My brother always had a way of finding people who didn't want to be found.
Of course, my bedchamber wasn't the strongest hiding place, even if I had allowed the lights to die out.
He stood in my doorway with that irrationally hopeful grin, and I tried not to groan audibly. We hadn't spoken much since I came home, but I'd been fearing a conversation about Ursa. By the way I walked, he could tell when I'd gone a week without hearing from her. By the tone of my voice, he could tell when I'd last sent her a scroll.
And I hadn't sent her a single one since Azulon crushed my ambitions.
Not even when I knew that she-and every other unmarried noblewoman in the nation-was in the city for the wartime remnant of the traditional Fire Lord's court. The Fire Lord rarely ever came, of course, unless it was to open or close the season with fireworks, but the members of his 田ourtwere more than happy just to be within the palace walls for something other than a war meeting. Two months or so every year were marked by a series of balls and dinners designed to tide over the nobles, spark potential marriages, arrange engagements, etc. Both unmarried nobles and their parents were delighted by the opportunity the festivities held, but I didn't appreciate being that opportunity.
"Come, Prince Ozai!" Iroh invited me as I sat up on my couch. "It is a beautiful night full of rich feasts, fine music, and lovely young ladies. Why don't you join me?I sent him a glance of Why on earth should I? "It will clear your head." I didn't move. "Or, just stay in your room and sit in the dark." His smile had disappeared, and he was fidgeting with discomfort. "Whatever makes you happy."
Is he... nervous? Or irritated? He looks like I've been drinking tea without offering him a cup. Does he want to use me as a protective shield from flirtatious young women and their matchmaking mothers or
Oh, you know you're going to go anyway. She's there.
Iroh prattled on about... something as we walked to the ballroom. His leave had been extended when, after countless battles without a scratch or burn, he managed to break his leg while playing hide-and-explode with Lu Ten. He'd gone to the dinner earlier that night, as he usually did whenever he happened to be on leave during "the season," feeling it to be his royal duty in Azulon's absence. I might roll my eyes at the idea, but I'd gone to most since I turned sixteen. If nothing else, they varied the form of my boredom.
When we got there, I glanced for her in a way only Iroh might notice. Nothing. Half of the nobles in the city had already arrived, but she wasn't there.
Ursa's never late.
We hadn't been standing there for two seconds before a mob of red dresses surrounded us. By then, most noblewomen had given up on the widower prince ever remarrying; he would flirt and flatter and dance but never more than was polite. A few would still attempt to charm the charmer, but Iroh never favored one girl over another. He never looked at anyone the way he'd looked at her.
And that left me to the wolves.
One of the new debutante's mothers managed to introduce me to and secure the first dance for her daughter. The girl-named Li Mei-made a valiant effort to appear both embarrassed and beautiful. Her training and natural talent were impressive. She was no puppet, whatever she might feign, and she certainly knew how to wield that cruel beauty of hers.
But her cruel beauty was just that-cruel, and I'd been long accustomed to a flawlessness no woman could compete with.
My mask remained, but as I smiled, listened, and replied, my eyes kept searching. One of her cousins was there. Zhen, was it? She would've been rather pretty if it weren't for her permanent, unintended frown. A thin-lipped mouth was made even more pursed and small by her sharp, broad cheekbones, square jaw, and reserved nature. In a nation of golden eyes, hers were terribly dull. In a court of charismatic debutantes, Zhen disappeared. If she stood out for anything other than her relation to Ursa, it was for stern stiffness.
Once I'd been claimed for every dance of the evening, I excused myself to practice my favorite entertainment at court: people-watching (and criticizing). Iroh stared after me with pain and desperation, begging me to save him, but I smirked as the mothers tried to convince him that he could dance with a barely-healed leg, eager for their daughters to be distinguished by dancing with a royal.
It was very difficult to hide my scorn for all the fluttering fans and batting eyelashes I walked past. So many women had tried to charm me. So many struggled to present themselves in a way that was irresistible, planning and playing games of hard-to-get, setting traps of wanting-what-you-can't-have-but-actually-can-because-you're-the-prince. They were trained to be clever yet not threatening, witty and elusive, beautiful and entrancing. They were trained to appear innocent when they were truly ruthless and conniving. It was all a performance for them, and I knew that. It was a performance for all of them except her. I was surrounded by beautiful charmers, but their few faults were glaring as the sun to someone who'd grown up next to perfection. As the musicians tuned their instruments, regret struck. She wasn't coming. It was a mistake to go. Zhen might know where she'd gone, if she wanted to see me, if she was—
The most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
Or ever would.
Ursa glided through the grand entrance as if she had no need for steps, as if the air itself propelled her along, yet the way she walked made men forget their own names. Silence engulfed the ballroom. Musicians stopped tuning. Gossips dropped their jaws. Girls boiled with silent envy. We could only stare, spellbound.
She was everything a noblewoman should be. The angel. The ideal. A fire that burned without pain. A swan dove that could not be broken. That was all that most could see. That she was delicate without fragility. Strong without hardness. Soft but never weak. The expression on her flawless face read kindness, virtue, and peace, wisdom and patience to weather any storm, and she moved with a grace unbeknownst to herself, with more regality and elegant than her audience thought humanly possible. Ursa was no fragile butterfly, but she was too humble to realize it all. For all her brilliance and understanding, she couldn't truly grasp what her unobtrusive-and-then-heart-stopping beauty meant to people. She knew they stared, and she knew why, but she couldn't see the depths of her... everything! The mirror showed her a girl, but she showed us a spirit of night.
The nobles thought she was winning, perfecting the art of elusive entrapment, thought her unattainability meant I simply had to have her, had to conquer her.
But I knew she wasn't a possession, and I didn't want to own her. I wanted to know her. I wanted her to know me. I wanted her to understand me the way she understood herself. She was more than just an ideal. The others didn't see beyond the "perfect noblewoman," didn't see the human being beneath all that, the passion, flames, doubts, fears, and independence. They wished to attain the unattainable, never knowing that she could never truly be tamed, not even by someone who could enter the higher plane that was her existence. I saw. I saw how she didn't blink at the gasps, silence, and stares. How she stared straight ahead, ignoring the dumbstruck, jealous, and judgmental around her, putting all her energy and focus into a single point, hating her face and mistake, fighting back the instinct to blush. She'd changed into the wrong gown.
In a sea of red robes, her pillar of black was a tower in flame. At the time, I thought her the only drop of purity in a realm of all-consuming fire. I didn't realize how that fire could corrupt her too, unable to see my own robe of blood. I didn't realize that she was the first victim, the first pile of ash, as an inferno I created burned out.
Ursa, you fool. Why didn't you just ask Zhen or Maylin? You knew that etiquette scroll was outdated, I scolded myself for changing after dinner. I'd forgotten whether or not everyone wore the same color for both the dinner and ball, and my pre-war scroll was wrong. I'd been so desperate to avoid attention at dinner while the men stole glances and double-takes my way, while former good friends resented my face as a threat to their own futures, while Li Mei's whispers spread constant reminders of my shameful heritage. It sickened me to see the noblemen calculate whether my beauty and reputation was worth the scorn of my family name and possible disapproval of the Fire Lord. I wanted to blend into the background. But as always, I had to glide in with my irritatingly involuntary poise in a black gown that made stand out like—
Another man could've stepped forward to rescue her.
So I did it.
Cheekbones.
Ozai's cheekbones were impossible.
They always had been, I suppose, but I always forgot how pronounced they really were. Every year, I would be absolutely certain that they couldn't become any higher or sharper, and every year Ozai proved me wrong. He was gorgeous. Infuriatingly so. Even as a child, I knew he would have the face of a heartbreaker, but I never imagined...
The most handsome man I had ever seen.
Or ever would.
He was so handsome, so stunning and mindnumbingly tall, that I forgot to breathe as he walked towards me. I forgot to keep walking when I met those blazing eyes of molten gold. I forgot to think
And I forgot to bow.
So Ozai did.
He smiled that outrageously heartmelting fourth-of-a-smirk and bowed first.
Every noble jaw in the Fire Nation dropped, and every widened eye was glued to the Avatar's granddaughter and Fire Prince, and I stood straight. If the Fire Lord had been there, I would've incinerated myself.
Don't you dare collapse, Ursa. The room isn't really spinning, right?
"Lady Ursa," he almost cooed with that voice of his-so deep it was barely recognizable. He remained bent, and the hairs on my back prickled with the best kind of chill. "Would you care to dance?"
Had I been able to see anything other than Ozai's face, I would've seen Li Mei's perfect, little head pop off.
His words helped me to overcome the shock and reminded me to return the bow. I hastily did so, too frantic to apologize or blush.
"It would be an honor..." I trailed off as he straightened, and I looked up through my eyelashes into into his golden eyes. "Fire Prince Ozai."
The idea of Ursa using my formal, "proper" title had always disgusted me... until she said it. There was no sound more beautiful or more musical in all of existence than the sweet whisper of her voice, than hearing that voice say. my. name.
Her brilliant eyes gazed at me through feathery lashes, knocking all breath from my lungs and freezing me to the core. She took my outreached hand, and the musicians finally began. It was a miracle my hand didn't shake as we walked onto the dance floor. I struggled not to gulp or shiver, not to reveal my rapid heartbeat and twisting stomach.
He didn't tower over me like before. I'd grown enough to almost be his equal, but that didn't make his gaze any less smoldering, or his body any less toned. The muscles beneath his crimson robes didn't intimidate me so much as they... dazzled me. My legs felt as though they were about to collapse.
My head knew that I should be more concerned about my appearance, about all the rules I was breaking, about what the court might think, about how a prince's favor would affect my reputation and prospects, but I couldn't force my heart to care. He was-we were all that existed.
We were all I ever wanted to exist.
To calm myself, I tried to re-memorize every curve of her face, every lustrous curl. Obsidian hair cascaded down to her waist, save for two strands in front that had been pulled back. The hairstyle was her favorite, either despite or because of the fact she wore it almost everyday since childhood, and no other could've displayed her loveliness so completely. When even her hair baffled me, I examined the details of her dress. It had a tight turtleduckneck, which was unsurprising considering how much Ursa loved high collars. They hadn't been in noblewomen's fashion for several decades, but they would be after that night. The dress moved right along with her flawless figure, save for the long, billowy sleeves and a skirt that began to flare out at her knees and looked like a mermaid tail. A second layer of midnight cloth defined her delicate waist even more with a broad wrap that covered half her torso.
Traditional Fire Nation dances were almost always boring. With creativity and expression so limited by the war, the old dances hadn't varied for decades, and no new ones were made. But being Ursa, she found a way to make the simplest movements...
She was a living flame, solid lightning. Energy seemed to move through her body rather than outside it.
I know I'm terrible for not updating sooner, but I've been going back and forth with this scene for a while and, ultimately, haven't been able to make a decision.
So YOU'LL get to do it.
In a review or PM, vote for how you want Ursa and Ozai to share their first kiss.
On the ballroom's balcony with fireworks literally in the sky
In the garden, preferably near some turtleducks, and in the rain
Other