[color=FDF0CD][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/FRUTp4W.png[/img]
[h1][color=6B8E23]Shehzadi Ranya al-Kadir[/color][/h1][/center]

[color=6B8E23][b]Time:[/b][/color] 6PM 
[color=6B8E23][b]Location:[/b][/color] Grand Ballroom
[color=6B8E23][b]Outfit:[/b][/color] [url=https://i.imgur.com/W4eoaDB.png]Ranya’s Outfit[/url]
[color=6B8E23][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] [@AuthenticTomb] Sylvia [@ReuseableSword] Roman
[color=6B8E23][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] 

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Ranya’s eyes softened, the emerald green of her gaze warming with genuine affection. Sylvie’s indignant defense of her family was as refreshing as a desert spring—so few people spoke of "prizes" and "taste" when discussing the Alidashti royals; they usually spoke of fear or utility.

[color=6B8E23]“You have a fierce heart, Sylvie,”[/color] Ranya murmured, her voice losing its edge of performance for a moment. [color=6B8E23]“If only the rest of the world possessed your clarity. But do not let your light dim on my account.”[/color]

She noticed the flicker of hesitation in the younger girl's voice, the way her bright confidence wavered when the topic turned back to her own charms. Ranya reached out, her fingers, light as a bird's wing, briefly brushing Sylvie’s arm in a gesture of sisterly encouragement. The gold of her bangles sang a soft, reassuring melody.

[color=6B8E23]“A dress is but a frame for the jewel, little star,”[/color] Ranya said, her tone gentle yet firm. [color=6B8E23]“And you are quite radiant tonight. The silk only serves to remind the room of what they are looking at. Trust me—any hero with eyes in their head would be a fool not to find their way to you.”[/color]

Before she could delve deeper into the girl's romantic anxieties, a shadow fell across their corner of the dessert table. At first, she wondered if it was her brother, Fareed, but with a glance she saw it wasn’t. Ranya’s spine instinctively straightened, her Public Voice snapping back into place as a tall, imposing figure approached.

The man’s bow was impeccable, and his voice carried the steady weight of a nobleman well-versed in the dance of the court. Ranya turned, her sea-foam silks swirling around her ankles as she offered a measured, graceful inclination of her head. Her eyes were clear and observant as she studied Lord Roman Ravenwood.

The name sparked a distant memory, a flickering image of sand-stone pillars and the scent of expensive ink. She had seen him before, she was sure of it. Perhaps during the long, grueling trade negotiations that her father and Hafiz had chaired in the Alidasht palace. She hadn't been permitted to speak then—only to sit like a silent, holy icon of Suna’s grace while the men bartered over spices and coins.

[color=6B8E23]“Lord Ravenwood,”[/color] she greeted, her voice a melodic chime. [color=6B8E23]“Your service is most welcome, and your flattery is as polished as your bow. You must forgive me if I am slow to place the face; the Alidasht sun can sometimes blur the memories of home when one is so far North, though I believe our paths have crossed beneath my father’s roof.”[/color]

She offered him a polite, guarded smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, her hand moving almost reflexively to adjust the drape of her veil. [color=6B8E23]“It is a pleasant surprise to find a familiar face amidst this strange land. Are you here to rescue a pastry as we have, or are you simply here to ensure the Princess and I are not causing too much trouble near the sugar?”[/color][/color]