Adila!
When you come back to the House of Hospitality, the world is vivid all around you. The soft sigh of the wind, the rustling of the leaves in the courtyard, the washed-out colors under the moonlight... some moments you know you're going to remember for the rest of your life. There are thin places where your timestream touches your heart, where past and future meet and there is only an eternal moment you can come back to, over and over again.
Some of them are terrible, like the moment you choked on Oberon's hands as his cold fingers clenched around your heart. But more are like this moment, in which all things are impressing themselves upon you, important in their existence. So much is just waves on the shore, broken and washed away, but moments like these are stable. Maybe one day you will be in the midst of something completely different, something you could never imagine right now, but in that moment you will blink and then suddenly be here again, hearing the sound of delighted laughter.
You wander closer to it, returning to your gangly teens: an age for laughter and showing off and being included. Alina's high, clear laugh, like the peal of a bell, sneaks out underneath the door. Then you hear Kyouko's snooty laugh, likely with a hand held close to her mouth, and a low, sultry chuckle you don't recognize. The desire to be included burns brightly in your young heart, and you knock on the door.
It's only a moment before it's swung open wide by Kazelia's magic. There, on the floor, on scattered cushions, sit a bunch of princesses in varying levels of distress, with a pack of Askaian Tarot sitting dead in the center. They're playing Peril Poker, the game of dares and bluffs and scarves, which you have never ever ever been good at. But there's something about tonight...
"Hey," Rita chirps. She's lying on the bed, head dangling off the foot, next to Alina, who's wearing the cutest little Askaian outfit (with floral embroidery, and pompoms on her skirt, and cat-ear stockings!). Then she actually gets a look at you. Everyone sits up a little straighter as you enter the room, large but fitting perfectly, and take a seat next to Kazelia.
+Deal me in.+
***
Prince Cassian!
This really should have been Azora's job. The rank unfairness of it all is worrying at you like a small and very disagreeable puppy. The Amulet of Sarcosis lying on your chest is a dull, aching weight, and you just know you're going to have a monstrous headache at the end of all this. But it's necessary for Father to have his army. His last army. It's just you, him, and a bunch of rancid magical sea crabs, here at the end of everything.
This wasn't the plan. This wasn't the plan at all. Azora was supposed to come back with the magical doohickey, deliver it to Father, and then he would march into Argossa through a magical portal and an army of Riders at his back, to deliver his proposal to the High Queen more forcefully. But everything kept getting pared away from that plan, the army and the portal and the flower decorations, and now you're stuck on the Folding Ship of Frossa with a whimpering witch tied to the mast and your Father's entire arsenal hidden below decks, and an entire armada of hideous black crab shells swimming after you.
Father sniffs the air, and then twitches a finger. The ship comes to a dead stop. +Stop, you idiots,+ you growl out to the Garthim, and as one they fall still, bobbing in the waves like awful jetsam. You examine your nails, leaning against the railing, while Father begins dragging magic out of the screaming witch. Ugh. She's loud. Why didn't he use one of those gags that are so dreadfully common here? Probably because it's more fun this way, but he's not the one with a leaden weight on his chest and a direct line to a bunch of braindead constructs, now is he?
Ahead of the ship, wards begin bursting apart like fireworks, and the ship lurches forward. +Follow!+ No sooner do you give the order than an arrow made entirely of light hisses past your face, lodging in a bulkhead as you squeal and drop to the deck. +PROTECT ME!+
Garthim surge forwards onto the jetty-- is it a jetty? A dock? The place where the boat stops. But that just gives you feedback bursting through your skull as they begin to be blasted apart by the half-dozens. Father can you please do something about that? On cue, he raises a knife to the witch's throat. "Ourania, my dearest," he says, over your dignified groans. "Drop your silly weapons. That's no way to greet your future husband." His voice becomes harsher, and you flinch on instinct. "Do it before I lose patience."
You don't even register the clatter of metal on the dock until Father nudges you with his boot. You get one nudge, and so you gather your rattled wits. +Seize her!+ Garthim claws close around her, and it's almost like holding her yourself. You get a sense of... not exhaustion. Someone recovering from a cold, maybe, and still tired and dizzy. But it's enough to hold her.
Father smiles, and that's your cue to poke your head up and provide a backup smile at the haughty, arrogant woman. Her jaw's set so defiantly, even surrounded by those stupid stinking crabs, and if anyone else but your Father was standing against her... well, maybe you'd be a little scared. But who cares? You've won! "Now. Let's discuss the wedding arrangements, love."
