Ursa had been entirely unsuccessful in hiding her excitement. Still, Ozai was not heartless enough to not find her wide-eyed enthusiasm charming.

"It's hard to believe you grew up here," she said, bemused, as he gave her a tour of the Palace. They still had time before the celebrations were scheduled to begin. Besides, he'd rather be here with the girl on his arm than practicing his bows so that he could properly acknowledge his damned brother.

He had had his manservant arrange for something appropriate for her to wear. The rich dress robes, embroidered with flowers, fitted her well. Her hair and face had been made up by a professional, too. One could hardly distinguish her from the ladies born and raised in the Capitol.

Above all else, he was conscious of her closeness as they walked side by side. He missed touching her soft, sun-warm skin, visible above the collar of her robes. Such blatant display, however, would only feed the court gossip, and he wasn't in the mood to weather Fire Lord's disapproval.

The gardens were pretty enough, bathed in sunlight, the vegetation lush and vibrant. Ursa regarded them with particular interest, and explained when prompted, "My mother is an avid gardener, and these plants are native to the Fire Islands. She'd love to see them."

"I see," said Ozai. One plant was not much different to another, but he refrained from saying so. Instead he spoke, "Once the situation in the colonies stabilizes, we will be able to bring them up to the standards set by the Islands. In a few years' time, life there will be vastly improved."

"Oh, they aren't all bad," said Ursa cheerfully. "They are so different from the Islands, true, but all the more interesting for it. Of course," she said, sombre now, "the main issue we are dealing with is security. Insurgents, bandits, deserters—I'm sure you are aware of all that."

"I am," he said. "In fact, soon I will have to leave the Capitol to oversee the situation myself. Fire Lord's orders."

Because of course. Iroh got the splendour of conquest, while Ozai was sent after him to clean up the mess. Small-scale rebellions that were beneath Iroh's station, and the tour of mines that supplied iron and coal to their Fleet. That, at least, he could look forward to; few people were aware of just how dependant the Fire Nation was on its colonies for the precious resources, and Ozai was in unique position to use this knowledge as leverage.

"That's a huge responsibility," Ursa said, awestruck. "And your father trusts you with it – you must be honoured."

"That's—one way of looking at it, yes," Ozai said, somewhat dumb-founded. But Ursa was new to the Capitol and to ways of the Court. Her opinion didn't matter much.

She leaned a little closer when they stepped through an ornate gate. Through great effort of will, he managed not to wrap his arm around her slender waist and pull her in even further.

Patience. Patience was the key.

He stiffened a fraction when he heard the sound of the gongs, and felt the girl startle.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's time for the celebration to begin," Ozai said. "Which means I have to go and make an appearance." Foregoing propriety and tradition, he took advantage of the solitude and bent down to kiss her soft cheek. The scent of her perfume made his head swim. "I'll find you afterwards."

Her eyebrows were raised in silent question, and that in turn took Ozai by surprise, maybe even tainted with irritation. Surely she did not expect him to bring a daughter of a colonial magistrate to the official part of the celebrations? He was, first and foremost, Prince of the Fire Nation; duty always came first.

It was a long speech to weather. The heralds listed Iroh's many victories, exaggerated or otherwise, in their loud booming voices that carried all over the tightly-packed Plaza. But worse then the sight of his brother's back as he graciously accepted the crowd's approval was that of his infant son, Lu Ten. Not yet able to stand on his own, he had to be carried by an elderly Fire Sage and yet was still presented before Ozai himself.

When he was younger, Ozai used to pretend it was his own name the crowds were cheering, his own face pasted on every portrait in every important building all across the Nation. Such silly games were beneath him now, of course. It was much more productive to start making them a reality.

He did his part of bowing and praising, flawless so as not to catch the Fire Lord's attention. Iroh looked at him briefly, smiling in that good-natured way that made him look a bit simple. It was dangerous to underestimate him – his brother had a keen, strategic mind beneath his amiable exterior – but the forced joviality was unbecoming of an heir to the throne. Still, Ozai acknowledged him in turn, willing some semblance of sincerity onto his features as he smiled.

"Brother," he said, pleasant. "It's good to have you back."

The lie sat heavy and sour on his tongue, but it placated Iroh.

It was a long, dull procession, from the Plaza to the Palace and its magnificent pavilion. Ozai had a brief respite from the monotony of it when he stepped up to take his part in the firebending demonstration. In this, at least, no one could call him second-best; fire sprang blazing from his fists, hotter and more powerful than that of anyone else. Blood coursed faster through his veins, the way it always did when he was bending. The exhilaration of it showed on his face; he wondered if Ursa was watching.

Finally, the Fire Lord declared the formal part to be over. The crowds fanned out, mingling, conversing in subdued voices while the booming war drums and marching music gave way to gentler tunes, more fit for dancing.

Ozai's presence was no longer required, Azulon and Ilah's attention being firmly on Iroh. He took his leave, stepping down from the raised podium and among the black-red-gold throng of people. He made polite conversation where it was necessary, until he caught sight of Ursa.

She had a natural charm to her, so he wasn't surprised to find her engaged in an animated conversation. But there was something deeply, thoroughly satisfying about the way she smiled at the sight of him, and at once accepted the arm he offered her.

"You must be very proud of your brother," she said later as they circled the vast ballroom, exchanging pleasantries and short conversations with the other guests. Her voice was pitched low, brimming with excitement, amber eyes shining as she took in the sights.

And yet, it was Iroh she wanted to talk about. She said nothing about Ozai's display – no, it had to be Iroh.

"He is a credit to our Nation," Ozai said automatically.

"Yes, of course," Ursa sounded thoughtful. "It's just—"

"What?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

He felt her tense beside him, saying nothing. He had to take a few deep breaths to calm down.

"I don't want to talk about him," Ozai said.

Ursa didn't reply. She was troubled – he could see her biting her lip out of the corner of his eye. And the look in her eyes was faraway. Curse Iroh for coming between the two of them, yet again ruining Ozai's evening.

They came across another group of noblemen eager to rub elbows with royalty. Ozai was mostly silent, letting Ursa carry the conversation. She was quick enough to pick up names and faces, playing the part of a Capitol noblewoman well. Her accent, however, was still noticeably colonial, and people took notice. Ozai bristled with anger at their curious looks and poorly concealed smirks.

He knew his choice of partner for the evening was questionable. He could do better; of course he could. No young lady of good birth would refuse his invitation. And yet it was Ursa he was drawn to, and the vivid memory of her smiles and kisses that kept him up at night.

War Minister, the blubbering old fool, asked him outright; Ozai remembered that the man had hoped to marry his plain, uninteresting, non-bending daughter to Iroh or Ozai himself, and very nearly laughed in his face.

"I am soon to depart for a mission in the colonies," he said. "Lady Ursa has been able to provide me with first-hand expertise."

"I rather think our Intelligence is more reliable than the word of an uneducated little girl," the Minister replied with obvious distaste.

He could see Ursa open her mouth, eyes narrowed in outrage, and squeezed her elbow in warning.

"Every information counts," Ozai said. "Now if you will excuse us…"

Ursa allowed herself to be led away, but her posture was stiff and her smile gone.

"Little girl!" she seethed. "That sour, old—"

"Be silent," Ozai commanded.

Uncaring, Ursa continued in a low voice, "And I am educated, thank you very much – it's a process, true—"

"I said, be silent."

She looked at him, wide-eyed. If she dared disobey him again—if she offended anyone—she was here as Ozai's guest, any dishonour would reflect terribly on him.

But she didn't. She dropped her gaze, face carefully blank. He did not like that; he did not like not knowing what she thought. Nevertheless, it was good enough for now.

Much quieter now, Ursa spoke only when spoken to, her charm gone. That, too, was irritating. But he couldn't very well admonish her now, with eyes and ears trained on them. Instead he steered her towards the dancefloor, and was pleased to notice she brightened up considerably when he slipped his hand into hers.

"I thought you didn't enjoy that," she said.

Her slender palm fitted neatly into his own; the other rested on his shoulder. Her tone and posture were still stiff, but she followed his lead without question.

"I don't," Ozai said.

Nothing worthwhile could be accomplished through dancing. He supposed it was a fine exercise – it certainly kept Ursa's movements fluid and graceful, but the same could be accomplished through rigorous firebending exercise. By her own admission she had no taste for combat, save for the mandatory military training every Fire Nation citizen periodically went through.

As a firebender, she was competent enough, even if she lacked raw power. He supposed it was due to her kind, gentle nature. But her dancing was exquisite; Ozai led her only as much as was necessary without losing face, and let her spin and twirl at her own pace.

It had the desired effect. Soon she was smiling again, brilliant, breath coming quicker and cheeks flushed. She moved closer, too, radiating heat, her smell intoxicating.

He could almost believe they were back on the Ember Island, at an informal gathering surrounded by people Ozai's or Ursa's age. There was a certain liberty in losing himself in the flow of music and Ursa's open joy, untainted by the Capitol's cutthroat politics.

But this wasn't Ember Island. They were watched by Ministers and high-ranking military officials, and the Fire Lord himself. Ursa was aware of that, too, infinitely more restrained than he knew she could be.

"I think you lied to me," she murmured when the slower tune brought them closer.

"Shut up," he said without heat.

They danced until propriety demanded they return to the flow of conversation. Several men eyed Ursa with newfound appreciation, but no one would dare approach her while she was with the Prince – and if they did, Ozai would gladly challenge them to an Agni Kai just for the thrill of it.

The Cultural Minister was another one on his list for the evening, and he was once again glad to have brought Ursa along. She had a peculiar fascination with theatre that the old man shared, and all Ozai had to do was feign interest in their conversation.

Everything was going smoothly, so obviously Iroh chose that moment to materialize.

"Prince—General Iroh," Ursa fumbled, putting her hands together into the shape of the flame and bowing. "It's an honour."

She was never this flustered around Ozai. Maybe because he was shirtless and soaking wet when they first met, having just stepped out from the ocean. She didn't even know who he was until after they finished playing ball, no more deferent towards him than she was towards the sons of low-ranking military officers.

But of course. For Iroh, she bowed.

"My, my," Iroh said amiably. "Now I see why my brother was so eager to get away."

Ursa flushed.

"I'm new to the Capitol," she explained. "And I don't really know anybody here. Prince Ozai was kind enough to invite me."

"Such a lovely young lady deserves better than to be kept waiting," Iroh said, with an infuriating smile.

Damn him. Damn them both. He had no right to say things like that towards Ursa, and she should know better than offer him that shy, gentle smile—

His grip on Ursa's elbow grew forceful, muscles coiling to yank her away. It was childish, it was weakness on his part to act this way. Iroh would think him pathetic, insecure, unable to keep a woman's attention on himself—

Iroh's gaze dropped to where Ozai held Ursa's arm, face clouding with disapproval. Ozai willed his muscles to relax. He couldn't risk Iroh making a scene. Besides, he was probably hurting Ursa, and the last thing he needed was for her to be mad at him.

He had to stand there, silent, while they exchanged pleasantries. It wasn't the time and place – no, scratch that. It wasn't in his power to stop her from talking to Iroh. They could talk and smile and laugh at him behind his back, because he was second, lesser, unimportant.

"Alas, duty calls," Iroh said, charming as ever, as more and more people swarmed around to speak to him. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Ursa. Hopefully my brother will invite you again. Perhaps tomorrow for tea?"

"I would love to," Ursa said, shocked and delighted all at once.

"I'm sure I will," said Ozai, who would rather die than see the two of them at the same table.

There were other people he needed to speak to. Allies to acquire and plans to be made. But his mind was still on fire, thoughts scattered in every direction. He was aware that Ursa gently steered him towards the balcony, where the night air was like a balm on his heated skin.

She was looking at him, ethereal and lovely in the moonlight. He had planned—he certainly hadn't planned on running his fingers on her soft cheek, or capturing her lips in a kiss.

He was burning with rage and desire, and this just wasn't enough.

"Stay with me," he said. "Tonight."

Immediately he cursed his treacherous tongue. He was going to approach this subject in a more subtle way, charm and invite her. But it came out hoarse and desperate, as if he needed it – as if he needed her.

She kissed him softly, warm and comforting, with a quiet Yes whispered against his lips.