Archive of Our Own ^beta

The palace was about as stagnant as the cliffs it sat on. There was always squabbling, of course, and always new problems that needed to be solved, new people to train, new political discussions to be had; but it ultimately fell down to the same core principles. The fights were always about the same handful of things, as were the politics, and there's only a number of ways to properly train an army. No matter who it was, nearly every woman had the same attitude.

 It was maddening.

Which is why, as she sat in yet another meeting in yet another ornately decorated room with the same council members that had raised her since she was young, the woman standing behind the captain of the guard had caught Rosa’s attention.

The newly appointed vice captain of the guard stood as rigid as any D’Arc, but that was where the similarities with her and her clan ended. She had the same dark hair and pale blue eyes as her kin, but unlike the other many D’Arcs Rosa has seen, this woman’s hair was wavy, long, and unruly, fighting its containment in the lengthy braid trailing down her back. Another rare sight was her skin; unmarked by tattoos, suggesting that she was relatively young, perhaps even Rosa’s age.

But her weapon was what stood out the most. The D’Arc clan was known for their proficiency in spears and staffs, and yet hers looked like neither. It shared the same length as one, but the last quarter of the shaft widened to a point where it was more akin to a club, turning from a rounded weapon to a three sided one; the round blades embedded on each side completed the look.

Rosa wasn’t sure what demon she had a pact with, if any, but she was sure Baal would never accept being placed into something so…brutish.

An odd weapon for an odd woman, and an even odder D’Arc.

Rosa couldn’t keep the smile off her face, opting to hide it behind resting her head on her palm. 

The palace might have some hope for it yet.

She ignored the debate going on around her, instead focusing solely on the anomaly. She didn’t make it a secret she was staring; she never did with anyone. It was a test she put into action constantly: If one squirmed under her gaze and did little else, they’d most likely be a bore, too caught up in stuffy rules. 

…And yet, despite her high hopes, the woman stood completely still, with no hint of acknowledgement to be found. 

Rosa fought back a sigh. Maybe she underestimated how rigid the D’Arc clan could be.

Movement caught her attention, then.

Ah.

Their gaze met. She was looking back, though much more subtly. Her face moved ever so slightly, raising one dark eyebrow at the Heiress nearly imperceptibly before once again mechanically staring straight ahead.

Rosa could barely hide her grin behind her hand.

Simply thrilling.

_______

As much as she’d love to follow the trail of whatever has caught her eye at any time, Rosa was the heiress, and with the absence of a queen, her duties piled up quite fast. But, while sparring with the numerous guards of the palace wasn’t technically a queen’s duty, Rosa found it was one of the best ways to keep them on their toes, while also forging connections.

…It was also a good way to keep herself from dying of boredom, though that wasn’t a very queenly thing to think.

As Rosa strolled to the training grounds, she tried to justify the fact that this would be the third time this week she’d be “surprising” the guards. 

Though, to be fair to her, there was one woman in particular she hoped to pick up a match with.

Sparring was a good way to get to know someone, after all.

The clanging of metal on metal and voices shouting and the thump of bodies hitting stone filled her ears as she walked into the grounds proper. The sweltering heat of the sun beat down on her as she entered the unshaded stadium, full of squads of women running through various exercises, weapons flashing and fabric waving through drill after drill.  Rosa couldn’t help but grin at all the noise and movement. 

Nothing was as fun as a good fight.

She saw her, then, that odd D’Arc. Standing rigid next to Zahra like an odd statue on the other side of the field, both standing on a platform slightly above the fray.

Rosa ignored the women around her who stopped their sparring to bow their heads and murmur greetings. Such formalities were grating; which was all the more reason that she held the captain of the guard in such a high opinion. Zahra had never bent to her, and wasn’t going to start now. It was a gesture Rosa couldn’t help but admire.

She walked up to Zahra as the palace guard were doing their usual song and dance, the captain doing nothing more than turning her head and nodding.

“Princess.”

“Captain. How goes today’s training? Is everything in-”

She huffed. “If you’re looking for another fight, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I can’t have my guards sparring only you; they’d never learn anything that way.”

Blunt as always.

“Ah, lucky for me, I’m not looking to spar with just anyone today,” Rosa turned to the D’Arc at the woman’s side, meeting her gaze, “I had someone in particular in mind.”

She blinked. “What?”

It was the first time Rosa had heard her voice. It was rather low in pitch, smooth and quiet.

Pleasant.

She smiled despite herself.

“How about it? Care for a match?”

The woman in question looked to Zahra as if asking for permission, brow raised and lips turned down.

The captain put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be too off put by it. She does this with everyone. It’s quite,” she shifted to glare at Rosa, “a hassle.”

The D’Arc let out a low hum, expression unreadable.

 Zahra continued. “Since this…request…was unannounced, I will respectfully decline. Some of us have duties and limited time to do them.”

“Oh, please. This won’t take long. And I’ve completed my tasks…”

“By dismissing meetings?”

“...I’ve completed my tasks-”

Zarha let out a sharp sigh. “Princess, as much as I’d love to halt the very important training of a few hundred women for a sparring match that will most likely be shorter than the preparation for it, perhaps that’s not the wisest use of daylight…” 

Rosa frowned as she continued. 

Zahra, while usually irritated, had never denied her from sparring before. Most likely, then, she didn’t want her to spar with the woman at her side; who didn’t seem quite keen on a prospective match. In fact, she didn’t seem to have much thoughts on the matter at all.

How disappointing. Perhaps it’d been a fluke after all.

A D’Arc, she supposed, will always be a D’Arc.

“...Besides, the Vice Captain has just been appointed, and she’s had little time to adjust-”

“I’ll do it.”

…Perhaps not.

Zarha pivoted. “What?”

Her features were impassive as she spoke, “You said it yourself. This won’t take much time.” Her gaze shifted to Rosa, calculating. “...If you’d so allow it, Captain.”

For a beat, Zarha regarded her in full. Eventually, she let out an exasperated sigh.

“...You’re quite set, I see.” She began to walk past the two of them.

“In that case…Do try to hold back some, will you? You do have vigil tonight, Vice Captain.”

She didn’t reply.

Rosa couldn’t suppress her grin as she heard the Captain make the announcement to the palace guard below, eyes still locked with the woman in front of her.

Outwardly, she didn’t seem to have any eagerness about the impromptu match; but on closer analysis, Rosa could see it. Her rigid stance had loosened and squared, her weight shifted on her toes, her hands flexing subtly. It was clear enough that she wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.

It was rare, for the people Rosa challenged, to be anything but anxious.

How brash.

How exciting.

“...Well,” Rosa moved to follow Zahra, “Best get to it.” 

She winked before stepping off the platform.

 “Let’s have a good fight, shall we?”

_______

…On second thought, perhaps challenging the newly-appointed Vice Captain of the Guard in front of all the women she’s now superior to might have not been the most courteous idea. 

Hm. Maybe that’s what Zahra was on about.

Rosa grabbed her favored weapons from the sparring rack: the two wooden scythes. She brushed her palms against their worn handles, spinning them in a familiar ritual as she turned back to the practice court. 

To the D’Arc’s credit, she seemed rather unfazed by the throng of soldiers gathering around the arena. 

Whether she was truly unbothered or just had an excellent front, Rosa wasn’t entirely sure.

She watched as the woman walked to the opposing rack, ignoring the crowd and picking out the heaviest spear without hesitation. Rosa snapped her blades to a halt. 

…She’d find out soon enough, she supposed.

With that thought, Rosa walked into the court proper, coming to a stop a few paces away from the center. She dropped her hands to her sides and shifted her feet to be square with her shoulders, tensing up her whole body before abruptly forcing her muscles to relax, clearing out the last of the anticipation from her limbs. 

Willing herself to clear the sounds of the rowdy cheering, of the footsteps of those around her, of the clangs and clamor of weapons, of her own thrum of excitement.

Listening only to her own breathing, footsteps, and the whipping of the D’Arc’s weapon as it twirled through the air. She was in the ring now, striding forward with light steps, moving like a cat would: deliberately, calmly, smoothly.

Predatorily.

How exciting.

The woman stopped a few lengths away from her, halting the spear with a flick of her wrist before sleekly lowering into a defensive stance, body slightly twisted, right leg in front, spear held out, wooden tip pointing directly at Rosa’s watch.

Rosa stayed upright.

For a beat, neither moved.

Rosa shot forward and swung her blades at the woman’s neck, the wooden weapons making a sharp crack as she blocked with the spear. Rosa didn’t let up pressure, pushing into the shaft and grinning wickedly, trying to make her lose ground. The D’Arc’s expression didn’t shift as her body did, and before Rosa could react she was rammed backwards and out of the center of the court.

Rosa skidded to a halt, raucous cheering erupting throughout the crowd. 

Thrill shot through her body, blasting into her limbs and making her fingers sting. No one had been able to do that before.

Oh, she could play much rougher.

Rosa took three quick steps and rocketed off the ground, clearing the distance and bringing her scythes down hard. Unphased, the D’Arc took a step back, causing her blades to strike the stone floor. Rosa followed through on the motion by snaking to the ground and sweeping her leg out at the womans’, catching nothing.  

She heard, rather than saw, the spear slice through the air, narrowly dodging it as it skimmed over her face. She had taken a step forward to do that, Rosa thought, twisting her body and launching her heel straight up at the vice captain’s chin. She missed again.

Just as her toes brushed against the arena, she caught movement from over her shoulder. The D’Arc had raised her spear in length with her body, aiming straight where she’d land. Out of options, the instant her heels came in contact with the floor Rosa rolled backwards, a slam booming out as she did. She looked up, prepared to dive back in, before abruptly halting.

The stone struck by the wooden spear had shattered , leaving a small crater under the woman’s feet. And yet, even with her body lowered, all her weight on the still-embedded weapon, the D’Arc’s eyes hadn’t left her own. 

Rosa couldn’t help but let out a sharp whoop at the thrill of it.

Her expression slipped for the briefest of seconds, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled down. It was gone immediately, mask back in place, but she’d seen it and couldn’t keep the excited laughter from bubbling up her throat.

“What’s this?” Rosa stood to her full height, yelling over the crowd, “It seems you have emotions after all.”

She didn’t seem amused, giving no response; just narrowing her eyes and hunching her shoulders. 

She was about to shout something more when the D’Arc launched herself straight at her head, Rosa narrowly blocking the heavy strike with the flat side of her blades. Face to face now, and she still was pushing all her weight onto the point of the weapon. Rosa leaned in, grinning.

“Goodness.”

Before she could react, Rosa abruptly heaved her scythes to the side, taking the spear with them, pitching the vice captain forward as Rosa lunged low, aiming for an upper shot at her torso. She flicked her grip on the spear, narrowly blocking it. Rosa didn’t let up, backing her swings with her entire body, putting her on the defensive. 

Rosa continued, each strike pushing her backwards bit by bit. It wasn’t particularly smart to throw her whole weight around with no guaranteed hit, but Rosa didn’t need one; the woman would eventually falter. Everyone always did. 

Midway through a stroke the D’Arc did just that, taking a half-step back, posture broken. Rosa spun to keep her momentum, raising her scythes above her head and bringing them down, expecting to land a solid hit. 

The sound of wood hitting wood rang out and Rosa blinked in surprise, raising her head and seeing-

…Something absolutely absurd.

The D’Arc had blocked a full hit by both of her blades by holding out her spear with one arm. How'd she manage-

A sharp pain exploded in Rosa’s face, snapping her head back. The mass of soldiers erupted into noise, booming throughout the arena as she fumbled to regain her balance, disoriented. On instinct, she slapped her hand over her nose, nearly hitting herself with the scythe in the process.

She brought her hand away from her face and saw blood smeared on it. She paused, mouth open dumbly. 

How on earth did she manage to strike her?? She thought-

There was a flash of something at her side and Rosa nearly got her temple smashed in by the shaft of a spear being swung like a club and her subconscious yelp of what kind of move is that was interrupted by a pop of crimson. 

The woman’s fist was smudged with blood.

She got punched in the face by a fucking spear-wielder.

For a beat, Rosa was frozen on the spot, absolutely dumbfounded by her opponent, who smoothly brought her weapon back to her side in a practiced posture like she didn’t just lob a spear like an axe .

“You’re-”

The words died in her throat as she moved once more, fluidly melding into a defensive stance, like water flowing over rocks. Rosa mirrored the action.

Unbelievable.

The tensing of muscles was all the warning Rosa got before she was nearly on top of her, driving in hard to strike her torso. 

It really was in perfect form, with no movement wasted. Her offense was skilled and poised; which meant, then, that it was likely she’d follow through with a step and a slam.

Rosa twisted to the side with her blades above her head, the spear skimming her abdomen as she crashed them back down. An ache in her palms told her she made contact and she dragged her scythes up the shaft of the spear, aiming for the woman’s hands. She’d probably step back, which meant Rosa could lunge out and-

Rosa pitched forward as the spear clattered to the ground. Dropped. She’ll have to dive to get it. Rosa hurled her leg low, but a slight jerk of the D’Arc’s head and the kick sailed past her ear.

Rosa let the momentum of her attack pull her before spinning on the ball of her foot, catching the woman push off the ground, spear back in hand, digging her heels into the stone. She was going to swing rearward at Rosa’s head, she thought, dropping low. She’d block, probably, so Rosa will hit as hard as she can and break it, then-

Their eyes met. Hers were like cold lightning shooting over her shoulder, matching her torrid face. She’d decided on something, Rosa knew, but it was too late; she’d have to guard while being contorted, and that’d be that. 

She didn’t hit wood. It was soft, her blades sank into it, and that loud clap never rang out; instead, a deep hollow crunch and a wheezing grunt and stark eyes biting and ripping into hers–

She’d taken the strike straight to her side, under her breast and into her ribs; yet her eyes never left Rosa’s even while her teeth were locked shut and her face was contorted into a blazing wall of pain and something else, something threatening –

Something wolfish, her teeth bared like a dog.

An arm snaked around both of hers, still pressed into her ribs, and twisted, causing her fingers to wrench open and weapons clatter to the ground and Rosa had no time to think as a wall of muscle and edges and fierceness slammed into her, hard , smashing her into the ground and causing her head to snap back and her teeth clack together. 

A shadow was cast over eyes and she whipped her head to the source, intending to push back up and launch back into the match, but a sharp, metallic keen blared out and Rosa bowled over again.

The tip of that wooden spear was pressed to Rosa’s watch.

The D’Arc was at the other end of it, towering over her, chest heaving and a face contorted into a grimace. And yet, she was holding the spear out in that perfected stance, confident and sleek and strong, eyes never leaving Rosa’s. 

She lost.

Noise exploded around them both, the world turning again, and she could hear shouts and mirth and yells and her name and words blending into sound as she simply stared at the woman across from her. 

She withdrew her weapon, murmuring something as she wrapped an arm around her side, turning to walk away and dragging the spear as she did, movements jagged like broken pottery. 

Women were crashing into the court now, obscuring her vision and hollering and laughing and buzzing from excitement. Rosa could hear Zahra somewhere to the left of her, saying something; to her or the soldiers, she didn’t know, and she couldn't really hear it anyway. The adrenaline had worn off and all that was left was a noisy haze of fatigue and surprise and frustration and a small feeling hiding behind the others . 

She lost .

It boiled up and over then, pouring into her chest and throat, making it ache and burn. 

She lost?

It spilled into her mouth and out between her teeth and she laughed , stark and loud.

Absolute delight. 

She was leaning on her elbows, back pressed the ground, battered and beaten and aching, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the exhilaration of it all.

The D’Arc was nowhere to be seen, already slipping away into the crowd like water through fingers.

That was fine. Rosa wouldn’t let her get away for long.

She was far too interesting.

_______

The sun would set over the horizon soon, and with it, the palace would fall into a dull quiet. 

Zahra had said she’d be on vigil tonight; where, Rosa wasn’t quite sure, but there could only be so many places one could guard. Three main entrances, two smaller ones, and a sixth; the last being at the very back of the palace, barely being used anymore. There would only be one guard, if any, as it just led to the sands beyond the cliffs the palace sat on. 

Rosa decided to start there.

The empty halls were cast in a soft golden light as she walked them, her footsteps loud against the cool floors. Deep shadows were thrown across her path, passing over her face and reminding her of when that woman towered over her in the same manner, seeming taller than the pillars lining the corridors.

Her nose still hurts.

She reached the end of the hall, and with it, the end of the palace. She could see the desert past the exit’s descending stairs. A cool breeze kissed her face as she walked down them, chilled from the palace’s side blocking the sun. Her toes met the sand proper, and she let her eyes adjust to the dim light before stepping out of the passageway.

And there she was, standing in the shadows with her odd weapon held to her side, looking out into the empty horizon as if she were a part of the stone itself; Only her long braided hair moved in the wind. 

Rosa knocked on the wall, the quiet sound enough for her to turn her head. She blinked.

“Goodness, the Captain wasn’t joking after all.” The woman shifted her feet slightly. “Is everything in order out here?”

She quickly glanced at the horizon before looking back at her.

“...Nothing unusual here, Princess.” She turned her head back to the sands.

Rosa moved closer and leaned her back on the wall. “Nothing much here at all, wouldn’t you say?”

Her eyes were still on Rosa’s, despite facing forward. 

“I don’t think,” She shifted to face the D’Arc fully, “This particular area needs guarding around the clock.”

A lifted eyebrow. Rosa pushed off the wall.

“Has anyone shown you the barrack baths? They’re very good at soothing aches.”

“I've no aches to speak of.”

“So you always lean that much weight on your…weapon? I’ve never seen that technique before-”

A sharp sigh and shift in her stance, a failed attempt to stand evenly. “...A bruise isn’t going to make me leave my post; Though I thank you for your concern.”

Rosa hummed. “I see. Well then, if that won’t make you leave,” 

She walked in front of her, blocking her line of sight and forcing her to look at nothing else, “I, as your princess and future queen, order you to follow me to the barrack baths.”

She spluttered. Rosa put on her most diplomatic smile.

“That’s- The Captain won’t be pleased-”

“When is she ever? I guarantee the palace won’t crumble without your eye.” Rosa turned back to the entrance, expecting her to follow. 

The sound of footsteps never came.

“What,” Rosa stopped at the tone, “Is your goal, by ordering me to leave?” She looked over her shoulder. 

The D’Arc was now facing her fully. “Perhaps you’d enjoy going to the Captain if I were to abandon my post? Or do you want to establish yourself as better than me? Revenge, maybe?” Rosa let out a startled laugh. “I have no intention to play these petty-”

She turned completely around, seeing the woman’s face had molded into one of indignation. 

Oh dear. She really hadn’t thought this through.

“I’m sorry.” 

She tilted her head, lips still curled in a sneer. “You-”

Rosa raised her hands, “No, really, I apologize. I’ve forgotten I’m just as unusual as you are.” She bristled at that. “What-”

“It’s nothing of the sort, I promise! …Though I’m thrilled you won’t curl under pressure-”

An incredulous look. “Truly! It’s just…” 

Rosa met her eyes then, a stormy grey, and spoke without thinking.

“You’re absolutely fascinating.”

Ah. Why in Sheba’s name did she say that??

The woman opened her mouth as if to retort, just to snap it closed.

“...Pardon??”

Rosa whirled around once more, mortified.

Recover.

She cleared her throat. “...You’re right that me demanding you to leave your post is unfair. That was careless of me to ask.” 

She started briskly towards the entrance, the absurdity her request dawning on her in full. This was her second loss in a day, to the same woman, and it was far more embarassing than the first.

“I’m, ah, sure we’ll run into each other again. I hope the vigil goes well-”

The sound of footsteps echoed hers. 

Rosa paused and looked over her shoulder, half expecting another punch to the nose. 

Instead, the D’Arc was standing stiff behind her, looking as out of place as she felt. Her eyes narrowed in thought, past Rosa’s own. As she did, she readjusted her grasp of her weapon, shifting her weight, and a  grimace of pain blinked on her face.

Gods, her nose hurt.

“...I…” Rosa startled at the sound of her voice.

 “...I don’t know the palace very well, as of yet. I think…it’d be productive to see some of it.”

Rosa swallowed before nodding mutely. 

She mirrored the action.

And off they went.

_______

Neither spoke as they walked the desolate halls, Rosa not trusting her own traitorous mouth. She kept her eyes forward, not needing to look back to see that the D’Arc was hurting; Rosa couldn’t help but feel a guilty at the uneven pace of her steps. 

She made sure to slow her own as they wandered around the corridors. 

The barrack baths should, in theory, be empty around this time, but even so, Rosa took her to the further of the two, hoping it would avoid other guards, and, in some part, fill out the woman’s map of the palace. 

After perhaps the most unpleasant walk of her life, they finally arrived at the bathhouse.

As she expected, it’s singular long pool of water was empty, quiet as golden light softly streamed between the pillars lining the open wall. Rosa stopped at the edge of the bath.

“There’s a rack for your weapon over there,” she pointed, “And an area for your clothes, if you so choose to strip completely.”

The woman didn’t respond, walking up to the rack and placing her spear on it, the old wood creaking as it took its weight. 

Without its support, she visibly sagged; It almost looked like she was a wilting flower, drooping as it slowly died. She bit her lip at the thought.

As the D’Arc began taking off her linens, Rosa hastily averted her eyes, instead sitting at the lip of the bath and dipping her feet in the warm water. She kicked them absentmindedly, watching the ripples the movement caused, lost in thought. 

…She hadn’t really expected to get the woman to follow her, not after that disastrous conversation. Now that they were here, she wasn’t really sure what to say; there was still tension in the D’Arc’s movements, and it wasn’t just from her smashed side, which Rosa had so graciously given to her right after exchanging words for the first time-

By Sheba. No wonder she came off as a prude.

The water sloshing around her ankles broke her out of her stupor. The woman had started to wade into the water on the far end of the pool, hair released from her braid and trailing around her shoulders. She hadn’t fully removed all her clothing, the bottommost layer still covering her front and wrapping around the back.

It did, however, expose her sides.

The bruise was a deep crimson, with dark purples blotched throughout, puffy and blooming around the entirety of her side as if it were petals of a large flower. It traced her ribs, as if they were a trellis to grow on, and shifted with each small breath, like a red medow blowing in the wind.

She could see where the skin pulled taut over thick muscle. Broken ribs, three of them. Rosa spoke without thinking.

“Why on earth would you do that?”

It echoed around the empty room, sharp in the silence. 

She didn’t acknowledge the question, instead slowly stepping into the bath, the grisly blossom being hidden by the dark ink of her hair. Rosa blinked as shoulders went under, only stopping when her nose was just barely above the water.

The quiet was heavy and thick, like the steam floating in the air. The length of the bath only seemed to grow. Rosa, anxious with curiosity, decided to repeat the question.

“Why-”

She sighed through her nose at her voice, eyes half-lidded and looking at the water. Rosa stopped. 

And yet, she made no motion to sit up to talk, her hair the only thing moving, gently waving about with the movements of the water. Rosa found herself leaning forward over her knees.

Eventually the woman shifted back, finding the raised seat lining the bath walls and finally, slowly, sitting upright. 

She met her eyes then, hair clinging to her shoulders.

“I didn’t want to lose.”

Rosa nearly fell backwards.

“Yes, but- You didn’t need to- I meant to break your posture, not hit you straight on-”

“And that’s exactly why I won.”

She blinked. “...What?”

“I won because you thought you’d break my posture.” 

Rosa waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t.

She opened her mouth, about to say something, when the D’Arc spoke up again.

“This is a fine bathhouse. I’m surprised no one is in here.”

Startled by the change in direction, Rosa nodded dumbly. “It’s too small for the amount of palace guard now residing here. It’s also rather deep into the palace, although I hope the walk here has helped with its layout…”

She trailed off. The D’Arc didn’t say anything back, pale eyes on hers. 

…This was more difficult than she thought it would be. Diplomatic discussions were completely different.

Rosa sighed and dipped her head, wincing when her nose throbbed at the action. She brought her hand up to her face with little thought. 

The woman’s voice rang through the silence. “Why did you ask to spar? The captain said you do it often.”

“Ah.” She couldn’t help but smile under her hand, “Sparring is a good way to get to know someone.”

“...How so?”

Rosa looked up, then. “Well…you can understand your opponents way of thinking, for one. The decisions they make in the heat of battle, their reactions to yours…It’s a lovely way of realizing someones temperament, among other things.”

Her brows furrowed. “I’ve…never heard of such a thing.”

Rosa tilted her head. “The D’Arc clan are fierce warriors, so I assumed the mindset would be similar-”

The woman snorted, wincing as it jolted her side. “It’s not nearly so complicated. You fight to win. You think of only winning. That’s all.”

“Even if it causes you to make rash decisions? Surely taking such a severe hit couldn’t be the key to victory.”

“It was for this case, no? You’d put me in a bad position; I wouldn’t have been able to recover.” 

Rosa frowned. “But you felt how hard I could swing, and yet you’d allow your side to take the brunt of the damage? I didn’t realize you’d go to such an extreme.”

“Bodies heal. Your record of losses does not.”

Rosa leaned back with a hum. The D’Arc closed her eyes.

Neither said anything for a time.

“...Does your clan also never back down from a match, no matter how high the stakes?”

“Oh no. Nothing of the sort.”

“...Hah??”

There was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “In truth,” She opened her eyes, “I just wanted to fight you.”

Rosa gawked. “Even though I’m the heiress?? And even in front of all your guard?? Ah, which, to be clear, I hadn’t considered how that-”

“You don’t seem to realize your own reputation.” Their gazes met. “The heiress, a woman with great strength, one who’d never lost. I can’t say I came to the palace to see if that was true, but I also can’t say I wasn’t interested by the rumors. What kind of strength, I wondered, would one have to have to never lose?” 

“I must admit, I was caught off guard, but when you asked to spar, well,” She shrugged, “I decided to find out.”

Rosa only realized she was leaning forward when she sat back up. “I’m…sorry to have disappointed.”

The D’Arc blinked. “You didn’t. You were just as I expected. Which,” she sank lower into the water, “Is exactly why you lost.”

She waited for her to elaborate. Again, she didn’t.

“Tell me.” Her eyes flicked to Rosa’s. 

“Tell me why I lost.”

“...I didn’t mean to offend.” 

Rosa shook her head. “I don’t want apologies. I want to know why I lost. Please.”

For a beat, the D’Arc didn’t move, her hair softly swaying in the water, regarding her with those sharp eyes, before moving them away from her own.

“...For one to never lose…They’d need to know exactly what their opponent would do, then act accordingly. No matter the challenger’s strength or prowess, as long as they could tell what action they’d take…it’d be simple enough.”

“With that in mind…if someone were to act completely out of the norm, even your own overwhelming power wouldn’t be able to save you.” 

She looked back up. “To put it simply; You lost because you can’t react to what you don’t expect.” 

Rosa stared. 

“That punch I threw was plenty avoidable, but no one had ever done that, I’m sure. Certainly not a spear-wielder. Nor had they stopped a hit of yours as I did. In fact, no one had ever been able to meet your own strength head on, had they?”

No response.

“...And for good reason. I’m not sure if you noticed, but you’d already fractured my spear. If I decided to block that swing, it would’ve broke.” She shrugged the shoulder on her uninjured side, “I’d be hit either way. But if I could sway how I got hit, well. It was simple enough.”

Rosa sat backwards onto her hands, appalled. 

There were a few minutes of silence.

 The woman shifted slightly. 

“...I apologize. That- I forgot myself-”

Rosa shook her head dumbly. “No no. I’m not upset…I’m just-”

She looked right into her piercing eyes.

“Astounding. I’d never have…To be able to discern those things in such a short amount of time…” 

Rosa’s grin was so wide it caused her nose to throb. “You’re simply incredible.” 

The D’Arc’s mask was completely shattered. Gone was the controlled expression, with lips pulled down and eyes betraying nothing, all hard rock and cold steel. She looked…

…Utterly stunned.

The bathhouse was dim, now, with the sun completely set and the moon slowly taking its place, the pillars nothing but dark shapes in front of the night sky. A cool breeze passed between them, caressing Rosa’s hair.

She removed her feet from the pool, standing in one smooth motion, turning her head to look at the stars.

“...It’s getting quite late. I have to go. People will be wondering where I am.”

“But,” She turned at the still-frozen woman, “Before I do; we’ve never been properly introduced. What’s your name, Vice Captain?”

She blinked.

“Isabelle. I’m… Isabelle, of the D’Arc clan, vice captain of the palace guard.”

She smiled. “Well, Isabelle of the D’Arc clan. I’m Rosa, of the Royal family, heiress to the Umbran throne, and I simply cannot wait until we spar once again.” 

Rosa turned. “May your feet remain light upon the sand.”

“...And may the moonlight guide your path.”

_______

The situation was devolving fast. No matter how hard Rosa had tried to deter the prospect of violence, the attack today had made all her efforts crumble to dust.

There was going to be a war.

The council knew it too. That constant thorn in her side had grown into a festering mass; a few members had actually left in protest of Rosa’s stance while the others began demanding Rosa produce an heir immediately, not wanting a repeat situation of what happened to the prior queen.

 It was a fucking mess.

 Rosa ran her hand through her hair again in a terrible attempt to calm herself. She hadn’t wanted to fight her own, much less over humans, and she’d tried to keep a calm exterior, but…

She untangled her hand from her hair and looked down at her bloody fingers, the red stark against her black tattoos. Anger exploded into her chest. She didn’t care much about the women who ambushed her today. They weren’t witches, not anymore, for what they did.

Her fist clenched so hard it made her palms bleed. Her own blood mixed with the one already on her hand.

 How dare they.

 A soft clatter came from the adjacent room, grabbing her attention.

Isabelle was back.

Without a second thought, Rosa turned from her desk and briskly walked into the next room, privacy be damned.

The woman in question looked up sharply from where she’d been trying to clean her weapon with only one arm; the other wrapped tightly to her chest in an attempt to take strain off her shoulder. She could see the thick bandages under her dark hair, let down and strewn everywhere. They did nothing to keep the blood from seeping through.

Rosa felt so taut she could snap.

“What on earth are you doing?! You nearly got your entire arm chopped off and you’re still trying to clean your weapon?? You should be resting , and-”

Isabelle sighed. “Well, for one, arm or no, weapon upkeep is important for ensuring I don’t lose the other one.”

Rosa felt herself twitch. She could nearly hear her fibers splitting in two.

“Secondly, the physician told me I need to take an herbal bath. That damn glaive was poisoned and-”

“Poisoned??” She nearly started to shake from anger. “I’m going to-”

“You’re going to calm down. Have you forgotten what demon my clan is privy to using? I’ll be fine, truly. It’s just a precaution.”

Just a precaution. The color in her cheeks were already fading, beads of sweat forming on shivering skin. She was only saying that to calm her down, like she was a child having a tantrum. 

Rosa bit the inside of her lip, trying, and failing, to collect herself. Isabelle was right, as always; a head clouded by anger would do no good for strategizing, but quite frankly, she didn’t care. This wasn’t about humans and sages and witches, this wasn’t about politics or keeping the peace. Not anymore.

Bastards.

A small snort snapped her out of her brooding.

“You look like you’re about to stomp your foot on the floor.”

She scowled. “Nothing about this is funny, Isabelle.”

The woman turned, struggling to put her weapon on its rack. “I never said it was. Just making an observation.” She gave a sharp glare over her uninjured shoulder.

“And I observe someone not thinking rationally. You need to get a hold on your emotions.”

Rosa saw the true message behind those words.

You need to get a hold on your priorities. I should not be one of them.

As if that were possible. They both knew it wasn’t.

She sighed and walked past her.

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s?”

This time Rosa was the one to look over her shoulder. “I know how terrible of a patient you are. If I leave you to recover by yourself you’re guaranteed to lose your arm.”

Isabelle glowered at that, begrudgingly following her out of the doorway.

The walk from the rooms to the personal baths shouldn’t have been a long one, seeing as both that and their rooms were in the same wing, but Isabelle’s pace was considerably slower than it usually was, and she was starting to limp. Rosa kept by her side but didn’t assist, knowing help wouldn’t be appreciated. 

Eventually, though, she drew the line when the woman could no longer walk straight, nearly slamming into one of the numerous pillars lining the walls. Rosa didn’t need Isabelle to cause even more harm to herself.

She couldn’t help but mutter a curse before wrapping her arm around Isabelle’s waist and taking some of her weight, ignoring how her own body complained. To Rosa’s alarm, Isabelle didn’t do so much as scowl, instead letting herself be draped like a blanket over Rosa’s shoulder.

It seems she was in a worse state than she originally thought.

Rosa’s heart ached far worse than her own injuries. 

 Despite all odds, the pair eventually stumbled into the entrance of the baths, trailing blood and curses and soft murmurings of encouragement. Rosa saw the largest one was already filled with the water, herbs, and spices needed for assisting healing and drawing out poisons. She nearly thanked Isabelle out loud for allowing the palace staff to do that much for her, the stubborn mule.

As the humid air started to seep into her skin, she gently removed Isabelle’s uninjured arm from around her shoulder, trying to make sure she could stand on her own, before the woman seemed to come to her senses and waved Rosa off.

“Focus on yourself. I’m not made of glass. ”

Rosa was about to point out that yes, currently she was, because she was poisoned and bleeding and most certainly in pain, but her voice died in her throat as she saw the look Isabelle was giving her.

Deal with more important things.

She felt frustration claw up her throat. How arrogant, for a dying woman to tell her what to do.

Rosa didn’t leave her side, but she did peel off her own linens while cursing herself for deciding to make a habit of wearing textiles instead of traditional Umbran uniforms. She’d always had a fondness for the feeling of expensive fabrics on her skin, but her impulse for wearing such things had gotten all the more intense when she’d commented on it.

A small smile; the first of its kind she’d ever seen.

"The way the silk moves when you do nearly makes you look like the wind. It’s rather mesmerizing.”

Arrogant indeed.

She threw her discarded clothes into a corner to deal with later, turning her attention back to the woman in front of her. Isabelle had simply dispelled her own uniform; the only thing remaining on her skin being the bandages, wet and tight from blood. She was ignoring them for now, instead struggling to tie up her hair with one hand, gritting her teeth. 

From frustration or pain, she couldn’t entirely tell.

“Here. Let me.”

Rosa stepped behind her, gently running her fingers through the inky curls in an attempt to detangle them.  

A murmur. “You won’t find any snarls; there’s a reason why I keep it braided all the time.”

“It’s worth checking.”

Isabelle didn’t respond. Soft echoes of droplets of water hitting the ceramic floor and their weighted breathing, muffled by the heavy steam that seeped lazily from the bath, took its place. 

She was right; there were no knots to be found. Still, Rosa continued sliding her hand through the dark hair.

Isabelle let her.

The moment passed. Rosa tied the glossy strands up in a low bun. Satisfied with her work, she hummed to herself.

“Good enough. Now,” She tied up her own platinum locks before nodding at the largest raised bath, “get in.”

 Isabelle walked to the side of it without a sound, Rosa following.  With all the grace of a three-legged cat, she tried stepping over the tall stone lip before half stumbling, half falling, letting out a hiss as she did. Rosa grabbed her arm just before she went careening into the tile.

“Fucking- Bastards! You’d think they’d add a step- ”

“You should’ve never been injured like this anyways. Here-”

Taking most of her weight, she helped her step into the water. Crimson beads of ichor followed, running down Isabelle’s shoulder, onto her bare torso and legs, making her red tattoos seem to writhe, as if they were melting into the bath; Rosa’s own hands were becoming slick with it. She watched with a dim, dark fascination as blood mixed with water, the drops slowly seeping through it, watching as they spread open like a morbid flower blossoming. There was so much of it; a whole field. It sent claws of anxiety up her throat, made her tongue feel numb and thick, her skull was pounding from it, in tandem with the heartbeat behind her eyes and and her panicked breaths as she watched it bloom, bloom, bloom-

There was a dull roaring in her ears.

The red flowers in the desert were always associated with death and burial. 

Fitting, as they look like spatters of blood. 

She was standing in a field of them, stark crimson in contrast to the black sky, rocking with the howling wind. They curled around her legs, took root under her skin, bloomed outwards, turning her into a mass of red petals and thorns and tears , and Rosa couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, to see the stems writhe so close to the surface, tearing her apart from the inside, mangling her until she was unrecognizable, she was wilting, she was rotting-

Not her, please, not her. Please stop, please stop please makethemSTOP-

A whispered sigh cut through the noise, smoldering behind her eyes.

Khepri.

A jolt of her hand. “Rosa.” 

She let out an involuntary sob. The fingers around hers squeezed gently in response.

“Rosa. Are you alright? Did you-”

She snapped her head to Isabelle, clutching her arm tight .  “You have to rest. You have to heal. You have to.”

Her brows knitted together, sickly pale lips molding into a frown. “What-”

Rosa’s nails were digging into her arm. 

“ Please. ” The tightness in her throat made it come out as a rasp.

Sharp pale-blue eyes stared evenly at hers. 

“...Of course.”

Rosa nodded, throat too dry to respond. 

Neither of them moved for a time; just facing each other. Two fools, standing in thigh-deep water, full of herbs for healing, lazily seeping steam into the air that made their vision clouded and their bones heavy and their minds hazy; one breathing hard from exhaustion and damage, the other from a knot tied in her throat. 

Isabelle was sagging, mouth slightly open, panting, her body trembling.

Wilting.

Rosa sucked in air through her teeth.  “It’s about time we sit, don’t you suppose?” Her smile felt as tight as her chest.

Isabelle pressed her lips into a thin line, but thankfully didn’t comment anything more, before turning her back to Rosa, wincing as she did.

“I might need-”

“Of course.”

She gently wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist, holding her steady when she started to lower herself into the water. By the time they were fully seated, Rosa was holding most of Isabelle’s weight as she slumped forwards, uneven and gritting her teeth, letting out small curses.  Despite the temperature of the bath, her shivering body felt cold and clammy under Rosa’s hands. 

She tightened her grip on Isabelle’s heaving midsection without conscious thought. She didn't comment on it, perhaps in too much pain to notice or care. Rosa knew to give her time to force some of the pain aside.

With her back so closely facing her, Rosa could see all the minute details of it; the constellation of dark freckles on her shoulders, the numerous shallow and deep scars alike, the thick, sculpted muscle rolling in tandem with her breathing, the useless, gore-soaked dressings, dripping with blood, and the hot, inflamed red pigment of injured skin spreading out from under them.

She removed one of her arms from her waist and gently traced a finger around the agitated flesh, causing Isabelle to shudder.

“...I’m going to take these off. It might- It’s going to hurt.”

She groaned quietly in response, head still bowed.

Rosa gave one last soft brush of her digits against Isabelle’s back before taking the bandages and pulling gingerly, murmuring apologies as Isabelle hissed. 

They came off slowly, stubborn and sticky with ichor, losing the tautness they had with each pull, causing her shoulder to sag and giving her injury less support.

Finally, they slipped off, and Isabelle’s gaping wound was in full view. 

Rosa’s breath caught in her throat.

The soft, fleshy part of her shoulder, connecting her arm to her socket, was cut nearly all the way through in a diangle slash, starting through the end of her collarbone; the flesh dangling on only via thick, stubborn muscle and tendons. Through all the blood, now pouring out of the wound, Rosa could see her clavicle cut in two, stark white in contrast to the dark reds. The skin around the jagged tear was just as worrying; a bright, searing hot crimson, puffy and festering.

“...You really were poisoned.”

She only let out a low moan.

“You need to put it under to clear it. Come on.”

Rosa lightly pulled Isabelle into her chest, being sure not to touch her wound, leaning back into the curved wall of the bath, reclining and submerging their shoulders. The woman sharply huffed as the water lapped at the severe damage. She watched as ichor oozed out of the gaping injury and with it, a clear, iridescent fluid, akin to oil, mixing with the flowering scarlet. 

Poison. 

She simply held Isabelle as it drained away.

She watched the tension in her body start to loosen, heard her labored breathing begin to even out, felt her skin slowly become warm. 

Rosa leaned forward, murmuring into the shell of her ear, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Her words echoed loud in the large room. Isabelle huffed.

“It would’ve hit your chest.”

“I could’ve dodged.”

She shifted, turning her head slightly, meeting Rosa’s gaze.

“You’ve never done well with the unexpected.”

“You shouldn’t have-”

“Rosa.”

Isabelle’s stare was still locked with hers.

“That attack could’ve killed you. I stopped it. That’s my duty.”

She clenched her jaw hard enough that it ached along with the gnarl in her chest. Isabelle didn’t move her eyes.

Rosa did.

The woman turned her head back. 

Neither spoke, the only sounds now being the lapping of the water on the tile sides, the soft noise of water dripping from the humid ceiling, the faint haze of steam rising into the air, and her soft, strained breathing. 

They lay like that for a time, with Rosa’s arms still wrapped around Isabelle’s torso, her fingers intertwined with themselves.

Eventually, she carefully adjusted her position to check the wound once more, seeing that the poison had all but dissipated from her shoulder, and with it, the excessive flow of blood. The red, puffy skin surrounding the gash had started to cool and fade into a healthier color.

“The herbs are working. The poison is out; your body should be able to start healing soon.” Her words rang out in the silence.

She felt Isabelle breathe in as if to respond, but she cut her off, “Though, there’s no doubt that it’ll leave a nasty scar.”

“I’m not sure,” She shifted her hold, moving one arm, “That it’ll ever have the same mobility again.”

Rosa tilted the woman’s chin at her, glaring. “That was your dominant arm.”

To her frustration, Isabelle smiled. “I’d never be able to call myself worthy of wielding a spear if I could only do so in one stance.”

“What will you do, when the situation calls for the one?”

“Adjust.”

Her fingers curled into a fist.

“You-”

Isabelle softly clasped Rosa’s clenched hand with her own, killing whatever words were in her throat. She started slowly running her thumb over her knuckles.

“...I’ll be fine.”

 Rosa wanted to protest, to demand her to stop being bullheaded, to order her with all of her authority to stop being so self sacrificial; to stop throwing herself in harm's way for a fool who couldn't predict a lethal attack aimed at her throat-

But she couldn't. 

She'd do the same, after all.

Imbeciles, the two of them; destined to shield each other's petals from the raging storms.

Rosa simply let out a watery sigh, nudging her cheek against the woman's temple.

“...Don’t do that again.”

Isabelle shifted slightly, guiding Rosa’s hand back around her waist, before leaning back, gently burrowing her body into Rosa’s torso, head now settled above her collarbone.

“No promises.”

Rosa doesn’t trust her voice to respond.

_______

She grants herself permission to nestle into Isabelle’s comforting weight, to softly brush her fingers over the woman’s skin as it was pressed against hers, to enjoy the sensation of Isabelle’s hands loosely holding Rosa’s arms as they were clasped around her waist.

Gradually, Rosa feels her chest rising and falling, becoming slower and more rhythmic, watches as her features relax and her eyes close.

It was rare to see Isabelle asleep. Rarer still, to see her eyebrows not gnarled together, her lips not pointed in a scowl. 

Her face was lovely, like this. It always was.

Rosa’s heart twisted into knots. She shouldn’t allow herself to indulge in such things. Not now. Not ever. 

And yet.

Isabelle shifted slightly, frowning in her sleep. Rosa tightened her hold, hoping to keep the woman from moving more and upsetting her shoulder, the sinew and bone still sluggishly mending itself back together. 

Foolishly, without thinking, Rosa nuzzled her face into Isabelle’s dark hair.

The woman let out a soft sigh.

Her throat constricted painfully. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be allowing herself to revel in fantasies that will never happen.

And yet.

And yet, despite the battle they'd fought in the coarse sands, despite the piercing night air cutting into their skin, despite her being battered and bruised and bleeding and poisoned, Isabelle’s hair, her pride, was still so, so impossibly soft.

 Rosa had wished so many times to be able to feel the onyx tresses as she was now, to allow them to kiss her nose and lips as she buried her face into them, to be able to touch and stroke and caress. 

She was never able to. Never allowed to, in the way she’d always craved. 

She didn’t wish for this; of an Isabelle half-dead, leaning against her only because her own body couldn’t support itself. Injured only because she threw herself in the way of a blow meant for Rosa. 

Never, never.

_______

Isabelle’s newly tattooed palm was warm against her cheek. She couldn’t help but lean into it.

“Rosa.”

She met her eyes then, a stark blue and beautiful.

“I need to ensure you’re safe, using any means necessary. You understand what that means, don't you?”

Her voice was quiet, soft. 

Resigned.

She simply covered the hand on her face with her own. Isabelle gave a small, sad smile.

“You’ll never be able to rule the clans properly like this. I’ll never be able to do my job and protect you.”

There was a lump in her throat.

“To hell with the clans. I don’t-”

“I won’t allow you to walk away from your duty. Not because of me.”

She couldn’t get words past the red-hot mass in her chest.

Isabelle slowly retracted her hand from her face, brushing her fingers along her lips and jaw before dropping them away.

Rosa’s face burned where she touched it.

_______

They’d been there for hours now; the water only warm because of simple spells. Isabelle’s shoulder was nearly half-healed, no longer hanging onto her body by a few pieces of flesh. She could, in theory, now leave the baths and recover in a more standard manner.

But Isabelle was asleep, curled into her chest and breathing softly. Rosa wasn’t going to wake her up. She knew there’d rarely be another opportunity like this again, to cradle her in peaceful silence, with no thoughts of duty or obligation.

She was starting to fall asleep herself, from the warmth of the bath and the gentle noises of water trickling and the feeling of skin pressed against skin.

There was a war on the horizon.

There was a fire tearing through the ruby fields.

Flowers, dead and brittle, pass through her mind once more; their lifeless thorns engulfing a mangled body, whose tattoos matched the scarlet of its killers. 

Rosa has enough power to change the future, to make it bend to her conviction. 

For Isabelle, she will.

There was a war on the horizon. There was a fire tearing through the ruby fields; but she’d be there, by Rosa’s side, strong and unyielding and radiant. 

Rosa will make sure of it.

And that was enough, then, she thought, exhaustion pulling at her consciousness. It was enough, to be with her.

As long as she was here, it'd be enough.