Hello! If you're reading this and you're not familiar with our other FFXII stories on this account, that's fine! You don't need to know much except:
1. Ashe and Rasler were arranged since childhood.
2. The OC, as the title states, is Rasler's younger sister.
3. Ashe, Rasler, and Amiria (the OC) are aged up two years, so by the time this story starts, the girls are 21 and Rasler is 22.
4. I'm sure I've forgotten something.
1. Ashe and Rasler were arranged since childhood.
2. The OC, as the summary indicates, is Rasler's younger sister.
3. Ashe, Rasler, and Amiria (the OC) are aged up two years, so by the time this oneshot starts, the girls are 21 and Rasler is 22.
4. This is an AU where Archadia and Nabradia never went to war, for some reason, and everyone survived in relative peace. Itty bitty (or big depending on how interested you are) history lore for Anya/Amiria's character but that's about it.
Anyway, hope you enjoy! (Warning: some characters may appear slightly OOC since the war didn't happen and so they're actually happy instead of constantly angry or determined or sorry.)
BY THE WAY, since FFN is the way it is, I had to remove the explicit stuff from this oneshot. You can find the COMPLETE fic in ou account, also called thepartwhere, if you're interested. Story is also called springtime bloom there.
springtime bloom
The Ironworks Guildmaster composed himself as he looked to the dais. "Your Highness. Majesty. The others will not be pleased, but I will keep them at bay for your sake. When may we expect a turnover?"
Amiria turned to her father.
"Lady Amiria has spoken: when we know that Scaeva and his men are no threat, Master Garlond. Let us hope it is sooner rather than later," said the king.
The Guildmaster sighed. "Very well. Then we request regular reports of the team's activities."
"And you will have them, Master Garlond." Amiria smiled, turning to the other man standing before them. "Even if I have to pry them from Master Scaeva's hands myself. I completely understand your apprehensions, but I believe this is for the best."
Master Garlond considered her briefly, and then nodded. "I suppose—"
An Imperial defector with no shame but with deep knowledge of Archadia's magitek research, Nero Scaeva swept past Master Garlond and swiftly approached the princess to plant a kiss to her unsuspecting knuckles. Amiria could only blink as he smirked, "Please, princess. If we are to see one another so often, call me Nero."
"That is quite enough," said King Jenomis, shaking his head. It had been close to an hour of arguments between the two engineers and attempts by the princess to placate them since the meeting began at the crack of dawn. "We thank you for your acquiescence, Master Garlond. Nero Scaeva, we shall speak when the princess and I return from Dalmasca. We were due to depart an hour past."
Master Garlond bit into his cheek, but bowed. His gaze lingered on the princess. "We thank you as always for making the time, Your Majesty. Your Highness."
Nero grinned, releasing Amiria's hand as he emulated the Guildmaster. "Your Majesty. Your Highness."
The king dismissed them then, his face stern until finally they departed the throne room together. Already Scaeva began to needle the Guildmaster, but Jenomis paid them no mind as he turned to his daughter with a smile. "Well done. You will be a fine advisor to Rasler one day."
Amiria sighed. "Perhaps Rasler will listen to my advice. You know I agree with Master Garlond. Scaeva's team should be integrated into the Ironworks Guild, with our men monitoring them."
"Do not be ridiculous, Amiria. We are well-equipped to keep them in check. The Guilds must understand that authority and knowledge remain with the throne."
"Perhaps, but why should that team of defectors remain separate from our foremost engineering Guild? There is no better man to evaluate Scaeva's work than Master Garlond, and we will have his gratitude for the protection. You know his reputation gives him greater sway with the other Guildmasters. There is more than one way to ensure a man's loyalty."
The king looked unimpressed. "Perhaps. But we will see when Rasler is king."
She glanced away. "So we will."
The king eyed her curiously now. "Hmm. Master Garlond seems rather taken with you. Did you see him bristle when the defector presumed to act as he did?"
"What?" Amiria laughed. "Father, I know him only as well as I do the other Guildmasters. And he detests Scaeva for that attitude. So would I, if I didn't find him amusing."
"So you have no interest in the man?"
She pursed her lips. Master Garlond was a handsome man, to be sure, but her father's suggestion irked her. "No."
"Good. For there is a reason for our visit to Dalmasca."
Amiria frowned, rising to her feet and smoothing out the creases in her dress, if any. "Because Ashe is with child?"
"Yes and no. Raminas and I have long discussed it, but it is time."
Amiria hardly liked the sound of that. "Time for what, father."
"For my daughter to marry. Fret not," he said as her jaw dropped, "Raminas and I could choose no finer man: Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg of the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca. You already know him."
"What!?"
King Jenomis of Nabradia stared at his only daughter. "Must I repeat myself?"
Amiria stared back in confusion. "Father, Ashe is with child. With an heir set to inherit the united throne, what use will marriage be to me? I have no designs upon Rasler's crown. Is that what you fear?"
"Impudent girl," he muttered, but the curl of his lip was an admission to the daughter who knew him. "Can you not see further afield—to Archadia? To Rozarria? Both with eligible sons eyeing an alliance!"
She hesitated. "They wouldn't. They know an accepted offer from either of them would lead to war."
"And if it is war they desire?"
"Then they will find any pretext to wage it! Father, please. I have done everything you asked. Do not ask this of me," she pleaded, kneeling before him and grasping his hands. "Peace cannot rely on my hand."
Jenomis felt his command falter, but ultimately unmoved, he remained the king. "I will not risk it, and neither will Raminas. You will wed Captain Ronsenburg—a leader of men, a fine soldier, and a good man. There exists no worthier suit for my daughter's hand."
Rejected, Amiria pulled away with contempt. "Nor a duller one."
"Must you be so ridiculous?" Her father sighed. "Apart from his many virtues and his wit, is he not handsome to your eyes? Many a noble in Rabanastre have sought his hand for their daughters."
She turned up her nose. "What do I care for Dalmascan nobility? I am a princess of Nabradia."
"Amiria," the king snapped. "You will give the captain a chance when we arrive in Rabanastre, and you will accept when Raminas makes the formal offer. You will do this for me."
Amiria had startled at the clear reprimand in his tone, and her gaze quickly fell. After a long exhale, she looked to him again. "As you command, Your Majesty."
Amiria had never disliked Captain Ronsenburg. Her father spoke truly - he was a good man and an admirable soldier, and they had always gotten along in passing, as a princess of one kingdom and the great captain of another must for diplomacy's sake, whenever she was thrust upon him. But that was it, wasn't it? Even before Rasler and Ashe's wedding, they had thrust her upon him, seemingly without purpose at the time. Now she understood. They had always intended this behind her back. The Captain had to have known.
For diplomacy's sake, she curtsied when he met her at the steps of Castle Rabanastre. King Raminas, Ashe, Rasler, and Lord Harthas had met their arrival with great warmth and joy, and then walked ahead of them, very obviously abandoning her with the captain.
"Your Highness," he smiled politely, offering her his arm. "I hope your journey to Rabanastre was pleasant." Not a hint of what had been forced upon them passed his gaze, and Amiria was determined to hate him for it.
But the question was too innocuous, and all she could manage was a tight-lipped smile. "A little rough, but thank you, Captain," she said, her bare arm wrapping about the cold steel of his armor.
"How fares Nabudis this time of year, my lady?"
The weather. Of course he would talk about the weather. He really was as loyal and unthreatening to Rasler as any man with power in Dalmasca could possibly be.
"I'm certain my brother will have told you about it," she answered perfunctorily. "Perhaps you can visit and see for yourself one day."
"I should like to. I hear spring in the capital is exquisite."
"Mmm."
But it was not spring in Amiria's heart, and she was content to let any more attempts at conversation wilt as the entourage brought King Jenomis and his daughter to their quarters. She thanked their hosts, looking to the captain only when her father eyed her expectantly, and quickly excused herself for the rest of the day by citing nausea from the trip. And then, true to form and rather like old times, she began to plan her escape.
It didn't take very long. Her father implored her not to avoid the inevitable, but she begged him for the day off. Just one, to accustom myself to the prospect of this sudden betrothal, she said, and King Jenomis gave it to her. He had not raised her to deny his commands, after all, and knowing this, he permitted her absurdities.
Amiria had not long begun to wander the winding roads of Rabanastre before she found herself lost. She had stalked so furiously away from the castle upon her escape that she had not paid attention to her surroundings. It was a side street; the sort Rasler had often warned her about years ago whenever she returned from one of her excursions. She would think it dangerous were there not a gaggle of women—hume, viera, and bangaa—chatting noisily outside the back door of an adjacent establishment.
Before she could think to ask them for directions, one of them had already spotted her. "You!" said the older woman of the bunch, "What are you doing here?"
Amiria blinked at the accusatory tone, but took it in stride. "I was hoping to—"
"A moment," said a viera next to the hume who had called out, "Does she not look like the Nabradian princess? I saw their entourage arrive this morning."
Now Amiria regretted removing her turban on the way here until a bangaa shook her head. "Use your eyes, Ktjn. Her hair is far too pale. And what would a princess be doing here?"
The princess laughed nervously, feigning flattery as she tucked her hair behind an ear. "I do get that a lot."
"In any case," said the woman who'd spotted her, looking and sounding quite distressed, "if you're here for a job, you have it."
"What?"
The other women exchanged doubtful glances. "But Tepi—"
"Enough!" Tepi snapped. "We can't afford to be picky. Ruuj and Sumet have taken ill and with that fool Shara's injury, we're desperate. The routine requires at least seven, and I will have seven for our guests tonight! How well can you dance, girl?"
Amiria really should have denied it and walked away. But a princess was permitted her pride, and she bristled at the question and the doubt on the faces of the others. "Quite well."
Tepi snorted. "We'll see about that, won't we? Petra, you have the day to instruct her." She drew close to properly scrutinize her would-be employee. "If you can dance and do well tonight, we'll see about a permanent spot here in the Desert Bloom."
Amiria paused. "The what?"
It was strange to be in the sitting room. Or to be sitting in the sitting room, to be precise. Basch was a soldier, meant for duty instead of pleasure. Even as a captain he felt out of place sitting among royalty, though Lord Rasler had long treated him like family.
The prince frowned. "She's being ridiculous again," he murmured. "I was sure she'd grown out of it after the wedding."
"Don't say that," said Lady Ashe, squeezing his hand over his thigh. "Amiria just needs time to warm to the captain. As we did with each other."
"I suppose so." Lord Rasler looked to him then. "I'm sorry, Basch. I wish I could be of more help."
"You need not apologize, my lord. Perhaps the lady does need time."
The prince's face reflected the doubt Basch felt. They had always believed that the princess would not take well to an engagement, and with Imperial tensions at a standstill, it seemed there was no need for it. But news had come of movements from the north and the south of late, and Their Majesties determined, with Marquis Ondore's counsel, that they would proceed with the suit as intended at the time of the first royal wedding.
Basch had hesitated when the king asked it of him two years past. Amiria was young and capricious, and he was accustomed to employing himself toward the undertaking at hand. It was true that she had done much in the way of advancing her father's agenda with the Nabradian Guilds, but it seemed effortless on her part. Marriage took work, and already he dreaded the day she would meet his attempts at compromise with her obstinacy. Had she not already begun with her attitude toward him that morning? Lord Rasler often relayed news that after the royal wedding, Lady Amiria had settled down and mellowed, no longer leaving Verdpale Palace when the whim took her, but on the matter of marriage perhaps she had not changed after all.
The thoughtful quiet was broken when King Jenomis strode into the parlor with a heavy brow, which eased only when his gaze landed on Basch. "Captain, my daughter wishes to extend her apologies for being unable to join us. She is feeling unwell, and will recuperate for the rest of the day."
Basch felt disappointment and relief both. "If there is aught I can do to aid Her Highness—"
"You are too kind. But no, let us postpone our plans for the morrow," said the king. "Now… Lady Ashe. Captain Ronsenburg. May I have a word with Lord Rasler?"
"Of course, Your Majesty." Lady Ashe rose. "Captain, will you walk with me? Perhaps Amiria has the right idea, and I should rest."
Basch acquiesced, and they left father and son in the latter's sitting room. Lady Ashe's room was not far, and she was not far enough along to require any real aid, but she walked slowly, ostensibly to speak with him.
"Did I ever tell you that it was Amiria who persuaded me to give Rasler a chance?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Indeed, I thought it was she who encouraged his hatred of me, for she viewed me with such contempt in our childhood. But away from the commanding eye of Uncle Jenomis, she warmed to me of her own volition. And I to her."
Basch glanced at her. They had arrived at her door. "Then what do you suggest, Lady Ashe?"
"Rasler and I will invite father and Uncle Jenomis to lunch tomorrow, and you will invite Amiria to a tour of Dalmasca. We will think of a place that will amuse her, though if you have any in mind…" Ashe smiled. "Have heart, Captain. She'll come around. For now—something tells me Rasler and Uncle Jenomis will take some time. You should do as you like for the day. I suggest bracing yourself for tomorrow."
"That is sound advice, Highness."
With a nod to his bow, Ashe disappeared for her room.
Do as he liked? Basch began to make his way back to his office. Perhaps he could go over the security plans again, ensure the rounds were tight about the palace. Lady Amiria had always been particularly talented at finding vulnerabilities in their systems.
Lady Amiria. Given her cold reception of him this morning, the idea of her warming to him seemed absurd. But for the sake of Dalmasca and Nabradia, he would try. If only he knew where to take her. Nabudis was far and away the more prosperous and beautiful city, so what sort of place would a princess like she care to see in Rabanastre?
He could not imagine it, and dreaded the morrow.
"Basch!"
A voice called him out of his sullen thoughts, followed by a small chorus of captain!
It was Vossler, accompanied by a few others under their command. Basch quirked a brow at one of the lieutenants in particular. A promising young man promoted early for his skill and astuteness, he was supposed to be wed the next day. "Adis? Were you not on leave for the weekend?"
"Er, I thought I might as well report in today, sir," he smiled sheepishly, "seeing as everyone else won't be free till the afternoon."
"You mean you didn't want to lose the chance to see Princess Amiria, lieutenant," grinned Reks, one of the younger soldiers to have known the groom in their childhood.
"It's not every day you get to see the princess up close," he flushed. "She and His Majesty haven't visited all that often since the royal wedding. I thought if she were feeling generous, maybe—maybe she could even drop by, or wish us well. Rena has always adored her too."
Basch crossed his arms. "I'm afraid that couldn't happen even were her heart so generous, Adis. Captain Geir would never allow it."
"I - I know, Captain. My apologies," Adis flushed. "I'll settle for seeing Her Highness, too."
Vossler shook his head in amusement. "Speaking of which—Basch, shouldn't you be with the royal entourage?"
Basch pursed his lips. "Sorry to disappoint doubly, Adis, but Lady Amiria has fallen ill. I've been dismissed for the rest of the day."
Adis and the others groaned in dismay while Vossler gave him a knowing look. He was the only other person apart from Basch and the royal family with whom Lord Rasler had shared his doubts. "Perfect. Then you can accompany us to Adis's final night as an unwed lieutenant this evening, since you and I cannot attend the ceremony tomorrow."
"Oh?" asked Basch. He had been invited previously, but the sudden visit had forced him to decline. "Where are you to celebrate, Adis?"
"The Desert Bloom, among others," said Adis, his face a full pink now. "Zoran booked us a performance."
Reks snickered. "The place normally costs an arm and a leg, but when Zoran said Captain Azelas was coming, the proprietress was happy to accommodate us!"
Vossler rolled his eyes. "I permitted it this once. Never again."
Basch's brow furrowed at the name. "And what shall we expect at this Desert Bloom?"
Zoran, a Rev lieutenant, waggled his eyebrows. "Fine drink and dancing, Captain. And if a lady of your choosing agrees—a private dance! They have viera there!"
Basch's eyes widened. "I really shouldn't—"
"Come now," Vossler interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's only a dance, and we shall direct all attention toward Adis here. You deserve some rest before the duties that await you, at any rate."
"Oh? What's that, Captain?" asked Zoran.
Vossler gave him an expectant smirk. Forced to digress, Basch pursed his lips. "Very well. I shall join you."
They parted ways then, Vossler accompanying Basch to a final meeting with Captain Geir to ensure security plans were in place. The Nabradian captain was happy to take command, seeing as, to his relief, the royals seemed intent on staying home for the day. The much older man was a grizzled veteran, but at times one would never know it from the way the princess distressed him. He would later find that he had been far too complacent about his dearest ward's professed nausea, but it would be the one moment of oversight for which the old captain would forgive himself.
Meanwhile, Basch was free to find that the Desert Bloom was true to its name—small but upscale, beautiful without, surprisingly, being the gaudy brothel he had expected. The place was lit warmly, bright enough to see and dark enough to titillate, and the scent infused into the room paired with the wine served them was heady and opulent, befitting the jewels that soon would fill the stage.
It was made clear to them upon entry that they were not to touch the women—that this was a house of the arts, unless of course one of the performers desired any in their audience who might want them in turn. And even then, only a dance alone was promised and nothing more. Zoran seemed disappointed, but Basch felt only relief. If it should be known that he had come to a place less savory, the king himself would have his head.
The lights dimmed just a little more as an orchestrion in the background began with the drums. The performers entered then, slowly, gliding across the stage in perfect tandem with one another, taking their places before the strumming of a saz beckoned their movement. There were viera women as Zoran had said, and bangaa, and hume women, of course—all scantily clad in intricately beaded tops that shimmered with each slight movement.
Their skirts were long, but the side slits ran all the way up to their thighs, baring their legs as they each slid forward. Their arms undulated with the slow and sensual entrance of a flute upon the wind, drawing attention to their gazes - for it was all the men would see, no thanks to the glimmering cloth that covered their faces from beneath their eyes - and soon, down to their hips, which Basch imagined must articulate some intention through the torso, if dance was indeed the conversation this place claimed it to be.
As they swayed with the rhythm that began to pick up, he glanced over at his companions. The young men were still, with Reks especially red among them. Even Vossler was silent, though his eyes remained on a viera to the far left of the formation. It seemed the exact opposite for Adis, who appeared fixated on a particular performer near its other end.
Basch followed his gaze to the woman. She was turned away like the rest in that moment, her wavy, pale tresses covering her back down to her waist. If any of the women danced imperfectly, it was this one—her feet were sometimes delayed when it came to smaller movements, as were some of her turns, but one could not say she was without spirit. In fact, if he were not a man already bound to his duty, he might even consider the sway of her hips with each rattle of the tambourine the most inviting of them all. There was something less practiced about her movements that made him keep watching.
And then the women turned, revealing their masked gazes again, and Basch felt his heart stop.
Stop, or perhaps pick up such a pace as was incapable of following—for as the young woman at the end of the group swayed her arms and whirled to face them, he caught her gaze. Or perhaps she caught his? It mattered little. Her eyes, brushed upon with dark powder to emphasize their natural color, were familiar, terribly familiar—but it was what he did not recognize about them that unnerved him.
Passion? Or something more?
He had seen those eyes before, Basch thought as their gazes lingered, until he could not help but permit his own to wander down her neck, upon the collarbone and the curve of her breast that would one day be home to him. Her torso undulated with the drums, her hips grinding in circles about the air, and suddenly the captain knew where his heartbeat had gone. It was in his ears, pounding with sudden frenzy, and throbbing shamefully beneath his trousers. The captain shifted in an attempt to calm himself, but it was impossible.
He was captivated, and as her lashes fluttered as she watched him, the golden beads on her hips jingling with each shake, he finally understood why.
Basch had seen those eyes before. Just this morning, in fact, when the cool and regal distance afforded by her station had barely accepted overtures of friendship on his part. Now they were heated, feverish it seemed—or perhaps it was the atmosphere that muddled his thoughts and made his mouth dry, for certainly he could not believe his own eyes.
Princess Amiria.
"How was that?"
Petra watched her thoughtfully, brushing the pale hair about her neck. A viera, she was the lead and the Bloom's most experienced dancer and her instructor for the day. "That will do, Adela," she said, to Amiria's sigh in relief. "Ktjn, Zojje, can you do a final, final fitting with her? Tepi will have my head if something goes wrong tonight. And get her spare clothes for a bath, too. The rest of you may rest before a final rehearsal with Tepi."
While the others filed out of the room in murmurs about their wardrobes for the night, Ktjn and Zojje, the viera who had proposed and the bangaa who had rejected the idea that she might be the princess of Nabradia, respectively, stepped forward and nodded. Petra waved her thanks and left the room.
The two awaited her by the door. Zojje gave her a nod as they left together. "Impressive, new girl."
"You know," said Ktjn thoughtfully, "the princess of Nabradia is supposed to be an expert dancer."
Zojje rolled her eyes. "Still, Ktjn? I mean no offense to the princess, but I doubt a spoiled royal could learn our routine as well as Adela has. On her first day here, mind." The woman clapped her shoulder with a wink.
Amiria smiled, both offended and incredibly flattered. "I don't know about that… but thank you."
She would be lying if she said the routine had been easy to learn. Amiria had always been curious but never had the opportunity to learn this particular style of Dalmascan dance, but she was happy to—the arts were the greatest of her father's impositions on her, for with them she was to rally the masses under Rasler's crown, but it was the only one she had embraced for herself away from her royal duties. Now she wondered why she had not earlier sought out this particular style.
Well, she knew why. Her father had insisted upon the arts, but only in the manner, the style he thought appropriate. It was absurd. She had every intention of obeying her lord father, for the sake of Nabradia as he always put it—but was she not free to do as she wished within those parameters? Amiria celebrated these small glimpses of freedom, ridiculous though they may be.
And besides—she liked the girls. They had been welcoming where she had expected a competitive air of sorts, and they had been joyful teachers of the movements that were at first particularly difficult for her. By their second break, during which they'd shared a small meal, she already thought she might consider them friends.
Zojje and Ktjn helped her into that final final fitting, after which they all performed before Tepi. Predictably, Amiria had not perfected the routine as well as the others, but as Petra said—it would do, and Tepi was satisfied. The girls then took turns quickly bathing, with Amiria going last for being the new girl.
That meant she was also the last to get ready. Zojje was still busy spraying at her hair and fluffing it up when Tepi burst into the dressing room. She was pale and breathless.
"They're here."
"What!?" Many of the dancers rose to their feet. "It isn't time yet!"
"Trust members of the Order to be more than punctual, I suppose," Tepi gulped. "We'll be serving them the good wine, of course, but try to—"
"Wait," Ktjn gasped, adjusting Amiria's face veil. "Is Captain Azelas really there?"
Tepi's alarm briefly faded. "Oh, yes. He's just as handsome as they say!"
"What?"
The room turned at the sudden venom in Amiria's voice. She took a deep breath, putting on a smile instead.
"I mean," she laughed, "How do you know it's Captain Azelas, Miss Tepi?"
"Dark-haired older man, confident... and very handsome, as they say," said the proprietress with a slight giggle. "The men appeared to defer to him, though he was not the only comely man in the entourage. You'll see. Now, I must go and entertain them. Almost time, ladies!"
Most of the room apart from Amiria and Zojje squealed in delight, and it appeared nobody but she shared Tepi's earlier alarm. They were all the quicker for the news, and were soon ready to perform. Amiria was—but not for their audience.
Captain Azelas. She felt cold. What if he recognized her? What was he even doing here?
In spite of her excitement to see him, Ktjn appeared to notice her apprehension, even beneath her smoky eyes and her face veil. She reached for Amiria's wrist as they left the dressing room. "Adela, what is the matter?"
"Oh, I… suppose it's my first time, that's all."
At the viera's other side, Zojje glanced over at Amiria. "Is it the private rooms?" she asked. "Don't worry. The captain himself could request a dance and still you must only dance for him—entice him to return for another performance. If he even dares touch you, our guards are always ready to escort him out. You need only call them."
"Right. Amov by the private rooms—you met him earlier, that's Zojje's lover—is especially determined to keep us safe," Ktjn whispered conspiratorially, to the confident bangaa's flush. "So do not worry."
Amiria couldn't help but smile. None of their words soothed her true worries, but their attempts warmed her. "Thank you both."
The three made their way backstage, Zojje and Amiria parting with Ktjn for their formation. In the near-dark, the music began.
As the women started their dance, taking their places upon the stage, Amiria felt her worries fall away. Her makeup was so unlike her regular appearance that with the veil over her nose and mouth, her face would likely be unrecognizable. Even when they visited Dalmasca regularly for Rasler and Ashe, she had rarely interacted with the captain, and she did not recall his presence upon her arrival.
Yes. It was impossible that Captain Azelas would recognize her—they could lock eyes and he would see her as only another performer.
Perfect. Amiria let the captain drift from her mind as she immersed herself in the music, letting it guide her through the routine. Slowly, her worries fell away, turning as nothing to the thrill of a performance—and with new friends, the way she had been unable to before. Though she would not deny that it was a relief to be able to turn her back on the men with the others, simply enjoying the movement as the beads dangling from their waistbands jingled with the sound of the tambourine. This really was a lovely style of dance, and she would have to insist on learning more of it in spite of her father's wishes when she inevitably returned to him.
All told, Amiria was having the time of her life—
And then they faced their audience again, and Amiria caught his gaze. Or perhaps he caught hers.
She would know them anywhere, even from the stage, in the near-dark with the lights upon them—those unreadable steel blue eyes.
Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg of Dalmasca.
Was it truly her?
The Nabradian entourage had only arrived this morning, and the Desert Bloom was an establishment so far off the beaten track where any royal or even noble guests might wander that the coincidence would be absurd. And though Lady Amiria had once been of the habit of escape, she had never gone beyond the bounds of propriety. Surely that would not change now? But she was a peerless performer, and if anyone could learn such a routine in the course of a day, perhaps it was she…
Doubt and certainty as to this woman's identity warred in Basch's mind, but there was no questioning the effect her mere gaze had upon the rest of him. It shamed him, and so he took a swig of the wine he had claimed not to want, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. Not when hers seemed only for him. Even if he were wrong, this woman's gaze was at the least a glimpse of the vain hope in his heart.
Once the formation broke off into two pairs of three, with each dancer taking her turn to dance before their audience alone, it seemed to him like only she remained on the stage at all. Even when her turn was over, she was all he saw, such that he hardly noticed the end of their long performance. He woke only because she took a last glance at him, those bright eyes beneath the dark powder, and then the women slid out of the room again, to the loud applause of their entourage. And even then he did not fully pay attention to the proprietress's announcement until she had departed, and the others were calling his name.
He looked around at their expectant grins. "What was that?"
The men laughed, Zoran most of all. "The dance is over, captain! Though the ladies will return to dine with us—save those who agree to a private dance. And for those of us favored by the gods, we may leave our companions to wallow in their rejection!"
"Or destitution," Reks shook his head. "Those private rooms are pricey."
"What did you think, Adis?" asked Lutomis, a bangaa lieutenant. "I saw the way you eyed that hume! Request a dance—we'll all chip in, for your last night! Right, captains?"
"N-No!" Adis sat up in protest. "I wouldn't do that. Besides, she stared at Captain Ronsenburg for nearly the entire dance. I only thought she looked—"
"I noticed that too," said Reks, turning to Basch with glee. "Captain, will you be requesting a dance with her?"
Basch blinked. He was quite certain he intended to deny it, but his mouth was already moving, and already his mind justified the decision—for the truth. He had to know.
"Yes."
The men gawped at him in shock, and then erupted with cheers—all save Vossler, who continued to eye him in alarm. "...Are you sure, Basch?"
He knew his friend meant to give him a way out, but he felt resolute about it now. Resolute. Afraid. Excited.
Basch nodded.
What was he doing here?
There was no doubt it was him. From the corner of her eye she could see Captain Azelas, but she did not dare risk his gaze, and anyway she had no quarrel with that captain—only this one. Her would-be betrothed, out and gallivanting about when she was in the capital?
Amiria was angry. Or she should have been, with her heart hammering with the righteous fury of a spurned lover—but spurned was not how she felt as she continued to dance. As his eyes briefly slid from hers down to her neck, her breasts, and all the curves of her twisting body, Amiria didn't feel spurned in the least. Even when his eyes snapped back to hers, especially when they did, she felt only an intoxicating thrill course through her veins. There was a hunger there she had never expected from a man like him, and it made her core twist with wanton excitement.
How strange to understand only then that the captain was a man after all.
The realization informed the rest of her performance. Suddenly it was more than just enjoying the art of it, or even the attention of any in her audience at all. It was solely for the attention of a man she had never given more than a third or a fourth thought before this morning, whose kind attentions she had resented just earlier that day. Now, as she twirled to the front of the stage for her brief solo, the mere shift of his irises made her body pulse with a new need.
Did he like it when she moved her hips this way? When her head and her arms swayed to the music, as though intoxicated from his gaze alone? She felt intoxicated.
There was no time to learn it. Her time was up, and the formation returned as it was before. The main routine ended not long afterward, and the group departed the stage. She couldn't help a last glance at the captain before the curtains eclipsed him. That his gaze still searched for hers - and captured it - made her heart pound in excitement even as they made their way back to the dressing room.
It was filled with excited screams and laughter when they returned. Amiria couldn't help but join. She had never danced with a group before, and the high of a successful performance was contagious. The buzz only died down at the sound of Tepi's voice.
"Well done, ladies!" she clapped her hands together, her grin wide. "The party was thoroughly impressed! Now—for the solo requests."
The girls were still giggling, Ktjn with her arms around Zojje and Amiria in particular. Zojje broke from them to shake her head. "I already know one. That older gentleman with the serious look, with our brand new Adela. Eyes on her for nearly all of the dance."
Amiria's eyes widened. "Wh-what? They weren't," she tittered in an awful lie, as though she hadn't nearly unraveled at his gaze.
"I know!" cried Rael, another viera. "He was devouring her with that look!"
"I saw that," Vesa grinned. Another hume, she feigned a sigh in frustration. "Of course one of the first handsome men this week would go straight for the new girl."
Amid the teasing, Ktjn called out, "Tepi, what about Captain Azelas?"
Tepi gave her a smile. "Unfortunately, Captain Azelas declined a private dance. But he did extend his admiration for all our performers tonight—especially to the viera second to the left of the original formation."
Ktjn pressed her hands to her face as she reveled in the flattery, and the others turned to shower her with the same squealing praise.
"All right, all right," Tepi shook her head, but she sounded far too pleased for impatience. "Petra, of course, for that charming Rev. And that handsome blond, for you, Adela. Wouldn't give his name, but good work. Let us discuss employment later." The proprietress paused, noticing her wide eyes. "Do you wish to dance for him? You needn't, if you don't. And if you do, you need never go further than you will. That is our rule in the Desert Bloom."
Amiria paused. They had taught her all this earlier today, but there was one question she hadn't asked.
"How far do you often go?"
Petra grinned. "As far as you like. But that's a secret. He will, of course, be charged."
The girls watched her expectantly at that, mischievous but without judgment.
"I…"
The captain had asked for a dance alone with her? Why? It was true they had gazed upon each other in that low light, but in the bright exposure of the dressing room, those emotions and desires she had felt on the stage seemed embarrassing to display now. Meant for a place away from the rest.
But she also remembered that anger she should have been feeling. What was a man possibly set to marry a princess doing here? And with the gall of requesting a private dance? How dare he.
Yes, she suddenly told herself as a thought (and not an excuse at all) crept into her mind. She would agree to the dance not for her new and strange desires, but for her freedom. If she could somehow prove that Captain Ronsenburg had sought the company of anyone other than Princess Amiria, then perhaps she could escape the betrothal yet.
Perfect.
"I'll do it."
He was waiting there when she arrived. The room was beautiful, befitting the aesthetic of the Desert Bloom - dim lights and heavy, heady scents, with an orchestrion playing slow, trilling music in the background, quick enough to dance to and slow, sensual enough for just about everything else. The walls were lined with wide sofas, all covered in pillows, and colorful, intricate curtains were drawn over the window.
At one of the low tables there was wine, unopened, and glasses, untouched. Of course they were untouched. She had not heard that Captain fon Ronsenburg was fond of drinking, but then she had never heard much in the way of his flaws. Did much too dutiful count?
He sat to the side, arms on each knee. Did he ever relax? Amiria thought with irritation, but also curiosity. She wanted to see him relax—or not relax—because of her. Already, the need that had seized her on the stage began to burn through her again.
Amiria shut the door as she entered. She expected him to turn in alarm, but he only blinked, looking toward her in expectation.
The eye contact this close, this privately stunned her, but when she came to, she was already standing before him. Swaying slowly at first, and then her arms began to twist with the movement of her hips. A complicated routine wasn't very necessary when it came to these private dances, the girls had told her, though Amiria would not have noticed. She followed the music, hypnotized by his gaze - it raked over her body, just as it had earlier, and here, alone, she saw his chest rise and fall in growing excitement. His nostrils flared with desire and restraint, and his lips were parted. She wondered what those tasted like.
Very soon her heart was hammering in her chest and in her ears all over again. Amiria had never been nervous on the stage. A consummate performer, she was made for it, accustomed to the lingering gazes of men and women alike, not to mention the sensation of being defiled with eyes too keen to conceal their gluttony. But none of those gazes had made her feel anything but pride. Not like his.
"Is this your first time?" she asked, in a voice lower than her usual register.
He nodded.
"How are you liking it?"
She shook her hips with the music when she asked that question, and it was a delight to watch him struggle to keep her gaze. He swallowed, his eyes falling to her torso as she swayed, and Amiria took the chance to draw even closer.
Her finger found his chin, and she tilted it toward her to make him look into her eyes. She expected his to widen, but they searched hers instead. For what? Did he know?
He couldn't. His throat moved beautifully as he swallowed.
But if he was to discover her, then she would have to pick up the pace on her plans.
Though, declaring that Captain Ronsenburg had been in a compromising position with Adela would get the Bloom in trouble, and she didn't want that.
And she didn't want to get Captain Ronsenburg in trouble, either. Not really—even when it felt too late as she pushed him upright against the pillows and climbed his lap, straddling him on the sofa against the wall.
His more casual trousers were made of rather thick material, but not thick enough to hide his growing need. Amiria angled herself over his lap, grinding against him once, twice as he stared at her. Now he looked wide-eyed, and again he gulped—the very sight was exquisite. It was so tempting to plant her lips on his throat there, to taste his skin, but she found herself swerving upward to his ear instead.
"Do you like it?" she whispered.
Her hand reached up to brush the beard upon his jawline when suddenly he seized her wrist.
Amiria drew back a little, as surprised as he looked. Suddenly she felt embarrassment wash over her.
"Do… do you want me to stop?"
The captain shook his head.
Basch had opened his mouth when she arrived, meaning to thank her for agreeing to the dance, to ask her who she truly was—but as soon as he saw her he could not command himself to speak. His mind rationalized that he had hardly needed to ask the question anyway. Her eyes, closer now and closer still as she drew near, had already told him all he needed to know back in that room. It was her. And so one might wonder why he had requested this in the first place.
To know the truth. To confirm it without a doubt, he told himself again, and he got it when he heard her voice. Anyone less familiar with the princess may not have known, but that low tone she spoke with now, and with such levity, was the very same she had used to render him speechless that morning. Only, earlier today it had silenced him with her indifference. Now her tone was balmy, hot, and his mouth did not seem meant for speaking when he heard it.
Why? He wanted to ask. But he was not impervious to her body, or to his. This close to Amiria, when he could feel her warmth emanate where she stood, so scantily clad as she swayed to music he could barely hear over his heart, as if wanting to be roamed, by eyes or by hands he wished to know, because he felt as though he would give her anything in that moment—this close to her, he could barely think.
Basch was so hypnotized by her gaze and her sudden touch upon his chin, and then his chest, that it was all he could do not to gasp when she sat herself on his lap. Her arms were on his shoulders, and her thighs—
Inappropriate, his mind screamed, but his body responded favorably, crotch straining against his trousers. She teased him, grinding slowly upon him as she leaned closer, and when her hot breath tickled his ear with another question—he seized her wrist.
Even her uncertainty made him shudder in delight. Do you want me to stop? Basch meant to say yes, but in the sudden frailty of his need he could only shake his head.
"What," he was finally able to begin, releasing her wrist because suddenly he wasn't certain whether he meant to stop her or pull her closer, "what are you doing here?"
"What do you mean?" Amiria batted her eyelashes. "I came because you requested me."
He pursed his lips tightly, returning her gaze. Drawing closer, because she let him, until his mouth was to her ear this time. Her hand still on his shoulder squeezed it in anticipation, while the mere scent of her made him stir. Only the determination for which he was known kept Basch on his course at that point. "The Nabradian envoy has decided to leave tomorrow."
Amiria was silent. His quiet, sudden confidence had made her nervous, and then eager, so his words jarred her. "What?" Her voice returned to its usual pitch. "It is not!"
She paused, pulling back in shock at her mistake.
They stared at each other.
"I knew it," Basch breathed first. "Your Highness," he asked gruffly, looking away, "what are you doing here?"
She scoffed. "I could ask the same of you!"
Basch flinched. "I - I am here for Adis, one of our lieutenants set to wed tomorrow. My lady, please answer my question."
The princess sighed, and he tried not to care when she lifted herself off his lap. She flopped down beside him, crossing her arms. "If you must know, I thought I'd take a little stroll through the city, for old time's sake, and the Bloom needed an extra dancer. I agreed."
"To protest the engagement?"
"No!" she said vehemently, though she calmed quickly enough. It felt strange to have her so lively with him. She had always been rather impersonal in their interactions. Kind, sometimes, but never warm enough to merit friendship. "I admit I did want time away from those duties, but no. Of course, I had no idea that Captain Ronsenburg would wind up here, of all places."
His face burned with embarrassment. "When you requested to stay inside for the day, Highness, I was dismissed. The others insisted that I join them."
Amiria rolled her eyes. "Yes, you seemed so reluctant to have some dancer in your lap."
"Not some dancer," he defended himself. "You."
It was her turn to flush at that, and she was never more grateful to be wearing the veil over her cheeks than in that moment. "What?"
The captain quickly cleared his throat. "I… meant that I requested the dance to confirm my suspicions."
Amiria was uncertain how to feel about that reply, but if it was a challenge, she wasn't about to let him win. "So when you let me grind your lap a little first, was that part of confirming my identity as well?"
He fell silent at that, and she felt triumphant. Dutiful and charming Captain Ronsenburg always had the perfect reply to give. She liked seeing him speechless.
"...And why did you agree to the private dance, Lady Amiria?"
She froze, now finding him staring at her with the same expectation she had given him, though her pause was out of embarrassment as much as regret. It was a two-part answer, after all, but she could never admit to the second, and the first shamed her.
"I thought... getting you into trouble could cause the arrangement to fall apart."
Basch felt his stomach drop. "...I see."
"But I have no intention of doing such a thing." She met his gaze steadily now. "I like the girls here… and I am not so cruel or ridiculous that I would ruin your reputation in an attempt to escape my duty."
His eyes met hers again. When he found the truth in them, he inclined his head. "Thank you."
She sighed, turning ahead once more. "Hardly worthy of gratitude, really."
The princess shifted where she sat. Now she looked uncomfortable, though he could only see her eyes, but he could tell from the way she suddenly planted her feet on the ground that she meant to leave.
He knew there was nothing more to discuss. He had no intention of speaking of this to Their Majesties, and it appeared she was now of the same mind. But he had never spoken with her like this, and he did not want it to end just yet.
"Why are you against the engagement?"
It was the last question whose answer he wanted to hear, but it was all he could think of to say. Already Basch winced inwardly. He had invited his own humiliation, hadn't he?
But if he hadn't wanted her to leave, that had done it. Her bejeweled shoulders relaxed and brushed his as she sat back beside him. "I'm not against the engagement, Captain. I am against the imposition by my father."
"Was the same duty not imposed upon Lord Rasler?"
"Rasler," she began, as though expecting the question, and turned her head to give him a look that made him feel foolish, "is the crown prince. He has our father's every confidence."
Basch searched her eyes a little longer. "I don't understand."
"Do you know why my father chose you?" she asked, but didn't wait for a response. "You are a good man, of course. Even a great one." Basch felt his ego preen at that the way it did not when others uttered the same words, even as he knew some manner of insult would follow.
"But a part of it is your lack of noble blood. It is true that the engagement is to prevent either empire from insisting on a match with me, but His Majesty also ensures that any claim my children will have to the throne is inherently weak. Do you understand?" She spoke so quickly that he could hardly interrupt. "Instead of trusting me never to desire what isn't mine—and I don't, I don't care for royal, noble, or common blood, I don't want the throne—my father would rather make the choice for me."
Basch thought to disagree. The king of Nabradia was a wise, if proud, ruler, and the thought that he might choose to weaken another heir's claim to the throne seemed unnecessarily heartless from such a good man. But he was also aware of prosperous Nabradia's bloody history - of the civil war a generation or so past. It was a war for the throne among siblings so brutal that it left barely any nobles in its wake. Only the line of Lord Jenomis's father, the youngest of thirteen siblings who had opted to stay in Rabanastre for most of it, had survived.
"The War of the Twelve Princes."
Amiria blinked. She hadn't imagined that the captain would know of it, but of course he did. It was the most gruesome chapter in Nabradia's recent history, one her grandfather attempted to sweep under the rug when he reluctantly, as it was told, ascended the throne.
She nodded, sighing and looking ahead once more. "I realized it over a year ago, since we were finally alone, without Rasler to overshadow me. The succession war in his childhood frightened father to such a degree that he raised me never to defy him or my brother. To second guess my own decisions. I am allowed to run amok, but ridiculous when I take initiative of my own in important matters. My only role is to support their rule—I may be much less, but never more."
Basch watched her at that, and thought back on his experiences of the Nabradian Royal Family. At first he could not see what she meant, for it seemed King Jenomis, Lord Rasler, and Captain Geir indulged her at every turn. But then he saw the nuance in those that he remembered, the little jabs the king made when Amiria made suggestions on important matters contrary to his own or Rasler's, even as he permitted her to do as she liked in all other things.
"He enabled your desire for freedom, but scolded you in the same breath when you spoke your mind too freely on matters of the state."
Amiria finally looked back to the captain at that. She had expected resistance, some diplomatic answer to rebuff any suggestion that the king was anything less than the perfect father. After all, even Rasler was so convinced of the King's righteousness that he could not see it, though she did not blame him. "As I said. He decided what I should desire for me."
A short silence passed before Basch spoke again.
"What is it you desire?"
"Huh?" was Amiria's stupid reply. It was the first time anyone had asked that of her—really asked it, considering she was Nabradia's princess. "I… I don't even know," she laughed a little, suddenly feeling small. "The throne never crossed my mind. Do I resist father's wishes only because he imposes them? Would I have wanted them, had he left me well enough alone? All I know is what he has permitted me."
It was only when Amiria had finished speaking these thoughts aloud that she realized the captain was still looking at her. His gaze still made her nervous—in a good way, though she was embarrassed about having shared so much with a man she barely knew. Especially one who would soon become a part of the royal family.
"I - I know my father has given me much," she cleared her throat. Here she was, barely clothed, and it was her thoughts which shamed her. "I don't mean to be ungrateful—these are my private thoughts. I know many would envy my troubles."
Basch shook his head. "You are not ungrateful," he said, and he meant it. "Your troubles remain troubles, Your Highness. And I… I thank you. For trusting me with them."
The princess blinked, and there was a smile in her eyes he had not seen before, a new chuckle in her tone that made his chest flutter with hope. "Please don't be so kind. I am determined to hate you, Captain, and you are making it very difficult for me."
In spite of her words, Basch felt himself smile. She had never made a jest with him not merely for the sake of polite conversation.
"Your Highness." Still, much as her confidence flattered him, this new knowledge gave him pause. "Do you wish for me to decline the engagement?"
Amiria now twisted her body toward him in surprise, lifting one bare leg upon the pillows. Her knee brushed his thigh. "Captain, you would deny King Raminas? Risk Nabradia's ire?"
He looked at her in earnest, and she knew he hadn't posed the question lightly. The captain was far too honest for that. "It was always presented as a choice to me, my lady, the way it may not truly be for you."
For all her dislike of his often serious countenance and the way he had almost always been the one who found her whenever she escaped the premises, Amiria had always known that Captain Ronsenburg was a good man. Known it—but perhaps not understood it until that moment.
Suddenly, the gentle smile that came with his offer made her heart leap.
"You can call me Amiria, you know. And… no," she decided. "You don't need to do that."
"Amiria," he repeated with some reluctance as he blinked. "Then... what will you do?"
She had also always known, but denied, how handsome the captain was. Realized that it was perhaps why she had always been so cold. For to find an older man like him, one she thought she could never have, handsome—was to be ridiculous. It was to be like all the other women in Rabanastre, even in Nabudis, who wanted the attentions of those blue eyes and that gravelly but gentle voice, and she did not want that. If she couldn't have him, then her pride would not allow her to want him at all.
But he was handsome, and she did want him.
Slowly, Amiria removed her face veil and set it aside on the table nearby. She reached for his hand, and when he didn't flinch away, she leaned close and pressed her lips to his. They were even softer than she had imagined, that hint of alcohol on them making him even more appetizing to her. All the better when he returned the kiss, pushing against her to partake of her mouth himself.
Basch only pulled away when he realized she had risen to her knees and moved to sit on his lap again. His breaths were shallow already as he licked his lips in disbelief and resisted the urge to pull her toward him again. "Your—is this not playing into His Majesty's hands?"
The princess tilted her head, lips pursed in thought before smiling. It was perhaps the first warm one she had intentionally given him. "I never said I would deny my father's wishes. But neither will I deny my own."
She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his lower lip. What should have been a small gesture sent a surge of heat coursing through his body, and suddenly he was hard all over again beneath the supple skin of her bare thighs.
"Escaping the betrothal was not my only purpose in agreeing to a private dance, and if I must do as my father wishes, then may I not do so in the manner of my choosing?" This time, as her hands slid from his face, down along his arms before draping hers over his shoulder, she pressed her chest to his. Again her lips brushed the tragus of his ear as she whispered, lowly, "Do you think either of Their Majesties expected me to fuck my betrothed in a glorified pillow house?"
Basch inhaled sharply at such vulgar words from her genteel lips, even as his member strained angrily against the sudden prison of his trousers at the sound of them. "Your Highness," he groaned tightly, but it was all he could say. He didn't want to protest. The way she ground herself against the growing tent beneath those thighs was almost cruel, and yet he could express nothing but a moan as she teased him with her damp mound through their clothes.
Amiria smiled again, that mischievous one she gave the other royals, or perhaps the public when she danced for them. But her words were for him alone, as was the low laughter in her voice. "Like that, do you?" Her tongue licked his tragus. The sound of it almost made him yield, and the sound he made in turn made her even wetter. "Isn't this why you agreed to the suit?"
By now it was as though he could feel her soaked sex through it all, and Basch let out a shuddering exhale in an attempt to control himself. It was useless. He was panting for her. "My lady, please—"
She was relentless, gyrating against his lap the moment he tried to protest. His eyelids fluttered as even his self-control begged him to give way, and her hand interrupted her own grinding to grip his member through his accursed clothes, stroking firmly enough to make him almost whine. Basch could not restrain a grunt as her lips brushed his ear again, her tongue teasing the outer edge of it. He was fully willing to melt where he sat, helpless to her groping, if it meant she would keep going.
"It'll be our little secret, Basch. Don't you want a taste before I must call my betrothed husband? A ridiculous little indulgence before you're a married man?"
The captain was grunting with each heave of his chest, gripping outlying pillows in vain as he stared at her with an intensity that threatened to set her ablaze. It was the most attractive Amiria had ever found him, and the sensation of those growls thrumming against her skin made her even slicker between her legs, if that were possible. She was now utterly drenched as she waited for his response.
Somehow, in spite of that smoldering gaze, he spoke with all the honesty in Ivalice. "You are not ridiculous, Amiria."
Amiria stopped, eyeing him with shock. And then she pulled at his collar, crashing her lips upon his, this time with a need that she had never known until that moment. He returned her kiss once more, voracious in his efforts, parting his lips and urging her to do the same so he might drink of her desire, brush against it with his own as he lapped at her tongue. She eagerly capitulated.
A slight breeze blew in through the curtains, but there was only heat between them—heat and moans and hunger, and Amiria was ravenous. Only his hands were missing now. They trembled with restraint around those ridiculous throw pillows she suddenly envied, and Amiria pulled away. Just a little, so that their lips caressed each other as she spoke and her lashes tickled his cheek.
"Touch me," she whispered.
Basch sat further back to look into her eyes again. Again he saw that feverish look, or perhaps it was his own need he saw reflected in them, for all this time it had felt as though to want her, to even think her beautiful when she so clearly resented him, was forbidden.
But she was beautiful, and he did want her.
Amiria must have construed his silence for hesitation, for she searched his eyes in confusion. "If you desire it."
That he had never truly considered his own desires until that night was a matter Basch would have to ponder another day—and that he wanted her now should never have been in question. When she gave him the slightest pout in impatience, he could no longer resist.
His hands - large, rough, agile - rose to graze her legs, folded upon either side of him. He thumbed at her knees and squeezed along her thighs until his fingers and palms rested at the slit of her skirt. Soon he found her waist and let his hands roam, her blonde tresses tickling his arms as they encircled her and pulled her closer.
"W-wait," she murmured shakily, one hand squeezing his shoulder and the other tugging at the hem of his shirt. "I want all this out of the way."
Reluctantly, Basch released and nodded. His voice was unsteady for how much he wanted her, for how the very sight of her and the sound of her trembling need engorged his cock. He had to swallow before he could speak himself, and looked upon her, eyes brimming with lust. "As you wish."
Amiria lay on top of Basch some time later, their skin damp between them. Her head lay on his shoulder, her hand over his heart. His own cupped hers atop it, and only her thumb was free to circle his skin as they lay together. His free hand idly drew constellations upon her back.
Basch was unwilling to break the silence just yet, wondering if the satisfaction of her desires might change her mind on the matter between them. If that were the case, he desired to savor her warmth over him while he could.
"Basch?"
He winced, but relaxed at her gentle voice. "Amiria?"
She pulled her hand away from his and tilted her head up to look at him. "I think they're going to charge you by the half hour."
He looked down to her. "Let them."
Amiria grinned, though her face flushed after a beat. "When… When did you know it was me?"
"Hmm…" His arms were wrapped around her again, one hand enjoying the cheek of her rear and another on her back. "The moment our eyes met."
"What!?" Amiria laughed. "How? What about my make up?"
"I will admit that you were... already on my mind," he said, hand brushing the ends of her long hair. "And so I could not mistake those eyes for any other's."
Amiria stared at him. Her usual smug, her unflappable confidence had completely disappeared in the face of his words. She could only flush more deeply. "I knew you were one for flattery."
Basch smiled. "I mean it. And what I said this morning, my lady."
Amiria tilted her head. "This morning…" The memory of her cold demeanor made her flinch, but she set it aside and recalled his words instead. Now it was inconceivable to her that he could speak without making her shiver in delight at the sound of his natural growl. "Oh. About springtime in Nabudis?"
He nodded.
Amiria searched his gaze. Of course there was nothing but honesty. She smiled, planting a kiss on his collarbone, and then another, slowly making her way to his neck. The pleased groans that followed made her wet all over again, and she giggled at his hand gripping her arm all of a sudden.
"Amiria—"
"I snuck away often enough in my youth that I know all the best places to go there," she interrupted, lips reaching his ear. "Return with us to the capital. And then... tell me about Landis. About you."
His arms slipped from her body so he could prop himself up on his elbows. She adjusted for him, almost moving to rise, but one hand rested on her rear again, giving her a firm squeeze and urging her to stay. When she settled, he reached to tuck her hair behind her ear.
His hand cupped her face, and his gaze bore gently into hers. Again his eyes were searching. "Do you mean that?"
She leaned into his palm, turning once to kiss it. "Yes. Well… if you want to."
"I would like nothing more."
Basch smiled, stroking her lip with his thumb. She thought to resist the sudden pull of his mouth and his body beneath her, but why should she? Amiria felt spring blooming anew in her heart.
The princess kissed him, seeking another union with her captain, and Basch was happy to oblige.
By the time Basch emerged from the private room, his companions had long abandoned him. Only Vossler had left a note with the smitten proprietress, insisting that they speak the next day. It amused him, for he knew the subject his friend wished to discuss, even as he knew how severe Vossler's reprimands could be. His happiness forestalled his dread.
He and Amiria had discussed the matter, after all, and he took his time making his return to the palace. It was quiet when he arrived thanks to the hour, but one of the soldiers standing guard at the gate accosted him as soon as he was within sight. He was then taken to the drawing room accorded their royal guests, where the lords of Nabradia waited. King Jenomis and Prince Rasler explained the situation: they had discovered Amiria's disappearance during dinnertime but kept it from King Raminas to save face.
Basch had put on his most serious expression then, trying to conceal his guilt. Especially when her very name brought to his memory the scent of her skin and the heat of her voice upon his ear.
To his fortune, he was not forced to act for much longer. Captain Geir burst into the room then, announcing that the lady had been found—sleeping soundly in her room.
How she had managed that, Basch would have to discover tomorrow.
He looked forward to it.
For Amiria, Zojje and Ktjn had stayed behind, waiting to hear about her first private dance as soon as she was free. They were instead dismayed to hear that it would be her last, seeing as she had never truly meant to wander into them, much less take on a job—she had duties to her family business abroad that she could not renounce, they learned. Still, she thanked them for their hospitality and, with damp eyes, promised to visit during her next trip to the capital.
"When?" asked Ktjn, holding her hands. "You make it sound like you live so far away, Adela."
"I don't get to leave all that often, I admit," Amiria smiled sadly. "But I'll be returning in a few months. And we can always write."
"Where?" Zojje asked, unable to help a pout. "You won't even tell us where your family is from."
Amiria pursed her lips in thought. "Give me a few months. When I visit again, I'll tell you everything."
"That is a promise," Ktjn determined, pulling the hume and the bangaa into her arms. "And we're holding you to it!"
"She's right," said Zojje, giving Amiria a look.
She grinned. "I promise."
Parting with them and the others was so much more difficult than returning to her room in the palace undetected. The latter was so easy it hardly merited thought, and she hurried to bed before her father could scold her.
Very early the next morning, Amiria asked for a meeting. The lords of the kingdom that would one day be united would be in attendance, as were their respective captains.
"What is this about?" asked Rasler as they made their way to it with Ashe. He had scolded her as she picked them up from their quarters, but her quiet acceptance of his reprimand intrigued him, and now he chuckled. "Trying to get ahead of father and apologize to Uncle Raminas for missing yesterday?"
Amiria shrugged. "Wouldn't you rather see for yourself?"
Ashe chuckled, eyeing her curiously. "I find myself afraid, Amiria."
"Don't be, sister," she grinned. "I am, after all, the princess of Nabradia."
Rasler snorted, very nearly laughing. "The exact cause of my fears."
"Ha ha," she rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. "Prepare to eat your words, both of you."
The kings were already in the throne room when they arrived, as were their captains. Basch and Amiria tried not to react as their eyes met. The captain wore a bandage beneath his jaw where the green collar of his uniform could not reach, and she tried her best not to grin. He glanced away when she failed, stifling a smile himself.
"Good morning," greeted the princess, her giddy smile softening into her practiced one as she stood before the Kings of Dalmasca and Nabradia. Rasler and Ashe took their places next to their fathers. "Thank you for agreeing to meet so early, Your Majesties. Captains."
"Of course," King Raminas smiled, though the curiosity was clear in his quirked brow. "We hope you are in much better spirits this morning, Your Highness."
"I am. Thank you, Your Majesty." She inclined her head with some shame, but was all determination when she met his gaze again. "I shall get to the point. I asked for this meeting because I believe our nations are due another arrangement, King Raminas."
She eyed her father too as she said it. King Jenomis quirked a brow, looking almost alarmed. Amiria only smiled at him.
"We all know what stirs outside our borders of late. I, too, wish for the security of our kingdoms, and a loose thread makes us most vulnerable. As such, I would like to propose a suit between myself," she said, and the room collectively gasped, "and Captain Ronsenburg."
The room held its breath. All within had already known of the arrangement, but they had not known the extent of her knowledge of it. Much less her desires, save the man who now met her gaze.
King Raminas and King Jenomis exchanged surprised glances, and the former was the first to smile. "Well. That is certainly a surprise, but if Jenomis has no objections…"
His experience of his own daughter taught him suspicion, for in her youth she had often avenged herself in ways that he did not expect. When he could not fathom how she could manage it this time, however, the king of Nabradia nodded, pleased in spite of his confusion. "I do not."
"...and if, of course, Captain Ronsenburg is amenable to it, then I wholeheartedly agree with the measure."
All eyes now fell on Basch, but his remained on Amiria. Nudged by a very excited Geir and a confused Vossler slowly catching on, he stepped forward, meeting her in the middle. Quite literally. His heart swelled at the sight of her, now smiling openly, warmly for him as he took her side.
"It would be my honor, Your Highness."
"Good," she said, and grabbed him by the collar to pull him into a kiss.
Basch stiffened, the impropriety of it jarring him, but he would find long after that day that he could never truly resist her. Relaxing and letting his hands fall about her waist, he kissed her in return.
The room collectively felt its mouth fall agape, but who would protest?
It was Ashe who would recover first, shaking her head in amusement. "Well… what do you know?"
"Apparently, nothing," replied Rasler, but they could only laugh as they linked hands.
Eventually, the new couple pulled away, and Amiria smiled shamelessly at the stunned expressions of her father and her uncle. "By the way," she added, properly avenged, "I took the liberty of rearranging our schedule today. The captain and I will be attending a wedding. That is, if Captain Geir doesn't mind."
All too giddy at the prospect of his young ward finally settling down, the Nabradian captain beamed.
As for the ladies of the Desert Bloom, rumors soon spread about the visit of a certain Captain Azelas who had patronized the place, for the art of it of course, and even with their injured or ill members absent, and their would-be addition spirited away, business was good. Visiting members of the Nabradian Guilds seemed especially eager to book their shows, which increased its popularity with the locals.
Only three months later, when summer was upon Dalmasca, the Nabradian royals were once again in the capital—this time, for the engagement party of the illustrious Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg and his foreign princess, Amiria Eos Nabradia. It had been a busy night for the Bloom, but not so busy that they could not get up a little after dawn to rush out to the main avenue and find a proper spot from which to watch the engagement parade. It was held here to congratulate the lucky groom, for the wedding would naturally take place in the princess's home of Nabradia.
Ruuj, long recovered, elbowed her way through the buzzing crowd to stand next to her friends. "What's going on? Have they passed?"
"Not yet, dear—" Tepi gasped, giving way to her, only to yank at Petra's arm. "Look! There they are!"
A royal float befitting the opulence of Nabradia came into view. There, they stood hand-in-hand, Captain Ronsenburg in full military regalia and Princess Amiria in an elaborate gown fitted with jewels.
"Lady Amiria! Over here!" cried someone not far from them.
To the surprise of all nearby, the princess looked. But instead of noticing the poor man who had yelled out her name, her gaze passed to them—and with a blink, her regal smile widened with warm familiarity. Her fingers wiggled at them almost shyly, and Ktjn realized, beneath the sunlight glinting against her golden circlet, that the princess's hair was far paler than any of them had imagined.
The crowd around them cheered, imagining this attention was for them, but the ladies of the Desert Bloom only glanced at each other.
Zojje blinked, face flushed. "You don't think…"
Ktjn's eyes widened, so stunned that the moment passed. When the float had gone, the viera screamed, repeatedly smacking her best friend's shoulder. "I told you!"
That evening, a batch of wedding invitations arrived at the Desert Bloom, personally delivered by an old friend.
(Tepi fainted.)
Archadia continued to bide its time.
AGAIN, since FFN is the way it is, I had to remove the explicit stuff from this oneshot. You can find the COMPLETE fic in ou account, also called thepartwhere, if you're interested. Story is also called springtime bloom there.
You probably have questions, like, what kind of weird establishment even is the Desert Bloom, or why were Cid Garlond and Nero from FFXIV in Nabradia? For the first, look away, take it in stride, it's fine. As for the second question, they're just similar characters and not the actual FFXIV characters, kind of like how FFXIV has distorted versions of other FF characters in-game. (If you play FFXIV, Cid in 2.0 always reminded me of Basch.) All the other info about Nabradia and their Guilds and the history are just a headcanon consistent with how I'll be mentioning them in the main series this oneshot is an AU for. If you've read These Roles We Play, the flashbacks there that precede the war are all valid for this oneshot!
I genuinely enjoyed being able to write even just a glimpse of what it was like in Nabradia/what its history was when it wasn't nuked to hell! :D
Also! If you're wondering what Amiria wore as a princess when she wasn't running off dancing, please see the outfit on the right (the one with Rasler's colors) of this post: (please connect the spaces and make DOT COM an actual dot and then write com because FFN likes to break up links) twitter DOT COM /buntglas_/status/1320472840911638535?s=20
Designed by buntglas_ of twitter, who posted it. (Her hair is red because Amiria (as Anya) dyes her hair red in our main Basch/OC fic here, These Roles We Play.) Of course, she shares her real hair color with Rasler.
Anyway, if you're interested in a Basch/OC fic that follows the events of the FFXII, we have another Basch/Amiria story up on this account which does just that. To be clear, there are 3 other FFXII stories in this account:
Hide and Seek is a oneshot that precedes the game's events (occurring after Rasler's death).
The main Basch/OC series that follows the events of the game is its sequel, These Roles We Play.
There's also an AU to These Roles We Play (also a sequel to Hide and Seek) called The Necessity of Peace, but that one's a Vayne/OC story and is on hiatus while I finish These Roles We Play.
Thank you for reading and would love to hear what you think as always!