It was a perfect match, everyone said.

The Princess Azula, conqueror of Ba Sing Se and Phoenix King Ozai's chosen heir, renowned for her beauty and ruthlessness... and Admiral Zhao, war hero and national celebrity, who had fearlessly lead the charge to victory during the Siege of the North.

Both, integral parts of his majesty's final triumph over enemy forces on the eve of Sozin's Comet.

Yes, a perfect match indeed...

...nevermind the fact that Azula was thirty-six years Zhao's junior, and despised him, to boot.

Also, nevermind that the primary reason Ozai had arranged the match in the first place was that the royal treasury was empty save for dust, and Zhao just so happened to not only be very, very rich, but absolutely smitten with his daughter.

A mere fortnight after the Phoenix Princess turned sixteen (the age her father had deemed suitable for marriage, though the law would have permitted it one year beforehand), she and Zhao were wed.

Despite her intense dislike of the man, and the entire situation, Azula played her part well.

"Who wants a plum someone's already taken a bite out of, hm?" her father had said, and she'd understood all too well what it was he meant.

And so on their wedding night, Azula was 'deflowered' by her new husband, the Fire Sages bearing witness to the consummation, as was customary and something every royal bride had to endure.

Much to her disappointment, Zhao was even more unfulfilling in bed than in conversation (and that was saying something, all he ever talked about was his own accomplishments).

The whole thing lasted all of about two minutes, then there he was, holding up the freshly bloodied bed linens, like a complete fool, for the Head Sage to examine... little did they know though that the 'blood' was lychee syrup mixed with red dye, a little something she'd concocted and spilled onto the bedspread at the opportune moment.

Evidently, the Head Sage was a fool as well, as he did not notice anything was amiss.

And the next morning, when Azula regaled her father with all of the dirty details, the two laughed heartily at her husband's expense.

"You are a clever one, My Azula," Ozai praised. "I have to wonder what he'd think if he knew the truth."

The truth being that he himself had claimed his daughter's maidenhead some three years earlier.

They were careful the next few months, more careful than they had ever been, meeting only at night, and in quiet places.. the dragonbone catacombs, the dungeons, unused bedrooms, and dusty storage closets that no one had set foot in since Azulon's reign.

Though Azula suspected that her 'ever loving' husband was having extramarital affairs of his own (she couldn't be sure, he at least had the decency to be discreet about it if so), this was different.

Ozai wasn't just any man, he was her father. A scandal such as this could be grounds for annulment and not only that, the royal family's reputation would be forever tarnished.

Granted, she couldn't bring herself to feel bad about it, not when her daddy fucked her so good she quite literally sobbed with pleasure as she came all over his cock (which was probably twice the size of Zhao's) and not only that, he actually cared enough to ensure she was properly aroused, and that every encounter left her well and fully satisfied.

"I love you, Daddy," she whimpered, teary-eyed and red-faced after she'd finished, screaming into his hand. "You fuck me so much better than he does."

"And don't I know it, my dear," he purred against her neck, before sinking his teeth into the soft skin, and continued to plow into her, skilled fingers tweaking her nipples, in turn, as his palm pressed into her clit and rubbed her there.

Zhao, meanwhile, didn't even seem to know what a clitoris was, much less how to prepare a woman's body for what he wanted to do with it.

And so, he'd thrust on top of her, sweating like a cow-pig and breath reeking of whatever it was he'd had for supper, and she'd just lay there waiting for it to be over (which never took long), gritting her teeth as she was violated... afterward she'd consume the bitter tasting contraceptive herbs procured from a local herbalist who'd been sworn to secrecy under pain of death... on the rare occasion Zhao wasn't drunk, that is.

Most times, she'd use her hands to finish him off, and he'd forget what had even happened.

The thought of being impregnated by him, and his spawn festering inside of her as it prepared to rip her apart on its way out, made her want to retch. So, the less of a chance there was of that happening, the better.

Azula did, however, get pregnant, less than six months in.

"It's yours" she said to Ozai.

"Are you certain?" he had to ask.

"Quite."

Zhao, the imbecile, was over the moon, and none the wiser.

Their plan was almost complete, now all they needed was for her to give birth to a healthy male child, a son who would inherit his supposed father's estate and vast fortune...

Azula was born lucky, Ozai had said.

Lucky indeed, as the universe saw fit to give her a son.

"The royal midwife, and the doctor, say he's perfect," Zhao marveled, stroking the newborn's cheek as he suckled at his exhausted mother's breast. "I guess they weren't lying."

"Mhm," Ozai agreed, noting how much the baby looked like him... Agni, that man was thick.

More than anything though, he was relieved that Azula had made it through this, he'd heard of women older than her dying in the birthing bed, and it had taken so long, a night and the entire rest of the day.

He'd been in the room the whole time of course, even though that dimwitted midwife had attempted to keep him out. He cared not for propriety, not where his barely seventeen-year-old daughter and their child were concerned.

If Zhao found his presence then (or now) to be at all bothersome, he was at least intelligent enough to keep that to himself. And besides, he'd been off celebrating with the other men at court, while his wife had been here, bleeding and screaming as she experienced the most painful, terrifying, and downright humiliating thing that would ever happen to her – truly, he did not deserve her.

"Does he have a name?" Ozai asked.

"I was named for my grandfather," Azula said. "My son will be named for his."

Technically the truth, I suppose, he thought wryly. He was his grandfather, too, if one looked at it that way.

Zhao, ignorant as always, wanted to protest – his firstborn son ought to be named for him.

But even he knew better.

"You honor me, Azula." The Phoenix King leaned in to kiss his daughter's forehead. "Ozai he shall be called."

…...

Little Ozai was thriving, at one year old.

Strong, quick-witted, rather large for his age.

And on the eve of his first birthday, as the party drew to a close, a terrible accident befell Zhao, the oh-so-proud father.

He was discovered the next morning, cold and dead, lying there in a puddle of his own blood.

He'd had too much to drink, fell down the stairs, and hit his head...

...or so it appeared.

There were whispers, of course, that this was not so. There was no tangible proof of anything, though.

Azula played her part again, this time that of a grieving widow, falling to her knees and bursting into tears as her husband's casket was lowered into the ground and she clutched at her swollen abdomen.

The stress of it all had sent her into labor prematurely, it was assumed.

Only she, and her father, knew that it was merely a coincidence.

Less than twenty-four hours after Zhao's funeral, a daughter was born – a remarkably healthy daughter, with the same golden eyes and raven hair as her brother, mother, and father.

As Azula cried silently, overwhelmed with emotion, her daddy kissed the crown of her head and said "There, there, my sweet... it's all over now."