy lightly with the leather bracers at Wuk Lamat’s wrist. “Your brother wrote of you, but I confess I’ve never met anyone of your… stature…” She rolls the word around her mouth clumsily, unsure of how to continue 

“I've noticed there are hardly any Xbr'aal here.” Wuk Lamat starts, connecting the statement with her earlier observations. “There are tons of us in Tural. Perhaps you can visit sometime.” 

The offer is rewarded with another smile, no longer fragile, but brilliant in its intensity.

“I think I'd like that.” Sphene titters, sliding into the arm of her chair closest to Wuk Lamat. “Xbr’aal, you said?” 

She rolls the ‘R’ near perfectly, and it makes Wuk Lamat’s tail twitch to hear it. She nods, excitement sparking like metal on stone. “Yes. Most live in Yak T’el, but many travel to our capital to live or trade.” 

Falling into conversation is easy, almost natural, as Sphene asks occasional questions. They exchange information like artisans trading goods; Wuk Lamat is eighteen, Sphene is nineteen. Wuk Lamat never met her real parents, happy to have been raised by her loving father, while Sphene lost her parents at a young age, forced to grow up quickly and assume rule. The world around them fades into the background, no longer a focus, while the women have their eyes set on each other.

The joust meanders by, winners are chosen, and awards are given, but Wuk Lamat stays wrapped in her conversation with Sphene Alexandros; not just the Queen of Alexandria, but a bright and honest person whose playful, lopsided smile blossoms fields of wildflowers within the vow’s chest. Striking and exhilarating. In the days to come, Wuk Lamat will build a model of Alexandria in her mind, spired towers, and rod iron gates, with Sphene solidly at the center. And for Sphene, Wuk Lamat’s tales of Tural will entice in her a drive for adventure, to travel past her protective walls towards sun-drenched beaches and salt-adled sand. Time will pass, and connections will be made. Tonight they will talk politics, but for now, in this moment, there is only Wuk Lamat and Sphene, in a world of their own making.

Chapter Text

How much longer will it take to cure this?
Just to cure it 'cause I can't ignore it if it's love (love)
Makes me wanna turn around and face me
But I don't know nothing 'bout love, oh

Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows

If you’d asked Sphene her opinion on the traveling Turali nobles a day ago, she’d have little to offer in response. Koana’s letter was a formality, written as such. It had simply announced their imminent arrival and a desire to discuss a political union. She was delighted, of course, to receive such a positive request for her time, but that had certainly been all she’d expected. Meeting Wuk Lamat had been something wholly different. 

When she’d spotted the taller woman above the crowd, she hadn't expected her to be the Turali Vow of Resolve; on the contrary, she’d assumed perhaps a landsguard or bodyguard. Broad shoulders and rough, worn leathers weren't usually the dress of nobles she'd met in the past; she was used to pointed features and a distaste for pleasures of the ‘common folk.’ Wuk Lamat was so different in so many ways. 

Over their brief tour of the markets just north of the castle road, Wuk Lamat had shown a distinct appreciation for the culture of Alexandria. Sphene was pleased to see inquisitive green eyes follow each of her gestures to absorb the people beyond the stalls and artisanal goods, curious but respectful. It didn't take long for her companion to begin asking polite questions, mulling the answers over as if savoring a delicious dish from a far-off land. Sphene hadn't been that excited to show someone her kingdom, her people, in so long, delighting at the taller woman’s hearty laugh and excitability.

It hadn't taken long to become attached to Wuk Lamat, to her kind eyes and exuberant joy. She finds herself, more often than not, reaching for her, tugging her along to some of her favorite locations. Wuk Lamat’s answering smile became a reward all its own.

As the joust concludes, Sphene knows it's time to separate from her newfound friend, as loathed as she is to admit it. Wuk Lamat’s smile does something to her whenever she sees it, like a crackling fire waiting for her as she comes home, and parting after just meeting feels entirely off. Every gentle laugh or patient hum makes her reach for the woman’s larger hand, holding it in hers as if it were a precious heirloom from ancient times. (It’s more than that; something so priceless she can't quite name it yet, but she feels it in her bones.)

She sees Vow Koana waiting just outside the arena, his violet eyes skillfully moving from person to person to locate his sister. At his side is a reptilian man, his arms crossed in irritation as he glares at anyone who dares to look at him for too long, his sharp talons a threat all their own. Must be her other brother, Sphene thinks, remembering Wuk Lamat’s description of the man; the only one with blood ties to their father.

“My brothers,” Wuk Lamat sighs resolutely, her hand resting warmly on Sphene’s back. “I should see to them.” She says, low, nearly a whisper. There’s regret in her tone, like she, too, doesn’t want the moment to end. 

It's undeniable, Sphene knows, but the idea of separating chills her like an oncoming storm. She nods solemnly, letting her hand trail down Wuk Lamat’s arm, gently dragging her nails through soft fur as they part. “I will see to dinner arrangements.” It will only be for a short while, and they will see each other again, but the separation pulls at something in her chest.

“I’ll show them some of the shops you took me to.” The vow hums, bouncing excitedly. “Koana will love Opal’s.”

Sphene doesn't hold back the soft chitter of laughter that bubbles up, smiling brightly at the taller woman. “I look forward to hearing about it.” And she does. 

Opal’s shop is easily one of her favorite places, filled with sugary sweetness that always serves to brighten her mood. She’d been a little concerned when she’d taken Wuk Lamat there, admittedly, but the smile on the Vow of Resolve’s face was enough to settle her former nerves. (Had she imagined the wary looks? The protective touch? Had Wuk Lamat been… jealous?)

Another long look holds them captive, and Wuk Lamat looks like there's more she wants to say. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other before offering a sure smile to the Alexandrian. “I’m really glad I met you, Sphene.”

It warms the queen’s heart like a long-burning fire beneath a hearth, the sense of a home that may have once felt lost. Something in her chest unravels, a rope releasing her lungs at long last, allowing for a deep, filling breath. “And I you, Wuk Lamat.” She feels like she’s breathing for the first time in a long time, the way her chest expands with each breath, unrestrained, free.

The Xbr'aal woman smiles again, waving as she jogs towards her family, tail twitching in her wake.

Sphene watches her, the way her shoulders move beneath rough leather, the sway of her hips as she runs. There was something that pulled her towards the taller woman, a magnetism dictated by something unseen and mysterious. It had drawn her to the woman to begin with, her curious gaze just above the crowd. She’d heard stories of people with lion-like features, regal fur, and powerful claws, but Wuk Lamat was so much more than the stories she’d heard. Sphene hadn't expected to feel so attracted to the woman, her toothy smile and broad shoulders. (She wants to count the colors in her fur, to categorize each in descending vibrance. Taking all the time in the world to find a color palette that matches so she can knit blankets and scarves to wrap herself in, never mind her lack of knitting prowess.)

“Quite lively, that one.” Otis emerges from the crowd, a gentle smile across his handsome face. He settles his weight beside his queen, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he watches the retreating noble with pleased curiosity.

“She really is.” Sphene agrees, her gaze still following Wuk Lamat into the crowd, the gentle bounce in her step another feature that sets her apart from the crowd. Just as she's sure she’ll lose sight of her, Wuk Lamat turns back, finding Sphene one last time to wave with another radiant smile, before disappearing.

“You seem quite taken with her, Your Highness.” There’s a soft humor in Otis’s tone, void of judgment as always, but inquisitive.

The comment grounds the daydreaming queen, eyes blinking back to reality as she turns toward her knight. “She’s extraordinary.” She sighs, shaking her head, a smile across pale lips. “I've never met anyone like her.” It’s true. She can still feel the distant pull towards the other woman, something constant and unyielding, but not altogether unpleasant.

Otis chuckles, his hand moving to press lightly to his queen’s back as he urges them forward. “Then we should make a grand impression on them. I got word to the castle staff, and their rooms should already be prepared, with dinner on the way.” 

Truly, what would she do without Otis?

The castle is a flurry of energy as she returns, the staff a hurried mass of maids and servants rushing from one room to another. Sphene is ushered into her room by hurried hands and is left alone with a pale blue-green dress that coils around her waist like a snake. It's not extravagant like many noble women's dresses, but Sphene wasn't fond of overly ostentatious displays of fabric and finery. (She’s sure Wuk Lamat will be attending in the same worn leathers from this afternoon, and almost decides to do the same, but the idea of The Vow of Resolve seeing her in some sort of finery makes her blood pump a little faster.)

When things finally settle, she makes her way to the dining hall, Zelenia at her side. She’d requested a braised boar as the main course, and as she passes through the threshold, she can already smell the savory meat. Alongside the boar are various cheeses, some with fruit and meat, others sliced into adorable tiny cubes placed upon neatly carved miniature lances for ease of eating. The spread satisfies Sphene, settles her erratic nerves, if for only a moment. The dinner is going to be splendid, and all that’s left is for the guests of honor to arrive. 

In short order, they do. Koana enters first, his earlier slacks and tunic have been exchanged for a distinctly Sharlian dress; long flowing sleeves tucked into high-waisted pants, with a leather vest dyed to match his pale green hair. Dark leather boots and an assortment of colorful beads that hang from his lapels and wrists, a homage to his home, complete the look. Wuk Lamat, in exchange, is dressed in something altogether different. It looks vaguely Turali: light flowing fabric trousers tucked into sturdy leather boots, and a swath of fabric that wraps around her upper torso and flows down her back. Her arms jingle with bangles of shimmering gold that accent the deep browns and bright oranges perfectly. 

Sphene finds her eyes drawn to strong arms and toned abdominals, and clears her throat with a cough. “Welcome, Vow Koana, Vow Wuk Lamat.” It’s so much more formal than she wants to be, but wrapped in the finery of her palace, she’s conditioned to conduct herself as such. 

Wuk Lamat responds first, closing the distance between them to wrap those strong arms around Sphene affectionately. She pulls back with a hum, her nose twitching as she sniffs hungrily. “It smells amazing.”

With a reserved chuckle, Koana approaches and once again offers his hand, taking Sphene’s with a smile. “Thank you for having us, Your Highness.”

The formalities have become stale, evidently, and Wuk Lamat grumbles. “Vow this, Highness, that,” she chuffs, arms crossed. “We’re friends now, Sphene, so you can call me Lamaty’i.” She presses her thumb to her chest as she takes Sphene’s hand with a broad smile, no hesitation in her tone. 

That familiar fire in her chest crackles, pulling Sphene out of her stoic formalities and back to the present, Wuk Lamat’s hand in hers. “So we are,” it feels strange, in a good way, to be so sure of this, so positive that only good things could emerge from their union. “Then just Sphene is fine.” It's directed more towards Koana, but she squeezes Wuk Lamat’s hand as she says it.

Koana smiles as well, shaking his head fondly as he nods. “And just Koana for me.”

They share a smile that feels like home, cozy in the way a gifted quilt feels.

It's then that Sphene realizes she’s one guest short and peeks over the siblings’ shoulders to see if their brother was lagging at all behind. Koana notices, and his smile falters, shifting to a placid frown. 

“Our brother is, unfortunately, not with us.” There’s an annoyance in his tone, something akin to anger that flashes before fading to a dull frustration.

The reminder muddles Wuk Lamat’s expression as well, her brow furrowing as she shifts her jaw from side to side. “Zoraal Ja thinks it is a waste of time for him to have come with us, since we have been named Vows instead of him.” She says so clinically that Sphene has to blink away the emotion that erupts in her chest.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” She holds Wuk Lamat’s larger hand in both of hers, squeezing it supportively. “I was looking forward to meeting him.” It’s a half-truth, not quite a lie, but not as honest as she wishes she could be. Zoraal Ja gave off the energy of someone convinced the world stood against him, and she was unsure if any kindness she could offer would soothe his deep-seated anger. 

Wuk Lamat, however, smiles at her words, returning Sphene’s gentle squeeze with a stronger one in return. “He’s hard to get along with.” She says with a shrug, her free hand reaching to take one of Sphene’s so she can hold both, one in each hand. “He will be enjoying the tournament from a distance, till it’s time for us to leave.” She’s not happy about the reality of their situation, but she’s resolved to have a good time despite it.

Sphene lets the information wash over her, content to have a relaxing night despite the oncoming politics. She reluctantly releases one of Wuk Lamat’s hands and gestures to the expansive dining table with a flourish. “My guests, let us partake before anything gets too cold.”

“Don't mind if I do!” Wuk Lamat cheers, almost throwing herself into the chair nearest Sphene.

The next several hours are a cavalcade of trade deals and treaties. The two kingdoms decide on a partnership, something that would suit them both favorably. Koana does most of the talking between him and his sister, being the more analytical sibling. Wuk Lamat contributes her vast knowledge of culture, offering insight into Turali customs and events. By the time they’ve completed their talks, each noble is three glasses of wine deep, scrolls and tomes pushed aside to recount tales of an adventurous childhood. 

“Lamaty’i was always getting in trouble.” Koana hums, his posture far more relaxed after the pleasant evening. “She could never sit still.”

Wuk Lamat chuckles, slurring a persistent “Shhhhh,” towards her brother as she absentmindedly squeezes Sphene’s knee. “I can’t help wanting to explore.” She hums, her shoulder bumping into the queen’s as she talks. 

“Exploring and stealing an egg are far different stories, Lamaty’i.” Koana chastises as he downs the remainder of glass number four.

At some point in the evening, they’d pulled their chairs to one side of the long table, clustering all three nobles towards the middle of their meal as they talked. And as the wine began to flow, the space between Sphene and Wuk Lamat began to shrink, resulting in their knees knocking together when they laughed. 

Strong hands absently tug at Sphene’s legs, pulling them into Wuk Lamat’s lap as Koana recounts another story of his sister’s reckless bravery. He’s halfway through when violet eyes follow the movements of his sister’s hands along Sphene’s calf muscles. He pauses, coughing as he stands. “Apologies, I appear to be more fatigued from our journey than I thought. I will have to bid you both goodnight.” He doesn’t wait for a response, standing with a bow and exiting. 

Wuk Lamat snickers, reaching for her empty glass with a chuff. “Koana never has this much wine.” She resigns not to pour herself another glass, returning her attention to Sphene’s lithe limbs. Skilled fingers rub soft circles into the muscles, dragging pressure down towards Sphene’s ankle.

Sphene hums lazily, the soft buzz of the wine dulling her usual need for propriety. She stretches with a tired yawn, unwilling to end the evening so soon.

“Lamaty’i,” she hums, testing the nickname as she toys with a lock of Wuk Lamat’s hair, coiling it around her finger. (She wonders, idly, what Wuk Lamat smells like; did she smell like lush forests or rugged ocean? Or would the scent of leather cling to her long after she’s disrobed?) “I am loath to admit my exhaustion, but I confess I do not want to part just yet.”

Green eyes twinkle in response, glittering emerald in the candlelight. “What did you have in mind?”

It becomes a game, the two of them, snickering, faces flushed as they try to make it to Sphene’s quarters unnoticed. It's all in vain, of course; Sphene has two exceptional guards who know how she is when she's had too much to drink. They’re breathless, ilms apart, giggling as they thwump roughly against the solid oak door. Sphene lets her arms loop around Wuk Lamat’s neck, twining into chestnut locks as she’s sandwiched against the door. The taller woman chuffs, her hand fumbling for the doorknob, eyes glued to Sphene’s lips. With a clunk, she finds it, and they’re tumbling through the doorway. (Zelenia follows them through the castle far more silently than they could ever hope to be, and Otis positions himself just outside of Sphene’s door as they fall, crumbling to the floor giddy and out of breath.) 

Sphene’s quarters contain four rooms in total. The sitting room just inside the doorway is connected to the other three: her bedroom, bathroom, and a spare bedroom for guests. There are no grand tours, no explanation of rooms; instead, Sphene lets herself lie where they’ve fallen atop a plush rug. Wuk Lamat, still giggling, pushes herself up and looks down towards the queen, her eyes rimmed pink as she takes Sphene’s hand in hers.

“Why do I feel so connected to you?” Sphene says suddenly, her eyes glued to the gentle way Wuk Lamat trails her fingers down her own.

“Hmm,” the Vow hums, letting one of her claws run down Sphene’s arm idly. “I was starting to think it was only me.” It's spoken so softly, like a fear she’d retrieved from deep within a stale old closet. “At first, I thought I was just in love with the Sphene in those stories.” Even now, her words are a little slurred, a reminder that neither of them has a firm grasp on their senses. “But meeting you wasn't a disappointment… I think I like you more than her…”

Sphene’s chest swells with the admission, giddy with wine. “You do?”

Wuk Lamat glances down, her eyes catching Sphene’s before drifting lower. It's odd, the way Sphene can tell exactly where her eyes focus, and she licks her lips nervously.

“She never felt real, like she was always just going to be a story, but you…” Her eyes drift back up, looking directly at Sphene as she speaks. “You love your people like I love mine,” she confesses, her hand trailing down Sphene’s arm and up her shoulder. “You put your everything into them, into keeping them safe and happy.”

Sphene nods slowly, afraid to break the spell wrapped around them.

“And you have great taste in baked goods.” She delivers the line with a grin, her thumb pressing softly to Sphene’s bare shoulder.

Absentially, Sphene reaches up, cups Wuk Lamat’s face in her hand. Her thumb rubs softly at her cheekbone, feeling the gentle lines of her face. (She wants to kiss her, to close the distance between them and feel the way Wuk Lamat coils around her. She wants to be wrapped in her, tucked into her chest beside her still beating heart.) She shifts her head to Wuk Lamat’s bicep, uses her as a pillow as she sinks into the taller woman’s arms. (Leather and sunrise, she decides. That's what Wuk Lamat smells like.)

Their conversation tapers off, both women enjoying the gentle silence between them. As Sphene drifts off, she can hear the gentle rumble of a purr coming from Wuk Lamat’s chest, solid and soothing. It lulls her to sleep, warm and with a distinct feeling of safety. 

Bright, blinding light cuts through dazed sleep. Sphene groans as an aching pounding begins behind her left eye and reverberates to her empty stomach. Her legs ache and her shoulder is numb, but she's warm, and the gentle vibrations against her back almost pull her back towards blissful sleep.

Rumbling? 

Blinking back the sleep sinking into her bones, Sphene yawns and takes in her surroundings. The scene starts foggy, but as she shakes the sleep from her mind, she recognizes the layout of her sitting room, though she hadn't fallen asleep on the sofa or at her desk; she is, instead, lying prone on the floor. 

Consciousness is a shock to her system, her heart pounding as she assesses the warmth wrapped around her. She begins to rise, aching muscles protest as she pushes up, but a strong arm coils tighter around her waist, pulling her back towards her captor. She’s about to scream, to yell for Otis, or Zelenia, anyone, but a familiar purr accompanying an affectionate nuzzle grounds her frantic thoughts. 

The memories of the previous night bloom in her chest, precious and warm. She remembers wine-addled caresses, the gentle way Wuk Lamat cradled her like a beloved gift. She feels her cheeks warm as she finds Wuk Lamat’s strong arm with curious hands. It feels right, being here, pressed firmly to the taller woman’s body, the warmth shared between them.

As the sun rises, Sphene settles into the comfort around her, despite the way her hips and shoulders ache. (Had she had the wherewithal to at least get them to the sofa, she’d be in better shape, but she's not quite sure if they’d be wrapped in each other quite the same way.) 

It's not long before Wuk Lamat begins to stir, her arms stretching out around Sphene to claw lazily at the carpet before pulling the smaller woman in closer. She hums into the back of Sphene’s neck, breathing in the unfamiliar scent with a sigh. When her body settles back into stillness, Sphene assumes she’s drifted back to sleep. That is, until her body bolts upright with Sphene still wrapped in her arms.

The movement sends a surge of nausea through Sphene, her head pounding once again. She moans in pain and feels Wuk Lamat’s arms release her.

“Sphene!” She hisses, panic entering her tone as she kneels over the prone queen. “Are you alright?”

“Just hail.” Sphene groans, holding her head. She’s seconds away from standing, but she’s not given the chance.

With ease, Wuk Lamat wraps one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath bent knees to hoist her into strong waiting arms. “I didn't realize we’d slept on the floor,” she simpers, eyes full of so much worry, “I'm used to the hard ground, but I don't think you spend much time sleeping outside.” 

The regret in her tone is charming, and Sphene cups her face in pale hands with a gentle shh. “You’re right, I don't. I don't often drink either, so an additional regard for sound and speed should be considered.”

The taller woman chortles, holding Sphene closer for a moment. “Now I know why you got so giggly last night.” Wuk Lamat smiles, her voice low as she settles the queen gently on the sofa. “We used to have drinking contests when I was as young as fifteen, so I'm feeling well this morning.” 

That’s clear. Sphene thinks, gazing up at the muscular woman. She looked as if she’d had one of the best sleeps of her life; perhaps she had. (Sphene had too, all things considered. Perhaps in the future they could recreate it in a preferable location… her bed, perhaps.) 

“I'm glad, though I'm not certain how.” She wanted to crawl into her bed and sleep for the next three days, but that wouldn't do. However long Wuk Lamat and her brothers had planned to be in Alexandria, it would be over far too soon. She wouldn't waste the days away in bed when she could be spending it with the kind woman holding her. “Could you tell Zelenia I'm ready for breakfast? She should be just outside the door.”

Wuk Lamat nods, crossing the room deftly before opening the door. Whatever she says is lost in the steady pounding behind Sphene’s eye as the queen reaches for a carafe of water waiting on a nearby table. She pours herself a glass, saving the cool touch of the glass against her head. Wuk Lamat returns moments later with a cool, wet cloth, she lays across Sphene’s forehead, mumbling something in a different language just above a whisper.

“What’s that?” Sphene asks, certain the wine had taken the common tongue from her as well.

“Something we say in Tuliyollal,” she confesses, straightening the cloth gently. “It means ‘recover soon’.” Her accent curves around the words, a pleasant lilt to her voice. 

Sphene finds herself relaxing, letting her eyes drift closed as Wuk Lamat bustles in and out of the room. It's an unfamiliar feeling, but Sphene decides she likes it, the idea of Wuk Lamat worrying about her in this way. The next time she opens her eyes, it's to the sight of Wuk Lamat bringing in two exceedingly large plates into the room. She balks at the sight, the cloth on her forehead falling to the ground with a rough schlik.

“Lamaty'i-”

“Zelenia thought you’d want just a pastry and coffee, but you’ll need more than that.” While she speaks, she shuffles the food around, placing a steaming hot bowl in front of Sphene with a smile. “This is something Papa would make when I felt ill after wine. It always helps.”

With charmed confusion, Sphene examines her dish. Inside, she can see a darkened meat mixed with onions, peppers, and potatoes; it smells rich, spicy, and savory. Atop the mixture are two fried eggs that have been flipped, the yolks hidden by the fried underside.

“It's a big portion,” the taller woman confesses. “But I wanted to make sure it was enough.” She shifts shyly, presenting a fork to the queen with a smile. “I hope you like it.”

Sphene stares. Her head doesn't hurt as much anymore, but she’s never been in a situation like this before. Her guest was taking care of her; that was enough to send her mother rolling in her grave, but for all of this?

“You… you made this?” It hadn't been said straight out, but enough of Wuk Lamat’s body language filled in the blanks.

She nods, a serious look upon her face. 

Usually, Sphene would have a simple pastry for breakfast; her stomach was not quite ready for a hardy meal so early. This was an altogether different situation. Wuk Lamat had made this for her. Her. 

“I don’t normally eat much for breakfast,” she concedes, taking the offered fork with a smile. “So you’ll have to forgive me if I cannot finish.” She uses the fork to cut through one of the eggs, watching the yellow yolk soak into the meat and potatoes as she scoops up a bite. She’s unsure of it, but is determined to show Wuk Lamat that it tastes delicious, her stomach be damned. 

Prepared to lie if necessary, Sphene closes her mouth around the forkful, thoughtfully focusing on the flavor. Savory, spicy exuberance explodes on her tongue, vibrant seasoning mixes into something incredible. She moans around her mouthful, flush coloring her cheeks as she scoops up another bite. Then another. She’s slowly devouring the entire plate, one forkful after another in an almost animalistic fashion. She tries to slow her pace, counting to ten between each bite, and when she’s done, she’s almost unpleasantly stuffed. 

Wuk Lamat eats her own plate in silence, her cat-like smile the only indication she’d seen Sphene eat at all. “How was it?” The question comes out coy, like she knows the answer, a pleased smirk across her face. 

Sphene sighs, feeling the oncoming teasing before it’s begun. “It was incredible, Lamaty’i.”

The teasing never comes; instead, Wuk Lamat grins at her, her tail swishing from side to side contentedly. “Do you feel any better?”

It takes Sphene a moment to realize what the question was referring to. The meal had been so delicious she’d forgotten her headache. “Oh… I feel fine.” She murmurs, her hand lifting to touch the spot right above her eye. When she glances back to Wuk Lamat, she’s grinning again, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her hands in her lap. 

“Dawnservant lineage secret.” The Xbr’aal woman boasts, her grin blinding as she rocks back and forth. 

Sphene shakes her head, content to stay lost in this regard. She slides off the sofa, crawling inelegantly to sit at Wuk Lamat’s side, her head resting on a strong shoulder. “Thank you, Lamaty’i.” She hums, hands wrapping around a muscular bicep. 

There is more to do, there always is, but for now she’s content to let the morning pass her by, as long as Wuk Lamat is at her side. 

It's midday before they know it, and Sphene is being ushered out of the castle back towards the arena. Wuk Lamat is in tow, curiosity painted across her face. 

“Today is the Contest of Combat,” Sphene says, mid-jog, the duo desperate to arrive before it's begun. “Weapon’s combat with minimal rules, the primary one being victory at first blood.” She has reservations about the event, but the knights who participate often view it as the highlight of the tournament.

“Oh,” Wuk Lamat hums, head swiveling to look around the arena. “I’m in this one.” She skids to a stop as she sees Koana across the way.

“Pardon?” Sphene stops too, her eyes widening as the reality sets in. “You’ll be fighting?”

“I’ll be winning.” Wuk Lamat grins, accepting a bundle of leather from her brother and a great axe that looked to be carved from bone. 

Sphene knew Wuk Lamat could fight; they’d relayed enough stories the previous night to know that, but she knew the knights in this context knew how some of them can be. “Our best fighters are participating-”

“Then this will be fun!” Wuk Lamat roars, searching for a place to change. “I won't hurt them too badly.” 

Her confidence sends a flurry of butterflies through Sphene’s chest, but the worry doesn't lessen. She doesn't have a chance to protest further as Wuk Lamat jogs away, leaving her beside Koana, the older sibling, smiling fondly. 

Numbly, she makes the announcement at center stage, her shoulder aching with the force with which she straightens them. Koana tells her more than once that “Lamaty’i will be fine,” but her stomach still churns before each contestant is called.

The Alexandrian knights are all showmen, at least the ones who join these tournaments. Sphene watches as each one prances around the arena, arms outstretched to the attending nobles of the court. They boast their chance to win the contest outright, pining only for one person’s pledge to them.

“What is this ritual they’re performing?” Koana asks, humor tingeing his tone. He settles his weight forward, hand curling around his chin curiously.

“They’re looking for favors,” Sphene replies, nodding at Ser Beryl as he makes his way around the arena. “A noble will offer a contestant their handkerchief, their favor, as a bid for their victory.” Another knight strolls by, this time passing the queen in resignation.

“And who will your favor go to?” Koana’s voice is even as he speaks, but when Sphene meets his gaze, something twinkles in violet eyes.

She looks away, trying to hide what he may have seen in that look by clearing her throat. She straightens, crossing her legs as the first round begins. “I've never given my favor.” She replies stoically. 

“Interesting,” Koana remarks, shifting back in his seat. “A firm stance as queen? Or a wall against suitors?”

She chooses not to respond, eyes focused on the gnashing clang of sword against shield. The round is over even before first blood, as Ser Beryl is knocked out of the ring and onto his back with a rousing clatter. The crowd cheers for the victor, a younger knight from the lower city. She pulls her helmet off and holds it up victoriously. Rounds two and three are much the same, victory claimed by knocking their opponents from the ring, bloodless. 

Sphene thinks it bodes well, that is till round four concludes with a sword through the side of an older knight in even older armor. He’s escorted out of the arena and towards the healers as the next round of contestants are called in. Sphene’s leg bounces nervously, anxiety threading through her bones as she sees Wuk Lamat enter the arena. Dread pools in her chest, sticky like tar that collects in her joints. Wuk Lamat is wearing her familiar leather armor, arms and legs fully exposed. 

Her jaw tightens as she turns toward Koana, criticism acrid on her tongue. How could he do this? Allow his sister to enter this kind of tournament in that kind of armor. She wants to yell, scream, but when she sees the small smile across his lips, she falters.

“She’ll be just fine.” He doesn't even turn to Sphene when he says it. His eyes remain confidently on his sister, her great Axe hoisted high on her shoulder.

Swallowing hard, Sphene turns back towards the arena, sees Wuk Lamat’s opponent doing his flamboyant path around the stands, and feels something stir within her. Without thinking, she places her thumb and forefinger between her lips and whistles, drawing Wuk Lamat’s attention towards her. Heavy steps, and the soft crunch of dirt beneath worn leather sandals bring the woman closer, green eyes curious. 

“Lamaty’i,” Sphene whispers, climbing up the small barrier between them to place a kiss to Wuk Lamat’s cheek. She tucks a pale yellow handkerchief into the collar of Wuk Lamat’s armor as she withdraws, hands shaking. “Win for me?” It should be so embarrassing to say, to hand herself to someone else so performatively, but the way Wuk Lamat follows her movements ignites something deep within her.

“I… I will,” Wuk Lamat stutters, her hand rising to grip the yellow cloth tightly. “I will!”

The crowd howls again, a wild cheer for the foreign contestant, the sudden fan favorite, thanks to the queen.

Sphene sits back down in her seat, her hands wringing nervously in her lap as Wuk Lamat takes her place in the center of the arena. She glances back at Sphene once more before readying her axe, her shoulders tensing with the exertion. 

The announcer raises his arms, the trumpets sound, and Wuk Lamat dashes forward, her axe mid swing.

Chapter Text

Come on, come on
Turn a little faster
Come on, come on
The world will follow after
Come on, come on
Because everybody's after love

Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows

It's easy to spot the changing tents from the threshold of the arena: bright purple flags with the Alexandrian crown embossed fly proudly over tables where attendants direct each combatant to their designated tent. Each tent has the flag of its fighter pinned to the opening, and Wuk Lamat locates the Turali flag without issue. The inside is sparse, a single rug that matches her flag, and an empty chest to store whatever she doesn't wish to enter the fight with. She stores her formal garb and dons her trusty leather armor and iron bracers. The worn leather around the grip of her axe creaks, its weight a familiar comfort that settles her nerves. She’s not worried about the fight; more so, she worries for Sphene in the meantime. The concern etched across her face, paler than normal, as she clung to Wuk Lamat’s arm. 

I won’t lose. 

Outside, other fighters laugh joyfully, their camaraderie contagious with each jovial roar. When she emerges from her tent, Wuk Lamat sees knights in an assortment of silver, bronze, and gold armor: each of them sporting the flag of their homes in some fashion, as a cape, around their pauldrons, even wrapped elegantly around their waists. She pauses, unsure if she should do the same, but decides it would be more of a hindrance, and forgoes the flashy custom.

Just like the previous day, Sphene makes a speech before the first fight starts, her gentle voice rising above the quiet stands regally. Wuk Lamat can tell she’s still nervous, spies the subtle way she wrings her hands together as she talks. An Alexandrian steps up beside her, his navy hair pushed back to reveal an eye patch and one keen eye. He examines his sword before sheathing it again, offering Wuk Lamat a nod of respect as they both direct their gazes towards the first match.

Focused green eyes follow the flamboyant, boastful path the combatants of the first round make, holding their arms out towards the nobles of the crowd. Her brow furrows in confusion, and she shifts her shoulders in discomfort.

“First time, eh?” The Alexandrian says gruffly, a knowing smile across his face.

“What are they doing?” She tries not to sound judgmental, but fights worked differently in Tural, unadorned in such flashy metals. 

“Beggin’ for favors.” He points as he speaks, gesturing to a woman pressing a dark handkerchief into the hand of one knight, her face flushed as the knight tucks the favor into her armor.

“Favor?” Wuk Lamat crosses her arms, moving her jaw from side to side as she watches.

“It's kind’a like a ritual, for good luck.” The man continues, shrugging. “Lots a’ knights swear by ‘em.” 

It's curious, but Wuk Lamat can understand the sentiment well enough. “Thanks.” She offers her hand to the man, palm open, like she's seen so many Alexandrians do.

“No problem. Name’s Geode.” He takes her hand in a firm shake, his armor shifting with the movement. 

Wuk Lamat’s gaze falls back to Sphene in the crowd, her hands wringing in her lap. She's not so much watching the match as she is looking at it as she bites her bottom lip. The taller woman feels guilt rise in her chest. Perhaps she should have told Sphene more about her fighting skills; maybe then the queen wouldn't be so worried for her.

“Who does Queen Sphene usually give her favor to?” She glances away from Sphene, but doesn't look Geode in the eye, afraid of what he might see with that keen eye. She expects the answer to be Otis, or maybe Zelenia, or perhaps her father years ago.

In reply, he laughs, deep and hardy. “The Queen has never given her favor.” His chuckle alerts other combatants to their conversation, so he quiets his tone with a pat on Wuk Lamat’s shoulder. “In the nine years she’s been queen, she’s never so much as presented a handkerchief to the crowd.”

I guess… That’s not a surprise. Wuk Lamat thinks, her hands on her waist. “She doesn't really enjoy the parts of the tournament that cause harm, does she?”

“She doesn't.” He confirms with a nod, “Hasn't since her knight, Zelena, got injured.”

“Zelenia is injured?” She nearly shouts the question, curiosity buzzing in her ears. 

“Naw,” Geode chuckles again. “It weren't nothin’ serious.” He drags a thumb from his brow to his cheek, reminding Wuk Lamat of the faded scar over the knight’s eye. 

“Oh… That explains that then.” 

The conversation tapers off as the first fight concludes, and the knight who accepted the dark handkerchief from the woman in the crowd has won. She holds her sword aloft, the favor tied to the guard of the blade. 

“Luck, huh?”

The second round begins shortly after, and Wuk Lamat passes the time watching Sphene. The crowd around her doesn’t seem to be concerned with keeping their distance; she sees many citizens waving and offering gentle greetings as they pass or take their seats. It’s nice to see. Wuk Lamat had heard that Tural was odd in their governing, the way the Dawnservant interacted with his people, and how she had and would continue to interact with them. Seeing another ruler feel so unashamedly close to their people, it made Wuk Lamat even more interested in Sphene. 

The trumpets for round three startle Wuk Lamat from her thoughts, pulling her firmly back to earth like a stone tossed out to sea. She blinks, turning away from Sphene to see the first clash of the third round’s competitors. A knight with a broad sword is up against a knight with a lance, neither sure if they want to make the first move. Wuk Lamat can see herself baiting the broadsword wielder, dodging around the blade, and taking the wielder out with a swing to the stomach. For the lance wielder, she’d wait for him to charge, duck beneath the blow, and take him out by the legs. 

When the fourth round ends with a man being carted off to a healer's tent, Wuk Lamat sees Sphene curl into herself; her leg bouncing with anxiety. That won't be me. She promises, stepping up towards the arena. She's called forward, and her opponent has already begun his walk around the edge of the stands. He's a hulking man, broad shoulders in shimmering silver armor blended into the visage of a fierce lion at his chest. A blue and yellow flag trails from the back of his armor like a cape, tucked into his belt to keep it from being a hindrance. Almost no one pays him mind, cheering but offering him no good luck in this context.

A piercing whistle cuts through the air, and when Wuk Lamat looks, Sphene is calling her over. It's numbing, the way her heart beat stutters to a halt before hammering in her chest, a woodpecker beckoned by Sphene’s hopeful gaze. She lumbers over, legs unsteady as she watches Sphene climb over the barrier to press a chaste kiss to Wuk Lamat’s cheek. Sphene’s lips are cold when they press to her cheek, her hands reaching out to tug Wuk Lamat closer. 

Her voice is quiet, just above a whisper, as she calls for her champion. “Lamaty’i,” her hands shake as she tucks her handkerchief into Wuk Lamat’s collar, her thumb lingering a moment too long on her collarbone. “Win for me?” It comes off playful, like she’s trying to be coy, but Wuk Lamat can see the way worry swells in those pale green eyes. 

More than anything, she wants to wipe it away, assure Sphene that she needn’t worry for her, but her voice is lost in the roar of the crowd. 

“In the nine years she’s been queen, she’s never so much as presented a handkerchief to the crowd.”

She licks her lips, swallowing the surge of emotions that swell like a wave. “I… I will,” Wuk Lamat stutters, her heart racing as the reality settles around her, “I will!”

As the crowd cheers, pride swells in her chest, bright and gleaming like the sun, as she takes her place opposite her opponent. His shoulders roll, his sword and shield at the ready as Wuk Lamat raises her axe. Again, the leather wrapping creaks, the heavy bone pale white in the bright sun. Mossy green focuses, her vision narrows to the arena, her opponent, and everything else fades around her. As trumpets sound, Wuk Lamat pounces like a tiger, her axe wound back, she swings with all the force her body can hold. (She feels Sphene’s eyes on her, hears, above the crowd, her gentle gasp.) 

Bone collides with metal, making a sickening crunch, as Wuk Lamat follows through with the motion. She realizes she had, perhaps, hit the man a little too hard, as his body flies out of the ring, slams into the dirt ground, and bounces into a roll that stops at the edge of the stands. Attendants pull his helmet off and confirm he is alive and mostly unharmed, but his knockout, both out of the ring and consciousness, confirms her victory. 

The crowd swells again, releasing a proud boom of cheer. It’s deafening, and Wuk Lamat barely has time to drop her axe as Sphene rushes into her arms, jumping to wrap her arms around her neck. Reflexively, Wuk Lamat scoops Sphene up into her arms, one hand under her knees and the other around her back, resting gently on Sphene’s ribs.

“You are incredible,” Sphene sighs, pressing their foreheads together. “He didn't stand a chance.” She's breathless, giggling as she talks, her nervousness transitioning to a weightless, giddy joy.

“I told you I’d win.” Wuk Lamat replies, warmth blooming in her chest and across tan cheeks. “You gave me your favor after all…” 

The statement settles between them, the crowd's cheers settling to a gentle rumble. It's almost as if Sphene just now realizes what she’d done, and her cheeks flush a deep pink as she clears her throat.

“Yes, well… political arrangements being what they are…” She’s fumbling for a reason, something that would explain the behavior change, but she can’t quite organize the right string of words. 

As the next contestants begin to take the field, Wuk Lamat walks back towards Sphene’s seats, letting the queen stand on her own as she gets to the barrier. 

“Stay with me,” Sphene breathes, embarrassment set aside as she reaches for Wuk Lamat’s hand again.

“Isn't there another round?” Laughter burbles from between the words, infectious and insatiable.

“Not till the evening.” She tugs on the taller woman’s hand, her eyes glittering with flecks of blue in the shimmering sun.

How could I say no? She steps over the barrier and settles into the seat beside Sphene’s, watching the way dusty blonde bounces as her companion angles herself towards her.

“I shouldn't have been so concerned,” Sphene admits, her flush returning as she trails her fingers down worn leather. “There have been far too many casualties; I suppose I couldn't help but worry.” She shrugs, glancing down at Wuk Lamat’s bracers; she looks far away, like the past was a swirling spell drawing her in. 

Wuk Lamat takes no offense, her hand rising to tilt Sphene’s chin up. “In Tural,” she begins, her hand drifting back down to Sphene’s as she talks. “We hunt to live,” the words hover between them as she traces the veins under Sphene’s skin with a gentle claw. “Our warriors need to be capable of much more than this to be great.” And I’m great. The last part is left unspoken as she finally meets Sphene’s gaze.

Sphene smiles, something that starts small and fragile, but blooms into a flushed, breathless giggle. “Still, I could always tell how capable you are.” It's bashful, the way she tucks a dusty blonde lock behind her ear. (Her ears are tinged pink like candy, and Wuk Lamat wants nothing more than to taste them, to hear the breathless gasp that Sphene would make as her teeth graze along delicate skin.) 

“Good work, Lamaty’i.” Koana cheers, holding his forearm up to her. “Though a bit overzealous.”

She presses her forearm to his in a cheer of her own, grinning, “You expected me to take it easy?”

“Perhaps not, but I didn’t expect you’d send a fighter flying into the crowd.” He laughs, his own grin relaxed as he speaks. 

Wuk Lamat pouts, her bottom lip jutting out pathetically. “He should have been more grounded.”

They all laugh, something as natural as breathing. Wuk Lamat was starting to love these moments, Koana relaxed and cheerful, and Sphene blooming beautiful like a rose. 

As Koana focuses back on the match, Wuk Lamat catches Sphene looking at the pale yellow handkerchief at her collar. Wuk Lamat reaches up, plucking it from her armor to hold it in her hands, the soft fabric catching on her calloused fingers. 

“Do I give this back?” She asks, just above a whisper. 

“Only if you no longer need it,” Sphene replies, reaching out to curl it into Wuk Lamat’s hands. “Traditionally,” She clears her throat, a flush rising to her cheeks. “A fighter will hold onto it till they either lose or win the tournament.” She finishes quickly, sucking in a deep breath.

“I heard you don’t normally give out favors.” The Xbr'aal woman croaks, nervousness filling her limbs. 

“I… I don’t. Normally.” Sphene licks her lips again, glancing down and back up again. “But it felt right. Feels right. You feel right.” 

Pale and mossy green meet, and Wuk Lamat feels like she’s been struck by lightning. Her body feels hot, like her blood is moving faster than normal, and she can’t stop looking at Sphene’s lips. Since their meeting, there had been something brewing between them, something warm and natural, and Wuk Lamat was starting to trust it more and more. There had to be a reason they clicked together so effortlessly, like blueberries wrapped in sweet dough, or eggs and potatoes.

The crowd around them shudders, hushed by the arrival of the sixth set of combatants. Lazily, Wuk Lamat pulls her attention from Sphene, her eyes lingering a little too long on pale pink lips. Standing at the edge of the arena, twin bone swords drawn, is Zoraal Ja, a deep frown etched in his reptilian physique. His opponent is Geode, his silver armor scuffed in the same charming way leather wears, cherished and sturdy. For a moment, Wuk Lamat feels joy spark somewhere inside, like she was finally seeing her brother take an interest in something Alexandria had to offer, but it quickly fades with the way her brother coils like a viper poised to strike. The trumpets sound, and in the blink of an eye, nearly imperceivably quick, Zoraal Ja slices, like a spinning saw blade, through Geode’s armor, sending the hulking man out of the ring and into the air. He slams against the ground, blood pooling beneath him as he chokes back a wet cough. He doesn’t even have enough time to scream.

 Wuk Lamat moves before even she realizes; her body launching over the crowd barrier as she hoists her axe over her shoulder. She’d seen the twitch of her brother’s shoulder, the only sign that his attack wasn't yet done. The force of both of his blades slams against her axe with a deafening crunch, and the crowd goes silent with the force of it. It doesn’t take long for Koana to appear beside her, is frown furrowed deep across his brow, crossbow loaded and aimed towards their brother, his shoulders pulled taut.

She pushes Zoraal Ja’s blades, sends him two steps backwards with the force of it, and growls. “What are you doing, Zoraal Ja?” 

His frown unfurls with shock, his eyes flickering from his prey to his brother, then back to his sister. “I do not remember interfering in your battle, sister.” He hisses the word, cuts his teeth on the sneer across Wuk Lamat’s face.

“You’ve already won. You got first blood and a ring out.” Koana says tersely, his hand sturdy and sure around his weapon.

Wuk Lamat’s teeth clench, jaw aching, “If you strike again, your win is forfeit.”

“Is that so?” His shoulders relax as he sheathes his blades. “I was so sure it was to the death.” A clawed hand rubs his jaw in faux contemplation, “My apologies.”

It's dishonest. Wuk Lamat can see in every shift, every ripple of scales, that he’s lying. She wants to believe, to trust that her brother couldn't have become the person before her, but she’d be just as dishonest if she did.

“You’ve read the rules wrong then,” Koana presses, his tone devoid of any humor. “It would pain us to leave you in a foreign dungeon, were you to continue this action.” His weapon lowers, but he doesn't move his finger from the trigger. “Father would be none too pleased with any of us.”

“What a tragedy that would be.” Zoraal Ja sneers, his arms crossed. “The future Dawnservants abandoning their kin.” His tone is clear; he believes he's already been left behind. He rolls his shoulders, turning his back to his sister to whisper, “See you in the finals, Lamaty’i. You and your little queen.” He stalks off, shoulders hunched as he moves, his gait more like the slither of a snake as he exits the arena.

Attendants have already called healers for Geode; white and red robes flood from the stands to circle the wounded man. Wuk Lamat watches numbly, every muscle in her body tightened in anticipation. She’s shaking; every breath is another shudder of adrenaline pulsing from her chest. Her eyes follow Zoraal Ja as he exits, staying focused on his path even when she can no longer see him. Her limbs feel like lead, like she’s just spent two days swimming across the ocean without rest. 

A cool hand rips her thoughts away, and Wuk Lamat’s eyes focus on Sphene’s worried gaze. She reaches up, holds Wuk Lamat’s face in her hands, and pulls her down so she can press their foreheads together. Her axe drops to the ground with a thunk, and Wuk Lamat reflexively places her hands on Sphene’s. 

“Everything is alright,” she says softly, nails scratching into Wuk Lamat’s temples. “He’s in good hands now; no one else is hurt.” She continues the gentle scratching, letting Wuk Lamat lean her weight into the smaller woman, lets her slump to the ground as she wraps Sphene in warm, shaking arms.

“Everything is alright.” Wuk Lamat repeats into Sphene’s shoulder. “No one else is hurt, everything is alright…” Her blood is filled with stones, her limbs heavy as the adrenaline ebbs away.

Koana’s hand is a warm comfort on her shoulder, his steady support unwavering. He says something to Sphene, talks to her through the crook between Wuk Lamat’s shoulder and neck, but the words are lost in the wake of her brother’s attack. 

Once Geode is stable and the crowd has calmed down, Sphene extracts herself from Wuk Lamat’s arms and draws the taller woman up off the ground and towards the castle. There will be a few more rounds, but Sphene hadn't needed words to know it was time for them both to depart. 

For the bulk of the walk, Koana follows along, but at some point, he vanishes, leaving Sphene to care for her on her own. Wuk Lamat doesn't even realize they’d made it through the castle when Sphene releases her hand. In a panic, she turns, heart hammering in her chest, to follow Sphene as she pours a glass of water from a nearby karaf. 

They’re not in Sphene’s room, she realizes. The deep purples and glittering golds have been exchanged for more earthy tones; greens and browns accented with vibrant red and orange. 

“This is the room I had prepared for you,” Sphene explains, lifting Wuk Lamat’s hand to press the cool glass into her palm. “I didn't know if you needed to be alone, so I brought you here instead of…”

Her room. Wuk Lamat thinks, holding the cup gently in her hands. Had she the wherewithal, she’d comment on how cozy it is, decorated in deep green furniture with red and orange blankets. Numbly, she sinks into the plush green sofa at the end of the spacious bed tucked into the back of the room. It felt like they’d experienced ten days in one, the way everything had unraveled. Weakness seeps into weary muscles, and Wuk Lamat sees her brother’s face behind closed eyes.

“See you in the finals, Lamaty’i. You and your little queen.”

Zoraal Ja’s voice replays in her head, the scathing way he’d spit out the word queen. Had that been a threat? Did he want to hurt Sphene? What reason could he have to want that? She grinds her teeth, jaw aching with the way she clenches it shut. In her hands, the glass shatters. 

“Lamaty’i!” Sphene gasps, a towel already pressed to a few bleeding cuts on Wuk Lamat’s hands. “I’ll have Otis bring a healer, he can-”

“I’m okay.” Her voice comes out gravely, rough and emotional. 

Confusion is a poison that echoes through her bones. She sees Zoraal Ja’s face, the way betrayal colors his navy scales as she is named Dawnservant. His angry shouts as she names Koana her other half, giving him the unseen second seat instead of their father's only blood child. She reaches out, pulls Sphene into her arms. The smaller woman follows, eyes filled with worry, as she’s pulled into Wuk Lamat’s lap. Her knees press into seated hips, arms coiling around Wuk Lamat’s ribs as she’s drawn into strong arms. Wuk Lamat sinks into the comfort she brings, presses her nose to the crook of Sphene’s neck, and breathes her in. She can feel her breathing against her collar, each inhale and exhale a reminder that things are okay, things will be okay.

They stay there wrapped around each other, breathing in each other's scent. Wuk Lamat can smell the hints of lavender and vanilla, a soft and relaxing scent that fits Sphene in a way she can't begin to articulate. Her nerves settle, muscles unwinding. 

“You and your little queen…”

Her arms tighten around the smaller woman protectively, and she can hear Sphene suck in another breath before she loosens her grip.

Since childhood, Zoraal Ja had been a difficult brother, but at one point, they had all been close. She misses those times when she could trust that her brother, noble and strong, would keep her safe. But as the years passed, it had become clear that Zoraal Ja could only see her and Koana as rivals for a throne he assumed was his, and it was his downfall. Wuk Lamat hadn’t won the throne with luck or schemes; she’d earned it with the trust and support of their people. How come he couldn’t see that? And now, she’d found someone, someone beautiful, kind, amazing, someone who could understand how she felt about her people, and about what it means to be a ruler. Someone who understands, unlike Zoraal Ja.

“See you in the finals, Lamaty’i.”

“Zoraal Ja is up to something.” She whispers into Sphene’s neck, breaking the silence blanketing the room. (She thinks she can feel the woman shiver, but she can't be sure.)

Sphene pulls back, eyes blinking away a hazy fog of sleep as she hums, “What do you mean?” There's a yawn in her tone, like she’d been so comfortable that sleep had been unavoidable, and it makes Wuk Lamat’s heart do a flip in her chest. The way she rubs at her eyes, comfort rolling off her in waves, pulls at Wuk Lamat’s chest.

 “Lamaty’i?”

She glances down at pale pink lips, watches the way they form around each syllable of her nickname.

Guilt coils, acidic and bitter, as Wuk Lamat closes her eyes and leans her head back. She breathes, once, twice, three times. “I think he wants to hurt you…” The thought makes her stomach roll, burbling like a bad cut of steak, something many thoughts revolving around her brother do nowadays.

“Why would he want to do that?” 

Wuk Lamat can feel Sphene’s hands cup her cheeks, feels the way her thumbs trace the shape of her cheekbones. She breathes again, concentrates on the peace that radiates from that touch.

“I don't know.” It's nerve-racking. She can read between the lines just enough to know it was a threat, but not enough to solve the equation written in ancient tongues. “He's angry I was named Dawnservant, and that Koana was given a seat while he’s left behind…” Guilt broils in her blood, sticky like oil.

“I can understand that. Had my parents named someone other than me heir, I think I'd feel just the same.” Sphene shifts her legs to Wuk Lamat’s right, letting her head rest over a steady beating heart. She hums, one hand pressed to Wuk Lamat’s collar as the other woman wraps her arms around her again. “What would hurting me do to change that?”

A good question. A great question.

With a groan, Wuk Lamat glares up at the ceiling. She counts the spots that dance along her vision in the wake of an answer. 

“Perhaps Koana can help?” Sphene offers, pushing herself back from Wuk Lamat’s chest. “He seems to have a good grasp on Zoraal Ja’s temperament at the very least.”

Sphene is so smart!!!

“Koana!” How had she forgotten her dear, sweet, smart brother? She stands, lifting Sphene with her. “You’re so smart, Sphene!” She spins, delighting in the laugh that trickles from Sphene’s lips. “Koana will know exactly what to do!” And without thinking, she presses her lips to Sphene’s.

It takes a moment for her to realize what she’s done, but by the time her head catches up to her lips, Sphene has her arms around her neck and is kissing back fiercely. Legs weak, Wuk Lamat stumbles, falling backwards onto the couch as her head spins. The fall forces a gasp from her lips, an opening that lets the smaller woman slide past sharp teeth and dance along the ridges of Wuk Lamat’s textured tongue. Sphene hums into the kiss, tangles her hands in wild brunette locks as they sink into each other. Strong hands travel down Sphene’s shoulders, idling on her back before resting on her rear. Tight trousers accentuate attractive curves that set the Xbr'aal woman’s body on fire. She squeezes, delighting in the soft moan Sphene whimpers into her mouth. Sphene breaks the kiss first as she pushes herself up. Her breathing is labored, face flushed pink; she tries to redirect the conversation, pull their attention back a few steps, but Wuk Lamat had just broken the seal on this thing between them, and retracting from it is quickly becoming a more daunting task.

“Lamaty’i-” Sphene whimpers as Wuk Lamat rolls them both over, her mouth moving to the smaller woman’s cheek to her jaw and down her neck. 

Sharp teeth graze against pale skin, sending a shiver through Sphene’s body. She shudders, arching into the taller woman’s touch, reaching out for more, more, more contact.

Despite her protest, Sphene wraps her legs around Wuk Lamat’s hips. Things are quickly getting out of hand, but there is little that can be done to pry them from each other’s arms. Lavender and vanilla permeate Wuk Lamat’s senses as warm hands tug Sphene’s tunic up so she can press calloused fingers to a pale stomach. Sphene giggles through breathy gasps, her hands gliding up strong arms as she blinks hazy green eyes up at her companion.

A knock, solid and deafening, rings out from the door just a few feet away. Wuk Lamat jumps back, slamming into the table behind her and sending the karaf of water to the floor with a violent crash. She looks from the door to the ground, then to Sphene, cheeks flushed, tunic untucked, and her hair wild. The urge to kiss her again roars like a wildfire, unceasing and torrential, but another knock grounds her.

“Lamaty’i?”

“Koana-” Both women say in unison, sharing an embarrassed glance before Wuk Lamat begins towards the door.

“I’ll keep him busy,” Wuk Lamat whispers, gesturing to Sphene’s disheveled appearance.

The Queen bites her lip, her eyes following Wuk Lamat’s backward steps. The Xbr'aal woman can't bring herself to break the look they share, can't sever this connection, only just fully established. She stumbles into the door breathless, hand pressed to her pounding chest. Today was certainly testing the durability of her heart if nothing else. 

“Lamaty’i!?” Koana’s pounding is more insistent, heavy-handed, and worried.

The vibrations ground the Vow of Resolve, and she closes her eyes and opens the door. She rounds the door with one final glance at Sphene, now standing, putting herself back together in the mirror near the end of the bed, and paints a smile across her face for Koana. 

“Koana!” She pushes cheer into every syllable, forces the irritation around the interruption out of her tone. “We were just talking about you.”

“We? Is Sphene still with you?” Koana’s brow arches, his hand resting on his chin as he moves to peer around his sister’s shoulder. “Then why did it take so long for you to come to the door?”

Wuk Lamat tenses as she presses the door to her back, creeping further into the hall. “I-”

“We had our hands full, I’m afraid,” Sphene says, pulling the door open easily. “Thank you for your help, Lamaty’i. I’ll take you up on additional assistance in the future.” 

Her tone shifts imperceivably lower, eyes glinting oh so slightly, just enough to send Wuk Lamat’s heart back into her throat.

“Koana, please come in.”

Wuk Lamat is left gaping in the doorway, wondering, How can she be so composed after that?

“Lamaty’i?” 

She blinks, shaking off her kiss-induced stupor with a cough. “Sorry, coming.”

Tea and coffee are brought moments later, and the three nobles settle into their discussion. Wuk Lamat tells Koana about the threat, the whisper just as their brother left the arena, and the bad feeling toiling in her gut.

“Your intuition is usually correct,” he hums, taking a sip of his tea. “But surely Zoraal Ja knows nothing good would come of his dethroning of an allied monarch.”

“Could he be trying to get back at you both by sabotaging your first acts as Dawnservants?” Sphene bites her lip as she thinks, her brow furrowed. 

“I don't think it's that complicated.” Wuk Lamat replies from her seat on the floor. “Or maybe it's more complicated than that?” Confusion swarms like bees, a cloud of anxiety released from its hive.

“Perhaps this has more to do with gaining power than about losing it…” Koana trails off as he stands. “Perhaps he wants to use Sphene for his own claim on power… but why would he antagonize either of you for that purpose…” As he talks, he paces the length of the room. “Sphene, how does the passage of power work in Alexandria?”

“Birthright,” Sphene replies, "To rule, you must be of royal blood.”

“And marriage?” 

Sphene flushes, gaze flickering to Wuk Lamat before she clears her throat. “Were I to marry, my spouse would have less power, and our child would be heir.”

“And if there is no heir, and you were to pass?”

“Koana-”

“Only a question.” Koana raises his hands defensively as he looks to Sphene for the answer.

“Were I to pass without an heir, a next of kin would be found,” Sphene admits, rubbing soft circles into Wuk Lamat’s shoulder. “In lieu of one, my spouse would be named Regent and eventually Ruler.”

“I don't see how he plans to get married with the actions he's already taken.” Wuk Lamat grumbles, scratching the back of her neck. “He hasn't even spoken to Sphene.” She glances up at the queen, catches a fond look the monarch gives her, and smiles in return.

“Were I given the option,” Sphene says softly as she toys with a strand of Wuk Lamat’s wild mane. “He is not the promise I would take…” She nearly whispers, focus no longer directed at Koana, but centered fully on Wuk Lamat, her gaze drifting to Wuk Lamat’s lips again

Mossy green eyes glance towards her brother, still lost in thought. She wonders what Koana would think about how she feels, how Sphene feels. What would this become? What can it become? If they were to marry, would Wuk Lamat have to give up her father's throne? Would Sphene? Could they continue to serve their people together? Or would it be worse to even try? She's starting to realize how much more complicated these feelings between them can become, and it settles like stone in her stomach. 

“Regardless,” Koana breaks the silence, his hands falling to his sides. “You should keep your guards with you at all times.”

“I’m not sure-” Sphene begins, rising to her feet, but Wuk Lamat reaches for her hand and pulls her attention back to her.

“He’s not some spoiled prince,” She says gently, thumb rubbing circles into Sphene’s palm. “He’s Tuliyollal’s strongest warrior.” 

With what she’d seen at the tournament, Alexandria wasn’t as protected as they’d thought. The castle’s high walls could stop invaders, but with someone like Zoraal Ja already inside…

“Otis and Zelenia are already at an arm's length at all times, I can’t ask-”

“I’ll protect you.” Wuk Lamat interjects, her hand tightening on Sphene’s. “We’ve been spending time together anyway.” She shrugs, trying to sound more relaxed about the situation than she really is. 

“While I do adore the time we spend together, I could hardly ask you to defend me as if you’re a simple bodyguard.”

She makes it sound like a bad thing.

“I want to.” The vow chuckles, rising onto her knees to talk up to Sphene. “Besides, it wouldn’t take a threat from my brother to get me to protect you.” Warmth swells in her chest, that field of wildflowers blooms again, and butterflies flurry like a storm. “For as long as I breathe, harm will not come to you.” It feels more like a pledge, like an oath, and Wuk Lamat doesn't care if she’ll be dragged to the underworld for it; she won't fail.

“What?” 

“I won't let him hurt you.” She squeezes Sphene’s hand as she speaks, lets the promise chill in the air of the room, then rises onto one knee. 

Across the room, Koana watches. He sees the words left unsaid, the promises hidden from view. “Then it’s settled.”

“Koana, you can’t be serious-”

“If anyone can stop Zoraal Ja, it’s Lamaty’i.” Pride swells in his words as a lop-sided smile spreads across his face. “She’s the only one who’s ever matched him in strength.”

“No more arguments!” Wuk Lamat says with a grin. 

“And once this is all over, we can talk about what’s going on here.” 

Both women turn to Koana, their confusion evident on their faces. When he simply gestures in their direction, they meet each other’s gaze. Wuk Lamat realizes she’s exactly one knee away from a proposal, and the flush across Sphene’s cheeks tells her she’s noticed too. They part, Sphene sitting stiffly, hands tucked into her lap, while Wuk Lamat scrambles into a normal sitting position, her back to Sphene. 

Despite it all, Wuk Lamat only had one thought on her mind: that she and Sphene were going to have a lot of time together, and she couldn’t be happier about it.

Chapter Text

So I said, I'm a snowball running
Running down into the spring that's coming, all this love
Melting under blue skies
Belting out sunlight
Shimmering love

Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows

As the afternoon crawls towards evening, Koana takes his leave, determined to speak to Zoraal Ja if he can, leaving his sister and Sphene alone. He’d commented on Wuk Lamat not being late to her fight, his eyes sliding from one woman to the other, watching both carefully as he said it. (Sphene feels her face heat at the implication and turns away, determined not to look as guilty as she feels.)

In the absence of her protective brother, Wuk Lamat had decided to take a nap, rest up between fights, leaving Sphene effectively alone. Not alone alone, but alone enough for the queen to sit at the edge of Wuk Lamat’s bed and watch the Xbr'aal woman sleep. Swaths of deep orange and cascading yellow paint Wuk Lamat the color of the setting sun. It should feel creepy or perverse, but Sphene feels an overwhelming cascade of peace overcome her as the sun sets. Wuk Lamat transforms into a watercolor painting, her features bleeding into the hues cast by the horizon. 

There should be hours to go before the next rounds, but Sphene knows she’d lost track of time long ago. She’d made an effort to read some dusty old tome, one with mentions of Tural deep in the index, but how could she when the Turali dictionary rested mere ilms away? So instead, she watches. She takes in everything that is Wuk Lamat, her hair, her clothes, the gentle way her nose wiggles when she sleeps. It's the most compelling anatomy lesson she’s ever sat through, and it's not even hands-on. Inevitably, her eyes linger on strong arms, broad shoulders, and firm abs. She can see exactly how strong Wuk Lamat is simply from her physic; she feels silly about worrying so much now. Her gaze shifts back up to Wuk Lamat’s mouth, lips parted as she breathes, and Sphene feels something new dig into her chest, a distant hunger that threads through her muscles like sinew.

Absently, Sphene presses her fingers to her own lips, remembering the feeling of fur and fangs as they’d kissed. It hadn't been her first kiss, but it had felt like so much more than any that had come before. Green eyes rake over Wuk Lamat’s sleeping figure, hesitating again at her lips. Desire claws at Sphene like an animal, a beast gnawing at the bars of its cage, and she wants to free it. Wants to give in to the need to press their lips together again, to taste Wuk Lamat in ways she's never craved from anyone before. Her body moves without permission, crawling up Wuk Lamat’s sleeping form and hovering there. At this angle, Sphene feels like a beast of legend, something that hunts in the dark of night, teeth gnashing for a taste of what she desires. She licks her lips again, the memory still fresh on her tongue, the taste of Wuk Lamat’s mouth pulling at the negative charge in her chest.

Below her, Wuk Lamat shifts, mossy green eyes blinking open as a yawn tears through her chest. Her teeth gnash as she shuts her mouth, a reminder of the yearning in Sphene’s core. Bleary-eyed, she smiles up at Sphene, lazy but awake. 

“Good morning, Your Highness.” She coos playfully, reaching a clawed hand up to cup Sphene’s cheek. “Has it been too long since we last kissed that you have to steal one in my sleep?”

Guilt pulses through Sphene like a wave, lapping at the shores of her sanity. “I-” She should back up, pull away, give the woman some space, but instead Wuk Lamat pulls her into another kiss. She hums into it, savoring the way Wuk Lamat’s free hand pulls her hips forward.

The tournament is canceled. Sphene thinks, sinking deeper into the kiss. No more fights, Lamaty’i is the winner, everyone else go home. 

Sphene settles her weight on Wuk Lamat's ribs, hand rising to hold the woman’s larger one in place. She opens her mouth, deepening the kiss with a pleased sigh as she feels the slight texture of the taller woman's tongue. It's a unique feeling, one that makes her body hum pleasantly as Wuk Lamat pulls her close. She wants the world to stop, to freeze them here in this moment for as long as possible. It feels like there is simply not enough time to appreciate every kiss, every subtle nip or lick. If she lived a thousand years, she doesn't think she could kiss Wuk Lamat enough for a lifetime, even if every moment was spent like this.

A purr thrums through Wuk Lamat’s chest, a satisfied rumble of peaceful bliss. Here and now, they had each other; whatever came before or comes after is meaningless, and Sphene melts into the feeling. She’s not sure when Wuk Lamat’s hands glide down her shoulders and arms, resting gently at her ribs, but it feels like a foregone conclusion. She giggles, a burbling laughter into the kiss, humming pleasantly as Wuk Lamat’s hands drop even lower, curling around the swell of her rear.

There's too much fabric between them, too many obstacles to think through. Wuk Lamat’s leathers alone look far too complicated for her kiss-addled brain to stumble through. She breaks the kiss reluctantly, sucking in a deep breath as she reaches for the strong hands drifting up her hips.

“Clothes. Off.” She murmurs, pressing another kiss to Wuk Lamat’s mouth. “Your armor- everything-” She feels like she’s going to combust; things are moving at a snail's pace, speeding to the finish.

Wuk Lamat chuckles warmly, something that stutters her purrs as she nuzzles into Sphene’s throat. “Round two is going to start soon…” Reluctance coats her tone, a merciful plea to whatever part of Sphene that might still be standing upon earth, but it's a lost cause.

“Round two is now,” she huffs, a shuddered breath escaping her lips as Wuk Lamat nips at her throat. “I’m in the lead, though; you’ll need to catch up.” She captures Wuk Lamat’s hands, presses them to her chest with a sigh.

“The fight-”

“Canceled,” Sphene huffs, lifting Wuk Lamat’s hand to her lips to pepper it with kisses. “I declare you the winner, and I, your prize.” Now she’s begging, all caution thrown to the wind. She sucks Wuk Lamat’s middle finger between her lips, tongue swirling around the digit.

“Sphene…” The taller woman groans, biting her lip. “I-” She's fighting herself through the sentence, eyes flickering from Sphene’s face to the door and back. “Koana will know.” 

And that, that pulls Sphene plummeting back to solid ground. She feels almost stunned by the feeling, like the magical world that she’d just been in had shattered into millions of pieces, leaving them both winded and wanting. Wuk Lamat’s hand drops to her lap, and Sphene thinks she sees regret in the woman’s eyes.

“You’re right,” she breathes, closing her eyes and grounding herself. “There will be time for us, later.” It doesn't feel true, like they only have this moment right here, right now, but she concedes. The world has not stopped for them, and they have kingdoms to lead, tournaments to win. “Apologies, Lamaty’i, I got ahead of myself.” The breath she exhales feels final, like it’s the last she’ll ever breathe, but inevitably, she breathes again.

“No,” Wuk Lamat hisses, pulling Sphene close and pressing their foreheads together. “No. I…” She sighs, breathes in the air they share. “I want this, but… Zoraal Ja, Koana, there’s so much…”

It feels silly now, the idea that they would barricade themselves within the walls of the castle, bury themselves in each other, and wish the world away, but a girl can dream.

“No, you’re right.” She looks into Wuk Lamat’s eyes, watches the way the light flickers across deep green. “There is much to do, as much as I’d like to spend that time here… with you…” She twines their fingers, pressing their palms together like a kiss. 

It takes several moments for them to fully part; Sphene waits till Wuk Lamat releases her hands to slowly extract herself from the larger woman. When she stands, her legs shake, and she huffs in irritation. Wuk Lamat chuckles again, but it feels less jovial than it did when their mouths were pressed together, hands pressed to the parts of Sphene that make the queen shudder and sigh. 

“Offering yourself as a prize? How humble of you, Queen Sphene.” 

When Sphene turns around, Wuk Lamat is grinning at her, one hand notched on her hip, cocky and coy. “Only if you win.” She clarifies, her cheeks heating.

“Ahh, sounds to me like someone is playing favorites.” As she walks past Sphene, Wuk Lamat trails a clawed finger down her shoulder, curling around a pale hand as she pulls the limb up to her lips. “Not a very impartial judge, it seems.” She ends the comment with a kiss to Sphene’s hand, then lets it go as she makes her way towards the door.

“You’d be correct, where I, a judge.” Sphene huffs her tone playful. “As it stands, I am a humble spectator.” She punctuates the statement with a bow, smiling as she meets Wuk Lamat’s gaze. 

The taller woman laughs again, this time, deep and breathy. “How rude of me to assume.” Her lopsided grin sends Sphene’s heart into overdrive, but the faux formalities do much to settle the mood between them.

The walk down to the arena is filled with more playful flirting and shy touches behind shadowed corners. Sphene kisses Wuk Lamat at least three more times, but Wuk Lamat claims four and is declared the winner, for now.

Upon arrival, Wuk Lamat hurries off to the competitor's tent, smiling wide and honest. “I’ll win again!” She shouts, waving Sphene’s pale yellow handkerchief above her head.

Sphene waves back, her flush deepening as an assortment of Alexandrian citizens notice. The response isn't what she expects, but a swath of kind glances and cheerful thumbs up. Wuk Lamat wasn't of their kingdom, but it seems her people don’t care. 

“Vow Wuk Lamat has certainly gained a hearty group of fans in the last few hours.” 

Sphene startles for a moment, surprised to see Otis just outside of her peripherals. She presses her hand to her chest to still the rapid beating of her heart, “Goodness, Otis, I didn't see you there.” 

“It seems you have been missing quite a few things since your new friend’s arrival.” He smirks as he speaks, knowing eyes twinkling. “I think our people would be happy to see the two of you working together, Your Highness.”

The comment brings another flush to pale cheeks, and Sphene clears her throat. “Yes, well, no reason to rush into anything. We’ve only just met.” Were irony a person, she’s sure they’d be hunting her down for her hypocrisy this very instant.

Another knowing smile cuts across his handsome face, “Of course not, Your Highness.” His armor clinks as he falls in step beside her, “Since we have an odd number of rounds this year, we’ve decided to move a fighter up a round from each bracket.” He nods at a cluster of knights wrapped in purple and gold, lifting his hand in a polite wave. “Round one’s first victor will be moving on to round three, and should The Vow of Reason win, she will skip to round four.”

“I have no doubt she will.” Sphene offers nonchalantly, a pinprick of tension threading through her shoulders.

“I suppose I was seeing things earlier,” Otis hums, rubbing his chin curiously. “It appeared to me that you were quite worried earlier.”

Playfully, Sphene smacks his armor with a chuff, her cheeks puffed out childishly. “Enough of that! Yes, I’m quite fond of our visiting dignitaries. Can we cease this teasing, Sir Otis!”

“My, quite fond? Whatever will the town crier think?”

“Something about new trade routes,” she murmurs playfully, “Or perhaps something more scandalous?”

“Queen Sphene seen kissing Turali Vow of Resolve.” He announces, holding his arms out as if reading from a scroll.

Sphene laughs again, shoving her knight gently, “Okay, really. Enough.” 

Otis smiles in reply as he raises his hand to mark a cross over his heart. “You have my word.”

It feels good to talk to Otis about her feelings. With her station, Sphene didn't often make friends outside of the castle, and her proximity to her royal guard made an easy icebreaker, all things considered. 

The remainder of the walk is silent save for the quiet murmur of people around them. Sphene hears talks of the tournament, pleas for food or toys, and the odd mention of Wuk Lamat. It seemed even her kingdom was becoming more and more interested in the dashing woman, a fact that soothed a worried part of her soul. 

“I am very fond of her,” she confesses quietly, fingers threading together behind her back.

Otis hums, offering another wave to a cluster of women as they enter the arena. “I’m glad. The Vow of Resolve seems like a proper friend and partner.” He saves her the embarrassment hidden behind more solid terms, but his knowing smile eases any additional tension from Sphene’s shoulders. 

“Thank you for speaking with me, Otis.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

The crowd cheers as they enter the arena, a crescendo of whooping and stomping. Sphene smiles, bowing to her people as Otis joins the cheers beside her. As the cheers taper off, Sphene takes a deep breath, straightening her spine and expanding her diaphragm.

“Good evening, fellow Alexandrians,” the cheers begin anew, however more subdued, and fade far more quickly. “I trust the festivities have been to your liking?” A chorus of delighted shouts break through the evening air, drifting like rose petals along the breeze. “Thank you for coming, as always. As you have seen, I have offered my favor to a visiting dignitary from Tural, just south of our borders.” This time, the crowd doesn't swell, but a ripple of approving chitters roll towards the center of the arena. “The Vow of Resolve, Wuk Lamat has become a dear friend in such a short amount of time, but I hope you’ll cheer for her alongside me, as well as all of our other competitors.” A roar of cheers agrees, sending a bright smile across Sphene’s face as she claps along with her people. “Now, due to our odd number of bouts from round one, each round will have a competitor move on without facing an opponent. For round two, that is Sir Shale.” A subdued cheer sparks and dies to allow the queen to speak again. “Thank you to all our fighters, and please, enjoy!”

As the cheers rise and the true announcer takes their place upon the dais, Sphene makes her way towards her seat nearby Koana. He smiles as she approaches, offering her a kernel of popped corn as he settles into his seat.

The first fight is between the victors of the second and third fight from the morning, an Alexandrian knight and a Sharlian fencer. They seem evenly matched, but as she is wont to do, Sphene grows bored of the conflict, more distracted with locating Wuk Lamat among the remaining fighters.

“Lamaty’i has grown very attached to you, in a short time, Queen Sphene.”

The formalities catch her off guard, a chill of worry slithering up her spine. “And I, her.” She replies, swallowing thickly. 

“She isn't one to grow attached in… such a way.” He frowns like the words leave an aftertaste he’s not sure if he likes. “You must know she’s never had any suitors before.” It's less of a question and more of a statement, a precaution before he continues.

“I wasn't aware,” She wasn't, but it doesn't feel surprising. It certainly isn't difficult to see her falling for the woman, but it feels far more magnanimous for Wuk Lamat to have fallen for her as well. Like she’s a once-in-a-lifetime event, gone in an instant. “I,” she takes a breath, navigating her thoughts like a labyrinth. “I have had those who wished to be my suitor, as well as those who had come close, so I am not foreign to the idea.” It's the truth, but how is she to explain to Koana that whatever has tied her and Wuk Lamat together was so much more than a kiss shared between children?

“We haven't known each other long,” he runs a shaking hand through his pale green hair, nerves evident in the way he huffs out a shaky breath. “But I’d like to think you’re a good person.”

The comment sends a flutter of relief through her chest, like the trill of a familiar laugh.

“I don't want to think this is all for some ulterior motive.” He looks down at his hands, the clash of weapons around them stalls before igniting again, and he breathes out another sigh. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not often in this position.”

The urge to lay a friendly hand on his shoulder rises and falls, and Sphene licks her lips as she glances around the arena once more.

“Lamaty’i has become very precious to me,” she reaches a cautious hand to his, smiling when he grips hers in reply. “And you as well, Koana. I want what is best for both of our kingdoms, but I also know that when I’m with Lamaty’i, I-” 

The fight concludes with the Sharlian fencer as the victor, and healers escort the loser off the field post haste. Sphene sees Wuk Lamat approach the inner ring of the arena, catches her eye, and feels that familiar flurry of butterflies swirl in her chest. 

She squeezes Koana’s hand. “I have never felt this way about anyone.” She whispers, eyes never leaving Wuk Lamat’s grinning face. “It's like I've been lost in a blizzard all my life, and finally found a home.” She feels dazed, lightheaded from the admission, but filled with so much hope.

Koana pats her hand in reply, and when she turns to him, he smiles at her. “I’m glad.” His gaze shifts to his sister, then back to Sphene, his smile never faltering. “I can see she feels the same, and though I'm sure it will never come to this, I do have to warn you to never hurt her.”

It's absurd, but she agrees with a nod. “I will do what is in my power to never cause her harm.”

And Koana chuckles. He releases her hand and returns his attention to the arena, where Wuk Lamat is gawking at the wild cheers of the Alexandrian kingdom. 

There are whistles, whoops, and hollers. Handkerchiefs catch the wind and float by the stunned royal, her mouth open in shock. It fades just as quickly, a grin lighting up her face as she raises her axe proudly, and the crowd roars.

Across the arena is her opponent, a towering man in obsidian armor. He wears no flag and brandishes two massive blades, one in each hand. As the trumpets call for the round to begin, he spreads his arms, bringing both swords down in a violent ‘V.’

Sphene gasps, her attention now focused on Wuk Lamat’s fight. The dust clears, and Wuk Lamat has jumped back, avoiding the hit entirely. She smiles at the knight, a cocky mix of confidence and humor that makes him roar as he charges forward. She sidesteps another downward strike and ducks under the next one, gliding through his swings like an expert. Sphene feels her heart lurch when a third strike swings for Wuk Lamat's neck, but she blocks with her axe, sending the knight backwards. He stumbles, using a blade to catch himself, but as he rights his balance, Wuk Lamat swings her axe directly into his stomach and sends him sliding out of the ring. The crowd cheers, wild and victorious, as Wuk Lamat waves Sphene’s handkerchief high above her head.

The urge to rush forward surges through Sphene, a current dragging her towards the other woman, vicious and deadly. Self-control wins out, and instead, Sphene stands. (And maybe she leans forward just a little, digs her nails into the wooden barrier, leans ever so slightly into Wuk Lamat’s personal space as she approaches.) She wants to kiss her silly, drag her through the streets into the castle, and behind closed doors. It's an urge so natural it's almost like breathing, but this, too, she resists. 

“Congratulations, Sir Knight.” Sphene coos, reaching towards Wuk Lamat as she approaches.

Wuk Lamat catches her hand, runs caloused fingertips down her knuckles, and coils around her wrist. “All for you, My Queen.”

Sphene shudders, feels the chill of the air as quiet wraps around them. My Queen echoes in her head, and she wants so much to make it true. She realizes a moment too late that the crowd has truly gone silent, and not for their benefit. 

In the center of the arena stands Zoraal Ja, his swords pierced into the dirt as he saunters towards the pair. Deftly, he snatches Sphene’s handkerchief from Wuk Lamat’s hand, holding it up and out of her reach as he dodges around her, sliding between her and Sphene.

“Queen Sphene,” he hisses, tongue coiling around her name possessively. “I understand you have become… Enamored with my naive sister.” When Wuk Lamat tries to pry him away, he kicks, aiming right for her stomach and sending the woman sprawling to the ground. “Between you and me,” he takes a moment to slither his gaze down her body, “Were you to pick a king, I would be the better choice.”

Around them, the crowd rumbles, and Wuk Lamat jumps to her feet and shoves him away. She growls, standing firmly between her brother and Sphene as she huffs angrily. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying this kingdom will be better off with a king and a queen, and not-” He glares at his sister before gesturing to the two women. “Whatever this is.”

Another rumble of whispers flow through the crowd, confused and curious. 

Sphene rests her hand upon Wuk Lamat’s shoulder and squeezes. She offers a calm smile as she trails her hand down a strong shoulder, firm bicep, tensed forearm, and rests gently at her wrist. “Thank you for the advice, Zoraal Ja.” She says evenly, letting her hand twine with Wuk Lamat’s. “But I have to decline your offer. I do not need a king to rule, nor would I want one who treats his family as you do.”

For a moment, nothing happens. The crowd goes silent, and it seems even the air is afraid to stir. With a growl, Zoraal Ja turns, stomping into the arena. “Start the fight.” He roars, claiming both of his blades from the earth. “Now!!”

Barely a note plays from the trumpets as he lurches forward and grabs his opponent by the face. The man howls, dropping his weapon as he claws at the vice grip on his face. It’s all for naught, as Zoraal Ja slams his body into the ground and pierces him with one of his blades, killing him instantly. 

Stunned, Wuk Lamat gasps out a breath, her body shuddering forward a step. “Brother!”

“Quiet!!” He growls, withdrawing his blade and kicking the body of his opponent without care. “You have been a thorn in my side for too long!” He’s screaming, saliva sprays from sharp teeth as he turns on her, his breathing labored. “Tomorrow I will end this. You, and whatever you think you can claim of this pathetic kingdom, and I will marry the queen and. Claim. My. Throne.” He sheathes his weapons, shoulders heaving as he stalks away and out of the arena. 

Sound returns like a thunderbolt, a roar of panicked murmurs and whispered worries. Sphene feels her legs give out, but as she expects to hit the ground, she is scooped into strong arms. She’s pressed into Wuk Lamat’s chest protectively, and before anything else can happen, the taller woman whisks her away to the castle. 

Less than an hour ago, she’d been wrapped in bliss, but now… Now panic knits its way through bones and blood, a poison that sends her stomach into knots, coiling and lurching. 

He’s going to kill Lamaty’i…

Numbness spreads through her muscles, a cold detachment that rips a shuddering gasp from her lips. “He never wanted to hurt me… He intends to hurt you…” 

Wuk Lamat doesn’t stall, doesn’t falter. She continues her path towards Sphene’s room with firm, confident steps. Her shoulders tense, and Sphene feels her tighten her grip around the smaller woman. “He will try. And he will fail.” She growls, low and predatory. “He will not have you.”

Sphene feels dizzy, panic and worry clustering in her chest, flowing through her blood. She burrows herself into Wuk Lamat’s chest, listens to her heartbeat, and tries to believe she might sleep tonight. 

Chapter Text

These lines of lightning mean
We're never alone
Never alone, no, no
Come on, come on
Move a little closer
Come on, come on
I wanna hear you whisper
Come on, come on
Settle down inside my love, oh

Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows

The sleep Sphene manages is fitful. She thrashes in her bed, coiled in blankets as if they were pythons, siphoning her of restful slumber. Wuk Lamat, in contrast, doesn't sleep at all. She spends the night at Sphene’s side or out on her balcony, anger seething through her blood. She paces between the rooms, thoughts racing, the heavy thud of her steps echoing throughout the chamber.

Between Sphene’s fits of nightmares, she thinks of her brother. It's hard to see past the sneer he points in her direction, the venom he weaves between his words each time she tries to speak with him.

In the months between the rite of succession and now, she had tried so hard to show her brother the error of his ways. Tried to explain to him why their father had chosen her to rule instead of him, why Koana was chosen to be at her side, but he would have none of it. He felt robbed of his birthright, and nothing Wuk Lamat or Koana could do or say has ever made a difference. She remembers the look in his eyes, the betrayal and anger. As if she had chosen to steal from him, and not reality; that she had earned her place, fair and square. (Venom coats his tongue as he lashes out at her, brittle and broken, “How dare you try to stand at his side. How dare you think you’re equal.”)

“You should take Zoraal Ja with you.” Her father’s voice echoes in her memory, lost in a way she's never heard him be before. “Maybe he will learn a thing or two from you two.”

“He’s learned nothing, Papa.” She speaks to the stars, hoping desperately for her father’s reply, but it, of course, never comes. She sinks to a squat, letting the cool air ruffle her hair and fur. “What would you do, if you were here?” It also goes unanswered.

As the sun rises, she is no closer to sleep, despite the sluggish way she moves. Sphene gasps into consciousness, sweat beading on her skin, her nightdress so slick with it it's nearly see-through. She heaves gasping breaths as her gaze lands on Wuk Lamat, tears welling in fearful green eyes. She inhales sharply, gulping down lungfuls of air like there’s a knife in her side. 

I am the knife. Wuk Lamat thinks, reaching for Sphene’s hand at the same moment she does the same.

“I had a terrible nightmare.” Her voice is almost child-like in the way it cracks, so small Wuk Lamat almost instinctively moves to hold her, but holds herself back. “Zoraal Ja was here, he- he-” She almost chokes on the words, her free hand rising to her throat.

The Vow of Resolve can connect the dots. She withdraws from the smaller woman, her hands clenched at her side, anger rising in her chest once again. “I’m sorry I’ve put you through this.” 

Pale green eyes widen, and Sphene reaches for her again, faltering as Wuk Lamat takes another step away. “You didn’t- This isn't your fault!”

“If I hadn't fixated on the endless queen. If I hadn't fallen for you. If I hadn't taken your favor- None of this would have happened… You would have slept soundly last night…” As if pressure had been released from her bones, she wavers, her muscles falling slack as emotion wells in her chest. She feels like her lungs are full of water, incapable of taking in meaningful air, slowly dragging her deeper into her despair. 

“Lamaty’i-” She sounds like there's more she wants to say, but can't find the words. “Please, I fell for you, too. Have fallen, even.” She tries to smile, tries to make light of their rapidly darkening situation. 

“I shouldn't have come here. Koana should have come alone. He’s the smart one, he knows-”

“Please don't say that,” Sphene whispers, her gaze downcast. “I've never felt for anyone the way I feel about you, Lamaty’i. Would you wish for me a life of loneliness?” 

Glancing up, Wuk Lamat sees picturesque beauty. The sun cascades through stained glass, painting Sphene in bright hues that accent her high cheekbones and pale complexion. Tears glitter in her eyes, still captured by long eyelashes, accenting pale green glittered with gold. Her heart breaks for this woman before her, put into this predicament through no fault of her own. Her lungs clench around sloshing sadness, the last dregs of air leaving her with a sigh. 

“I will fight him, and when I lose-”

“Don’t-”

“Please,” she takes Sphene’s hands, presses a kiss to her knuckles. “I will try to cripple him, so you have a better chance if-”

“Lamaty’i, I can’t- I don’t-”

“It's going to be okay.” It feels more like a lie in the wake of everything, and she can't even meet the monarch’s gaze as she says it. “Without me here, he won’t have any way to force you into marriage.” She runs her free hand through her hair, sighs as it sticks out, unruly as ever. “Maybe it will be enough for him to win the fight, and he won’t want the throne anymore.”

“You don't believe that!” Sphene shifts forward, crawling to the end of her bed. “We should just arrest him now-” (Her hair is mussed, sticking out in ways she’d never show anyone if she had a choice, and Wuk Lamat feels her heart ache at the sight. You’re so beautiful…)

“He's technically a dignitary. Papa might not fight the decision, but as a ruler, it would cripple you.” Wuk Lamat sighs. If it were that easy, she would have pushed for it yesterday. “He’s broken no laws, been convicted of no crime.” It weighs her down, anchors tied to her arms and legs that pull her deeper and deeper into despair. “He already knows you won’t do it. He knows what you have to lose.” It all feels so helpless. 

“But-”

“He’s backed us into a wall.” It's the first time since the proposal yesterday that she actually wants to sleep, but she's not as keen on waking up afterward. “I have to face him.”

“Lamaty’i, don't fight him.” She pleads, anger and fear cascading over her small frame as she reaches for the taller woman. “If you truly think you’ll lose-” Her voice breaks, and she pushes back a shuddering sob to suck in a deep breath. “I’ll agree to his terms- We can give ourselves a little more time-”

“Sphene-” It feels like a slap to the face. Like Sphene hadn't spent the last two days knowing everything about her. (It's unrealistic, truly, but they’d felt so close, like their hearts were beating as one, but no. They are still strangers, and Wuk Lamat was once again on her own.)

The Queen isn't done bargaining, her frantic eyes flickering across the room, searching for something, some answer they hadn't located yet. “There’s no reason for you to fight!” She chews at her bottom lip, red and swollen, (and oh so kissable.) “If there’s no other way, I’ll do it, I’ll marry him. I-”

“You don't want that!” Her shout echoes in the silence that falls between them. She shakes, her hands coiled tightly in fragile fists. “You don't love him.” You love me…

“I don't,” Sphene’s green eyes turn defiant, her back straightening as she meets Wuk Lamat’s glower. “And what I want is for you to be alive.” Her jaw sets as she glares up at the taller woman.

“And what about what I want!?” Her shoulders shake with the force of it, her tired body aching for rest that won't come, can't come. “You expect me to sit by and watch you marry my brother? Watch as he turns your country into something you’d never want for your people?”

“I’ll still be Queen. I’ll still have power-”

“Do you seriously believe that?” She grinds her teeth, every muscle in her body coiled tight. “All he cares about is power. He’ll take it from you, even if that means he kills you.” This time, the silence is deafening; birds perched on the balcony escape from the torrent of emotions flowing between the two women. “Am I supposed to sit and wait for that to happen too?” This time, her voice cracks, a sob fluttering from the back of her throat.” How did I ever think I could be happy?

“Of course not-” She chokes out, wet and warbling, her hands fisting in her sheets. “But I would gladly live in an unhappy marriage, then be forced to watch you die at the hands of your brother!”

“I would rather die than watch you marry someone you don't love.” If she wasn't tired before, she’s exhausted now, her shoulders slumped as her muscles relax forcibly. “I will not watch him destroy your kingdom. You. Us.” He already has…

“Why does your death need to be a bargaining chip!?” She's frantic now, sobs forcing their way through her cracks as tears stream down flushed cheeks. She clutches at Wuk Lamat’s leathers, “Why can't we just-”

“Just what, Sphene? Run away?” It shocks her how harsh it comes out, but they’re both raw with emotion, hurting from more than just this fight. “If I leave, he will follow.” She turns away, tries not to focus on the way Sphene's hands fall limply to her sides as she kneels at the end of her bed. “I will not run from him. Not today. Not ever.” 

Running means Sphene’s death, and Wuk Lamat would do anything to prevent that from happening. If letting her brother take her life meant saving the woman she loves, then so be it. Tural would be safe in Koana’s hands.

“I’ll go with you!” Despite her shouting, she stays seated, hands flat against the footboard of her bed.

“And who will lead Alexandria!?” Her heart lay broken in her chest, the shattered remnants of an organ she can’t bear to let beat. “You would leave your people to fend him off by force?” Everything she knows about her brother has shifted, and knowing what he's capable of… Even hope feels hopeless. “You are the only thing keeping him from taking the throne. And I’m the one thing he can use to manipulate you.”

Was this his plan all along? It feels so far-fetched. He was never the analytical one… But how would he know-

The realization feels like a gut-punch. Months before their trip, he had been the one to remind her of The Endless Queen, all those stories she loved as a child.

His silky smooth voice as he corners her after sparring. "Isn't Alexandria where that queen you love lives?” 

“Huh?” She’s barely off the ground when her brother speaks, blood dripping from a slice in her cheek.

He stalks over, his arms crossed in irritation. “The tournament that father mentioned.” 

“Oh,” Wuk Lamat scratches the back of her neck, her jaw shifting in thought. “Alexandria…”

“Those books you used to read,” he hisses, anger burbling under the surface. “You were obsessed with them for years.”

The recollection sparks a bonfire to life in her chest. She remembers those stories, remembers the intricate paintings of The Eternal Queen Sphene, the permanent queen of Alexandria. She remembers sitting in her father's lap, holding those dusty old tomes, staring down at the smiling face of that queen.

“Papa, I wanna be beautiful like her!”

“You are beautiful, Lamaty’i.”

“She’s a queen, right?”

“She is.”

“Does she have a knight? I’d be her knight. I think someone should keep her safe.”

“Don't you want to keep Tuliyollal safe?”

“I can do both!”

He laughs, ruffling her hair affectionately. “That you can, Lamaty’i. That you can.”

 “He always knew I’d fall for you…” Bile coats her throat as she stumbles backward into a chair. She’s dizzy with shock, the memory replaying on repeat. He’d won that fight too. He had always won.

“I had almost forgotten, but he reminded me…” She feels hollow, like whatever was left of her heart had become a void, colorless and empty.

“What?” Sphene’s voice is a numb croak, a sob trapped behind the tears she won't let fall.

“All those books… Before our trip, he… He made sure I remembered them all.”

“What are you talking about, Lamaty’i?” Fear coats her words as Sphene rises, her hands raised in an effort to comfort her love.

“There’s no other way.” She stands, startling Sphene with the speed of it. “I have to fight him.”

Sphene reaches for her hand, pulls it to her chest against her thundering heart. “Lamaty’i, I only just found you…” 

It's barely a whisper, drenched in so much emotion the taller woman wavers. She takes a deep breath, holds Sphene close to her chest, and breathes in lavender and vanilla. “I’ll have Otis come take over. I have to speak with Koana.”

Withdrawing from those frantic hands is the hardest thing she's ever done, and as she closes the door behind her, she hears a muffled sob.

Grim-faced, Otis stands just outside of Sphene’s door. His frown feels like a reverberation of Sphene's sorrow, and it sinks the ache deeper into Wuk Lamat’s chest. The growing nest of brambles that burrow there prick her with anxiety, ice cold and bitter.

“I need to speak with Koana.” She says stiffly, the lack of sleep evident in her tired tone. “She’s… she’s not doing well.” Her voice nearly breaks, Sphene’s heartbroken look imprinted on the inside of her eyelids. “Take care of her. I’m sorry.”

A hand stalls her mid-step, and when she turns, she sees a mirrored worry on the knight's face. He looks like he wants to say something, like he has hope that all of this is a simple lover’s quarrel, and not the end of his queen’s brief stint of happiness. And just as suddenly, his jaw sets as he pulls his hand back, as he clears his throat. “I look forward to your victory.” The trepidation is his tone is almost imperceivable, almost.

“I have to find my brother.” She sighs, rolling her shoulders numbly as she turns away. “If the worst happens… I want her to move on.” And before he can reply, she’s gone.

In the lower halls, she finds Zelenia, her demeanor not unlike Otis’s. She doesn't offer sympathy or confidence, only a curt nod of respect as she directs her to the rookery; it seems that Koana may have had a similarly sleepless night. 

The rookery rests in the south tower of the castle at the highest elevation. As she enters, the smell of birds permeates the air, musty in a way that wrinkles her nose. She locates Koana tucked in the back, seated at a desk, watching as crows, ravens, and pigeons swoop in and out a nearby window. He meets her gaze and sighs, burying his face in his hands. He looks as tired as she feels, with dark circles under his violet eyes. She offers him a bundle of smoked meat and cheese, and silently they eat.

Halfway through his second helping of cheese, he stops abruptly, dropping the chunk in his hand back into the bundle with another sigh. “I sent a letter to father,” he doesn't specify what is said in the letter, but Wuk Lamat has never questioned his judgment, and isn't looking to start now. “It's likely he won't receive it for a day or so.”

“Papa will want to know what happens.” Her confidence has wavered over the last several hours, no longer as sure of her victory as she had been. “If I don't win-”

“Lamaty’i, don't.” His voice is rough and hollow, as if he’d been yelling for most of the night. “You’ve always been one of our best fighters-”

“I've never been better than him.” It's a truth neither wanted to voice, trapped behind doubt and fear. “He knows that…”

“That doesn't mean you’ll lose this time.” He removes his glasses, pinching his eyes close with his spare hand. “Surely we have some recourse.”

“Do you think he has trained less than me? At best, we’re evenly matched.” The sleepless night feels like sandbags tied to her limbs, and she sinks into her chair.

“It's better than a loss.”

“It's not a win.” Leaning forward, she lays her head on her arms, her eyes drifting close with a yawn. All the fight has left her since her argument with Sphene. What remains is a tired, scared woman who misses the brother she grew up with.

“Why is that so important?” Koana is in a similar state as he flings his glasses across the desk between them. They bounce off a hard-crusted bread roll, sliding to a stop in a beam of rising sunlight.

“Because if I can't win, he will-” The words knot in her throat, a bundle of heartache and betrayal that kept her awake all night. “If I can’t win, Sphene will marry him.” For the first time, there is no anger left in her; all that she feels in the wake of the admission is grief.

“Why would he do this?” She's never been one to have a hard time making friends, but even so, she's never loved someone like she loves Sphene, even if they’d just met. “I miss my big brother…”

Koana sighs, his shoulders slumping as he sinks further into his hand over his face. “Me too, Lamaty’i… Me too.”

Loss hangs heavy in the air, thick with tears both vows pretend aren't there. Wuk Lamat shudders out a grief-filled breath, wet with her sorrow. “I love her, Koana. I know we’ve only been here a short time, but-”

“I know,” he rests his hand between her flattened ears and ruffles her hair. “She loves you too.”

“She doesn't want me to fight.” It still hurts her to say, filled with the pain of Sphene’s lack of belief, and the grim reality that she’s probably right. “She knows I'm going to lose.”

“If you go in thinking like that, you will lose.” He crosses his arms, his own stuttering breath wet on his lips. “This lack of sleep is already wearing you thin.”

“Sphene was tossing and turning all night,” she can still feel the cold sweat on her brow, can still hear her sleepless moans. “The anger wouldn't stop, every time she cried, I… I wanted to hurt him.”

“I can understand.” Violet eyes return to the window, pensive in the still quiet.

“When did we stop being a family..?”

“I don't know, Lamaty'i… I don't know…”

In the wake of their sorrow, Wuk Lamat drifts into a dreamless sleep. For how long, she’s not sure, but Koana shakes her awake with a gentle smile. “Lamaty’i,” his voice is soft like a memory from long ago, patient and kind.

“Wha-?” She blinks back sleep, her vision blurry in the now bright sunlight.

“You have a visitor.”

A yawn tears through her chest, sleep still desperate to keep her in its clutches. She rubs her eye with one hand, blinking back her tiredness to see Sphene, dressed in her dark trousers and a blue tunic. Her hands are twined together behind her back, eyes rimmed red, but a small smile rests across her lips. It's fragile, but love glimmers in those green eyes.

“Good morning, Wuk Lamat.” It feels like a wound, the way she tiptoes around her name, like she no longer deserves to use the more affectionate one. “I-”

“Not what I’m called.” She chuffs, pouting in the way she knows will soothe the woman’s frazzled nerves.

Sphene hesitates, her cheeks flushing as she clears her throat. “My apologies. Good morning, Lamaty’i.” She almost whispers it, and it soothes nearly all the irritation of the morning. “I've come to collect you for your first bout.” She’s not happy about it, but her concern is not with this fight, but the next. 

“Right.” With everything going on, she’d nearly forgotten she had another fight before she would face her brother. She yawns again, lifting her arms in a languid stretch. This one will have to serve as a warm-up.

Flanked by Sphene and Koana, Wuk Lamat enters the arena. She hoists her axe over her shoulder and presents it to the crowd triumphantly. The crowd roars, unperturbed by yesterday’s events, their trust in their queen’s suitor. 

I’m sorry I can’t honor that trust…

Before she can approach her opponent, Sphene taps her shoulder. When she looks, the queen’s eyes are downcast, and she inhales sharply. 

“I understand why you must fight,” her hands wring together against her stomach, a worried fidget that betrays her age. “And as much as I want things to be different, this is where we stand.” Her words aren't forced or tear-stained, but honest and open. “I should have just trusted you, and I am sorry I wasn't able to.”

I don't trust me either.

Wuk Lamat pulls her into a hug, feeling the way her thin frame shakes with the tears hidden behind her thin facade. “Whatever happens, I will keep you safe…”

Sphene wraps her arms around the taller woman like she’d die if she didn't, her face buried in familiar brown fur. “I choose you. In every lifetime, and on every star. I will always choose you.” Her voice breaks, a muffled sob shuddered into Wuk Lamat’s shoulder. “I pray we need not part…”

As they separate, she withdraws another handkerchief, this time a deep purple one bearing the Alexandrian royal crest. Time slows down, and the crowd realizes what is happening, a wave of hushed breaths that cascade around them. Wuk Lamat kneels, and when Sphene’s hand is close enough, she presses a kiss to pale knuckles. 

“Once again, I give you my favor.” She presses the silk cloth to her Knight's cheek, lets her thumb glide across soft fur, and tucks the handkerchief into Wuk Lamat’s collar. “Win for me, Lamaty’i. Win for me, and I will offer you my hand.”

Did she just propose? The thought sends a pleasant chill through the Vow of Resolve, her body igniting with sparks of frozen lightning. If I were to win, she’d marry me? She hadn't thought about it much, wrapped in the passion of each moment, and with everything going on with her brother, she… Well, stopping a wedding was more of a focus than ensuring another one occurs. The semantics of two royals, both leaders of their own countries, getting married would be messy, but she could do it with Sphene. Together, they could make it through anything. Everything.

With a wild roar, she stands, her heart igniting with the emotions surging through her. She felt a bit sorry for Sir Shale; no one should have to face Wuk Lamat as she is right now: at the end of her rope, pride mixing with passion and anger. It's a scary combination. She enters the ring, raises her axe, and stalls. The knight across from her has placed her helmet on the ground and bowed her head.

“What-”

“It's an honor to stand opposite you, Vow of Resolve.” Her voice is silky smooth, elegant in the same way most Alexandrians are. “But I won’t fight you. I yield.”

The crowd rumbles, pleased despite the confusing change of plans.

“Wait-” She reaches out, her axe falling to the ground with a heavy thunk.

“I heard that, just now.” She gestures to the queen, now sitting in the stands. “I will not stand in the way of true love.” She laughs as she says it, her pale blonde hair shimmering in the sun. “And I have no desire to face your brother either, so please.” She bows low, her smile bright and confident. “Besides, were we to fight, you’d have less of a reserve when facing him, and I could scarcely allow that to occur.”

It’s bewildering; her heart beats slow and heavy in her chest, a reminder of what's left of her life. “If-if you’re sure.” She lowers her axe, removing Sphene’s handkerchief as she does, waving it in the air, a sign of her accepted victory.

The announcer booms, his voice just above the joyful roar of the crowd. When the crowd quiets once more, he announces the contestants of the final round, just her and Zoraal Ja. And the fight is in three hours.

Numbly, she retreats from the arena, following her feet alone through the market. She recognizes more faces now, the cheerful blacksmith with red cheeks and greying hair, the butcher, her white apron marked with blood, offering fresh meat to any buyers, and she sees Opal, smiling at her from her stand. They lock eyes from across the way, and Wuk Lamat follows her feet there, unsure of the reason.

“It's nice to see you again, Vow Wuk Lamat.” Her accent, rougher than most Alexandrians, thrums low. “What can I do fer ya?” There's a knowing glint in those dark eyes, guarded in curiosity.

Wuk Lamat stays silent. She looks at the menu, stares at the letters like she can't read them, and shakes her head. She feels like time is slowing, inching towards her fight, and the reality of where she stands, scared and angry.

“You okay there?” Opal places her hand on the vow’s, her thumb rubbing softly across furred knuckles. “Come into the back, love.”

The counter lifts via a small latch on Opal's side, and the dark skinned woman ushers the Xbr'aal woman behind the counter. She pushes Wuk Lamat into a chair, handing her a warm cup of a sweet-smelling liquid before taking a seat across from her.

“Now tell me what has you all knotted up.” Something about how she says it twists inside Wuk Lamat, and it leaves her feeling sore.

“Have you been keeping up with the tournament?” It feels like a dumb question, but even if Opal was intimately familiar with what was happening, she wouldn't know the deeper specifics around what's happening with her family.

“I heard another Turali is vying for our queen,” she says it like an insult, like she can't believe anyone would do just that. “I can't see our queen choosing anyone that isn't you.” She finishes, her small smile a reminder of that first day in Alexandria.

“You say that like a fact.” The Vow chuckles, looking down into the dark liquid of her cup. She knows Sphene loves her too, but Opal wouldn't know that, and after all, it only matters if she survives.

“Aye,” the baker starts, standing swiftly and grabbing a tuft of parchment from behind the counter. “Sphene asked me to make a dozen of those cherry turnovers for you, as well as one of everything on the menu, but cherry flavored.”

Wuk Lamat blinks; she thinks Opal is trying to explain an absurdity, but nothing she said sounded out of the ordinary. “That’s just how she is.” Even to herself, it sounds preposterous. Who would go that far for a stranger? We’re not exactly strangers…

“If you think she does something like that for every noble who enters Alexandria, you’d be sorely mistaken.” Opal chuckles, her deep voice sanding the irritation from Wuk Lamat’s bones.

“Well, no. But we’re friends.” More than friends. She thinks, remembering the taste of Sphene’s lips, the way she whimpers down at her while straddling her abs. I want to see her…

“Friends don't start planning wedding cakes three days after meeting.” She smirks as she says it, her arms folded across her stomach.

She’s mid-sip as Opal finishes, the hot liquid catching in her throat as she coughs. “W-wedding?” Yeah, she’d just made that proposal, but that didn't mean they would already be planning, did it? They didn't even know Wuk Lamat would win, or even if she could. How long had Sphene been thinking about this? When did she have time? (Perhaps in those moments when their lips and bodies were pressed together, she could think past the heat between them, or maybe it didn't matter.)

“She came in asking if I could bake a wedding cake, and we went over options.” Opal smiles, mischievous and coy. “I'm not certain who else she might be interested in.” Opal’s eyes glitter with mirth as she pats Wuk Lamat gently on the shoulder. “She wasn't sure about your cake preference, though.”

The Vow of Resolve settles. Her thoughts wrap around the idea once again, and her heart beats in heavy thumps. “It's a nice idea,” she sighs, her thumbs gliding around the rim of her mug. “But my brother wants the throne.” And Sphene…

“So that’s who the other challenger is.” Opal hums, her face thoughtful. “Then you’ll just have to win, eh?”

Wuk Lamat scoffs, “That's easier said than done.”

“Most things are.” The dark skinned woman says with a shrug, her arms folding back across her stomach.

“But he's always beaten me.” A cascade of every one of her defeats swarms her, an onslaught of reminders of his strength.

“First time for everything.” Opal busies herself with adjusting the glass case holding her goods for the day, shifting a muffin so it faces the glass just so.

Anxiety bleeds into Wuk Lamat, her chest heaving a deep breath; her lungs feel full of water again. “You don't understand…” 

“Don't I?” Opal notches her hand on her hip, her pretty face contorting in a frown. “You love Sphene, right?”

“I-I do…” She feels like she’s been punched. “I love her so much it scares me…”

“So you win.”

“I just… win?” She balks, her now-empty cup tipped over her bouncing knee. “You say that like it's so simple.”

“Give it your all,” Opal presses, refilling the mug and pushing it back in Wuk Lamat’s hands. “And win.”

She laughs, deep and hearty. It billows up like steam escaping from her lungs, like the love she holds for Sphene has just evaporated to water gathering there. “Just win!”

Opal smiles, her eyes sparkling in that way they do. “Just win.”

And so, she will.

The remainder of her afternoon is spent with Opal. The smaller woman has her restock everything and complete all of her pending deliveries. When Wuk Lamat is finally done, she leans across the counter with a sigh. That is, till Opal slides another basket into her view.

“No more.” She groans, her legs aching as she stands.

“Last one,” Opal purrs, pushing the basket further into Wuk Lamat’s arms. “And you’re in luck, it's in the arena.”

Another groan echoes through her chest, but she gingerly accepts the basket. “Thanks for the talk, Opal.”

The smaller woman smiles, patting her on the back softly. “And thank you, Vow Wuk Lamat.” She chuckles when Wuk Lamat frowns at the formal address. “Now go win our queen’s hand, will you? Next time I see Sphene, she'd better be asking me my opinion on wedding dresses.”

The taller woman flushes, shifting from one foot to the other as she takes in a deep breath. “I’ll do my best!” She makes it three steps away and stops, turning back to the kindly baker. “And Opal?”

The pastry maker cocks an eyebrow as she leans against the counter.

“Vanilla, for the cake.” And she’s off.

Halfway to the arena, she takes a moment to read the card on the basket, unsure how she’s supposed to know exactly who had ordered it. The card is small, tied nearly to the handle of the basket with a purple ribbon. In neat blue script, it reads: 

To my beloved, Sphene. Your favorite.

Yours always,
Wuk Lamat

A smile breaks out across her face, and she feels the steady thump of her heart, reminding her of what it feels like to feel love. Love for her family, her friends, her country, and for Sphene. She jogs the rest of the way, skidding to a halt right at the barrier in front of Sphene’s seat. The Queen hasn't arrived yet, but she places the basket neatly in the ornate chair and makes her way to the changing tent.

This time, when she enters, she’s treated to the sight of dozens of flower bouquets. A rainbow of vibrant colors floods her vision, daffodils, violets, orchids, some she doesn't even know the name of. She reaches for one, holds it to her chest as the sweet smell fills her lungs. The card has no name, only a single line of rough script: Thank you for making our queen smile. And she feels pride swell like a chorus inside her. She goes through each bouquet, every single one with different-shaped letters spelling out the same seven words, and it fuels her.

The final bouquet is placed atop her trunk, purple and white flowers that remind her of vanilla and lavender. The card on this one does have a name, there in dark ink it says: 

My dearest, Lamaty’i,

My love for you is as unending as the sky. In all walks, I will always choose you. 

With Everlasting Affection,
Sphene Alexandros XIV

P.S. I believe in you.

A surge of energy fills Wuk Lamat’s chest. Adrenaline pumps like blood through her veins, ice cold with purpose. 

Inside the chest are two flags, one of Tural and one of Alexandria, with another note folded between them:

You fight for both.

Purpose bleeds into reality. Possibilities feel endless, and Wuk Lamat feels strong. She wraps the Turali flag around her right shoulder, not tight enough to restrict movement, but secure enough to prevent it from being taken by the wind. For the Alexandrian flag, she attaches it to her leather breast plate, looping it into the belt around her waist, with enough excess that it flows in the wind gently. The gold and red clash with the silver and purple, but in a way that she feels fits. Like she fits with Sphene: not perfect, but comfortably so. It's now or never. Maybe she had never beaten her brother in a fight, maybe she couldn't. What she does know is that she wants to, needs to beat him, so she will try. With all her strength, and all the strength of the flowers of Alexandria empower in her, she will put her all into the attempt.

Outside, the announcer begins his flourish. He recounts the bouts up to this point and emphasizes the drama of the final fight: two siblings fight to the death for the hand of the queen. She hears the call for the fighters to approach and makes her way to the center of the arena. The crowd cheers, decidedly in her corner as she lifts her axe high into the air. Across from her, stalks Zoraal Ja, his twin blades drawn as he sneers in her direction. As the crowd settles, his gaze shifts to Sphene’s, and his toothy grin widens.

“Your Highness,” he spits, bowing with faux reverence. “This is your final chance.” His serpent’s tongue slithers between thin lips, his shoulders rolling threateningly. “Will you marry me, or will I kill your knight?” Bitterness coats the word, deliberately forgoing Wuk Lamat’s true title.

“Zoraal Ja,” Sphene’s voice is firm, unwavering. “I have made my choice. Lamaty'i will fight for both of our kingdoms, and you will be made to kneel.”

She's so hot. Wuk Lamat thinks, her hands tightening on her axe. “It's your last chance. Stand down, brother.” The hope that he would fades as quickly as it sparks to life.

Zoraal Ja barks out a laugh, acrid and chilled with venom. “You speak as if you have a chance, Lamaty’i.” He spits the nickname, bitter and angry. “You are lucky I need her for the throne, or I would have you watch her die first.”

A low growl rumbles from clenched teeth. Wuk Lamat can hear it before she realizes it's coming from her, every muscle locked in an attempt to hold herself back. “You will eat those words.” She seethes, eyes narrowing at the man she used to call brother.

“Make me.”

I will.