[ P ] Kiss of Fire

Eldest daughter of the matriarch.
Amber eyes seemed to reflect the firelight, dancing with intensity and the faintest tinge of dislike. Her brow, which was furrowed, was concealed by the mask of dyed feathers that her mother had purchased. Pheonix feathers the matriarch had mused, a Cheshire smile on her lips. A ruby had been inlaid in the center betwixt her eyes, the gold inlay around it dirty from perhaps a century of neglect. Her steps were like that of a lionness' as she entered the ball, ashen ears perked and head held high.

None approached her.
Not yet.

Nassar, crown princess of the Tiamat.
As she stepped through the crowd, those that knew of her family's temper seemed careful to keep their distance. Those that didn't attempted to steal her attention and earned only a moment of eye contact before the stark sting of frustration reflected in her gaze allowed her to be freed again.

Free to find her mother in the ball's heart, laughing joyously with the other nobles.
Free to find her fiance.

And as she turned, the King's amaryllis tucked by her ear would become visible.

Indeed, Nassar had many titles—and on this night she was announcing a new one.

Nassar, Kvothe's betrothed.

manip: ashon + code: clae

@Kvothe

The music swelled, the sky darkened, and Kvothe entered the ballroom in the breath between silence and secret. The court's careful whispers wept like angelic tears in the bastard's wake. The words spread, inky and nebulous, across the old, polished marble, seeping into the cracks. 'Is that him?' 'Did you hear?' 'Is it true?' Questions were just as prevalent as the half-truths that had been injected into the gentry's ear. The rumors had been cast like gambling chips, spread artfully across the game board, and they followed him as he wove through the crowd, clinging to his coattails as he made the necessary rounds. He was not here in an official capacity - not tonight. No, Orestes had purchased one of the pricey tickets of his own accord, and had foisted it on Kvothe at the earliest opportunity. Kvothe's presence would make a statement, and his actions would underline the truths that had already been seeded throughout the court. And thus the Colonel, relieved of his duties for the evening, had been forced into unpleasant pageantry. His mask was a jagged scrap of polished metal, gilded gold and hammered into rough shape. It was unadorned with jewel or antler, but instead it reflected the warm firelight in flashes of burnished copper, bright and burning every time he moved his head. He wore it well, but the mask was a pithy token at best. His eyes gave him away, every time. Kvothe, forced to carve his own way, trained and taught from an early age how best to navigate the intricacies of the grand game, did not often linger overlong at court. He was a soldier by nature, and his duties often took him far away from the Castle. Truth to tell, he liked things better that way. Interacting with the nobility required a level of subtlety and duplicity that he had never actively enjoyed, especially given that half the court disdained him for his bastard blood. But he had long since learned to smile in the face of facetiousness. The pain of politic poison no longer ate into his bones, and he could dance despite the sheen of ice that must encase his clockwork heart. He did not enjoy the Game, but he played it well. Poised, precise, punctual, perfect - the court was simply an amalgamation of every weight that Kvothe had ever placed upon his own shoulders. He was swarmed almost immediately by old court spinsters and their blushing, bashful daughters. Desperate to prove the rumors wrong, or perhaps hoping that he would confirm them as truth. 'Lord Kvothe, have you met my ward - ?' 'Save a dance for -' He nodded and smiled and extricated himself as quickly as politeness allowed, his witchcraft eyes already scanning the crowd for a glimpse of another face, another body. When he finally saw her, warding off attention through the intensity of her presence alone, Kvothe broke off in her direction. His eyes caught at the flower behind her ear, and a subtle warmth sparked behind walls of azure and amethyst. He bowed low as he reached her, and the space around them widened as the court held its breath. “Lady Nassar,"he spoke, his voice soft and sincere in the gilt and gold of the guarded atmosphere, “Will you do me the honor of a dance?"

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It was a dragon's nature to covet, to hoard precious jewels. Whether the serpent could use it was of little importance—all that matter was that others would stare at the pile and spread rumors about heaps of gold coins and gems and trinkets. What use did a beast of such raw power have with humanity's pithy playthings? Nothing if not for the awe that it captured, the feeling of owning that which others desired so. Had their eyes never welled with envy, the dragon never would have taken it—and that spark would never have ignited.

In a similar fashion, Nassar felt flint strike against stone the moment Kvothe was swarmed. It was an unpleasant glow of warmth within her belly, the primal sensation of feeling wronged for that which was hers had been threatened by those all too willing to take it. Her eyes narrowed. The rigidity of her posture betrayed a penchant for violence that the fine oils and luxurious mask thinly concealed. Soldier. Captain. Lieutent Major. Colonel. Nassar had worn many titles and regardless of the prestige associated, she had always been a warrior—vicious and utterly relentless.

Stalking forward, it was difficult to mask the predatory nature to her steps purely because she did not bother to. Those that felt the unwelcome presence were eager to step out of her way. When at last Kvothe caught sight of her, something seemed to soothe within his gaze. Later, she would be forced to reflect on the fact that she had even noticed that he had been bothered.

A month prior, she would have thought him far too at home at the whole affair.

As he bowed, she stared down at him. The dragon inside relished the sudden, undivided attention from both Kvothe and the gentry. "Of course," Nassar answered with a genteel bow of her own, and she used the motion to covertly scan the crowd. All she took was but a second or two, but it was enough to turn the greedy beast inside absolutely smitten. Mine. That was all this display was, a dominant display of ownership that was prettied up with a bow and custom.

And with that, Kvothe's affairs for the evening were suddenly cleared. Not an invitation remained that the dragon had not burned.

Did she love him? No. But she owned him—and he owned her, as was the nature of their contract.

"You should learn to glare," she murmured into his ear as they began to make their way to the dance floor. "Your kindness will make some think that you are interested." Her voice held only a slight edge.

manip: ashon + code: clae

@Kvothe

"You should learn to glare. Your kindness will make some think that you are interested." Her voice rang in his ear, biting along the bitter edge. Kvothe's bi-colored eyes danced behind his metallic mask, even as his impartial expression broke into something more personable. The crowd muttered and mumbled to itself as they took their places on the dancefloor, ladies exchanging hushed words behind gilded fans, gentleman following their movements with hooded eyes and pursed lips. Kvothe ignored them all, his attention reserved solely for Nassar as their dark nails clicked on the stone underfoot. “I cannot afford to spurn the court entirely," he murmured in answer, a gentle reminder of the difference in their standing. He had worked for years to climb to his current position, and until they were formally married, his position remained tenuous. Blithely flouting the influence of the nobility would do a bastard no favors. The only thing that was his, truly his, was his standing in the army - but even that was defamed by his unclean heritage. Every accomplishment was achieved "despite" his illegitimacy. Every triumph was surprising, unexpected, given his "unique" heritage. If he were ever truly to make a mistake, set a step out of line, the world would descend upon him like a pack of vultures, eager to tear him to scraps. He had to prove himself worthy of every commendation, fight for every nod of recognition. He would not soon forget that, nor so easily cast it aside. He shook his head, and then returned to the subject at hand. “But you need not fear on that account, my lady." The formality of his words were belied by the softness of his gaze, the gentle smile that curled across his maw. In Nassar's proximity, his walls could crumble - no. It was more like Nassar had bypassed the walls entirely. They still stood, strong and stalwart for everyone else, but he'd built them around her. She stood at the heart of his castle, even without trying. She was a friend - his future wife. And now the whole court knew it, too. The lines had been drawn in red ink and rumor, and now it was only time that waited to make the chains concrete. But if it was jealousy, or even merely possessiveness, that fired the bite behind her words, he needed to shore up that break in the boundary. "You are the only one I intend to dance with tonight." A blink, another tentative smile, even as the music swelled. Kvothe led the intro to the dance, advancing with all the grace and gratuitous confidence forged in the fires of endless practice. The court was an ocean of blood, and he had been forced to become a shark. He cut through the treacherous waters with a certain measured comfort that was as firm - and as fake - as the mask on his face. But as the violins rose and the piano warmed, a spark of mischief warmed his witchcraft gaze. He leaned into the lady of fire, spinning her expertly. "Though if ever I have need of a good glare, I should hope that you would consent to be my tutor."

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His rebuff was gentle and she accepted it in stride, allowing her eyes to flick toward the arched ceiling in a gesture only slightly more polite than an eye roll. She felt a prick of shame too for having forgotten, once more, that he may have looked free but there were imaginary shackles there. "You will be able to," Nassar answered, voice neutral yet there was slight uncertainty in her heart. Her attention drifted to his face so that she might gauge his response. Would he be pleased by the freedom that their marriage would afford him? Would the banner of Tiamat and its promised fire give reprieve? Or would he see it as another element of the trappings of the court? Freedom that was handed down by another noble was hardly freedom at all—it was just another power play disguised as aid.

But if he chose to embrace it, he would not have to continue being half as kind. At least, if he wished to fit in with the Tiamat side of the political aisle.

Of course, he did not ignore the ill-conceiled subtext of her comment. His smile was soft, his gaze warm, and she met the gaze only for a moment before she pointedly stared into the crowd. If there was heat on her cheeks, she blamed it on the number of wolves in this ball and the lack of breathing room. It was not in her nature to portray jealousy, and yet she had allowed it to slip past her teeth like a young girl wary her first boyfriend might be taken.

"You are the only one I intend to dance with tonight."
Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she glanced back at him, sizing him up and searching for traces of tomfoolery. When she found none, she gave a curt nod. "Good." A flippant response, another glance away.

A childish game of cat and mouse to dispel any pressure that might dare to build.

It was almost surprising when the dance began and Kvothe, with paws that had been expertly trained out of Orestes dire fear of embarassment, spun her around. She stared up at him, wide eyes belying her surprise for but a moment. Gray ears flared forward and it took her a moment to find the words to respond.

Then she answered by glaring at him—albeit more playfully than she had before. "Of course, I am the best teacher for such a thing." Suring up her footing, she began to join the dance with him as more of an equal partner. "Cairo is my proof." And at this, she suppressed a small laugh.

Both of them knew the ferocity in her daughter's gaze.

manip: ashon + code: clae

@Kvothe

'You will be able to,' she promised. Kvothe hummed, a safe, noncommittal note of acknowledgement - and he might have left it there, were it not for the searching way her eyes scanned his. It would be disingenuous to say that he had not thought on the political implications of their impending union. Only a fool would have ignored the courtly context - especially given that the contract that bound them was formed of law and custom almost in its entirety. "I admit," he offered thoughtfully, mindful of the busy dancefloor around them, the prying ears turned their way, "I am not dissatisfied with that...possibility. Masks have their uses, of course, and I am well accustomed to wearing mine - but the weight does grow wearisome." In truth, he knew that their marriage would change the framing of his narrative - and even, perhaps, tear it entirely asunder. While many men would view marriage as a shackle, in this case, it offered Kvothe nothing so much as freedom. And yet, even freedom came with strings. His future was nothing more than the promise of paradise built on a bedrock of blood and broken favors, influence gained and garnered at the whim of another. He did not doubt that their marriage had been brokered with equivalent exchange in mind, but in Kvothe's opinion, the scales had been more clearly tipped in his favor. At some point, he knew, there would be a reckoning - and it would be the lady Ankh would come to collect on his excess of fortune. In the meantime, Nassar's prompt reminded him of the possibilities that preempted his more immediate choice. Would he cast aside his knightly nature in favor of fanning the Tiamat fire? Would he flout his new status, spite the nobles who had spurned him? Would he remove his mask, or would he only replace it with another? He would have the political clout, the influence, the security, to do nigh on whatever he wished - just as soon as their hands were joined in matrimony. Kvothe, however, found all of these things to be less pressing than their underlying severity might implicate. He was too distracted by the heat that rose to the other warrior's cheeks, the warmth that washed from her hands to his. They stood near enough that he could feel her breath against his skin. She glanced away from him, and it made him want to hold her closer; he had to stop himself from reaching out to brush a lock of hair out of her face, if only because he knew he would do it only to draw her eyes back to his. Nassar made him a needy, desperate creature - but he had not made Colonel by giving in to his emotions. He was patient. He had told her he would not press; he would not pry. He respected her too much - respected Kohl's memory too much - not to give her the courtesy she deserved. And so they bantered back and forth, their words dancing in time with the music. Nassar found her footing quickly, and the one sided dance became an equal exchange. 'Of course, I am the best teacher for such a thing. Cairo is my proof.' Kvothe smiled, a laugh dancing behind witchcraft eyes. "She is, truly, a testament to your skill." One need look no further, if they were looking for credentials. Cairo was well known - even beyond the fiery halls of her familial seat - for being volatile in temperament, and temperamental in nature. In this, she was every inch a Tiamat. Most of them were cut from the same mold. A thought occurred to him then, one that had been nestled into the back of his mind for several weeks. He spun Nassar through the next steps of the dance, wondering if he should ask - but ultimately, too curious not to. Her children were every bit as part of the equation as Nassar herself. "What do your children think of all of this?" he wondered. He had known Nassar's children for years, even served alongside them in the field - but he had not spoken with any of them since their engagement. He did not imagine it was much a secret in the Tiamat household, but it mattered to him to know what they thought. "I haven't had the chance to speak with any of them of late. Are they well?"

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