A/N: Another quick chapter for you all. Thank you all for the lovely reviews! Shoutout to beachchick3 for reviewing- thank you so much! As for the request by the guest - that is pretty much what I plan to do. I won't be delving into the canonical storyline anytime soon. This story is going to be about their relationship, and it won't go into their lives with children. Thanks for reviewing! Please keep telling me what you think!
Ursa sat forward in her chair as she realized that the ushers were dimming the lights of the theater. She grinned instantly and turned to look at Ozai, seated next to her. With a bashful smile she whispered,
"It's starting now." Her smile did not go unnoticed by Ozai, who smirked when he saw the almost child-like glee spreading across her face at the mere idea of the performance. It soothed him and he didn't know why.
"I can see that," he retorted, and for once his sarcasm was not intended to belittle.
"Have you seen many plays here?" She wonders, begging for the chance of them having at least one shared interest. She knew nothing about firebending or war or history: his interests.
"I have," he starts, and then corrects himself, "Well, it depends on what you mean by many."
"More than five?" She asks, her curiosity evident in her eyes. Ozai only finds it amusing.
"Yes." He chuckled. He didn't know why she loved it so much. It was little more than entertainment to him, a passing fancy that went away the next morning. She seemed to think differently, however, so he kept these thoughts to himself. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because Ursa's smile grew even larger when he feigned interest.
"I'm so glad. I love the theater." He felt almost blinded by her earnestness.
They were seated in the reserved section of the opera house: the centre balcony enclave reserved for royalty and celebrities. Ursa had felt almost haughty walking into that part of the theater, brushing elbows with the prince and dolled up in all her fineries. The night did not feel quite real. She was used to the humdrum plays of her hometown, akin to a puppet show in comparison with the grandeur of the theater in the capital. She felt like she was floating, sitting up in her chair and peering over the ground floor so far below where commoners and nobility mingled. As the show started he grabbed her hand and his touch alone felt real. When she looked at him he was not smiling, but there was a mirth in his gaze and something deeper that she couldn't put her finger on.
She leaned back and watched as the far lights came on, revealing the actors on stage. The play was wonderful, and after an hour or so Ursa was so engaged in it that she forgot her premonitions. Ozai brushed his thumb over her knuckles, and when she wasn't expecting it he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Ursa stilled at the sensation. His lips were warm and so soft against her skin and she yearned to have more of his touch. He hadn't so much as brushed her arm since they kissed at the palace those weeks ago and she was aching for it. For him. As she thought this, silent in her considerations, she felt her heart beat louder in chest. The touch was improper, but there was no one around to see and she could do nothing to stop him. She didn't want to stop him. Suddenly Ursa noticed his expression and broke out of her reverie. He was staring at her, his eyes passionate and intensely bright in contrast with the darkness of the balcony. He didn't let go of her hand.
"What is it?" He asks, and his voice is low and little more than a murmur. His expression doesn't lighten. Ursa swallows thickly, and then the play was little more than background noise. Everything about him was so intense. Her heart only pumped faster and then she was suddenly feeling things she didn't understand, and she pulled her hand away. Ozai watched carefully as she turned her head and exhaled quickly in a rush. He was scowling then, his eyes ever burning with fire and incredulity. What had he done?
"Ursa?" Ozai implored. She turned partially so he could see the light on her pale cheek. He watched as she blinked, her eyelashes accented by the light. He sat up in his seat. When she didn't turn he scowled more and grasped her chin lightly in his large hand, turning her to him. She complies but quickly moves out of his touch, inhaling sharply.
"Prince Ozai," she chastises in a quick breath. He is being improper. They weren't supposed to touch. Ozai finally realizes and drops his arm.
"Forgive me. You're lovely." And that is all he says, expecting a response. She is silent. Ursa locks eyes with him, searching for some sort of emotion, but finds none. He is impossible to read. Her heart's still pounding in her ears at his touch. She can feel his lips lingering on her skin. She doesn't know what to say. She is feeling things she can't understand. There is a scream in the room, and Ursa quickly turns to see one of the actors fainting in the play. When she looks back to the prince his eyes are still on her. His long hair looks shiny in the light, like silk, and she wants to tangle her fingers in it. He leans in.
"What are you thinking?" As he speaks, his eyes flicker down to her wet lips. He looks as if he might kiss her and her breathing becomes quicker, fearful. Ozai notices.
"Are you afraid of me?" He asks, his brows knit together. Why should she be? Ursa blinks, unsure. He is handsome and rich and all the things he should be, but she is still afraid.
"I... no... I'm not." Ursa seems taken off guard and her lackluster response certainly doesn't sway him away from his original perception. His expression shifts from anger to sadness and confusion. He leans back from her.
"I don't believe you, Ursa," he retorts, and when she notices his crestfallen expression she panics. He looks injured. She is worried, frantic. She is doing everything wrong, she knows it. She would be devastated if Ozai decided against marrying her, and so would her parents, but she still cannot touch him. She has been told that by her mother more times than she can name, and yet, she is supposed to please the prince. Ursa's eyes go wide, begging for him not to be upset with her. She didn't know what to do.
"I'm not, Ozai. I'm..." She begins, searching for the words. He returns back to anger, his scowl deepening.
"What?" He says impatiently, his voice rising above the hushed whispers they were speaking in before. Ursa looks out to the crowd, somehow worried they will know that she has done something wrong. That she has angered him in her pride. Was it pride? Or something else? Something she didn't want to name?
"I'm not scared of you, Ozai," she starts, not entirely sure if she believes herself, "I'm... confused." Ozai licks his lips, thinking. His expression doesn't change. He looks out to the play for a second and then back to Ursa.
"I don't want you to be confused." He voices his thoughts, surprised with the way it hurts when he thinks of Ursa spurning his affections. He is not accustomed to it. Suddenly he grabs her hands in his. Ursa looks down to their joined hands in her lap and then up at Ozai in his intensity, the scowl still present on his face. She didn't want to anger him.
"I want you," he says, slowly and earnestly, without really thinking about it. His face soothes when he realises how much he wanted to say that. It had been consuming him those past few days, as he thought about returning from war and not having her in the capital to wait for him. He had been thinking about her for weeks. He imagined touching her hair, her face. Kissing her. Making love to her. It was uncomfortable and new, but he suddenly feels relieved when he finally voices his desire. Ursa gasped slightly, looking deeply at him. He is a prince. Surely this can't be happening. He is royalty and she is expected to please him, but her mother's edict not to let men touch her rings sharply in her ears when she thinks of kissing him.
"So do I," she says faintly, almost a whisper in its resignation, and a weight lifts off both of them as she inhales deeply. Ozai's face slowly morphs into a smile, and it is only then that he realised how nervous he was. That was odd. He leans in, cupping her cheek in his palm as he kisses her lotus bud lips. He only kisses her once and yet her heart is ready to bust out of her chest. Ursa is breathing heavily, and wishes he would let her go. She is torn in her indecision.
He notices this before he kisses her again, stopping himself.
"You are afraid of me," he says, accusingly, his brow furrowing once more, "Why? What did I do?" Ozai's words come out in a rush as he voices his thoughts. He doesn't understand. Ursa lips her lips, backing away slightly. For a moment she is speechless, her voice caught in her throat, and then suddenly she leans her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply. Ozai, surprised by this, stills before he wraps an arm around her.
"What is it?" He asks, murmuring into her hair. He is so warm, and in an instant Ursa feels as if she is going to cry. She is doing everything wrong. Ozai wanted a perfect woman, a perfect wife, not her. She knew it. She would ruin everything, surely. She already had. It was then that the tears started to fall.
"I'm so worried," she says into his chest, the sound of her choked cry muffled by his clothes and his hair. He smells like incense and sandalwood. Ozai, growing more comfortable with the position, leans back and wraps both of his arms around her, running his hand through her hair as she cries silently.
"Why? What's wrong?" He asks. Ursa sighs.
"I don't know what to do. I don't-" Her speech breaks out into a quiet sob. An extremely rare emotion passes through Ozai as he feels her tremble under his touch. He doesn't even quite know what it is.
"Tell me, Ursa," He implores, enjoying the sensation of running his hand over the graceful curve of her back. He stops himself before he thinks of things he shouldn't.
"I'm- I'm confused. I want to be with you. I do. But- my parents, she- she wouldn't approve." She sits back, and Ozai lets his hands fall from her. She stares intently in his eyes and finally lets herself known to him.
"I can't do anything right, Ozai," she murmurs, tears glinting her pale cheek, "I can't make anyone happy." Her eyes are wet and she sniffles, reaching up to brush away a tear. Ozai has really never had to deal with anyone crying before him, and he doesn't quite know what to do. He sighs.
"That's not true, Ursa. You make me happy." He means it. She looks up at him from under wet eyelashes, a weak smile on her lips.
"I can't-" she pauses, "I can't be with you. I'm not even supposed to be alone with you... It's improper." Ozai blinks, understanding.
"To hell with propriety," he whispers fervently, "I want you. And I shall have you." Ursa inhales deeply. She doesn't know what to feel. She desires him as well, but forwardness in a young lady is unbecoming, so she remains silent. He is looking at her so intently she wonders if she could feel anything besides his penetrable heat. It was consuming. Finally, he speaks again.
"You will marry me, won't you?"
A/N: Review please!