[ P ] red string, red flowers

Delicate tendrils of dusklight trailed across the destitute skyline. Like ink splashed across a virgin canvas, the burgeoning dark pooled and bled in the hollows between cloud and cleavage. King Adamh's birthday had dawned gay and gorgeous, and it closed with an air of hopeful finality. Peace still held sway over the kingdom, and even those who would not raise a glass to toast the King proper would at least give thanks to the reign of stability the day represented. It was in this nebulous twilight hour that Kvothe entered the King's gardens, a vibrant red flower clenched delicately between his teeth. He bypassed the guards with a silent nod of acknowledgement, his floral offering the only ticket he needed to be allowed admittance to this most private of venues. Dressed in his courtly finery, the Colonel's fur had been burnished to a fine metallic sheen, his pelt redolent of exotic spices and fresh floral perfume. In the low light, he cut a fine figure, though most of the guards meticulously avoided his gaze as he swept through the garden gates. For anyone who was new or naïve to the court, the sentry's avoidance would have seemed curious and puzzling. As a whole, the Colonel cut a striking figure. His haunches were lean and muscled, his figure mature and stately. Most notedly, Kvothe's face was both bold and fine-featured, a product of his noble lineage - but his long, sleek muzzle was framed by witchcraft eyes. By those alone was he marked for the bastard he was, an ocean of Mainlander purple tainted by Highland blue. They were a visceral, physical manifestation of the weakness inherent in his blood. But tonight, as always, the Immortalis' heir disregarded the guards' slight. His thoughts were turned inward, his attention distracted. He drifted towards the heart of the garden proper, brushing by the well-manicured hedges and verdant wildflower beds. It was clear that Nassar had not yet arrived, so he set the flower down between his paws, hiding it a bit in the shadow of his body, and he settled down to wait. "Find me in the morning, I'll be looking for the light."

"Summer."
Ankh had tasted the word upon her tongue, mulling over it along with the aged wine from a vintage kept within the Tiamat coffers. Perhaps the berries had ripened before Ankh's birth, and surely before Nassar's.

"After the garden, the ball," A knife-like smile spread over pale lips. The matriarch's eyes, a lotus pink, seemed to glow and shimmer. "The only pity is that your marriage would be after spring." The insinuation was clear—no worthwhile consummation would be had. Even if bride and groom laid with one another, Nassar would be barren until snow kissed her cheeks.

---

This would be their first public appearance. Ankh had allowed the gossip to slip betwixt her yellowed teeth, seeping into the greedy ears of the servants and court ladies. It was sold as a marriage of passion, not as a betrayal. One version was adamant that Kohl had demanded that Kvothe care for his wife with his last dying breath. Another asserted that Kvothe and Nassar had been star-crossed lovers for ages but had buried their love out of respect for Kohl. With his death, they could finally be together. All poppycock. The only details that the gossip ever got right were that Kvothe already was a father-figure (of sorts) to Nassar's children and that her relationship with Kohl had gone sour years ago.

Although her skin had thickened to the rumors by now, the first time she had heard the latter fact her blood had gone cold.

Who had dared to spread such bitter truths? Her mother? Her colleagues? The urge to find them, to draw and quarter them, had been too impossible to resist—and yet resist she must. Like mother like daughter, Nassar had taken a day to "grieve" in the woods and hunt.

...

Nassar approached the castle with purpose. Her gait was strong, amber eyes fiery. The servants had brushed her fur until it shown, not a single strand out of place. Nutmeg, clove, and cinnamon oils (a rare extract from skilled professors at the college) had been added to heighten the wolf's rich, earthy scent.

Within her jaws dangled a chamomile flower and she approached the royal guards that oversaw the garden. Some faces were familiar but Nassar did not know them intimately: Queen Daphne had chosen not to employ Tiamats. A choice Ankh had not forgotten.

Nassar took in the beauty of the garden. She was struck by the immaculate beauty and the timelessness of it, for nothing had changed since she had last snuck away here with Kohl. Almost three years ago now. They had not visited again, not since Cairo's birth. Nassar had been a pregnant, blushing bride at the time. Now, she was muscled and... tense.

A gray ear flicked and she sighed, closing her eyes so as to better chase her thoughts away. Kohl was gone. And his heart had left her years ago. It was only his body that had lingered still.

Sucking in a steadying breath, she glanced around the garden and took a step forward. The breeze shifted and she was surprised to find Kvothe inside already. Since she had the chamomile, she had expected him to venture in after her.

Her heart constricted painfully and her teeth bit down harder on the chamomile stem—and as the bitter flavor coated her tongue, she felt a veil of ease sweep over her. Kvothe had given her the expression of friendship. New friendship, not because they were recently acquainted but because they were embarking upon a new chapter.

It was a cute expression of his willingness to meet her halfway.

Nassar's smile was almost warm as she approached him, unaware of the amaryllis that was concealed by his shadow.

"Orestes spared no expense I see," she mused with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "If I had not seen King Adamh's face before, I would have thought you were the royal here."

template by bean

@Kvothe

"Summer?" the question was an incredulous wheeze, death rattling in the hollows between breath and spoken word. Orestes lay reclined on his bed, swamped by sumptuous swathes of silk and velvet. Some distance away, Kvothe stood at attention, porcelain mask fitted firmly over his face. His father scowled at him, his once-handsome visage marred by age. Orestes was a mere ghost of the stalwart courtier who had once brokered treaties and signed laws into order - still shrewd, with a keen business mind, but physically lesser. These days, the last 'pure' Immortalis spent more time abed than on the Parliament floor. Kvothe was silent as his father scoffed, cursing 'upstart women' and Kvothe's 'puritan sensibilities'. And then - "Fine. Fine! Summer it is. If that's the only way to get the girl on board, we'll just have to make due. I'll expect children before the next year is out, mind. No point to all this business otherwise. Too much time and money spent dancing around for it not to bear fruit in the end." Kvothe inclined his head. "Yes, Father." The old man huffed through his nose, gleaming amethyst eyes sharpening with scornful mockery. "Nothing says you won't be able to sample the goods any sooner, though, eh?" Kvothe grit his teeth, casting his gaze to the floor. "Yes, Father." _________________ "Orestes spared no expense I see." Kvothe turned, ears twitching as Nassar's voice reached him."If I had not seen King Adamh's face before, I would have thought you were the royal here." The Colonel huffed at the compliment, pleased to see the smile and the flower that graced her fire-warmed features. Her choice of greeting made him vaguely uncomfortable - and in some circles, might have read as a sly insult of the King - but he warmed at the sentiment behind it. That her words were true was of no real surprise. This contract - their impending marriage - was Orestes' last, desperate attempt to continue the Immortalis line. There were no other children, no other offshoots; the once-strong tree had anchored its last roots in Kvothe. If he died without heir, the name Immortalis would fade from the kingdom's records entirely. Their holdings and their wealth would return to the crown. Their deeds would be forgotten, their bloodline vanished. And if there was nothing that Orestes hated more, it was the idea of being forgotten. He would scratch and claw and scramble for any chance, any hope, of subverting the fate his own ignorance had forged. That was why, despite the stain on Kvothe's heritage, Orestes had chosen to legitimize him. It was why the old man had fought so hard to forge this contract with Ankh. And it was why Orestes had recalled Kvothe to the castle, forcing him out into court, securing him tickets to the upcoming ball. The flowers, however, had been Kvothe's idea. Much as he disliked the prospect of an arranged marriage, he would not project that dissatisfaction onto Nassar herself. If they must court, he would make it a proper courtship. "You do me too much honor," he offered, bowing his head in courteous greeting. The faint smile that graced his courtly features softened the otherwise formal air. "Especially when you so easily outshine any other Lady in attendance." Nassar had always been beautiful - Tiamat women so often were - but tonight that fact was made even more obvious than usual. The soft evening light highlighted her mature curves and brightly burnished fur. Exotic scents were woven into her pelt, tantalizing on the floral breeze. Anyone who saw them together this evening would assume the rumors about them well-corroborated. And there were rumors. He did not know where they had come from, but news of their imminent betrothal had spread through the streets -and the court - like wildfire. Even members of Kvothe's own unit had approached him to confirm whether the rumors were true. Kvothe had dissuaded any such personal discourse, unwilling to add fuel to the fire, but the truth would be out soon enough. The union of Tiamat and Immortalis was of sufficient import that their wedding would be a notable affair - even without Orestes and Ankh pulling the strings from behind the curtain to ensure that it would be so. A formal announcement was likely only a few days away. That left Kvothe and Nassar, unfortunately, at somewhat of an awkward impasse. Their friendship was only recently re-forged in the wake of mutual tragedy, but they would be expected to fulfill the terms of their parents' contract regardless of their own feelings on the matter. And Kvothe's feelings were tangled together and tattered from tawdry use. "Nassar, I -" The words fell from him, and then were swiftly bitten back. What was he going to say? 'Thank you for coming? You're beautiful? I'm sorry? I miss Kohl too, but now we're getting married, and I don't know whether I feel guilty enough?' All of it was true, but it all fell short, each pathetic sentiment proffered in so many different ways. His brow furrowed, but after a moment, he sighed, trying to settle his thoughts. Kvothe leaned further over the amaryllis flower in his shadow, hiding it from view. "You seem in better spirits tonight," he offered at last, nodding towards her. The question was implied, if not explicit. How did she feel about this, now that they'd had the time to let the circumstances settle?

His flattery earned a soft huff of laughter from Nassar, her lips quirking into a wane smile. Kvothe had always had a talent for orchestrating words, composing them until there was just enough courtesy to play harmony for the meaning. Perhaps that was why he was well liked—not by leadership but by the people. Oh, there would always be vapid ladies that appreciated him for his looks, but such vanity did not carry over to most of the men. Their respect, and that of the children and elderly, was earned by his character. He treated them all with deference and consideration, something that could not be said for all knights of their order. "Chivalry cannot fade insofar as Kvothe serves within the castle"—was that not what her lady-in-waiting had cooed while brushing the exotic oils through her fur?

Alas, pleasantries could not sustain this conversation for long. The seconds continued to march by and Nassar stood there like an actress that had come to the end of her script with an hour left in the play. Improvise! Hissed Ankh's voice from within Nassar's mind and yet she found her paws rooted to the manicured stone. She could feel the trailing glances of other couples and bored guards. Every action, every breath, would grant validity to one rumor or another. Rumors that only blushed at the truth, for they were not half as painful.

If she had loved Kvothe—if any part of her had ever seen him as more than a friend—this would not be so difficult.

When Kvothe spoke, Nassar glanced back at him thankfully. At last she had shed the foolish belief that he was a puppet master in this game. They were both attached to strings, both victims whenever Ankh or Orestes wished to make them dance. If he could take the lead in this moment then she would gladly fall into step behind him. While it was uncharacteristic for her to be so agreeable, Nassar could not shake the memories that haunted this place. Everywhere she looked, she saw the ghosts of an expectant mother and her husband—and the writing on the wall that it was all doomed to end.

A gray ear twitched and she suppressed a groan as more sweet nothings slipped past. "Are we strangers now because we are affianced?" Amber eyes danced with something almost akin to amusement. "Last I was here, I was expecting Cairo and Ahkoris." She surveyed the flowers as she decided to grant Kvothe into her circle of confidence. It was only fair that he knew, lest he learn this from distorted rumors that traded lips.

"Kohl had found an amaryllis flower by chance and invited me here."

Her tongue clicked and she looked back at him.

"But I have learned that it truly meant nothing." Two seasons later, Kohl had been a stranger to her. "I hope the chamomile fairs better."

template by bean

@Kvothe

'Are we strangers now because we are affianced?' Nassar queried. Kvothe suppressed a wince, but was saved from having to make excuses in the wake of her next thought. 'Last I was here, I was expecting Cairo and Ahkoris.' His expression sobered. Nassar seemed to come to some inner conclusion, for she continued, 'Kohl had found an amaryllis flower by chance and invited me here.' The memory was offered as a peace offering, the first few steps on a shaky, unstable bridge. 'But I have learned that it truly meant nothing.' A bite of bitterness - a gauntlet of regret. She carried the memory of their love like a burden. 'I hope the chamomile fares better,' she offered - and Kvothe paused, for while her words brought him relief and joy, they also paved the way for potential failure. But his mask was still firmly in place, and he took the direction of her speech in stride. "I remember when Kohl gave you that flower," he murmured. "He returned to the barracks that night smelling like perfume; the other soldiers teased him for it." A bittersweet smile tainted his expression, but he cut off the mutual memory there. He would not speak badly of his friend, or of Nassar's former husband. His was a loss they shared equally. They had both loved Kohl - Kvothe as a friend, and Nassar as a wife. Neither more keenly than the other...just differently. Kohl had been the knot that tied them together, the rope that had bound the two disparate halves into a whole - but now Kohl was gone, and it had not been a rope, but the chains of familial obligation that brought them together again. He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the lingering mark of tragedy - as if it were a splash of ink he could blot off the paper. He knew too well that a dark smear would always remain. "The chamomile is a hardier sort of flower," he started, claiming her attention, seizing the flow of conversation once more. "Tenacious. Perhaps not as beautiful, but certainly longer-lived." His gaze was unwavering, drifting across the familiar planes of her face. "But...I would hope that a marriage could be commended for something more significant than longevity." He firmed his jaw. "Our future...is not always a thing we get to choose. Certainly we would not have chosen this. But I will tell you true, Nassar, that as I've thought about what the future might bring with you, I cannot find it in myself to mourn overmuch." He inhaled - and then stood, reaching under his feet to procure the suddenly revealed amaryllis flower in his shadow. "Granted, finding one took me longer than I care to admit. But I...have another flower for you." He stepped forward to nudge it close, his nose brushing gently across the verdant red petals as he dropped it near her feet. His eyes searched hers as he stepped back. His words were a gentle reminder of her previous speech, a callback to her poisoned memory of the garden. Kohl had found a flower by chance, and invited her on a whim. But Kvothe...Kvothe had specifically looked for one. He'd combed the nearby towns for hours. It symbolized....well, it symbolized a great many things, which Nassar knew just as well. "I don't...expect anything. My word at the Tiamat manse stands true. But I hoped that, perhaps in time..." His voice was tentative, stilted, a far cry from the commanding, confident Colonel the populace was used to. But he had offered her his heart in the form of a bright red flower, knowing full well that her first instinct would be to strike it down.

Their memories were shared—not in their entirety, but in the sense that if one stitched them all together they would see the full picture. In this, Nassar found comfort. Not because the memories were sweet, but because they carried similar pains. If they were colors, they were of similar shades. Kvothe understood in a way that her children could not, for he had been privy to the passion and the long, rattling decay of the romance between Kohl and Nassar Tiamat. He was her fiance, yes, but that was a detail that she pressed to the back of her mind. First he was her friend, and that helped to soothe the beast in her stomach that urged her to just cut and run.

"I had heard the rumor," she mused with a laugh. Although she had been staying at her family home during her maternity leave, her chambermaids had done well to get gossip from their military friends and partners.

Her head canted to the side as he began to regale her with the virtues of the chamomile. A wry smile spread across her lips as she stared at him. Kvothe did have a way with words. He could be dry and blunt, yes, but quite fanciful when it suited him. Odd, too, was the tendency for her mood to accept or reject the habit—seemingly by whim alone. Today, she found the tendency quaint. There was nothing to do today except make a grand show for their respective parents. So why not toy with words and waste breath as they wished?

"But...I would hope that a marriage could be commended for something more significant than longevity."

A gray ear twitched and her smile thinned somewhat, a questioning note in amber eyes.

The moment of friendship that Nassar had carved out was, in an instant, shattered. Her expression stiffened as he forged ahead, no doubt seeing the warning signs and ignoring them. It was with compliments on his tongue and authenticity in his eyes, yet Nassar could not help but feel her nape ruffle. Her story with Kohl had been a common olive branch, yes, but also a buffer. A reminder of the chasm between them—of why they could never be married.

Even though they had to be.

And that was her own foolishness. She felt like she clung to a branch, her feet dangling off of the edge of a cliff... only the branch had pulled free and was already hurtling with her to the ground below. Yet still she held on like somehow it find purchase in the clifface again.

It was this self-awareness of futility and immaturity that kept her from snapping at him. All that he was trying to do was make something of this situation.

Her brow furrowed and she looked sharply away, not allowing herself to look at the amaryllis. Nonetheless, its strong scent belied its proximity. There was no way to not know that it was there. She could feel his eyes on her face—not demanding, yet still they applied a gentle pressure. He wanted to meet her gaze, that she knew.

Part of her also knew that she owed him that much. And yet.

"I don't...expect anything. My word at the Tiamat manse stands true. But I hoped that, perhaps in time..."

He spoke with a fragility that she had not know he'd had.
It plucked at her heart strings and, uncharacteristically, she felt tears jump to her eyes. Perhaps it was the haunting of her memories here mixing with the new ones. Perhaps it was the fact that Kvothe had sought out the flower by his own merit where Kohl had not.

Perhaps it was just that—well, to be truthful, she didn't know.

Blinking furiously, she glanced down at the incriminating little flower betwixt her paws. It was a welcome distraction, another false excuse to avoid his eyes.

A shaky breath passed through her lips before she spoke, and she hated every tremor in it.

"I cannot promise you anything," she murmured quietly.

Not no, not yes. But maybe that was the best thing she could have offered him in this moment, for at least it was honest.

@Kvothe

His words echoed in the pregnant, poignant silence. Kvothe's earnest whispers were lost to the sheer enormity of space that yawned between he and she, each syllable tumbling one after another, eagerly diving over the edge of the dangerous gap. He was not often a man of so many words. True, he held his own in court, had perfected the use of the silver tongue so pivotal in politics - but his friends, his fellows, knew him to be a man of stoic imperturbability. Courtly mannerisms aside, he did not use two words when one would suffice; his admitted eloquence was of the utilitarian sort. He avoided personal anecdotes, kept his true thoughts hidden, and engaged with the world behind the pale, porcelain perfection of his princely facade. The weight of so many words, the bite of such barefaced sincerity, felt odd and alien on his tongue. But it was important, crucial to him, that she understand, that he lay his hopes bare - if only so that she would not be able to accuse him of duplicity later on. Nassar had ever been a woman of flame and fire, as fickle and ferocious as the comparison implied. He knew - from experience, as much as intuition - that the only way to draw close enough to her heart was to risk proximity to the burning walls that encircled it. And though Kvothe would gladly suffer the heat, he knew, too, that she would not respect a man that threw himself wholeheartedly into the heart of the fire, who gave little care or credence to what lay beyond the bounds of the blaze. He had seen how such a passionate romance had ended for Kohl, and he had no desire to repeat the same mistakes - or to dredge up the pain those memories purveyed. So he would draw close - he would meet her half way. More than half way; he would stand at her very gates, and wait for her to be ready to reach beyond the bars. He would offer the first overture, lay bare the first bits of honesty. They were bound already by friendship, and perhaps he was greedy for thinking that those bonds could become something more. But he could not help but hope.... Ah, but there it was. Hope. He steeled his heart, his fingers drifting to the porcelain mask in his pocket. If she said no, if she rejected him... He could not say that he was not already half anticipating that she would. He would not even be surprised. But it would be a relatively easy thing to don that mask again, to hide his heart and his hope from view. His eyes rested lightly upon her face, watching as her emotions flit across her features, too quick to categorize, too complex to name. The red petals of the amaryllis mocked him, but he did not push any further. He let the silence linger, and then - 'I cannot promise you anything.' Her voice was a breathy whisper, but for all the ambiguity her answer offered, Kvothe's heart stuttered in his chest. He released a breath he had not known he was holding. It was not....it was not a no. It was a possibility. It was hope. "I know," he answered. He would not have asked for a promise - not now. Not when this - they - were still so new. "But I will not squander the chance, all the same." The chance to court her, the chance for love and a happy marriage, instead of one bourn out of convenience and necessity. No, Kvothe would not waste that. He knew better than to push for any more. So he smiled, a tentative, heartfelt thing, and gestured to the open paths of the garden behind him. "Will you walk with me?" He offered, the faint echoes of boyish enthusiasm uplifting the regal tones of the hopeful inquiry. He offered her his arm.

She felt cruel, as if every good intention was maligned in some way until she could not lift her hand without snubbing Kvothe in some way. When she rebelled against this union, she thought she was using her privilege to help Kvothe out of an equally unconsensual contract. And yet, from his perspective, she was a spoiled princess used to getting her way. Stomp her feet, clap her hands, and a servant appeared from deep within the Tiamat manse. Her tantrum was an injury, not because he had asked for her hand himself, but because this marriage was his best possible future. Context aside, she was a bride he knew and respected. They would be equals, friends even, and the status the Tiamat name would provide offered him another buffer against the bastard bloodline that plagued him.

And now that he was vulnerable before her, she could not open the gates to her heart. Her hand hovered over the lock, key in hand, but she could not find the strength to try.

It would be the most fortuitous ending. Love, even a fraction of it, would make this lack of autonomy bearable.

Even as she said the words, her voice trembling, she flinched. It was her way of readying herself for the shattered look on his face. With such vulnerability, the uncertainty of her response would no doubt pain him. Here he was offering more, and she was unable to—What?

Her brow furrowed as his expression brightened. Blue and purple eyes shimmered with emotion that she could not name. Perhaps because she was too perplexed to recognize that it was something akin to... hopeful.

"I know," came his response and Nassar couldn't help but offer a bewildered half-smile. Then, she shook her head and laughed. "I..." thought I would have hurt you, were the words, yet she chose not to speak them. They didn't need to be said, especially in light of his affirmation that he would not squander "the chance".

Oh yes, the chance to be with a mother of three. So desirable.

"Mmm," she hummed in nonverbal agreement as she moved to walk at his side, letting go of the pressure that had built in her chest. He had not asked for her immediate affections. Just the opportunity to stay at her side, to get closer if such a thing were possible.

And even if she could not lock the gate, she could stop tending the walls. If a crack formed and he snuck through well... what was there to do?

"Did you know that the royal guards occasionally hide snacks here?" She mused, amber eyes sparking with notes of mischief. "I'm sure we could find the stash." Then gently, she lifted the amaryills in her maw so that it would join them on their journey.

soft fade exit

@Kvothe