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mochidreambubble · 7 months ago

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Peace is not a One Woman Job

[ongoing fic, slow/inconsistent updates]

Ao3 link (note: Ao3 account needed)

Chapters on Tumblr ~ 1 (you are here!)

first (here!) - next (WIP)

{(A multi-delegate MC fic)

Katiya was a miracle worker, undoubtedly. But there is no shame in admitting mayhaps, peace isn't just a one-woman job.}

~Birdsong~

You wonder if your mother only sees your late father in you. Aside from your eyes - her eyes, bright scheming emerald - you know you inherited much from him. While it would never happen, should you appear before strangers whilst not dressed in your finery and silks, they would undoubtedly think you Jiyelian.

Of course, you could just ask her if your speculation was ever the case for her. Especially now, as it was your rare tête-à-tête for just the two of you - that and the rats in the walls vying for secrets. But your mother rarely speaks of him, and even you should know better, it has you believing the old rumours that it was purely a match on the Empress’ whims and nothing more between them. The silly rumour that your mother was secretly and desperately in a debauched one-sided love with said Empress. Why else would she be so devotedly and obsessively loyal after all which has you rolling your eyes every time you hear it. Internally only, of course.

But your father seemed to love you, at the very least. Your late father had gifts and letters sent your way throughout childhood, all dripping sentimentality. Perhaps it was a blessing he died, considering he would have grown to be an obvious weakness if you were old enough to have grown attached to him.

As for thoughts on the living parent in your life, you felt that mother has always been the weary and loving mother who only ever let the mask of the ideal lady in waiting drop, letting the exhaustion show. Her protectiveness meant that for some years, you could count the times spent with just the two of you in a room on one hand. This contradicts the silly notion she doesn’t see you and instead your father when she sits across you of course.

So, you shake unnecessary thoughts away. Mother had a certain hint of urgency when she arranged your get-together, and thus you waited for her to unveil her true intentions. You can guess what she wanted to say. In fact, there could be nothing else she would have wanted to discuss with you.

She placed her drink down, the steaming chai left untouched this whole while as she stared pondering between you and the liquid before speaking. “You have decided to accept your position as one of Corval’s delegates, after all.”

She was not quite disapproving, but not all that happy with your choice it seemed. “It would be a great honour to be chosen as one of the seven.”

You could bring up how Princess Constance undoubtedly gave Arland so much thanks to her marriage to your Crown Price - but the notion leaves far too sour a taste on a visceral personal level. You take a big sip of your chai to not pull an ungraceful expression. You rather not risk making things unpleasant or uncomfortable for the remainder of your time together.

“The Empress is… Going to keep her ears out for your achievements. She speaks openly about her expectations of you.”

Of your mother too, undoubtedly by extension.

“I will strive to not simply meet but surpass them.”

She laughs, soft and weary. “I have no doubt about that Khalida,” Her eyes close as her lips press tight. “And you may have to. Her Imperial Highness may have implied she was in truth, displeased, that you would be leaving the court for some time.”

Maybe forever , if it turned out as you wished.

“If you would be so kind, Mother dearest, please ensure Her Highness to take heart for I know better than to bring disgrace onto Her or you. I have been raised with utmost scrutiny after all,” which in truth can be taken as both praise and slight. “And if she would be so generous as to recall, I have yet to let her down.”

Years and years of clawing and maintaining your position, with rare moments or genuineness with Princess Constance just so she would appear happy enough… You will not let your work be for nought. You refuse to be denied your key - this opportunity.

“Of course, Khalida dear. Her Imperial Highness simply has high hopes.”

And the subject is dropped. It was enough for you to know that a lot will be riding on your performance at the Summit. It is a game you are determined to not only beat, but achieve universal victory.

The remaining teatime is filled with gossip, the best and your favourite way to exchange valuable information among frivolous nonsense. You quite enjoy going over the Corval Satires which you bring up in hopes your mother may know a thing or two. She simply pulls the most displeased expressions over it, no doubt that the Empress was most infuriated over them in private.

There was just something so delicious over the satires and spoofs on real happenings at court and part of you was all too curious to know the real perpetrator. Admittedly, unmasking the author would gain you a boon and more favour from the Royal Family but in truth, simply knowing someone so observant would be too big a boon to pass up in friendship - and betray for that matter.

Once the sweet treats and chai are gone, your mother rises and beckons for you to join her at the door. Then, in a rare act of physical affection, she pulls you close and places a kiss on your forehead. Her voice slightly trembles as she speaks. “My darling Khalida, I will try to see you on the night before you set sail.”

It would be impossible to bid you farewell on the docks after all.

“But if today will be the last that I will be allowed to see you for a long while, then, be well and know I will keep you in my prayers.”

“Thank you Mother. I will see you when I return,” you allow yourself to lean into her, take in her perfume and the touch of her soft silks.

In seconds, you are apart once more, and she gracefully departs before you. The brief moment was enough though, to carry you in high spirits. At least right up till you return to the sorry sight in Princess Constance’s room. This was another reason why your meetings with your mother have become so sparse as, in recent years after becoming Princess Contstance’s (Unofficial) Lady in Waiting…

Well, messes more often than not land in a splatter on your elegantly embroidered silk lap.

Your princess is kneeling on the soft rug in her room, rubbing the back of some sobbing poor excuse of a court lady drenched in the horrid scent of sex and the kind of incense often coming from a certain scandalous prince’s room. You refuse the huff threatening to escape your lips just as your Princess looks back up at you in surprise, then pleading.

You say not a word, but yank the sobbing woman up by her forearm. “Enough with the simpering and crying. Are you trying to invite unwanted attention to the Princess�� room?”

She looks up at you, agape, still hiccuping away. “L-Lady Kha-Khalida?”

“Yes, good afternoon Lady Rani,” you respond as dryly as you can manage. “I do suppose you have a good reason why I shouldn’t escort you out of Princess Constance’s room this very instance?”

“Khali, please,” Constance stands up and reaches out for you, but you shoot her a look to stay put. You would deal with this, as you always would - you have lost count of the number of times your dear friend would take pity on a younger woman solely because she insists they remind her of her little sister.

As if a proper Arland Princess would be so foolish as to wander right into the den of an infamous Prince.

“Please,” Lady Rani whispers, soft, terrified. Her mother, her sister as well as Rani herself were all part of the inner court. All of whom are warned to never interact with a certain prince lest they risk consequences from the Empress herself.

Truly, foolish and deserved if Rani had decided to forgo all warnings for a brief moment of passion. Years of work, to throw it all away for a man who showers you with shallow compliments? One that would throw you out once he was done with you, no less.

You swallow down the exasperated sigh as you tighten your grip on the younger woman and drag her to the bathroom. Constance does not follow.

“Undress and scrub yourself clean. I am going to make sure anyone who saw you scamper to Princess Contsance’s room is going to keep their mouths shut - and no, don’t start thanking me I am not having you risk her reputation out of her kindness,” you grab hold on her filthy garments as she rushes into the tub, flinching at your gaze. “While I am away, your sister - yes, your sister not you because Gods knows how brilliant you must be if today is any indication - will be assisting Princess Constance whilst I’m away. Are we clear?”

She nods, scrubbing down herself hard. “Yes. Thank-”

“Good. Now once you’re clean, remain here. As far as anyone is concerned, you had brunch and tea with the Princess. You kept her company while I was busy, and you and your sister have expressed the desire to care for her while I attend the Summit.”

She nods again.

“I will bring you something else to wear. But make sure not a whiff of your mess remains.”

And you rush back out. Honestly, this was meant to be a calm and relaxing day - as much as it could be in the inner court of course. Yet here you are, with added work. Good grief.

“Thank you, Khali,” Constance says before you leave her quarters with a list of tasks running through your mind.

“Hardly any thanks required, Princess. I refuse to let this stain you.”

She has that look in her eye, one that says she doesn’t quite believe you. Only the Gods know why. Now, if only they would be so kind as to ensure nothing egregious happens during your upcoming seven-week absence…

~Dawn at Sea~

There’s a relief that washes over you, as you wave and shout tidings of farewell to your beloved - albeit smothering - papa … That is to say, Father as he prefers it, that he doesn’t look haggard over this voyage at the very least. It took a whole lot of puppy-dogged eyes pleading and almost a month of proper Wellin girl manners, but you have his full blessing to represent Hise as one of their delegates.

In truth, you didn’t quite need him to say yes, as you had the backing of the majority once you earned the spot in one of the contests but…

“You’d think he’s sending you off to war with that expression of his, Little Blackthorn!”

Turning around to meet the good-natured voice leaves you face to face with ‘Prince’ Hamin. Although this would be the first time you have met him in person, there was just no mistaking who this man was. Not to a fellow Hise pirate at least, considering he was both the ship’s captain and son of Hise’s leader.

He has a hand outstretched to you with a ripe fruit while already munching on the one in his other with a grin.

In truth, you would have loved nothing more than to sail to the Isle on your mother’s ship and her crew, but your father was none too convinced you would just sail off to Gods knows where if he allowed it. You’d never, of course, and it stung a whole lot that he wasn’t going to trust you on that.

So, it was decided you were to sail on the Blackwater , Hise’s leader arranging for it as an old favour to your mother. An acceptable alternative, one because you would at least be on the water again regardless of why and how, and because you were dying to have the opportunity to speak with Blackwater’s captain - the roguishly handsome young man before you.

Taking the fruit from his hand and returning his smile but pausing before taking a hearty bite out of it. “Well thank you good captain, but as you said, I must bid my father farewell one last time - he is essentially sending me off to unknown waters after all.”

And facing your father once more, with the ship already making the quick distance between the port and open waters, you yell, “Be sure to write! But don’t fill it with lectures! I love you!”

“Farewell, Marisol! I love you!” Despite him having said farewell so many times, your heart aches. You will miss him, after all. Despite how much of your mother’s daughter you were, your father - and younger brothers, you suppose - were as dear as any treasure. “Remember to behave!”

Prince Hamin laughs and rests his elbows on the deck's wooden rail beside you. With his free hand, he gives your father a little wave. "Quite the request, isn't it? Asking a pirate to be on their best behaviour."

“Mother definitely thought so. Pretty sure she believed I fell sick when she came home to a curtsying and well-mannered girl.”

“I’d be too, considering that I came all this way to meet the infamous Blackthorn’s daughter after all,” He gives you a grin and a wink, as if emulating the charming rogues of fairy tales. You almost laugh, but settle for a snort.

“What could a one-time captain possibly have done to catch your attention, ‘Prince’ Hamin?”

“I heard that your maiden voyage went rather well, actually. Well enough that it was a pity you never sailed again.”

“Ah,” You turn away from him and back to the distant figure of your father. “It’s just that I know Mother would never forgive me if I had her greatest treasure die of heartbreak, after all.”

He makes a sound of contemplation, biting into the fruit as you start chowing down as well. The burst of sweetness has you hoping that whatever fruits the isle had to offer were as ripe and delicious. Well, you have no doubt Hise would have brought over some in their cargo to share, but it would be far more interesting to try something you haven’t before, after all.

“But surely,” He speaks up again, a hint of mischief in his voice. “He can’t complain if I kidnap you, would he? As a new member of my crew of course.”

He gives you a look over and continues. “Although, I wouldn’t be against having you as a wi-”

He doesn’t get to continue. A dinner roll gets flung towards the both of you, landing smack on Hamin’s head. “Hey Captain, did you forget you were, oh I don’t know, the captain ? Stop trying to badly flirt and get your lazy butt over here!”

You peer in the direction of the well-aimed bread throw to see a woman glowering at Hamin, who simply laughs and picks the bread roll up. “For shame, Laela! What a waste of perfectly good bread!”

He turns back to you with another wink. “Pity we can’t talk more, Little Blackthorn, but as you can hear, duty calls.”

Part of you itches to help aboard, but you weren’t told that you had to do much of anything and you rather not get in the way right now. Not while you were the clear stranger aboard this ship.

Just as you decide to simply enjoy your sweet treat and the feeling of being back out on open waters, a polite but firm cough sounds from behind you. This time, instead of the charming ship’s captain, you were now face to face with Princess Cordelia.

From what you knew of her, you weren’t quite expecting the very prim and proper princess to dain striking up a conversation with you. Oh well, may as well make use of what your father taught you here and now. It would be good practice for the Summit anyway and something in your gut tells you Princess Cordelia would prefer it.

Dipping into a proper curtsey and opting to keep the hand holding the fruit behind your back for now, you smile back up at her with a greeting. “Good morning, Princess. A fine morning to sail, isn’t it?”

She seems taken aback - which was a little insulting maybe - but she quickly schools her expression back into a neutral and polite smile. “Good morning, Lady Marisol. Indeed it is. Apologies if I interrupted your meal.”

She pauses for a bit as if contemplating. “My parents had mentioned another young woman my age would be aboard my cousin’s ship, so I was simply hoping to make your acquaintance.”

You couldn’t help but smile brightly. “Of course! Well, I won’t be doing much of anything on deck, and if you won't be either… Well, I heard Princess, that you have a rather keen eye for fashionable coordination!”

There’s a small glint in her eyes, even if her smile remains ever so gentle and polite. “Is there something you would like my assistance on?”

“Yes! Well, I’d really appreciate it. My father made sure I had enough dresses and accessories for the whole seven weeks but I don’t often get the chance to dress up, so any advice would be really nice.”

She hesitates, for a moment. But then nods. “I’d love to look over your wardrobe. I believe all your belongings are in your quarters?”

Indeed they were. It was a very generous move to be offered your own private quarters, something which you once more believe should be attributed to whatever friendship your mother had with Hamin’s father.

All in all, while you’d prefer to be busy on deck, talking about dresses and cute shoes with Princess Cordelia wasn’t all that bad either. Although she wasn't a woman of Hise in the same way you were, the confidence she displayed in her areas of expertise was characteristic of any Hise woman. Hopefully, this bonding moment has earned you a new friend.

~Duty Requires Courage…And Some Potential Allies as Well!~

Part of you wishes to turn around and chase after Jasper. You could hear chatter from within and your heart was racing a mile a minute as you froze in place before the doors separating you and the other delegates.

You couldn’t do this. Why did you think you could?

I’m sorry Constance, I’m so sorry but I just can’t

“Hey, do you think we should do something? Get one of those creepy purple-eyes fellas?”

Mother and Father are going to be so disappointed… They were right about you…

“Firstly, it’s not polite to call the servants of the Isle creepy. Secondly, no.”

You were going to be the first Arland Princess - no, the first delegate that would be shipped home on the first day, weren’t you…

“Wait, why not?”

“...It would not be a good first impression to be babied by her butler for the Welcome Feast.”

What am I going to-

“Excuse me, Princess Melia,” You almost let out a disgraceful yelp at the gentle tap on your shoulder. You quickly spin around to see two other women looking at you. One was dressed head to toe in bright colours, making you think of a bright and beautiful sunrise. Her face was unmistakably filled with concern and Oh no here you were already making trouble for others on the first day.

The other next to her, with an arm hooked to the other with what looks like a half-hearted attempt to pull away, was dressed in elaborate silks and jewels - the kind that would make her look right at home in your mother’s private collection of crown jewels. She was looking rather pointedly at you, and you almost felt the urge to shrink away from her gaze. Then, she speaks. “Apologies for startling you Princess Melia. Are you quite alright?”

“H-Huh? Oh, I was. Um.”

“Aw, aren’t you just adorable? Don’t worry, we don’t bite! Even this pretty missy over here. She just let me bring her on a short walk all over-”

“Which almost had us late, and worse, sweaty.”

“Oh Gods no, whatever shall we do?” The colourfully dressed woman cackles good-heartedly. “And no, we’re still pretty early actually, if my pocket watch is correct.”

“...Well. Let’s not waste any more time then. Would you like to walk in with us, Princess?” The one with glittering jewels asked.

“Wait, what’s the difference between walking with us and if we get her butle-”

“This is a Summit meant to build peace and better relations, is it not? I believe it will be quite the statement to have women from three separate nations walk in together.”

“Oooh, who knew you had bold plans up your pretty lace gloves, roomie~”

“Having our rooms opposite each other does not make us roommates, Lady Marisol,”

You stare at the glove hand extended to you and grab onto it in a matter of seconds, just in case she changes her mind and pulls away. “Thank you, um…”

“Khalida, of Corval. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess.”

As expected, people stared when the three of you entered. A Hise Pirate with her arms linked together with a Corvali Court Lady, which undoubtedly created an immediate stir, and the Arland Princess on the other which had her countrymen staring dead at her which only had you gripping harder on Khalida’s arm.

It was only once Khalida of Corval curtsies her away to leave you by the chatty Lady Marisol that you realise you never introduced yourself to her.

This is widely not canon-compliant as is, considering this is basically a MultiDelegate!MC AU. You can also say they will be sharing the MC’s responsibility, as in I will potentially be splitting the MC’s plot stuff and responsibilities among them as I see fit. Aside from the three in this chapter, I'll likely relegate the other MC backgrounds to the background when I can if they appear at all. Fun (?) facts for this chapter: ~ I had planned for Khalida’s portion to end after she parted ways with her mother, but I felt inspired to write a scene of her tough and harsh love - even for people she’s not all too familiar with. Deep down, she’s a kind soul which I hope came across ~ Admittedly, I cut out a harsher conversation between Rani and Khalida in which Rani insisted she thought it was “True Love” in which Khalida would rather cruelly mock her on the notion - even if it was less about Rani and more about how poorly she finds Zarad who continues to break hearts all over ~ Everyone, say thanks to a a close friend who spent a good while helping me find the term “deck rail” because I kept trying to google what that part of the ship was and they saved me (also because I’m stupid, obviously, so my brain cell has to come from someone else) ~ The first actual scene I had in mind for this fic was the three MCs entering together, but it was the last scene to be written and very briefly at that. Whoops.

#7kpp #seven kingdoms the princess problem #my writing #my fic #Peace is not a One Woman Job fic #like all my fics i did not beta read yet so if you see any mistakes please yell at me about them tysm

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faejilly · 1 year ago

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once upon a time I was doing a gift exchange for 7kpp and nothing I wrote work so I did a fanmix and made some TEA instead! (Did you like any of the tea, @awaylaughing? I don't recall) and then today, for no apparent reason, I was looping Hozier and feeling bad about how I keep wanting to write but then don't actually do it... and found a Sheltered Princess/Emmett thing from the POV's of the Chaperones in my WIP folder and finished it! Because Brains! Are Crazy-Cakes! (affectionate) Please Enjoy some observations re: Princess Wilhelmina Temperance of Arland and her Earl.

Emmett had known that he would see her.

Of course The Princess would be here. Even before Katyia herself, this is exactly what Arland Princesses always did. Who they always were.

He'd even known it would be difficult, was aware of his own weaknesses, his own flaws, but he hadn't realized it would hit him so hard, just seeing her walk into the Main Hall, seeing the Skalt Lady approach, watching other people see – her. See her, the way no one else in Arland ever had. The Princess was a wonderful young lady, of course everyone else would eventually see it too. It wasn't as if he didn't want her to succeed, didn't want people to know how amazing she was. He just –

It hurt, a little, to know that he would probably never have his friend by his side again, to know that there had never been a chance that he would, despite how fondly he remembered her, how much he'd looked forward to seeing her again, even if just at formal events at Court.

This was worse than Court.

This was going to be good-bye, and he hadn't even managed to say hello yet.

He was afraid that she'd see his worry and think he wasn't pleased to see her, wasn't always happy at the thought of her.

But then she came toward him, and he was glad enough at the sight of pleased recognition she didn't try to hide that he forgot about the future entirely and smiled at the present instead.

It was quite entertaining to realize that he’d been wrong about the Arland Princess. That didn’t happen to Woodly very often. But here she was, holding her own quite successfully through the formal introductions, alert and observant and with a smile almost as engaging as his own niece’s.

He’d dismissed her entirely at the Welcome Feast, convinced she was an even paler and quieter echo of her sister, the one who’d let herself be sold to Corval despite being smart enough to recognize how pleasant her soon-to-be-husband wasn’t.

To be fair, if Penelope had been of an age with Constance, the King and Queen might very well have tried to do the same with her, and Penelope would undoubtedly have agreed, despite also being smart enough to recognize a man who wouldn’t care a bit for her own preferences in the least. (Sometimes Woodly despaired of his sister’s sense, but that was neither here nor there.) Lisle would have fought it though, so it was well that hadn’t been an option.

But here young Princess Wilhelmina was, exquisitely formal with the one deeply unpirate-like Hisean, then listening to the Skalt Princess to call her Mina without looking the least bit upset by the informality. Penelope adored her, which required a bit of a gentle touch, and yet she was vibrant enough that neither the actual pirates nor the Corvali thought her dull. Even the Jiyel delegates were willing to converse with her, and Duke Lyon didn’t like anyone, and Lady Avalie only liked people she could play with.

She was singularly useless for any of the games Woodly himself liked to play, of course, but she was, nonetheless, a singular and effective delegate for Arland. Much more useful than that Earl, who refused to allow an unkind word about anyone, regardless of how much they might deserve it.

Would wonders never cease. An Arland Princess with a hint of a spine.

This Summit was certainly never boring.

Yvette thought her Princess deserved better. Such a bright young woman ought to be able to reach for more than her status as a gift Arland would bestow upon an ally who was willing to put up with her. (Perhaps they all deserved better than Summit machinations and noble politics, but that was a question for future generations to answer, not a single Duchess in her private thoughts.)

The Princess was quiet and polite, exactly as she had been trained to be. But she caught the eye, shone with her own inner light, a light that was already brighter than it had been at the Welcome Feast, and she’d handled that particular challenge with grace, deprecation, and a surprisingly charismatic and self-aware touch of humor, even when that young Zarad had dragged her into a highly inappropriate dance in front of everyone.

Constance would have been so proud of Mina if she’d seen it. Not that Yvette allowed herself to consider Princess Constance too often; that led to worrying about how she was doing, trapped at Prince Aamir’s side.

Yvette swallowed a sigh, and made sure her hands stayed loose in her lap, no tension visible anywhere in her body, even as she had to fight not to squint against the light of a rising sun. She’d managed to place herself outside the stable before anyone else, but the chaperones and servants and delegates would be here soon for the ride, and she could not let her worry show. Not for Arland or the Summit, past, present or future, not for the Princess as Princess or simply as a young lady in a difficult place.

Most especially not for her poor darling Earl, who she knew was painfully aware that half the Isle could tell that he was hopelessly in love with his Princess, by far the least eligible match for either of them to attempt here at this Summit.

Katyia would probably have insisted they be matched regardless; this time Yvette had to swallow a smile at the thought. Perhaps, somehow, even without Katyia, they’d manage a small bit of happiness, at least for awhile.

Yvette’s smile escaped her control, that thought too sweet to entirely dismiss.

Perhaps she had more hope left in her bones for this Summit than she’d thought.

Falon thought the boat race was the least painful activity of the Summit. It required actual effort and forethought and tactics from the delegates, and did not require he make small-talk about things he couldn’t possibly know anything about, and wouldn’t want to chatter about even if he did.

A Hisean team always won it, of course, but it was interesting to watch what the other delegates decided to do. Did they choose to forego it entirely and network among the spectators? Did they back Hise and their easy victory? Did they put on a show of their own boat, costumes or decorations or fancy tricks to draw the eye? Did they fight for that second place spot, did they try and make Hise work for their victory?

It was fascinating, and a good way to see how all the different delegations were starting to relate to each other, an idea of who could work with who, who might be able to reach a hand across a bargaining table by the end of the Summit and have someone grasp it back.

He had never expected two of the Hise delegates to agree to back an Arlish Captain though. One who had somehow managed to entice his damnable Duke out of the library to participate! And a Wellin Princess. It was the most cosmopolitan ship in the competition.

And then it won.

Hise lost.

Hise lost the boat race to Arland.

Falon didn’t know what to do with that. He couldn’t figure out what it meant, it was too improbable to have even considered it as a possible conclusion. Falon was so disconcerted, he didn’t even manage to catch Lyon before he retreated back inside after the race. Not that it would probably have worked, but Falon didn’t even manage to try.

He did manage to congratulate the rest of the team however, and he didn’t think he sounded nearly as bewildered as he felt.

On the one hand, it was good that there were delegates with the strength of will and character to actually make things happen.

On the other, he had a feeling he was going to spend the next five weeks wishing he’d been assigned as Chaperone for a less interesting Summit.

Jaslen loved the Matchmaker’s breakfast. The only real chance anyone had to see what of the Matchmaker’s opinions she was willing to let be seen in public, and so close to the one banquet at the Summit that still held so tightly to Katyia’s dreams rather than everyone else’s fears; there was always something to learn about how well the behind-the-scenes maneuvering was going.

Plus the delegates were always so delightfully chaotic, the stresses of the Summit and the anticipation of the remaining weeks only getting worse…

When Jaslen had flitted through the dining hall prior to any of the delegates arriving, she’d thought placing the poor Arland Princess in between the Revaire Prince and that idiot Blain was uncharacteristically cruel of the Matchmaker. She had no patience for incompetence, but she didn’t usually twist the knife after (metaphorically) stabbing some delegate who hadn’t impressed her.

But then breakfast actually happened, and Wilhelmina was fine! Calm and polite even while her seatmates bickered and everyone stared at her; she even smiled at that Earl of hers without appearing at all self-conscious when she escaped after Blain’s unsubtle attack.

It was such a nice surprise. Jaslen might have underestimated the Princess, but she wasn’t wrong about the Matchmaker, and that would have been disturbing, after all these years.

Watching Blain fumble his way through the Summit was excruciating enough for one year, she didn’t need to add an absolute failure in her usually impeccable people skills on top of that.

This really was the best morning. She wished she could be a chaperone for every Summit.

Jasper had been quite honored to realize he was assigned to Princess Wilhelmina of Arland herself. The Princesses were always such lovely guests, dutiful but seldom dull, young and hopeful and exactly the sort of people Katyia had most wanted to help.

He met his Princess and she was a joy to serve. Not just for the Summit or his duty or Arland, but for herself, complete and entire. He wished her well, and he saw her rise to every occasion, and for all he knew he could not take the credit, he was so proud.

But it was tinged with fear, not just for the Summit, or the Isle, and definitely not for Arland, but for her and her countryman, her childhood friend, Yvette's young assistant, Earl Emmett of Arland. He was as kind and dutiful as any Arlish Lord could have ever desired, and every time he smiled Jasper could see the Princess light up, and yet.

And yet.

They were both of Arland, and had been excessively well trained. Earl Emmet had traveled enough to be able to bring home a bride from anywhere and be kind to her in a way she'd understand, and the Princess. Well. The Princesses of Arland always left.

Always.

And then the night of the Matchmaker’s banquet he almost missed it, distracted by everything else that had happened (everything that shouldn’t have happened). He barely made himself settle before the Matchmaker stood, but he managed it just in time, standing quiet in his shadows as she began her announcement.

Which included the love match of Princess Wilhelmina of Arland to Earl Emmet of Arland.

There was an instant of total silence in the Hall, regardless of the number of people, regardless of servants and cutlery and food and conversation, regardless of high ceilings and the usual whispers of acoustics designed specifically to pick up everything so it would be almost impossible to overhear any one thing out of all the rest beyond one’s seatmate.

Arland to Arland.

Jasper’s eyes closed, and he didn’t know if it was joy or shock, horror or hope. He opened them to the much more familiar incoherence of a room full of whispering delegations, not a single person without an opinion on that match.

Arland to Arland.

He let himself smile, just a little, and let himself imagine it, a Summit that celebrated a match like that, Arland to Arland, for love and happiness rather than politics and duty.

Mina was sure she was blushing, but she’d noticed the shock after the Matchmaker’s announcement, heard the whispers a moment later, and she couldn’t quite contain it.

She also couldn’t hold in the lift of outright glee at hearing their names announced like that, one after the other. She had no idea how they were going to make this work, but oh, she didn’t regret a moment of choosing her best friend to be her partner, to be her future, no matter what anyone else thought of it. Not even her parents.

And she knew, every time she saw him, every time she thought of him, every time he smiled, or ducked his head, or pushed his sleeves up his arm as if this time they were going to stay, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that Emmett didn’t regret it either.

They only managed one quick moment before they were sent their separate ways, but she could live through a dozen more Summits, and she’d never forget the brilliance of his smile in that moment. Proof, if she’d needed it, that it was worth every effort over the next four weeks to keep him with her, to keep herself with him, to make it out the other side of this Summit

Together.

#jilly writes #7kpp #wilhelmina of arland #earl emmett of arland #sheltered princess #CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO BELOVEDS #the most adorable #and the chaperones #I love them #so many of them are terrible at this chaperone concept #and yet #😅

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angstmongertina · 5 years ago

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One More Sleep

Title taken from the song by Leona Lewis of the same name.

Hey, @line-artsy-draws, here’s your Secret Santa gift! Thanks for your patience in answering all of my questions! I hope it’s in character for Helena and that you like it! :)

Edit because I forgot to mention: I am not an alpha backer and therefore hand-waved everything between the end of the extended demo and when this takes place, several months after the Summit ends.

Of the many concepts that Princess Helena had learned about the kingdom of Jiyel in her lessons, its culture and society featured heavily, particularly in the ways that differed from her home. After all, neighboring kingdoms though they might have been, they shared no small number of disagreements, from everything as fundamental as their beliefs to who could make a better cup of tea.

One of the most notable was the difference in religion, or lack thereof. Their duty came from the veneration of their elders, from the emphasis that the Crown placed on education and talent. Focused as they were on knowledge and the logical, they believed in no God, lacked the holidays celebrating His glory.

Lacked Christmas.

Oh, it was true that the holiday’s service was always long and incredibly dull, with what seemed like the endless number of prayers and sermons, not to mention the eyes of the entire kingdom watching her for proper behavior, comparing her to Constance. She knew that, knew she was expected to be dutiful and pious and proper, but…

But the hymns and carols were gentle and beautiful, performed by the best singers in the kingdom. Her mother’s soft alto would join in, quietly harmonizing with Father’s rich baritone and Constance’s sweet soprano. Even after her sister left for the Summit and then her new life as the Crown Princess of Corval, she thought she could still hear Constance’s voice during the services, as if echoing from a memory.

And afterwards… Afterwards, they would gather for more personal celebrations. Mother would sit between them, weaving tales like she used to when they were young, elegant hands painting pictures as vividly as her art tutor’s brushes would. Presents filled her room, stacks of novels and jewelry and other little things that were not necessary, not appropriate, for dutiful young princesses but could, on this day of His son’s birth, be indulged. Even Father would put aside his work, taking a few hours from his busy life being a proper leader of Arland to be simply a father, kind and thoughtful and funny in ways that she was not accustomed to seeing, but treasured with every fiber of her being.

Those traditions, those moments of escape from being the proper second princess of Arland, were perhaps more foreign to Jiyel, were harder to explain, than all of the other traditions combined. The warmth and the cheer and the love… Those couldn’t be found in books, in studies of Arlish religion and traditions.

Of course, from childhood, she knew that she would be sent to the Summit, that she would leave the traditions and customs of her youth behind, that she would travel to whatever kingdom would provide the best match for Arland. But to know was different than to experience, and as fall slowly morphed into winter at her new home in Jiyel, she couldn’t help but find herself thinking of the past.

Lyon, as quick and observant as he was, caught on without any comment on her part, though if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, anyone who had been paying attention likely would have, given her preoccupation. And her beloved—even just the thought of that was enough to make her heart leap in her chest—was certainly more than attentive to her every possible desire, as though returning to the privacy of his estate also granted him the privacy to express himself.

He brought it up much the same way he did most things, plain and direct, his eyes full of the emotion that the rest of the world somehow missed, warm and thoughtful and caring, so very deeply caring. In it, she could sense his gentleness, his sincerity, his desire to do whatever she wished to feel comfortable.

But it was not something she could put into words, her sudden painful longing for company and warmth and love of the kind that her family’s Arlish Christmases brought, that nostalgia for years past. And so, she could only smile, a pleasant, polite quirk of the lips, and elude the question with promises of books on the subject before changing the topic to something more innocuous, safer for herself and her suddenly tenuous control over her emotions.

She did not notice the knowing look in his eyes, nor the way he disappeared to his study a short while later, every movement and expression full of determination.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day that, at least in Arland, would be called Christmas dawned over her new home in soft silver and powdery white. As if remembering the years long past, she awoke early, before the sun had fully cleared the tree line. Beside her, Lyon slumbered on, no doubt exhausted from his retiring sometime after she had already fallen asleep. For a moment, she studied his face, peaceful and still, warm affection flooding her chest, before the Siren song of Christmas became too hard to resist and she slid carefully out from under the covers, making her way to the window.

Outside, the landscape was muted and calm, fat snowflakes filling the air, covering the trees and grass in beautiful white. The grounds were untouched, pristine, and she stared out into the grounds, nearly pressing her face against the thick glass.

If she squinted, she could almost picture two young girls from her distant memory, heavy shawls and thick scarves wrapped around immaculate hairstyles and expensive dresses, both to keep warm and to disguise, giggling and dancing among the falling flakes. How long had it been since her carefree days with Constance, since she had felt the cold breeze on her cheeks, seen the gasping laughs of stolen freedom from lessons and etiquette and formality?

She wondered what her neighbors and servants, and perhaps more importantly, her husband, would think if they saw her rushing outside into the frigid air right then and there with no regard for her position or propriety.

As if drawn by her thoughts, she shivered, the chill of the room finally seeping into her awareness and the realization that she wore only her nightgown. She shook her head, mentally scolding herself in a voice that sounded strangely similar to her old nurse’s, and turned…

Only to be greeted by a thick blanket wrapping around her shoulders and the fondly amused gaze of her beloved.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning!” She blinked, torn between concern and joy at his strangely normal hour, though joy won out and she beamed at him. “You’re up early.”

“Am I?” Something resembling mischief flashed across his face, so quickly that she might have imagined it. Instead, he squinted vaguely outside before scowling, though she couldn’t be sure if it was due to the early hour or the lack of his usual spectacles. “I suppose I am. Though perhaps not up too early, if you already are. Besides,” and there, there was that glint of mischief again, “that is the custom, is it not? For Christmas?”

She found herself blinking again, long enough that he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes?”

“But… But I thought you don’t celebrate Christmas in Jiyel.”

He shrugged, looking for all the world as though he was telling her that the sun rose in the east or that the sky was blue. Or, at least he would have if not for the slight tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jiyel doesn’t. But you do.”

“Oh!” She drew a deep breath, tilting her head back to meet his bright gaze, and, unable to resist the urge, stretched up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “So what now? There isn’t any church to visit for the Christmas service.”

At that, the slight quirk of his lips blossomed into a full smirk. “As of this morning, that may no longer be the case. In fact…” He glanced out the window again, as though checking the time. “If we hurry, we might have time to see it before the guests arrive.”

When his words filtered into her consciousness, she froze, halfway to the dressing room. “What?”

He actually laughed. “Guests. Your mother and brother should arrive later this morning, though your father was unable to leave Arland and sends his regrets. I believe Princess Constance’s departure was somewhat delayed, but she, with Prince Zarad accompanying her, should be here tonight. Prince Lisle and Princess Penelope should also arrive this evening, along with Princess Cordelia.”

After a moment of silence, he paused, worry flickering across his face, and the sight of him bending down to reach her eye-level was almost enough to make her giggle. “Helena? Are you all right?”

She smiled, brushing the wetness off of her cheeks as subtly as she could. “I’m fine. Wonderful, even. Though…” She paused, tapping her chin as though deep in thought. “I’d be better if we were outside.”

He chuckled. “Naturally.”

It wasn’t until they were warmly dressed and making their way across the snow-covered grounds, her arm looped firmly around his, that she brought it up again, her voice almost muffled by the scarf around her face.

“So… my family except for Father, Prince Zarad, Princess Penelope, Prince Lisle, and Princess Cordelia. Is that everyone coming?”

“I believe Princess Cordelia mentioned attempting to reach Lord Clarmont as well, though when last she wrote, she was not certain whether the weather would cooperate.”

“That is quite a crowd.” She hesitated as they passed over a rougher patch and felt his hold tighten in careful support. “How long did it take to plan?”

A faint frown, of concentration rather than displeasure, crossed his face. “Perhaps a few months? It took some time, with the construction and especially the letters.”

“But you dislike crowds.”

“But it makes you happy.” Her breath hitched as he stepped closer, a gloved hand reaching to cup her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Helena.”

With the gently falling snow around them, his soft smile was the most tender thing she had ever seen and she leaned in, stopping a hairsbreadth away. “Merry Christmas, Lyon.”

#7KPP #seven kingdoms the princess problem #Duke Lyon #Duke Lyon/Arland princess #7kpp secret santa 2019 #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays 7KPP.

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leahazel · 5 years ago

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Thoughts on Corval Succession

Cross-posted from my Dreamwidth.

I read a great post on different types of monarchs, which made me think about my sheltered princess Felicity, which in turn led me to think about the succession of the imperial family of Corval.

We know that Aly based some of Corval's worldbuilding on historical sources, and based on that, we know that the Emperor of Corval practices polygyny (even though the rest of the kingdom doesn't). And we know the following members of the Corval imperial family:

The Emperor of Corval (Zarad's dad).

The Empress, his first wife.

Aamir, the First Prince of Corval, the heir, and son of the Empress.

Unnamed Second Prince of Corval, also the Empress's son.

Princess Constance of Arland, Aamir's wife.

The Emperor's second wife, Zarad's mother.

Zarad, the Third Prince, who is 23 years old (only canonical age).

The Emperor's third wife.

Sina, who is the daughter of the third wife, and is six or seven years old.

Jaslen, the Emperor's sister.

There could be untold and unnamed brothers or sisters of the Emperor, and their spouses and children, possibly even grandchildren. But only one of the three sons of the Emperor is canonically married (Aamir, to Constance) and none of them have children. So the line of succession goes: the Emperor, Aamir, the Second Prince, and then Zarad.

Spoilers for 7KPP week 4/5, personal plots of the Corval, Hise and Arland backgrounds!

Corval or Arland MCs can arrange to have Aamir assassinated. This is regardless of whether they are romancing Zarad or are planning to leave/return to Corval. They just shortened the succession and dramatically altered the landscape of Corvali politics! It's a big old deal.

Of course, the Emperor is still alive, and since Sina is so young, it's highly probably that the third wife, at least, can still have more children. He may choose to try for another son, for stability purposes. He may choose to pressure the Second Prince, now heir, into marrying and producing heirs of his own.

All of this is especially relevant to Felicity, because she's an Arland princess who marries Zarad, and furthermore, she can't have children. Which, while it's a big deal for her personally, isn't as much of a big deal politically if Zarad's brother marries and has kids. While he's unmarried, Zarad is second in line.

Whom and when the Second Prince marries is way outside the scope of the game, but it's one of the worldbuilding issues I'd love to see the fandom discuss more. I'd love to see it show up in fic, headcanons, or meta posts.

#7kpp #meta #court lady #sheltered princess #assorted problem princesses #worldbuilding

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teaandinanity · 5 years ago

Note

Pink Zinnia

Thank youuuuu!

Pink Zinnia: Who will your character always be friends with?

This is so fun I kind of want to do it for everyone, so I’m putting it under a cut. XD

7KPP

Calanthia: Calanthia’s favorite people in the world are her siblings. Another person she’s probably always going to be friends with is Marchioness Aleni, who I am not sure I’ve even alluded to in any of the published fic for her but who has become pretty central to her backstory. Also Avalie, because Anthy adores witty repartee (and also because they just get each other, to a really remarkable degree; Avalie might be the only other aspec person Anthy’s ever met). And Penny, who must be protected. And Cordelia. Really, Calanthia is far too apt to love people and decide they’re hers.

Valeriya: Honestly? Lyon.

Safiye: Fee would be voted most likely to try to arrange a reunion of the entire Summit crew, because she loves everyone, even if they’ve tried to kill her, and she just finds Blain amusing. She’s got a dozen friends for life back in Hise, too.

Nisha: Nisha’s best friend in the world is her mother, which does not change. Also Princess Constance, since Nee feels protective of her, which is sort of the same instinct that leads her to take Penny under her wing.

Cadence: Cadence really loves Penelope, too, but in her case it’s because she can actually be comfortable around her; Penny is not looking for advantage, doesn’t need anything from Cadence or her family or Arland generally, and Cadence’s parents would not disapprove of their being friends (her parents tended to chase off anyone who was considered ‘inappropriate,’ which meant she did not have a single friend after Constance went to the Summit 7 years prior to hers, and it takes a while to unlearn ‘don’t get attached’ when it’s that ground-in).

Demetria: Demi is really close to most of her staff in Holt (she’d have to be, for the crown to be able to leverage offering aid for sending her to the Summit!). Her stablemaster is the only boy she used to beat with sticks who was impressed by her ability to kick his ass. Their conversations now are mostly about dogs but also he occasionally jokingly offers to help her hide the body when she inevitably snaps and kills one of her ill-fated swains (like, he says it jokingly, but he is dead serious). She also loves her cook, who made sure her father ate when he was recovering from her mother’s death and then did the same for Demi when her father died.

And I’d do DAI and SWtOR, too, but those are mostly boringly predictable.

Thank you again! :D

#faejilly #thank you!#babble tea (blacklist this for less chatter)#replies #this is a meme tag

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ammeh7 · 6 years ago

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7KPP Week 2019 - Day 4

Letters || Learning

When you were 15 your schedule became so filled, your parents insisted you only had time to continue studies with one of your tutors.

One of my headcanons about my nerdy SP Ambrine is that going into the Summit, she’s best known internationally for having broken down crying when her parents made her give up her tutors at 15 (the other countries clearly have Opinions on how Arland treats its women, royal tutors were certainly often important enough to go back and spread gossip in their home courts, and who could resist the urge to gossip about how tragic and oppressive your termination was?), so I just had to write that scene for the Learning prompt!

“But—” This can’t be happening. All of them?

Her father shakes his head. “I won’t repeat myself, Ambrine. We’ve indulged you on this, but you need to focus your attention on matters that will prove useful to your future nation.”

“As a Princess of Arland, there are certain expectations you need to meet,” her mother adds. “Expectations that we have been remiss in allowing you to neglect. At your age, Constance was far more prepared for marriage.”

She understands everything they’re not saying aloud. She has a great deal to compensate for—she’s taller than is considered becoming of a lady, of a height with some of the men in her father’s court. Her face has been called expressive, pleasant, even handsome, but never beautiful or pretty by any but the most transparent of sycophants. Her waist-length curls look lovely when her maids have finished with her, but muss up at the slightest provocation.

She knows the steps to all the formal dances, but she can’t flow into them, can’t float across a room or make artistry of her motions. She knows all the polite little things to say in conversation, but she sometimes catches herself staring off into space, and it doesn’t matter that she can repeat their last several sentences verbatim, people think she’s ignoring them. Sometimes she even is, her mind running off without her consent.

She’s too forward, has been told that her attempts at being charming cross some inscrutable line into flirtatious. Sometimes she talks too long, or makes leaps in conversation that only make sense to her. At times she misses cues that everyone else seems perfectly capable of reading, and blurts something out at the wrong time, or stands around like an idiot because she didn’t realize she was supposed to leave.

But surely she can improve on all that without giving up all her tutors.

“I—of course I’ll gladly learn whatever skills I need to fulfill my duty,” she says. “But—is it truly necessary that I completely abandon my other lessons to do so? Being well-rounded would surely make me a more appealing bride. I’m certain we could reduce the length or frequency of my current lessons—” she looks over at her tutors, gathered off to the side, for confirmation, and gets some encouraging nods. “It would force me to learn to accomplish more with my time, which is a skill I’m sure would serve me and my future household well.”

The idea of giving up all her lessons is horrifying. Her math tutor, Lady Sumie, has been teaching her the most beautiful patterns with shapes, how to calculate all sorts of measurements from the merest scraps of information. She’d promised that next they’d move onto the art of formal proofs practiced in Jiyel, had already sent for books on the topic. Her ethics and philosophy instructor, Sir Vincent, has lately taken to holding their lessons in the form of lively debates that leave her energized for hours.

Perhaps she can learn from books about the period where Corval split from the old Revairan empire, but her history tutor Mistress Pembrey brings so much more life to the telling. There are entire realms of the natural sciences she’s yet to cover with Master Brelton. She’s finally at the point where vocabulary is her main barrier to conversing in Jiyelian, and she’s barely even started learning Skaltic. It’s not as if it’s unlikely she might need to know those languages someday; that’s half of her options! And—and—the adjective declensions in Skaltic are fascinating, and she’s only just starting to get the hang of it…

“Of course you’ll continue some of your lessons,” her mother assures. “Lady Clemence tells me you still have much to learn about Revairan and Wellish ballroom and dining etiquette.”

“What of mathematics? Rhetoric? History? Language?” she asks, distress breaking her voice and making her inquiry far more abrupt than intended. “Surely those skills are just as important as my comportment at balls.”

Her father frowns. “Watch your tongue, Ambrine.”

Her mother raises a single finger. “I will allow you to continue one additional area of study. You may choose rhetoric or history. I know what you’ve been covering in your mathematics lessons of late, and it’s far outside the skills needed by a lady in your position. You need to be able to manage finances, not…design aqueducts.” Her nose twitches in a way that suggests she would be wrinkling it had she not trained herself out of such indelicate gestures. “You can learn your new country’s language after you’re married should that prove necessary. And allowing you to study the sciences at all was an indulgence, one that I am now regretting.”

She knows that, that’s why she didn’t mention them…

“It’s most important that you focus on polishing yourself and familiarizing yourself with the peerage of the other kingdoms,” the Queen continues with a firm look. “Your other studies are becoming a distraction.”

“But—” She feels tears welling up. “I’m sure I could balance it all if you’d just allow me to try—” Her voice cracks.

“Ambrine!” her father snaps. “Decorum!”

She shouldn’t cry. She’s making a scene in front of her parents, and all her tutors are here, and Lady Sumie is such a terrible gossip, and she’ll be going back to Jiyel, and—oh, she’ll be going back to Jiyel! The loud sob she’s been fighting down breaks free.

“History, please,” she chokes out, clutching at that boon before they retract the offer in the face of such unseemliness. “Master Amari has been missing his family in Corval and might appreciate the opportunity to return to them.”

Sobs continue to escape as she thinks of everyone she’ll be losing. Master Amari, whose tales of Corval were the closest she could feel to Constance. Master Brelton, who can’t stay on topic to save his life but always has something fascinating to share. Lady Sumie, who makes art out of numbers and finds it endearing when Ambrine unconsciously finds new and exciting ways to sit in her chair…who uses the cover of their Jiyelian lessons to share the most outrageous gossip. Sir Vincent, who likes to present moral quandaries that make her want to tear her hair out, always has a cup of strong tea waiting to help her focus. Mistress Nemar, her music tutor, who has yet to give Ambrine a straight answer on why she learned Skaltic.

There’s still so much she could learn from them.

She feels wicked for even thinking it, but if she were only expected to attend mass weekly like the peasants do, instead of every morning, she’d surely have time to continue another area of study. She knows better than to even consider voicing the thought, pushes it down like she’s attempting to push down the completely inappropriate weeping that’s overcome her.

“Very well,” her mother says stiffly, obviously mortified at the display she’s making. “I’ll also be informing Lady Clemence that you’re in need of additional tutelage on your comportment.”

And that was that.

“Does that say…Sumie Lian?” Ambrine asks, squinting across the table at the latest mathematical treatise that’s just arrived in the mail for Lyon.

Lyon nods, gathers it up and hands it to her. “Yes. You know her?”

“She was…my tutor, up until I was 15. Mathematics and Jiyelian. She was probably my favorite, in retrospect, though at the time I was just upset to lose all of them”

“I heard. You cried.”

She flushes. With his general lack of interest in social affairs, she’d been hoping there was some way that story wouldn’t reach him.

“I didn’t understand why, though,” he adds.

“Why I cried?”

“Why they thought you should stop learning.”

“They just…decided I was done. Needed to stop filling my head with ‘useless’ things and focus on husband acquisition.”

Lyon snorts. “That’s stupid. Any person with sense would appreciate an educated partner.”

“That’s what I told them!” Ambrine exclaims, feeling righteously vindicated, 4 years late.

“Did you want to invite her over?” Lyon segues abruptly, nodding at the treatise. “You…should have friends over when you want to. And I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to ask her some questions about her writings on the nature of infinity.”

Right. That’s…a thing she can do, now.

“I’d love to.”

And that’s that.

(For folks who picked up on it, yes, Ambrine has ADHD.)

#7kpp #7kpp week 2019 #7kppweek #7kpp week #duke lyon #My MCs #fic

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altairtalisman · 4 years ago

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Princess Rose of Arland

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

More info on Rose is under the cut

Name: Rose Briala

Age: 23

Birthday: 11 October

Height: 165 cm

Orientation: Cisgender Demisexual Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Clothing Style (Game): Elaborate (she really prefers simple clothes though)

Body Type (Game): Slender

Family: Is the middle of three children, with Constance (29) being the oldest and her brother Wilson (14) being the youngest. Her parents are the King and Queen of Arland, and while one might assume that she receives a tidy allowance each week, she doesn't as her father thinks that "women do not know how to manage finances responsibly"

Likes: Any kind of dessert, music, purple (the colour)

Dislikes: Anything bitter, yellow (the colour)

Hobbies: Reading books, stargazing with Zarad or Hong (never the two at the same time), playing the piano and/or violin, baking

Personality: Noble, polite, charming and eloquent, Rose is a representation on how a proper Arlish princess should be. She has no trouble winning people over to her side and help. Additionally, as ethical as she may appear to be, Rose believes that on very rare occasions, the morally wrong choice is the right choice. That doesn't mean these choices don't haunt her, she's just really good at pretending everything is fine

Rose tends to fall back on traditional approaches, it's safe and comforting just like how she likes it. She also does things in an orderly and logical fashion, she finds the presence of structure comforting especially since she feels that she' =s out of her comfort zone at the summit

She wishes that she could help the commoners as a princess, but she doesn't know how given the strict restrictions placed on her as a princess. Rose also knows that she should start being independent, but she's afraid that she would mess up really badly and inconvenience everyone, thus she's hesitant to try things on her own

Weaknesses: Due to her inability to lead, she has an extremely difficult time rallying people together when she's forced to. In fact, it's so bad that whenever she does it, it ends up starting an almost-mutiny. That hasn't happened yet, but Rose is aware that it's one of her weaknesses that needs immediate attention

Another weakness is that due to her sheltered upbringing, she's easily conned into doing things that any sane person wouldn't do. Most people falter upon discovering her gullibility, but it's the minority that's the most dangerous...

Her third and most glaring weakness is her overly dependent nature, without people helping her, she's easily exploitable as well as easy to rid off. Both in a figurative and a literal sense. Rose is doing her best to shake this weakness off her at the summit though

Where to find her: Rose can be found learning how to lockpick from Willow (officially it's 'history lessons on keys and locks', it's a terrible lie but people believe Rose because of her reputation), in the grand library surrounded by books about cunning figures with the occasional Ann offering her practical demonstrations

She can also be found exploring the Isle with Emmett, and at the cliffs with the occasional Zarad (much to the horror of the conservative nobles, and Zarad's admirers).

Rose has also been spotted dancing in the ballroom with her fellow delegates, unfortunately she's not as good of a dancing partner as people assume her to be

Initial stats (No NG+ Boosts): 50 Charm, 50 Eloquence, 25 Beauty, 0 Leadership, 0 Self Defense, 25 Charisma, 25 Manipulation, 25 Courage, 50 Intelligence, 115 Etiquette, 25 Grace, 25 Poise, 0 Cunning, 0 History, 65 Politics, 0 Street Smarts, 0 Warfare, 0 Practical, 0 Academic, 40 People, 0 Flora & Fauna

Game Personality: Noble, ‌‌‌‌‌Sensible, ‌‌Introverted, ‌Dependent, ‌‌Compassionate, ‌‌‌Logical, ‌Romantic, ‌‌‌Unassuming, ‌Traditional, ‌‌Methodical, ‌‌Ethical‌‌

Build:

‌‌- Intelligent eyes‌ ‌‌‌- Wait at home obediently ‌‌‌- Political studies ‌‌‌- Talk bandits into turning against each other ‌‌‌- Etiquette instructor‌ ‌‌‌- People watching ‌‌‌- Unladylike‌ ‌‌‌- Gave him all the pocket money and thanked soldier for his service ‌‌‌- Charmed him - Didn't have that particular kind of interest in anyone ‌‌‌- True love ‌‌‌- Rousing speech ‌‌‌- Politics ‌‌‌- Avoid until moved on ‌‌‌- You couldn't lead a lemming up a tree‌ ‌‌‌- Inspiring those around you‌ ‌‌‌- Do better with people’s support ‌‌‌- Satisfied with fate ‌‌‌- ‌More power, more responsibility ‌‌‌- Wait to be introduced ‌‌‌- Diligently with careful forethought ‌‌‌- Get first hand accounts from authorities on the subject ‌‌‌- More time to self ‌‌‌- Never condone murder ‌‌‌- Refuse to display unwelcome emotions

#7KPP #Rose of Arland #Altair draws

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mer-birdman · 8 years ago

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7KPP Week Day 1 - Past

Everyone reacts a little differently to finding they're going to the Summit.

Iriel is ecstatic when the judges look at her and nod, and she almost tears the paper her poem's written on in half by accident before catching herself and bowing, entirely unable to keep the brilliant smile off of her face. It remains there as she tries not to skip to the winner's stand to receive the 'seal' (really just a fancy sailor's knot on a necklace cord) that signifies her new status as a Hisean Delegate to the seven-week Summit, and as she all but runs home with her hair loose and blowing in the wind.

Her father is in the front garden, tending to some of his Wellish orchids (he sure does love those plants, but Iriel doesn't mind because it's kind of sweet, and they certainly are lovely), and she very nearly knocks him over with her enthusiastic greeting.

"Papa! Papa, I got in, I won!"

With the patience of a saint (or a minor Wellish noble), Lord Antonio carefully extricates himself from the octopus-esque tangle of limbs and hair that is his daughter and braces his hands on her shoulders, meeting her excited eyes with a proud smile. "You did, did you? My little girl's going to be a delegate?"

Iriel nods, holding up the 'seal' for him to look at. He examines it carefully, parsing out some of the hidden meanings that Iriel's mother taught him, and doesn't try to hide the sentimental tears that well in his eyes and seep through the laugh-lines and wrinkles that litter his face from too many years of worrying about his girls. This time, it's he who wraps his arms around his daughter, both of them finally realizing that she's grown up now.

And if there should have been another body there, muscular arms squeezing tight and wild red hair tangling around them like a stormcloud — well, neither of them mention it.

Yemima is quite tempted to throw something at the messenger who delivers the news — an automaton beetle, perhaps, sure to annoy for a good hour or two. It would be small recompense for the annoyance she's about to face — honestly, what is Jiya thinking? What is the government thinking, for that matter, deciding to send her in Jiya's place? Yemima's an inventor, a craftswoman, not some— some pretty doll lady to dress up and dance around with social niceties. She's never been good at all that political whatnot — skies above, she works with machines, not people!

Instead, she thanks him courteously through her teeth and shuts the door a little too sharply in his face, whirling down the entry hall and a flight of stairs to her workshop, where she can collapse into a chair and slam her forehead against the surface of her desk.

It hurts a lot more than she expects, but then again it always does. "Ow... Damn it, one would think that after repeated offenses, the natural instincts would begin to inhibit..."

Her grumbling trails off into indistinct muttering as she reads and re-reads the missive, scanning the lines for any sign she might get out of this and scowling upon finding none. Stormy skies, she had a business! They couldn't expect her to just up and walk away from that for some politics that were frankly none of her concern, could they?

A sigh. Yes, yes they could.

Because that's just how nobility works, apparently. You're supposed to be pretty and poised and nice to look at, you're meant to be a wind-up doll that speaks pretty words when asked and remains quiet otherwise. They dress you up and play with you, make you march and dance with their will, and then put you on a shelf when they've used you up.

Well, Yemima's not going to allow them to wind her up and walk her as they wish. She's the creator, not the toy, and she refuses then and there to play a single one of their silly games.

Màiri shrugs off the well-meaning fuss of her staff and stumps her way out to the grove where her father's grave lies. By the time she arrives, a loyal stableboy at her side and chattering cheerily as he carries their lunch, she's leaning on her cane with both hands and almost can't feel the leather straps around her legs from the pain. But there's the headstone, starting to become overgrown with moss just the way her father would have liked it, and even after five years she feels a sharp pang at the memory of him.

The boy, Liam (the son of one of her childhood friends, an older boy who'd saved her from multiple accidents while they were playing knights and dragons in the woods), spreads a blanket on the ground before the grave and plops down in front of it with her, pressing his hands together and praying rapidly for 'the kind Lady's honored father". He's always called her that when he thinks she won’t hear — the kind Lady — and Màiri's inclined to blame his parents for the habit. She dearly hopes it's not some sort of instruction they're giving him, be nice to the Countess, she's got lots of money and she's weak enough to use.

That's probably not the case, but she can never be sure. There have been too many who have praised her to her face and tried to pull her strings, becoming angry when they realize her strings are made of steel and she will not move for them.

"Miss Lady Màiri, ma'am, are you going to come home after this?"

The question comes as Liam hands her a sandwich from the basket, and she's almost distracted by Mrs. Columbine's fantastic cooking (how that woman can make sandwiches mouthwatering is anybody's guess, but she's a sweetheart and doting and Màiri's not going to question her secrets) before she realizes that she probably ought to answer. "After the Summit, dear?"

"Mmhmm." He bites into a sandwich of his own, chewing quickly before swallowing (another gift of Mrs. Columbine's — she's instilled basic table manners into all the staff, bless her heart) and looking up at her with round, innocent eyes. "Just 'cause some of the other boys've been saying that you're leaving, ma'am, but you wouldn't ever leave Holt forever, right?"

And that makes Màiri smile. Because the crown can send her off and parade her around, try to sell her away to some other country, but she will always come back to her people even if she has to crawl.

"Of course, dear heart. Not even God could make me leave Holt."

Arielle tells Revin first, of course. The signs leave her hands so fast that he has to laugh and hold her fingers and ask her to slow down, please, I'm not that good at this yet and you know it. When she tells him (her signing deliberately slowed, sometimes fingerspelling words neither of them know yet) about the deal from the crown, he makes a face and muses on the possibility of him going in her place. In drag.

She tells him he'd make an ugly-ass countess with a deadpan expression, and his falsetto shriek of mock-offense sends them both to tears with laughter.

Next they tell Nora and Miriam and Lady Fiona, who all offer her their congratulations and advice and warnings. Revin's sisters get a mischievous gleam in their eyes and run off after begging some high-quality parchment and writing supplies from their mother, and some freshly-cured leather from their all-too-amused brother. Arielle's not sure what they're planning on doing, but she's pretty certain she'll find out before she leaves.

(When it's time to go and they present her with a beautiful leather belt-pouch, hand-stitched and embossed with her late father's crest, she thinks she might cry. When Revin opens it up and shows her the beautifully printed and gold-leaf-decorated conversation cards inside, full of useful phrases like 'please' and 'thank you' and 'I would fuck you over this table here and now', she doesn't even try to stop the tears of joy that escape as she howls in laughter and thanks God that she has such wonderful friends.)

Kite tells the princesses, even though they're pretty sure that Constance already knows, and Sina likely doesn't care. They both put on polite smiles, all prettiness and gladness on the surface, but it's pretty clear that they're worried on the inside — or at least, Constance is. Kite can't claim to know much about the Princess's marriage, but Constance has been persistent in keeping them near her and they know more than they likely should. Enough to know that not everyone leaves the Summit happy.

They have tea together her chambers, away from most prying eyes — Constance and Sina and Kite and their mother, Lady Amrâlimê. Mother kisses their forehead and fusses in her quiet, poised way, while Constance tries to think of useful tales from her own experience. She can't come up with much — as a first daughter of Arland, she didn't have the Summit experience most young Ladies have, and indeed spent most of her time quietly following her duties with a sort of melancholy resignation. Kite feels a little bit like they're being sent to the gallows, the way things are sounding.

Sina is the one source of light in their conversation, prattling in delight about how her dear older brother was also going to the Summit, and while she'd certainly like it if he brought back a new big sister for her, she wouldn't mind if he brought back a Kite instead. That comment earns more than a few carefully restrained peals of laughter (and Kite's properly unrestrained belly laugh as well).

It's not like they're really expecting to marry at the Summit. Kite has become rather infamous within the Court for the fact that they've never been involved in an affair or dalliance (or if they have, they're exceptionally skilled at keeping it hidden), and if asked about it they would simply reply that they've never been interested. Oh, Kite likes people, but any sort of sexual attraction is quite beyond them, and trying to extricate one from the other... well, there's no time for nit-picking like that in Corval. If you don't want one, than you don't have any, and that's that.

So they just smile and tell Sina that they're sure Prince Zarad will find a lovely big sister for her, and they'll make sure to keep visiting no matter what happens to them.

It's not like it could be more dangerous than the Court, right?

Esther has been resigned to her fate ever since Constance left, and it's with a long sigh that she leaves her parents' presence and returns to her chambers, resisting the urge to grab one of the ridiculously lavish pillows from a nearby lounge and scream into them. She's known it was coming, it's the fate of all daughters of the house of Arland, but yet...

A small, childish part of her had hoped that she might be able to find what she desired. Men had never really interested her, not in a meaningful way, and even if it was just that the men of Arland were dull and stuck-up and utterly infuriating... she would have liked to live in a different world, one where her sister wasn't in another country and one where she could find a lovely woman and marry her and live happily like that.

Kian is waiting in her sitting room, and once they're alone (or as alone as one can be, here in their home) he jumps to his feet and throws his arms around her waist, thin face pressed into the fabric of her skirts and shoulders shaking. He's only eleven, too young to remember Constance as more than a face and a voice, but Esther's been almost a third parent to him (the Queen, bless her heart, means well but is far too consumed by the trials of leadership to spend much time being a mother).

They hold onto each other for a few minutes, her hands running through his dark hair (black like hers, rather than the lighter brown that their mother and eldest sister possess) and his fisted in the fabric by her waist.

Eventually, he pulls away and looks up at her as they make themselves as comfortable as possible on the low sofa by the window, eyes wide and blue-green and teary. "Esther, you're not leaving forever, right? You'll still be able to visit me, won't you?"

"Oh, Kian." She wishes and wishes she could lie, but she can't. The truth has to hurt sometimes. "I may not be able to. It will depend on who I marry — he may be nice, and let me come back to see you, but he may be like big sister Constance's husband and not let me go."

Kian blinks, face scrunched up in displeasure. "Well, when I'm king, I'll make a decree that my sisters must be allowed to visit me. They'll have to let you come back then!"

A sigh escapes her lips and she pulls him close to her side, murmuring into his hair as though he's still just a babe. Her dearest little brother. He's too young for the mantle they want him to take up, and she wishes she could be here for him when he does, but her chances are slim. Still, for now, she will try to hold onto hope for a future where they can still smile, the children of the house of Arland.

"I will await the day, my dear little brother."

Yuè-Lian Li doesn't know what to think when the official letter comes, handed to her at the door by a messenger with the livery of the Castle. She should be happy, right? This is... this is what she wanted, isn't it? A ticket to further power, further agency, a ship out of this empty life and country full of backstabbing and falseness. A path to the freedom she's always craved, something to take her away from everything that snaps at her heels like starving hounds. She should be happy, shouldn't she?

Instead, she falls into the soft-cushioned chair of her writing desk and weeps into her hands.

Somehow, it just doesn't feel as real as it should have. This was supposed to be an accomplishment, something she won with her own skills and strengths, not some prize awarded to Revaire's favorite freak for being an affront to humanity. It was supposed to be success, not an empty feeling gnawing in her chest and the growing fear that this was just the Royal Family wanting to parade her around and sell her off, this exotic child unlike anything the world has ever seen.

It's not her fault she was born this way. It's not, it's not, it's— she never asked to be like this.

Oh, who is she even kidding? Nobody will want to marry her — a widow at nineteen, a freak from Revaire with hair white as snow and eyes red as death. There's nothing she has to give a man; not money or political power, not even her maidenhood. Her estate is too small to be of much worth to the wealthier, more important nobles who will be at the Summit. After all, who will want to wed her when they can have the princess instead, unless they're looking for an exotic bride. A doll to dress and parade around, like a fancy horse or a well-bred dog.

If Yuè had energy, she would be angry. Instead, she just feels hollow.

After the judges finally run up to the table and tell her it's over, she won, here's her seal they'll see her when the boats leave, Irina goes home and vomits in the back alley behind her father's house. The beer is a foul taste on her tongue as she gags, jabbing fingers into the back of her throat over and over until nothing comes up but stomach acid. She dry-heaves once more and wipes her mouth on a scrap of spare bandage which is promptly tossed into the hearth fire as she enters the building. It's not like she's stupid or anything — better to get rid of it all now than let it sit and give her a worse morning. It was downed quickly, so she's relatively hopeful that not all of it made it to her bloodstream.

Well. That's that, then.

Her father doesn't leave his room as she passes it on heavy feet, too tired and shaky to bother muffling her footsteps as she makes her way to her bedroom and shuts herself in. The stiff leather cuffs around her wrists feel uncomfortable and sticky, and her forehead feels clammy when she brushes a thin hand across it to wipe away the cold sweat that's beaded there.

Nothing to do but prepare, she supposes. She'll need clothes, of course — how quickly can a seamstress work on commission? She's sure she's in dire need of formal gowns (since she hasn't worn anything but trousers ever since nononono don't don't don'tthinkaboutit don't think about it), and nicer clothes might just be in order anyways. Things with long sleeves to cover the leather cuffs that her father won't let her take off and the bandages underneath that only the doctor is allowed to clean and change. And shoes too — boots are all well and good for sailing, and sandals for home, but they'll probably want her to wear shoes that are pretty and dainty with thin heels and closed toes, and like hell she has any of those right now.

Maybe she'll get new dancing slippers too — but no, no point wasting extra money on something she'll never use. The Summit's a perfect place to die, after all — no meddling father to find her bleeding out, no doctor to run to and fix things that should never have been fixed. But wounds take too long, so there's no point trying to sneak in a weapon. She'll have to stash away some more... covert alternatives in her luggage.

It's almost ironic, the amount of time she's spent building up immunities to poisons, only to go buy them once again for their intended purpose. Hemlock, nightshade, daphne, mistletoe... she'll have to stock up, since all the stores she's secreted away have been neglected for over a year and are surely either rotted or completely impotent now. At least she knows exactly how much she needs to get the job done properly.

It's a good thing the fate of Hise doesn't rest on the shoulders of Blackthorn's Mad Daughter, because this time, she absolutely won't wake up.

Irina almost can't wait.

So I originally intended to write this for all of my MCs, but... that didn’t want to happen, so I just made sure I had at least one for each currently available background. (And two for the countess and the pirate because I HAVE SO MANY, but whatever.)

Anywho, here’s day one! :D

Edit: crossposted to Ao3!

#7kppweek #7kpp #my writing #fanfiction #hise mc #corval mc #revaire mc #jiyel mc #arland mc #wellin mc

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agronadb · 8 years ago

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Day 6 - Hope/Despair

(Lorilei of Corval)

She keeps the smile on her face through the jubilant applause. Against her wishes, a dear ‘aunt’ who owed her mother a favor had campaigned for her to be one of the seven ambassadors to the Summit. She had barely paid attention, except to make sure her aunt stayed on the ‘right side’ of morals for this dubious campaigning. She wishes she had as the Emperor announces her name as one of the ‘lucky seven’, the fifth on the list, right before Lord Blain and Prince Zarad.

The Court cheers, but all she feels is despair. She doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to attend. But refusing now could mean horrible trouble for herself, for her mother, and for Constance. She’s stuck, and loathes it.

Her mother is beside herself, of course. One second, she’s babbling about how proud she is. The next, she’s crying because ‘her little songbird is going to fly away’ or some ridiculous nonsense. Much as she loves her mother, she’s never been fond of her tendency towards dramatics, and today is a day where her patience is even thinner.

Constance’s response is to help her pack, and to rattle off every single little thing she can remember from the Summit seven years ago. “The Matchmaker is a horribly mean woman, and you will fail her first assessment,” Constance explains as she picks out some jewelry from her own stash to give her. She pretends to not notice, knowing Constance wouldn’t want her to make a fuss over it, even when she sees some jewelry from Arland go into the pile. “Just grit your teeth and bear it. The first three weeks are all about lessons and meetings, getting to know people and bettering yourself. It’s like going through the forge.”

“And, thus, I come out as a pretty little ornament?” she asks dryly, letting some of her sarcasm sneak beneath her mask. She knows by now that Constance won’t use it against her.

“I was thinking more of a sword, ready to protect others. I know there will be many who are like me, woefully unprepared.” Constance smiles sadly at her. “It’s strange. I’m both horribly sad and horribly happy that you’re one of the ones.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Constance nods and turns to hug her. “I will be lonely. You are one of my only friends, and truly, the only one I’m certain is my friend. But, this Summit is for peace, and things have been so... turbulent lately.” Constance pulls away then, a hopeful little light in her eyes. “And I know you. You are skilled and intelligent, charming and kind. You... I think it is good to hope in you, because I am certain you can influence something there, perhaps help urge the ambassadors together to actually forge a new peace.”

“You hope I will be another Katiya?”

“Perhaps not that much pressure. I certainly hope you do not have to work on peace alone.” Constance smiles warmly. “My hope is that you find new friends to make you happy, and that you do not make the same decision I did. I hope you will be able to spread your wings and fly off.”

“...I like protecting you.”

“I know. But you’re smart enough, skilled enough, to protect many more than me.” Constance steps away, and pulls out a silverish dress from the closet. “This is a nice dress. We should pack it.”

“...Okay.” She sighs, shaking her head. She still only feels despair, worried terribly. She knows that she will be watched closely and anything she does will be reported back.

But Constance hopes enough for the two of them. Perhaps she’ll be lucky.

#7kpp #7kpp week #7kppweek #day 6 - Hope

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rooksandcrows · 8 years ago

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Here we have Princess Carolyn of Arland, a kindhearted princess who found herself having to choose between love and duty but has chosen the latter so she can live up to her sister’s reputation.

Day 2 - Sacrifice: The Dutiful Princess

“Dear Constance, as much as I would love to take your advice, I fear there is too much pressure upon our nation for me to just forget my duties in name of love. My only love shall be to you and our dear family and perhaps, one day I may grow fond of my future husband, even if I know he will never love me the way I’ve always wished to be loved.

I am a Princess of Arland and so it’s my duty to marry well and strengthen our relations with other kingdoms. It is time I leave such childish fantasies in my past where they belong and start fulfilling my duties as a princess of our nation. The sacrifices we make.

With love,

Your sister, Carolyn.”

#7kpp #7kpp week #arland #oc: carolyn of arland #my art

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mendedwings · 8 years ago

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Day 3-Dreams

Ever since getting Constance’s letter, Sadie had felt a gnawing sense of unease growing in the pit of her stomach. Zarad’s veiled comments about his brother hadn’t helped at all, and the fact she couldn’t do anything to help her sister drove her nearly to distraction.

So maybe the nightmares shouldn’t have been a surprise. Always the same thing; her and Constance sitting on a balcony, looking at the stars and talking. Like they used to before Constance left. Then came the cage, materializing out of thin air to close around Constance. It had no lock, and no matter how hard she tried, Sadie couldn’t save her sister. She could only watch, helpless, as Constance was pulled further and further away, all the while repeating It’s too late, save yourself in increasingly frantic tones, as if she could see some threat Sadie didn’t. Some nights, that was where she jerked awake, breathing hard in the darkness and trying not to cry.

Other nights, like tonight, she wasn’t so lucky. On the bad nights, after Constance had completely vanished to the nebulous threat, the final echo of save yourself fading into the ether, the floor shifted under her feet. When she looked down, it crumbled out from under her and she fell. Fingers clawing desperately at the remaining stonework to no avail, she tumbled into a golden cage of her own. A trapped and frightened bird, wings clipped to prevent escape, no way to get out and nowhere to go if she did, surrounded by faceless figures mechanically repeating the rules she’d been hearing all her life. On the bad nights, that’s when she woke up. As the bad nights grew more frequent--which was to be expected; with the imminent arrival of the ambassadors, it got harder to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

So of course Hamin noticed. “Is everything alright, Glitter?” He asked it with a cheerful smile, but his eyes showed his concern.

Sadie nodded, absently playing with a curling lock of dark hair. “Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well since... well, for the past several days.”

“Oh? Are there monsters under your bed that need getting rid of?” Hamin asked, eyes twinkling as he steered their walk toward the gazebo.

She scoffed, smile tugging at her lips. “Please. Jasper scared them all away the first night. As he’ll do with you if he catches you anywhere near my bedchamber.”

“He is welcome to try,” Hamin teased. He sat on one of the gazebo benches and patted a spot next to him as his expression sobered. “You know you can talk to me, Glitter. What’s wrong? What is keeping you from a good night’s sleep?”

Sitting down with an acceptable gap between them(intended or not, there were rules, and she couldn’t shake her old life that easily), Sadie gave in and told him everything. After all, if she couldn’t trust her future husband with her hopes and fears and dreams, she may as well have stayed in Arland and let her parents pick her spouse.

Hamin listened, face serious, as the details of her nightmares came spilling out of Sadie. When her voice wavered, he slid closer and put an arm around her shoulders. “I know this must be hard for you, Glitter. I wish there was something I could do.”

“What, you mean you’re not in the business of kidnapping princesses? I feel lied to,” Sadie teased, sniffling just a little.

“Not married one. Especially married ones that would plunge us into war with Corval. My father would kill me, and then I wouldn’t be here to cheer you up.” He winked. “While I sadly cannot help with your sister, I can remind you that you have taken her advice.”

Sadie cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

“You have slipped your cage, mended your wings, and saved yourself. Constance would be proud.”

“I didn’t save myself,” Sadie protested.

“No? Then someone else decided you would marry the handsome, incredibly lucky pirate from Hise instead of a more... acceptable husband?”

“No, I did,” she acknowledged, rolling her eyes a little as he grinned cheekily.

“And why?”

“Because I really like you and think we’ll be good together,” Sadie replied slowly.

“There, see? You have taken your fate in your own hands and saved yourself.” He pressed a quick, impish kiss to her cheek. “Your sister would be proud. I know I am.”

She had trouble believing that, but she went to sleep that night with Hamin’s words echoing in her head all the same. And for the first time in weeks, the nightmares never started.

#my fic #sadie of arland #7kpp #7kppweek

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