Stay with Me

Chapter One: The Unfated Night

Twilight made itself onto the horizon, spreading a lovely orange glow along the pearl white alabaster stone and the brown sugar sand. It seemed like any other normal end of the day for the great city of Egypt, but it was nowhere near that. Three lives would change forever, and affect the others around them.

Ryoua watched with eyebrows crossed as her friends played childish games with each other. Why did she have to be the only mature one in their little group? Why could she not just play with everyone else like a normal twelve-year-old should? She heaved a quiet sigh, her eyes drifting closed for a moment. She would never be normal, not when she was to be wed to Pharaoh's eldest son, Atem, one of her best friends.

Ryoua had been brought to Egypt and to the palace at the age of five, when Atem, who was ten at the time, and his father, found her and her older brother in a deserted village just outside of Egypt. They took them in and let a barren noblewoman take care of them since she was unable to have children herself, plus, she was a widower.

They had questioned Ryoua heavily for a long time, determined to get the tiniest silver of information out of her (on who she was, how she got there, etc., etc.), but it hadn't worked, and all she would ever let them know was her name. It was only a few years ago that they finally gave up and lost hope. He brother was just as oblivious as her, so no luck there, either.

Men, women, and children alike, considered her to be exotic. She had brown hair flowing down in soft waves to her shoulders, lively, welcoming emerald green eyes, tan skin, and pearly, bright smile that could make even Atem crack a smile back. She was small, even for a woman, but had curves fit for a goddess.

That is why Atem saw her most fit for a wife, queen, and a mother. He had fallen in love with her only a year after she came to the palace, and practically demanded his father that he makes her his wife once he became king. Pharaoh was reluctant at first, but he saw how determined Atem truly was, and gave in.

Ryoua or her adoptive mother was given no choice in the matter, though, unlike Ryoua, her mother saw it as a blessing from the gods and that she should be thankful that the prince saw such an interest in her.

"Ryoua,"

Ryoua looked over beside her, Atem's stern face staring her down with his demon-like eyes. "Prince Atem," she gave a slight smile, "good afternoon."

Atem was an exotic creature, as well, and was not one to stick to tradition, which baffled and bewildered her even now. He kept his hair, which was very unusual for a prince. Atem's hair was messy and flowed down just above his shoulder; it was mainly black, but the tips of his hair were blood crimson, just like his deadly narrowed eyes that were lined with kohl.

He smiled down at her, sitting on the stone bench with her. He was sixteen now and held a sense of power that never ceased to scare her. "Good afternoon to you, too, dear Ryoua." He leaned their foreheads together, pressing their lips together momentarily before pulling away.

Ryoua had become accustomed to actions such as this. She was not fond of them, but she just didn't care anymore if she received them so much more often that she wasn't even flustered or embarrassed when he pulled away, in front of a crowd or not.

"Don't forget about your birthday banquet tonight," she reminded him monotony as he kissed the tips of her fingers slowly, letting his tongue slide out on occasion. "You're a man now… I'm sure there will be lots of lovely women there… for you and you alone."

He sighed in annoyance, pulling away from her to stare her dead in the eye. "You foolish girl," his ruby colored eyes trailed down to her lips, his tongue darting across his own; his eyes now shown with a lustful anticipation, "But you're right, dear Ryoua. I am a man now, and a man, and a prince no less, does deserve a woman to keep him company at night," he paused a moment, his eyes trailing up to hers once again, "I just hope that you could be that woman."

Her breath hitched with a flush dusting onto her cheeks as her stomach fell into a series of churning. Ryoua closed her eyes, taking in a deep, slow breath, exhaling, and opening her eyes before forcing a smile onto her lips, "And I shall, Prince Atem, the night you become Pharaoh and we are married."

Atem frowned. He wasn't a very patient man, and they both knew that. He sighed again, "I guess you are right. We have an agreement, after all."

She nodded. "And I shall honor our agreement till it is final."

Atem's lips curled into a creepy smile that only worsened the churning in her stomach. "Good," he stood, he straightening out the wrinkles in his white, linen tunic and waving to her as he walked away, "See you tonight, dear Ryoua!"

Ryoua frowned deeply, her eyes returning to her slightly elder friends, who now stared at her in awe. She heaved an exhausted sigh, "Like you have not already seen him be 'affectionate' towards me."

Joey laughed, flopping down on the ground at her feet, his arms folded behind his head. He had sandy, golden blonde hair that was shaggy and fell just above his shoulders and his skin held a similar golden tone like his hair; the same went for his eyes that were only a shade darker than honey. Joey was fifteen-years-old, nearing sixteen. "We are definitely aware of that."

Ryoua caught the distraught expression etched on her friend Femi's face. Femi was fifteen, as well, and would soon need to be wed. She was considered a very gorgeous woman with her dirty, brown sugar blonde hair that fell in thick, loose curls just barely under her shoulder blades. Ryoua had a tint of jealously since Femi was blessed with more chest than her. Femi had a secret, though (A secret that hadn't been every well-kept).

She was in love with Atem.

Femi was a good person and a good friend of all of them, but Ryoua felt bad for thinking that Femi's love for the prince was rather pathetic. Really, most women and girls were in love with him, too. Ryoua just happened to be one of the very few to not have an interest in him, but she was the only one the prince was determined to have.

The small woman felt sorry for Femi- she knew how it felt to have something you could not. Yet, the things they wanted were somewhat relative to love, Ryoua wished- no, prayed for much more than that. She wanted freedom from this damned forsaken place that had kept her away for such a terribly long time, almost to the point where she felt suffocated.

Freedom for love was not the only thing that Ryoua yearned for- it was just the freedom in general. There was so much culture and new peoples and worlds to discover; that was her favourite kind of stories- the ones that involved faraway lands and the adventures and discoveries travelers had made and found there. It was practically the only reason Ryoua went to the dinners and parties, for the conversations and the adventurous tales that left her on the edge of her seat.

It was the thirst for adventure that drove her- the thirst for something more than what she had.

Atem could offer her the world, but he would always have to be with her. Ryoua wanted a life without him- a life of her own.

Every so often, it crosses her mind- what would have happened if they had not found her in the desert, half dead and naked? Most likely, she would have died or killed by a band of thieves, but not before being beaten and raped first, of course.

Disgusting creatures, those thieves.

Most were, anyway; there were some that stole to make an honest living for them and their families, the rest did it for the hell of it- for an adrenaline rush.

She had always seemed to have a greater understanding of the people and the places around her, even if she never actually physically saw them or touched them or spoke to them. But, maybe, that is what made her interesting. In her eyes, she was rather dull; sighing all the time, rather quiet- that sort of stuff. That could be due to the lack of happiness in her life, though. There was quite a lot of it, after all- unhappiness. Well, it was not technically 'unhappiness', it was more of Ryoua being uncomfortable with the life choices Fate had made for her, and her not liking them.

The young woman attempts to bring her mind out of her thoughts; she glances at Femi, who is watching her, as if waiting for someone to say something, more specifically Ryoua. "So, Femi, have you been asked for courtship by any suitors recently? Ones worth mentioning, anyway,"

Femi bites her lip, shifting uncomfortably. "Um… I have had offers, but… not many of them would make good husbands…"

Ryoua stares at her blankly. She was just so bland and awkward that it became annoying very quickly. "Nowadays, there should not be any sort of pickiness. A noble of any sort would make a fine husband,"

Joey snickers, earning a light smack from Femi.

"You are correct, Ryoua, no doubt. I apologize if I offended you in any sort of way…"

"No need for apologies, Femi. They are just a waste of breath," Ryoua says, brushing off the apology before it began irritating her more than it truly should.

"Hey, Rye?" Joey asks, looking up at her as she starts braiding a piece of his hair.

"Yes…?" She inquires back, focusing on her braiding.

"Are you happy?"

The question surprises her; Ryoua meets his eyes, studying him and his question for a long, endearing moment.

Was she truly happy?

Her life was more than admirable, as was her beauty. In a way, Ryoua had it all, but she did not want it. She wanted an experience of adventure that she could share at the dinner parties with the other adventurous nobles.

But was she happy?

"Yes,"

Joey grins like a fool. "Good!"

The lie slips out easier than she expected; no hesitation, no second thought. Ryoua would not consider it a lie if she did not know better, for she could even convince herself. Maybe that could come in handy one day in the future.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with light conversation, till it is time to part and begin getting ready for the prince's 16th birthday.

Ryoua takes her time going back home; it's a few large chambers in the palace, to keep her inside. Atem truly knows her too well.

Her mother greets her at the door, rushing her inside quickly so they both may get ready, the servants are all ready and prepped so they may look their best.

Ryoua sits down, allowing the female servants to begin with her hair as she plainly begins a small conversation with her mother. "I miss brother," she says suddenly.

The widower sighs, biting her lip. "I do, as well, sweetheart. I know many people that miss Ryuuji- he was a good boy and would have certainly served the Pharaoh well in the court if he had not received the sickness that he did," Amaya closes her eyes, sighing once more, "It is quite a loss,"

This is what annoys her most about her adoptive mother; she likes to think she knows everything about her and her brother- like they were actually hers. Of course, Ryoua would never dare say something like that to her, not if she wanted to be slapped or beaten. Though, Ryoua doesn't remember that much about her brother, either, just that he was all that she had when she woke up.

Ryuuji was eleven when he died, but suffered with the sickness for about two years before it became too much and his body began to shut down; Ryoua remembers not being able to see him when his sickness started to get worse.

The female servant bows to Ryoua, signaling that she has finished with her hair and make-up; Ryoua stands, leading the way to wear her dressing room is, letting the servants undress and dress her, they help her pick-out her jewelry that she would wear for the night, mostly silver- to impress the prince, her mother says.

Mother and daughter make their way to the party, which has already begun and is raging, none the less. Ryoua's eyes scan the room, looking for no one in-particular, but she does spot Atem trotting towards them, grinning like a fool. Stupid, arrogant man.

"Good evening, Noblewoman Amaya and Noblewoman Ryoua,"

They both bow, Amaya's smile genuine, but Ryoua forces her smile, like always.

"And to you, Prince Atem. Happy birthday to you, as well,"

Atem's grin remains on his face as he watches Ryoua with unnerving intensity. "Lady Amaya," he glances at her for a second, "may I ask your daughter for a dance?"

"Of course! Anything for you, my prince," Amaya walks off slowly, grinning at the two of them. Stupid, arrogant woman.

Atem smiles at her, asking smoothly, "May I have this dance?" Truly, it is not a question. Ryoua would have to dance with him whether she liked it or not, which she did not.

Ryoua forces a smirk, pretending to play his game, as she rests her hand in his, "Of course, my prince," He leads her unto the dance floor; he is a smooth dancer, of course, but Ryoua is, too, and their rivalry shows it.

She hates these parties so much.

They smell so badly- like sex and alcohol. Too many people, she thinks, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, matching the bet of the music. Ryoua takes a deep breath, holds, and exhales, but it does not work; he chest continues to ache and she feels like she is going to cry, but she would not dare do such a childish act in front of so many people, and it front of the prince, no less. She quickly apologizes to Atem once their dance has ended (considering it did not last long) and hurriedly tells him that she needs some fresh air.

Ryoua rushes onto the balcony and gasps for breath, as if she had been under water. All those people... too many... too little air... The young bride clenches the alabaster stone till her knuckles turn white and her fingers are sore, breathing deeply as she looked upon Egypt from the great view.

In the distance of all the black, she saw orange and red.

Fire?

Oh... Gods...

Suddenly, the young bride is climbing down the balcony, her blood rushing through her so fast she feels as though her heart will burst her ears; she's running, oh, how she runs. What the hell is she even planning to do? But, Gods, does this adrenaline feel damn amazing, or what? She could go as far as to say as it is the most alive she has ever felt since... being alive.

And then she is there, standing in front of a burning village, screams emerging from all corners of the place- cries and pleas of fear and agony and death. It is horrifying and Ryoua is terrified. She cannot move, but, somehow, she does, anyway, slowly.

She falls to her knees, completely mortified, her entire body shaking and quivering, as if she was cold, contradicting to the intense all around her, engulfing everything in this village.

RUN!

Ryoua almost thinks it's her that's telling herself this- her survival instincts, but then she hears a real, tangible voice screaming in her ear, pulling her arm, "You idiot, run!"

She does, she runs so fast she thinks she's left the demanding child behind, in the village, but, apparently, he was right on her tail the whole time, because he grabs her arm and Ryoua looses her footing, causing him to do the same, bringing the down into the sand. Now all Ryoua can think about is how worried her mother is going to be about her dress, not about why she's going to have all the cuts and bruises on her body.

"Damn," she hears the boy pant, "you are fast as hell,"

Ryoua whips her head around, panting, as well, and her eyes are wide and suddenly she is very scared again. "Wh... Who are y-you?" the way her voice cracks is pathetic, and the boy seems to think the same thing, too, because he smirks at her idiocy.

"I think I should be the one asking that question," He says blatantly, amused, "but, the name is Akefia, although, you can call me Bakura."

Her heart flutters as she holds out a hand, "My name is Ryoua..." the boy stares at her hand curiously, not understanding her gesture, "We are supposed to shake hands, it's like a greeting between acquaintances," she explains nervously. Bakura seems to catch on and takes her hand in his, shaking it firmly.

"Akefia...!" someone hisses, trying to find said boy, but also trying not to be heard, for some reason.

"Over here...!" Bakura hisses back, turning back around, facing Ryoua, studying her intently, as another boy trudges over one of the sand dunes. "So..." Bakura starts as the other kid crouches down beside Bakura, studying her, too, "where are you from? I know you are not from Kul Elna..."

Ryoua stumbles for words, not sure whether or not she should lie or tell the truth. "I-I... am from Egypt," she says slowly, her body still shaking and quivering, "I... uh, saw the fire from this high up place and I wanted to see what was going on and... and..." then the tears start to fall and God, she thinks how pathetic she must look to both of them.

The two boys do not criticize her, but, more or less, feel more uncomfortable than anything else. They shuffle anxiously, looking at each other quickly, trying to find the words to comfort her.

The second boy, who has dark skin and ash blonde hair with lavender eyes, scoots closer to Ryoua, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, making her think of how much Atem would hurt him if he saw this boy- no, wait, the both of them, looked like men, possibly older than Atem!- making the slightest physical contact with her.

"My name is Marik," the blonde man says slowly, worried that Ryoua might go in to shock. "How old are you, kid?"

"... twelve summers..." she says hesitantly. Her voice is only half as shaky as the rest of her body...

"Are you cold?" Marik asks, eyes soft with genuine concern, as he slowly took off his overcoat and handing it to her.

Ryoua nods slowly, shaky hands taking the overcoat carefully, before awkwardly wrapping around her small, shaking frame. The two boys looked at each other, physically relaxing and sat down in the cool, night sand, idly talking to one another; Ryoua took this time without the eyes on her, to further study the who helped her. He was tall, even sitting down he was almost as tall as her, he had hair so light that the only way she could possible describe it was white, like her own, that was quite short, unlike Marik, and his skin was like sugar brown sand with the faintest muscle lining through his entire body. But what really got her attention was his eyes- not blue, but not grey, almost translucent. Akefia was gorgeous, no doubt.

Said man catches Ryoua staring at him, smirks, and, to her surprise, does not say anything, returning to his conversation with Marik. She did not understand why, but she felt assured- assured of what, she did not know. What she did know, though, was that this night, meant way more to anybody and everybody than some would care to admit.