A/N
Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, I ended up busier than I anticipated. Also, it's a BIG one, so buckle up.
The spirits are testing Katara's patience, and she's on the brink of snapping. Or losing her sanity. Whichever comes first.
"I won't lie, I was a bit worried when he spent the entire day with them," one of Shila's closest friends says, applying colored powder on the Favorite's eyelids.
"Yeah, me too," adds the other friend, massaging Shila's hand. "But whatever you did to him must have worked wonders if he's summoning you again."
Seated at the vanity table in her chambers, Shila curls her freshly painted lips into a smirk. "I told you he doesn't care for those harlots. They were just a one-time fling. But me? He adores me." She shifts smugly in her chair. "Don't worry, I won't forget either of you when I'm Fire Lady."
The two friends exchange giddy glances. Their giggles grate on Katara's ears.
The first girl dips her brush into the powder and moves on to the other eyelid. "Doesn't he have that awful scar on his face, though? Like, how do you enjoy yourself when you're staring at that?"
Shila shrugs. "He's actually quite handsome if you look past it." Her smile turns wicked. "And believe me, he more than makes up for it with his skill in bed."
Katara's eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. It's taking all her willpower to restrain herself from whacking them all in the head with the ivory hairbrush in her grip. She forces herself to focus on brushing Shila's silky hair, blocking out the rest of the conversation. If she hears one more graphic detail about that prince's love life, she might just puke all over the girls. Stomaching a whole night of exaggerated moans and screams was torture enough — and now she's expected to suffer through it all over again.
Tui and La, give her strength.
At last, Shila deems herself beautiful enough, rising from her seat as her friends fuss over the final touches. Katara and a maid fall in step behind her, escorting her through the winding hallways toward the Prince's chambers. The air grows heavier with each step, dread coiling tight in Katara's stomach.
Upon reaching the chambers, one of the guards steps forward and raps on the door. Katara takes her customary place against the wall beside the maid. There's little else she can do but to keep her head down and pray for the night to end quickly.
Typically, Shila needs to wait for permission before entering — but tonight, the Prince himself opens the door. His sudden appearance sends a shiver down Katara's spine. Every muscle in her body tenses as if preparing for battle. She curtsies with perfect form, her clasped hands curling into fists. Her skin prickles in his presence.
Shila glides forward, greeting him with an ostentatious kiss that makes Katara's stomach churn. She braces herself, expecting the door to close and the real torment to begin. Instead, the Prince's gaze skips past Shila and settles directly on Katara.
"You," comes his gravelly voice, so cold and commanding it could make mountains move. "Fetch us some dessert."
Katara's entire body goes rigid.
Is he seriously talking to her? After everything he's done, he has the audacity to order her around?!
The utter gall of this prick.
Defying all protocol, her eyes snap up to meet his. Blue meets gold. Pure rage crashes against cold disinterest.
Immediately, her gaze is drawn to the cuts on his lips, nose, and brow, and the fading bruise around his good eye. She's heard many whispers about the Fire Lord punishing him — some claimed it was for neglecting his duties, while others argued he'd been caught plotting to overthrow his father. "He's rebelled against His Majesty once," they said. "What's to stop him from doing it again?" A few dismissed the rumor altogether as slander. Whatever the case may be, clearly there was some truth to them. Katara doesn't particularly care about the reason, though — she's just glad he got what he deserved.
Calm down, she tells herself. The eclipse is just around the corner. Don't do anything stupid.
Swallowing the urge to gouge his eyes out, Katara curtsies sharply before spinning on her heel and heading to the kitchens. Each step stokes the storm of rage inside her, but she forces herself to keep it contained. When she returns with a tray of pie and water, the Prince is still in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed. Shila stands further back with her hands on her hips, scowling and tapping her foot impatiently.
Katara approaches him with every muscle in her body wound tight, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Even without looking, she can feel his golden eyes burning into her. A twisted blessing, she thinks, that she's forbidden to raise her head — otherwise, she's pretty sure she'd hurl the tray at his smug face.
Stopping before him, she extends the tray with forced grace, curtsying as she bites her tongue to hold back a torrent of curses. He reaches out — but rather than simply taking the tray, his hands envelop hers, trapping her in his grip.
Katara swears her heart stops beating for a second there. The hair all over her body stands on end.
How dare he put his bloodstained hands on her.
That bastard!
The world turns red as scorching fury washes over her. Before she can stop herself, her eyes shoot to his and her lips curl back, a sharp retort poised on the tip of her tongue—
But then, she feels it. A slip of parchment inside his palm brushing against the back of her hand. A note.
He's trying to hand her a note.
It wipes her mind blank, hitting her like a splash of icy water and dousing the flames of her fury in an instant.
Confusion quickly replaces the rage.
She looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since Ba Sing Se. Standing so close, she sees the cracks in his mask of indifference. And through them, she catches a glimpse of someone else, hidden beneath the surface.
The two people she sees on his face are like night and day. That other person's eyes are soft, devoid of the Prince's signature anger and determination. Instead, something else swirls in those golden depths. Something fragile. Something like hope and desperation.
It's only when his split lips press into a thin line and the desperation in his eyes deepens, that Katara begins to understand. He's asking her— no, begging her to stay quiet, to go along with whatever is happening.
It doesn't make sense. He must know he's strictly forbidden from interacting with a member of his father's harem, concubine or not, unless he's issuing a direct command. Openly staring at her like this is a crime on its own, to touch her is grounds for execution — not just for him, but for her as well.
For the Crown Prince to defy such a fundamental rule is considered an act of rebellion against the Fire Lord himself. So why do it?
Why?
Why?
Why?!
Shila's pointed throat-clearing snaps Katara out of her thoughts, tearing her gaze from the Prince. Katara wipes her features blank and lowers her head. Hastily, she twists her wrist to snatch the parchment and conceals the wobbling of the dishes in her grasp by offering the tray with a curtsy. The Prince accepts it, the desperation in his eyes vanishing as he masks his emotions once more, before stepping back and closing the door with deliberate casualness.
Katara returns to her place beside the maid, mind reeling with confusion. Yet before she can make any sense of what's going on, the door swings open again. Shila bursts out, face flushed with anger, and marches past Katara and the maid without sparing them a glance.
Katara's curiosity flares as she risks a peep back at the Prince through the open doorway. He stands alone in the middle of the room, his posture relaxed. When he meets her gaze, he gives her a small nod of gratitude, and—
Is he smiling?
The guards shut the door before she can make certain of it. Katara furrows her brows, but she doesn't have the luxury to linger. She turns and tags after Shila and the maid as they hurry back to the harem.
What in Tui's name is going on?!
The paper clenched in her fist digs into her palm, as if daring her to read what's inside. What could be so important that the Prince would risk his neck to tell her?
She can't reach the harem fast enough.
The maid leaves their side at the entrance of the harem, and Shila demands that she be left alone once they reach her chambers. Katara is more than happy to oblige. She all but sprints to a secluded section of the harem and stops by a torch mounted on a wall. Scanning the empty hallway to ensure no one is watching, she finally uncurls her fist and reveals the tiny, folded piece of parchment nestled in her palm. Her fingers work swiftly to unfold it. Awaiting her inside is a message written in neat handwriting.
'Meet me in the servants' passage behind the royal spa at midnight. It's really important. I'll explain everything. Destroy this after reading.'
Instead of finding answers to her questions, a million more explode in her head.
Why would he want to meet with her? Could it be a trap? She certainly wouldn't put it past him to lure her into one just to watch her suffer. It wouldn't be the first time he earned her trust, only to shatter it at the last moment. But that look she'd seen in his eyes — the one that pleaded for her to accept the note, that silently thanked her when she did. Could someone intent on her downfall wear such an expression?
Oh, who is she kidding. He did the same thing in Ba Sing Se, and look where that got her.
Why endanger his life to toy with her, though? Is everyone else in on the game too? Or does he have some other ulterior motive? Does he even need one? He already holds all the power in their dynamic. If he so wished, a single word to his father could have her whipped through the streets. So why go through all these hoops to lay a trap for her? Why not just torment her out in the open?
Could he indeed mean well? Maybe he's hoping for a truce? If that's the case, however, why wait until now?
Katara thinks back to the night she was captured. Thinks back to the way he'd stood there, emotionless, while she held Aang.
No. She made the mistake of giving him the benefit of the doubt once before. Never again.
There's one other factor to consider. If her calculations are correct, the eclipse is less than a week away. After everything she's endured — all the loneliness and pain — would it make sense to jeopardize her only chance at reuniting with her family? To turn her back on the only thing that has kept her going?
A sudden headache pierces through her skull. Wincing, she massages her temple.
Each of her conflicting thoughts is pulling her in a different direction. The risks are monumental, the stakes incredibly high. Yet, there's also her insatiable curiosity.
What could he possibly have to say to her? Did he really summon Shila tonight just so he could give Katara this message?
What if, for once, he genuinely has good intentions?
Katara groans in frustration. This is impossible.
As much as she despises the thought, there's only one way to get the answers she seeks — by actually meeting him.
Trust him? Never. She's learned that lesson well when it comes to the Fire Nation. She won't engage, won't speak to him. She'll keep her distance, only go to see if he stays true to his word and shows up alone. It won't give her all the answers, but at least it'll quell a bit of the gnawing curiosity twisting in her gut.
Shoving aside her lingering doubts, Katara looks both ways of the hallway before tossing the note into the torch next to her. She watches it curl at the edges and crumble into ash, then turns and heads to the palace kitchens.
If she's to go anywhere near the Prince, she needs to be armed. Just in case.
Slipping in and out as quiet as a spirit, she quietly borrows a knife from the nearest counter, its edge sharp enough to slice paper. The cool metal presses against her skin as she conceals it behind the length of her forearm, and begins stalking through the dark hallways toward the rendezvous point, constantly checking her back.
At the intersection of two narrow passageways behind the spa, Katara leans against the wall that overlooks the hallway the Prince mentioned in his note. With no way to track time, she relies solely on her instincts to guess how close midnight might be as she settles in for the wait.
Minutes trickle into hours. To his credit, no one shows up during her wait. Maybe this isn't a trap after all.
Eventually, Katara lowers herself to the ground, back pressed against the cool marble. To kill time, she idly balances the knife by its hilt in her palm, though her senses stay sharp, ever attuned to her surroundings. And just when she's convinced he won't come, she hears it — the low groan of stone grating against stone. Feels its rumble in her bones.
She freezes. Doesn't dare to breathe.
The sound of a pair of footsteps materializes out of thin air. Slowly, without making a single sound, she rises to her feet and peeks around the corner, careful to keep her body hidden behind the wall. Her heart pounds in her chest.
The Prince emerges from a door-sized hole in the wall, alone and dressed in black from the neck down. He starts walking toward her, eyes fixed on the ground. There are no signs of weapons on him whatsoever.
It seems that the hidden, vulnerable person she'd glimpsed before on his face is now on full display. Gone is his facade of a commanding, princely demeanor — in its place stands a guy with slumped shoulders, a battered face, and a deep scowl. It makes him look younger than usual. Much, much younger.
Once at the middle of the passage, he stops. Doesn't venture any closer to Katara's side of the hall, instead staying rooted where he stands. His gaze remains on the floor, and after a long pause, he turns and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms and hanging his head.
Time drags on, minutes slipping by, while Katara spies on him. Is this part of his plan? To wait for her to show herself, and then jump her? Are there others lurking in the shadows, like inside that hole in the wall he came out from? Does he even know she's here?
After a long stretch of quiet, the Prince lets out a weary sigh and rakes a gloved hand through his shaggy hair. Pushing himself off the wall, he turns in her direction and looks straight at her.
"I understand you have reservations about meeting me, but I swear I only want to talk."
Katara can't stop the gasp that escapes her lips, and she whirls back behind the wall. Her heart starts racing even faster.
How long has he known she was watching him?!
"I know you hate me," he continues softly. "I can't blame you. I just… Hear me out. That's all I'm asking."
Katara weighs her options. If he already knows she's here, hiding won't serve any purpose.
Taking a deep breath, she steps out from behind the wall and rounds the corner to face him. Instantly, his gaze meets hers. She hides the knife by clasping her hands behind her.
"Alright," she spits, her features twisted in a glare. "I'm here. Let's talk."
It feels surreal, almost disorienting, to stand in front of him after everything that's happened since the last time they saw each other.
He swallows before beginning, "First of all, I'd like to thank you for agreeing to meet with me. It can't have been an easy decision." He shifts uneasily, eyes briefly flicking to the ground. "As for why I invited you here… I wanted to apologize to you. I betrayed your trust and tore your life apart, and I won't ever forgive myself for it. I'll carry its shame with me for the rest of my life. I just want you to know that I never meant for things to turn out this way. I was confused, and I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought—"
"You thought only of yourself," she cuts in with a lethal snarl, her lips curling in a sneer. "You threw me to the wolves just so you could crawl back to your dad's feet."
"It's…" he shuts his eyes as if she'd wounded him, "not that simple."
"It isn't?" Her eyes narrow into slits, her voice velvet smooth. "Do you have any idea what I have to endure every single day because of you? What I've been enduring for months?"
The Prince drops his head.
"That's what I thought," she seethes.
He meets her gaze. "I didn't know you'd been brought to the harem until I saw you the other day. I tried to convince Azula to release you — she wouldn't listen."
"Oh, did you?" She tilts her head, clenching her jaw. "Well, that changes everything."
He raises his hands slightly in surrender. "Look, what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry. I regret what I did. I regret hurting you. I made a terrible mistake. And… And I'm trying to be better. I'm trying to make things right."
Katara studies him for a long second. Why is he apologizing? Is it a ploy to get her to lower her guard?
"And how, pray tell, is that any of my business?" she mutters venomously.
"Actually, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." He glances over his shoulder. "It's better if we go somewhere more private, though. Anyone can walk in on us here. I know a place where no one will find us."
"So there'll be no witnesses when you murder me?" she bites back. "I think I'll pass."
"I won't—" He releases a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not gonna kill you."
She fixes him with a deadpan stare. "That makes me feel so much safer."
He matches her expression. "If I wanted to harm you, I would've done it already."
"Yeah," Katara snaps, "you'd know all about harming me, wouldn't you?"
The Prince opens his mouth, then closes it. After a deep breath, he says, "You have every right to doubt me, but I've changed. Really."
Katara scoffs. "Funny, you said the same thing in Ba Sing Se."
His face turns grim, and he lowers his head.
"If you'd just give me a chance to prove myself…" he murmurs without looking up. He then pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily, and lifts his head. "I won't force you to come with me, and I won't stop you if you want to leave — but it's not safe for us to stay here. And trust me, you'll wanna hear what I have to say."
"Trust you," she repeats bitterly, the words like poison on her tongue.
"You're free to do as you wish," he says softly, brushing off her retort. "Just know that I'm trying to help you."
At that, she raises a skeptical brow. "Help me how?"
"I…" He peeks over her shoulder, eyes darting down the hallway as if searching for threats. He gently shakes his head. "We can't discuss it here. It's too dangerous."
How awfully convenient for him.
Despite herself, Katara considers the invitation. Everything about him — the sympathy in his voice, the remorse etched into his features — suggests he's being sincere. And yet, he'd seemed just as convincing in Ba Sing Se. The gash his betrayal left in her heart is as raw now as it was back then, still festering deep inside her. Her grip on the knife tightens, knuckles white.
He does have a valid point, however. If he truly meant to hurt her, he could've done so countless times by now. Yet here he stands, alone. Still, that doesn't mean he won't lead her straight to a bloodthirsty crowd eager to witness her death. Is it even possible that he has changed? That somewhere beneath the hardened mask and the scars, he regrets what he did?
Silence stretches between them. Katara hates him for putting her in this position again — forcing her to choose between her safety and curiosity. She searches his face for any hint of deception, any hint that he's manipulating her like before, but all she finds is sorrow and vulnerability. She strains to listen for guards or signs of an ambush, but hears nothing.
The knife hilt digs into her palm as her thoughts whirl. She could say no. She could walk away, leave him here to stew in his guilt and shame. But… what exactly did he mean by helping her? Is he offering a way to contact her family? Or maybe even find a way to restore her bending?
What if she walks away from the one chance to regain her bending? She could assist the invasion force from within the palace on the day of the eclipse. Catch the ashmakers off-guard, and end the invasion quicker.
What if this time, he's not lying?
With a sharp inhale, she makes her choice. In the end, curiosity comes out victorious.
It'll be the death of her someday.
Against her better judgment, she lifts her chin and locks eyes with him. "Fine. I'll come with you. But if this is some kind of trick—"
"It's not," he interrupts quickly, a glimmer of relief crossing his face. "You have my word."
"Your word means nothing to me." Her voice is as icy as the waters of her homeland.
The Prince's relief fades back into dejection. He takes a breath to gather himself before turning halfway toward the door-sized gap in the wall.
"Follow me," he instructs Katara, then turns fully and starts to walk toward the narrow opening.
Katara falls in step, eyes searing into his back. As he steps into the darkness, he conjures a ball of fire in his palm. The secret passage swallows them with its damp, stone walls and thick, humid air. Once inside, the Prince presses a lever next to the entrance, and the angled segment of the wall slowly grinds shut behind them.
Neither speaks while the mossy passages guide them deeper into the heart of the palace, lit only with the Prince's flickering flames. Katara maintains a cautious distance of at least ten paces at all times, and never once takes her eyes off of him. She watches him, waits for him to slip up.
The tense silence draws her nerves taut.
"We're here," the Prince mumbles when he finally halts in the middle of a passage, facing the wall. Katara stops further down the path.
He presses a stone set into the wall at waist level, and a hidden door rumbles open. He steps back and extends a hand in a gesture of courtesy for her to enter.
"You first," she hisses.
Without a word, the Prince strides into the tiny, dimly lit room, and Katara follows. Moisture trickles down the uneven stones on the walls, and the musty scent of humidity persists in the air. On the floor lie scattered drawings, blank scrolls, a writing brush, an inkwell, and a melted candle, all haphazardly clustered together near the door.
He crosses the room to the opposite wall, then inhales deeply and turns to face her. Katara stands in the open doorway, ready to bolt at any moment.
The Prince opens his mouth to talk, but she acts first. "Now will you tell me what you want?"
He exhales a heavy, shaky breath, meeting her gaze. "I asked you here because I know you're planning an escape."
Katara doesn't react. Doesn't even bat an eye. She hadn't realized her intentions were so glaringly obvious, but she can't say she's surprised — she can only act so well.
The Prince pauses for a couple of seconds, weighing his words carefully before continuing, "And I want to escape with you."
Katara blinks.
It takes her several moments to process the information.
"What?" she blurts at last.
He swallows hard and repeats himself. "I want to escape with you."
Her eyes sweep him from head to toe. More than once.
"Is this some kind of joke, or…"
"No, it's—" He pauses again, extending his hands in a gesture of sincerity. "I'm serious. We both want out of here, and I have crucial information that you need."
Katara blinks a couple more times.
What is he playing at? What kind of game is this?
"Why?" she can't stop herself from asking. "You're a prince. You have all the money and power in the world. Why would you wanna leave that behind? Your life is perfect."
That last line clearly strikes a nerve. His face hardens, as does his tone.
"My life is not perfect."
Katara scoffs, bitterness quickly worming its way back in.
"Oh, you poor thing," she mocks. "Having servants who do everything for you and a different girl in your bed every night must be so hard."
The Prince's posture stiffens. "You know nothing about me."
"I don't?" Her lips curl into a snarl as she steps forward. "I know that you're a lying, manipulating, back-stabbing little snake that takes pleasure in watching people suffer." She moves closer. "I know that your uncle loved you, and you sold him out." Another step. "I know that I trusted you, and you sold me out." She halts a few paces away. "Is that not enough?"
He shuts his eyes, grimacing, unable to meet her blazing eyes as he murmurs, "I'm sorry."
A growl rips from her throat. She struggles to keep her hands behind her.
"Stop apologizing!" she snaps, her cry echoing off of the walls. "You betrayed me! You don't get to be sorry!"
Her breath quickens, rage surging within her like a storm ready to break.
"I just wanna help you get back to your family," he pleads, stepping closer. He sounds desperate, but all Katara hears is betrayal. "What else can I do to make it up to you?"
She flings her free hand out wildly. "Hmm, maybe you could reconquer Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King! Or, I know! You could bring my mother back! Give me back my childhood! MY LIFE!"
The harsh truth visibly hits the Prince like a punch in the gut. But it's not enough. It never will be.
Before she can stop herself, Katara is moving. A guttural roar bursts from her chest, and she lunges at him, everything inside her burning with the force of a thousand suns. She flies toward him like an arrow — all her anger, grief, and pain aimed straight at his throat. The Prince makes no attempt to defend himself. He doesn't flinch, doesn't lift a single finger as his back slams into the wall and she presses her knife against the underside of his jaw, her other hand gripping his tunic.
"Give me one reason not to kill you," she hisses through gritted teeth, standing so close that they share one breath.
The Prince maintains his composure. He coolly looks her in the eyes, his chin tilted up by the knife. "Because I'm your only way out of here."
Katara scoffs, driving the knife harder into his skin. "That's it? Is that really all you got?"
The Prince winces as the blade bites into his throat but maintains eye contact. Though he could easily disarm her, he chooses to calmly utter his next words.
"We know about the invasion planned for the eclipse. It's a trap. The resistance won't make it past the palace walls."
Katara's heart stutters. The floor suddenly tilts beneath her feet.
Time itself comes to a standstill.
Sokka. Dad. Toph.
Her family. Her people. Walking straight to their deaths.
It's a nightmare come to life.
The world collapses around her, the walls of the room pressing in. Her vision narrows, darkness creeping in around the edges until only the Prince's face is visible. The knife begins shaking violently in her hand, her entire body paralyzed in a state of shock. Her chest is clamped in a vice — she can't draw a single breath.
"No…" she whimpers. The word barely leaves her lips, fractured and broken.
"We've known about it for months," the Prince continues gently. It's like his voice is echoing from worlds away. "The Earth King told Azula everything when he thought she was your ally."
Katara staggers back, and her grip on the knife loosens. Her legs feel as if they might give way. She presses a hand on her chest as if to will her lungs to function again, to stave off the invisible force that's wrenching her heart from her chest.
She can't hold onto the knife any longer. It slips from her grasp, clattering to the floor as tears blur her vision. She backs away until her back hits the wall by the door.
The tears spill over, streaking her cheeks. Her glazed eyes fall to the ground.
"Everything's already in place," the Prince says. "Anyone that sets foot here on that day will be—"
"Slaughtered," Katara finishes, her voice hollow, still staring at the floor.
He doesn't respond, resigning to press his lips into a tight line. His silence and the tension in his jaw say enough.
Katara slumps against the wall and sinks to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest as she buries her face in trembling hands.
Her family. Almost everyone she's ever cared about.
Gone. Butchered like animals.
Her mind spirals, spinning in a chaotic storm with no escape.
Their faces flash behind her eyes. Their smiles, their warmth.
They're never going to smile again.
They're going to die.
They're all going to die.
Tears pour down her cheeks and drip onto her robe. Sobs wrack her whole body. Her wails thunder through the tiny room. In front of her, the Prince slides down to the ground, stretching out his legs while maintaining the small ball of fire above his palm.
Katara's head throbs, each pulse like an arrow ricocheting within her skull. Slowly, she lowers her hands. Bloodshot blue eyes lock onto him.
"What do you want from me?" she rasps, hands falling limply to her lap. Her voice is hoarse, barely holding together.
His expression is open, sharing her grief. "I want to help you escape the Fire Nation. That's all."
Katara lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, tipping her head back against the wall. She peers down her nose at him through watery eyes, her laughter dissolving into a fresh wave of tears. They trace paths down her hollow cheeks.
"Why do you care what happens to me?"
The Prince holds her gaze. His tone is steady as he says, "Because I put you here. I owe you your freedom."
She searches his face. "I'm your enemy."
"That's not how I see it."
"Oh yeah?" Another breathless laugh escapes her as she shakes her head. "So how do you see me?"
He doesn't hesitate. "A girl who's been caught in the middle of a war she didn't start, who's been wronged and who deserves better."
Her body shakes with the effort to contain her sobs as she watches him.
"Then why do you want to leave?" she asks, hardly audible.
"I told you. My life is not perfect."
She has no strength left to reign in her thoughts. "Why should I believe you?"
The Prince bows his head. "I made a horrible, horrible mistake in Ba Sing Se, and you paid for it. Not a day goes by that I don't regret it." He raises his head. "I won't ask you for your forgiveness. I have no right. I can only offer you my help — it's up to you whether to accept it or not. But if you do, know that I will do everything in my power to get you back to your family. After that, you will never see or hear of me again. I swear it, on my honor."
Katara's mind whirls in the wake of his words. She shuts her eyes, willing the world to stop, but the throbbing in her temples is relentless.
Can she really trust him again? After everything he's done? Every instinct screams at her to push him away, to pick up the knife and finish what she started. To keep fighting alone, like she has since Ba Sing Se. And yet… there's something in the way he speaks, in the remorse written across his features, that she simply cannot ignore.
Her thoughts churn, torn between sorrow, rage, suspicion, and that faint glimmer of desperate hope. He's the reason her life turned upside down, the reason Aang is dead — and here he is, offering her a way out. The same guy who stabbed her in the back is now telling her things the Fire Nation would kill him for saying.
It makes no sense why he'd tell her this, why he'd ask to run away with her. Katara clenches her fists, fighting against the urge to dismiss it all as a lie, another manipulation, another Fire Nation trick.
But he's revealed more than just plans. He's exposed himself. One word of this to anyone, and she could have him hanged — or whatever form of execution the Fire Nation reserves for traitors. Even if this were all an elaborate ruse, even if the entire palace were in on it, why would he willingly give her leverage this lethal?
No, this isn't a game. It's outright treason.
And if he's willing to betray his father, his nation for her sake… Maybe, just maybe, he means it. Or maybe she's grasping at excuses because he's indeed her only chance at freedom.
She opens her eyes, taking in the sight of him. The firelight dances across the sharp lines of his face. His expression is earnest, full of regret.
Does Katara have any real choice but to trust him? If she doesn't go along with his plan, there's no escape from this spirits-forsaken palace. She can't spend the rest of her days rotting here, slaving away for the very people who will be responsible for her family's… her family's death.
At that moment, an idea occurs to her.
If she must ally with the Prince, if he honestly wants to help her, he can do more than just get her out.
Her gaze drifts to the scrolls and drawings on the floor across the open doorway. A hand instinctively rises to her chest, feeling for the outline of the necklace tucked beneath her clothes, pressing against her skin.
Her vision clears abruptly. The throbbing in her head dissipates. She's able to draw a steady breath again.
If there's even the slightest chance she can warn her family, she has to seize it.
Suddenly, she snaps her head toward the Prince and hastily wipes away her tears. She shoots to her feet, and he rises in tandem, the surprise evident on his face.
"Fine," she declares, lifting her chin as if she hadn't been bawling her eyes out, though her thick voice betrays her. "I accept your offer."
The Prince's face brightens.
"If," she then adds, and the light in his eyes dims, "you let me send word to my family about the invasion."
What little remains of his joy twists into a frown. "All of my letters go through the royal courier. I can't just… write to the enemy."
"That's not my problem."
The Prince sighs, running a gloved hand through his hair.
After a prolonged pause, he concedes. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. But you have to understand that the letter might not reach them in time. A messenger hawk can only fly so fast, and it might get intercepted on the way."
"I don't care. You'll send it."
The Prince nods earnestly, determination etched on his face. "I will. I promise."
Katara studies him for a moment before crossing the doorway to crouch down and sift through the clutter of scrolls. She finds the inkwell and holds it out toward him. "Melt the ink. It's dried."
He steps closer, briefly removing one of his gloves to bend a tiny stream of fire over the dry, black liquid, mindful of its wooden surroundings. Once he finishes, Katara grabs the brush and a blank scroll from the chaotic assortment, and hastily scribbles a short message.
'THEY KNOW ABOUT OPERATION OVERLORD. ABORT MISSION. DO NOT ATTACK.'
Katara then rises to her feet but halts midway, a thought striking her. She sets the scroll back on the rugged ground and adds another message at the bottom.
'To my family: Please don't worry about me. I'm doing well. Words can't describe how much I love and miss you all. I hope I'll be with you again soon.'
While the last of the characters dry, Katara stands, a heavy weight settling in her chest. She reaches inside her cleavage, fingers trembling slightly as she retrieves her necklace. It glimmers faintly in the dim light, and she stares at it for what feels like an eternity.
She can't think of another way to prove this message is from her without writing her name, and the thought of parting with the last tangible connection to her mother and home kills her inside. If she's lucky, she'll get it back one day.
Tears once again flow from her eyes, but she steels herself, forcing the anguish down. With a deep, shuddering breath, she closes her eyes, pressing the cool pendant to her lips. It's for Sokka, she tells herself over and over. For Dad, for Toph, for every last person about to walk blindly into a massacre. She has to do this — to protect them, to fulfill her duty in this never-ending war. It's a sacrifice she must make, even if it feels like tearing a piece of her heart away.
Katara exhales forcefully, rolling the scroll before tying the necklace around it. She'll back down if she dwells any longer on it.
"Send this to General Fong's base in the Earth Kingdom," she instructs the Prince, striding over to hand him the letter. "My friends and my dad's fleet should be there by now. They'll know who it's from."
The Prince takes the letter, and the necklace with it.
"It might get lost in transit," he says with a grave expression, staring at the scroll. He isn't talking about the letter, and she knows it.
Katara's heart aches as she gazes at the pendant, already feeling its absence against her skin. She swallows the lump in her throat and straightens her spine. "It's worth the risk."
The Prince dips his head slightly and carefully tucks the letter into the sash around his waist. Katara sniffs and wipes the last of her tears with the back of her hand. She sets her jaw, trying to reclaim a semblance of strength.
"So," she says, her voice rough but firm, "do you have a plan?"
"Nothing solid yet. We should take advantage of the eclipse, though. Everyone will be distracted and most guards will be powerless. I won't be able to firebend either, but I'll have my swords. Still, we'll need to rely mainly on your waterbending. I'll find you a source with plenty of water."
Oh.
Katara stiffens.
He doesn't know.
Her eyes flicker to the floor, and she shifts her weight uneasily, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve.
"Something wrong?" the Prince asks, furrowing his sole brow.
"There's… a bit of a problem."
He watches her closely, a silent nudge to continue. Katara wraps her arms around herself and bites her lip. Her fingers ball into fists, nails digging into her skin. Her cheeks burn with shame.
She wants to bang her head against the wall for having to admit her weakness and deepest insecurity to her worst enemy, but she has no choice — she either cooperates with him or resigns herself to a life of slavery and regret.
Taking a sharp breath, she averts her gaze.
"I… I can't…" she lets go of her breath, "waterbend anymore."
His mouth opens and closes without a sound.
"What do you mean you can't waterbend anymore?" he mutters at last.
"This collar," she gestures to the bulky metal clasped around her throat, "it blocks my chi. I can't bend with it on."
His eyes fall on the collar, his brow furrowing deeper. He proceeds to turn away slightly, pressing the heel of his free palm into his eye.
"Shit."
For a few seconds, they stand there in resignation, both facing away. Then he puffs out a breath and cuts through the air with his hands.
"It's fine," he mumbles, more to convince himself than her. "Everything's fine. I'll figure out a way to take it off." He turns to her and examines the collar. "Do you remember how they put it on?"
She shrugs. "I think there's a lock on the inside or something. They inserted some sort of key into it, twisted it, and I lost my bending. That's all I know."
"So… I just need to figure out what kind of key they used, then," he says, nodding to himself.
Another stretch of silence settles over them before Katara shatters it. "I should go. Shila probably threw a fit because you stood her up. I need to clean up the mess."
"Okay," he says. "Let's meet here the night before the eclipse. Or, well, where we met tonight — we can come here together. I'll have the plan ready and do something about that collar."
She nods stiffly, arms still crossed.
The Prince hesitates, finding her eyes reluctantly. "I'll see you soon, then?"
Katara doesn't bother with a reply, offering only a piercing glare before she spins on her heel. Her footsteps are already carrying her out into the dingy passage when the Prince's voice stops her in her tracks.
"Thank you," he calls, his tone softer now, almost timid. "For trusting me. I won't let you down again."
She freezes mid-step and glances over her shoulder. Her eyes blaze with a ferocity that could scorch the air between them.
"No," she spits, the word laced with loathing and bitter resentment, "you won't."
With that, she whips her gaze back to the front and storms off, leaving him standing all alone in the suffocating silence.
A/N
Oh yeah, we're finally getting into the meat of the story.
My old readers may recall that I LOVE incorporating real historical aspects into my world-building. For example, "Operation Overlord" is actually the codename the Allies used for the Normandy landings during WW2. And, since I'm Turkish, I pretty much copied the entire harem structure of the Imperial Harem of the Ottoman Empire.
