Chapter Text
“... yes … yes …” Iasia held tightly to Thenoran, pressing the pads of her fingers into his shoulders, staring up at the ceiling and letting out short, soft moans as he rocked into her. The urge to dig her nails in was almost overwhelming, but he hated it when she left marks and so she resisted it. His face was buried in the crook of her neck and one day - one day soon - they would be able to look at each other as they made love, wouldn’t have to be careful to not smudge her makeup or mess up her hair. They would go to parties together and go home together, would author treatises together and represent the wrongfully-accused together in court. People would still stare at the white splotches on her skin, but they wouldn’t dare say anything to her face. She would give him many sons, and maybe have a daughter for herself - she wouldn’t have to worry about a pregnancy after every time they lay together, because they would be properly married, soon.
She bit back a gasp as the constant rubbing finally produced a sharp slice of pleasure between her legs, tightening them around Thenoran’s waist. If she clenched her pelvic muscles hard enough, rhythmically enough, she could sometimes finish before he did, which was always the end of their lovemaking. She wrapped her arms more tightly around his back and breathed as evenly as possible - that also helped, sometimes. She was just on the edge, could feel her pleasure start to swell, had opened her mouth for a silent gasp, when Thenoran gave a guttural groan and thrust hard into her once, twice, three times. He stilled after that but for one final full-body shudder, which left Zia aching for release and trying to raise her hips up, whispering pleas for him to keep going, she was so close to finishing, just a little more ---
He shook his head in irritation and pushed himself off of her, brushing her away when she reached for him. “Quiet, girl. Do you want your parents to hear you?” Zia pressed her forehead against his bicep and whispered an apology as she slid her hand between her thighs to finish herself off, but Thenoran sat up and reached for a damp rag to wipe down with. “Come on, we don’t want them to wonder why the lesson is taking so long.”
She bit her lip and watched the way his muscles moved as he stood and pulled his priest’s robes back on. He had a point - he always had a point - but ... “My love, please, just this once?”
Thenoran took a breath and tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling as he held his ceremonial headdress in his hands. For a moment Zia thought he might snap at her and started to draw in on herself, but instead he turned with a calm smile and kissed her forehead. “When we’re married, my love, we will have all the time to concentrate on you. For now, you must be patient.” He handed her the rag to wipe herself off with. “Come now, hurry.”
Zia held it between her legs and shuddered at the feeling of his seed dripping out of her. She would wash it herself, later. In the meantime, she hid it under her mattress and pulled her dress back down as Thenoran gathered his books and parchments. Her father indulged her desire to study the law, but not so much as to pay Thenoran to tutor her on a regular basis - once every two weeks, he felt, was enough to satisfy her thirst for knowledge, and he trusted Thenoran with her chastity.
Well, it wasn’t enough to satisfy her thirst for knowledge, and her chastity was long gone, Thenoran’s from almost the very start. Zia leaned down to peer into the polished copper circle on her vanity, check the makeup on her eyes and the darker tint covering her splotches, and pat her hair into place before pulling her headdress back on, the machine parts shaped into stylized white wings on either side of her head. He hadn’t been able to resist her maturity, or beauty, or intelligence, he’d said - he said she was beautiful in spite of the odd white splotches all over her body, assured her that despite whatever sins she’d committed to be cursed with them, he would petition the Sun-God for forgiveness for her. She had so much promise, and soon he would ask her father for her hand. She simply had to be patient. Just … just a little more patient. Thenoran was a Sun-Priest, and as such a man of honor, and would stand by his promise to marry her. She was an impatient girl by nature, like he always told her. She had so much to learn before she would be a proper wife to him, the wife that he deserved. She needed, as he reminded her often, to be patient.
She dabbed more lip and skin color on and smoothed out her frown before straightening and following him out the door. Frowning caused wrinkles. Wrinkles made one look old. She was twenty-six and unmarried - she couldn’t afford to look old, even with Thenoran’s promise to marry her. No man wanted a wife who looked old.
She put on a pleasant half-smile as her father and Thenoran said their goodbyes at the door. One day it would be her parents leaving after a lovely evening together. She kept her gaze lowered so as not to betray her feelings, and then perked up a bit.
“Father, it’s still light out - may I go visit Daradi, please? I’ll take a servant. She’ll probably be at the bakery, so I can bring some bread home, too.”
Her father - a short, broad-chested man who was often mistaken for an Oseram even in the clothing of a Carja noble - pursed his lips as he turned and looked her up and down. Zia swallowed and drew her shoulders in a little as she picked at her nails. “Daradi is very well-guarded, Father. She knows Captain Erend personally.”
“Daradi is hardly the sort of lady that you should be associating with,” her mother spoke up. “Especially if she’s cavorting with Oseram these days.”
“She isn’t cavorting, Mother,” Zia huffed. “Daradi is as much a lady as you or I.” That got a return huff of disbelief. She turned back to her father. “What I meant, Father, was that no one will accost me if I’m with Daradi. And I haven’t seen her in ever so long. Please, may I go? I’ll have a Vanguardsman walk me home, if need be. Or a city guard. The captain of the city guard himself would do it, if Daradi asked.”
Her father finally smiled a little. “Fine. If it will keep you from climbing out your window, take a servant and go. But be home by dark.”
Zia squeaked with excitement and hugged him. “Oh, thank you!” It only gave her two or so hours, but it was more than she’d expected. She kissed his cheek and laughed as it left a dark purple mark, then turned and skipped out the front door before he could change his mind.
A servant boy followed close on her heels, and there was a bounce in her step as she breathed in the city air and tilted her face up to the warmth of the sun. There were colorful streamers and glass lanterns strung between the buildings around her, and merchants were already selling decorations for the Liberation Day celebration, though it was two months away. She stopped to buy a small fruit tart and had just finished it - eating as she walked like a commoner would, but with no parents to admonish her behavior - when they got to the bakery, the smell of baking maize bread drifting out to her along with the chatter of people inside.
She pushed the door open and stood on her toes to try to see where her friend was. A line of customers nearly reached the door, including a lot of Vanguardsmen, and Daradi’s voice drifted to her from somewhere toward the back of the shop. Zia squeezed by a few servants until she could hear her friend clearly. “Daradi!”
“This just won’t do, my lord,” Daradi was saying as she backed out of the swinging doors that led to the bakery proper. A noble walked with her, someone Zia didn’t recognize, and judging by the tension in her polite smile, Daradi was clearly unhappy.
“This maize is useless. I can’t sell this ---” She dipped her finger into a bag, licking it and making a face. “Is this sawdust?”
“Of course it isn't, my lady.” The man sounded absolutely offended, and took the bag back.
“Well, go see Tremon and he will show you the quality of maize that I need. This just isn’t going to get an official stamp as it is.”
She brushed maize flour off of her hands and looked around, and then her face broke into a grin. “Zia! It’s been too long. How have you been?” A small, vaguely-familiar black-skinned boy tugged at her skirt and she leaned over. “Oh, ‘Tamen, that’s a lovely figure. Zia, come, sit down.”
Zia sat across from the boy - who shrank back and pulled some stick machines closer to himself - after getting a tight hug from her friend. “I’ve been well, Daradi. What are you talking about, official stamps?”
The noise that Daradi let out was decidedly unfeminine. “Counterfeit bread, Zia. People are making counterfeit bread. Can you believe it? They’re putting sawdust and whatnot in the bread and selling it for outrageous prices, so now we’re having to inspect all bread made and sold, to make sure it’s entirely flour, with no inedible filler added.” She caught herself and cleared her throat. “I mean, His Radiance has decided that this is the best course to take ---”
“Because Daradi told him to,” the boy giggled.
Daradi scrunched her nose up as she blushed, and reached out to tweak the boy’s nose. “Yes, ‘Tamen, because as one of his advisors, I advised His Radiance that the crown would do well to step in and ensure the bread we feed our citizens with is actually good for them. Speaking of …” She reached behind her and pulled back a plate of meats and vegetables, putting it in front of the boy. “Eat. I can’t send you back to your mother and brother hungry.”
She got a groan. “I’m not hungry.”
“Impossible. You haven't had anything all day.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met an eight-year-old who wasn’t hungry,” Zia commented.
Tamen cast her a huffy, if very shy, glance. “I’m not eight. I’m eleven.” He looked back down at his figures. “I’m just small.”
“If you don’t eat,” Daradi told him, “I will start calling you Itie, because you are itty-bitty.”
He poked at the food. “I’ll eat if you marry my brother.”
She laughed and pinched his cheek as a young woman brought over two more plates of food. “Then you will starve, Itie. Your brother is hardly interested in me.”
The boy looked down again and took a bite. “He thinks you’re beautiful,” he mumbled through it. “He told Marad.”
That had Daradi laughing as it dawned on Zia that the young boy sitting with them, reluctantly eating, was Crown Prince Itamen. It explained the Vanguardsmen all around them. “Your brother thinks all women are beautiful - I am hardly an exception.”
Zia leaned forward. “Wait - Daradi, is the king in love with you?”
“Yes,” the prince stated firmly.
“No,” Daradi corrected him even more firmly. He heaved a long sigh and concentrated on his food. She looked up with a shake of her head. “No, Zia, His Radiance is not in love with me, no matter what His Little Radiance says.”
“Mother says he is.”
Daradi pursed her lips, then smiled and reached out to take Zia’s hand. “Are you coming to the Palace for Liberation Day? I made sure you got an invitation.”
“Well, if my future Queen wants me to come, how could I decline?” She got an exasperated huff while the prince giggled to himself. “Yes, we got the invitations this morning, thank you. My parents were quite pleased.”
Daradi’s eyebrows went up. “Really? Something I did pleased your mother?”
“Not as much as proof that you were sleeping with the entire Vanguard would have,” Zia giggled, “but yes. Being able to meet the king pleased her greatly.”
“Zia!” Daradi covered the prince’s ears as she laughed and blushed. “We’re in public!”
“Well,” and she couldn’t keep the smugness from her voice, “I expect to be engaged by Liberation Day, anyway.” It would be the perfect time for Thenoran to propose, actually. Zia’s heart skipped a beat at the thought.
Daradi’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? I didn’t know you had a beau. Do tell. Oh, Kamari ---” She turned for a few minutes to talk with one of the young women scurrying around, then turned back to Zia. “I’m so sorry. Go on - you never told me about him. Does your father approve?”
“He doesn’t know.” Her friend’s face melted into cautious disapproval and Zia sighed. “It’s fine, Daradi. He’s a good man, and Father will approve. Besides,” she sniffed, “not all of us can be as independent as you.”
“I’m not judging you,” her friend said soothingly. “I just want you to be safe and happy. You know how men get. You ---” She cleared her throat and glanced around, then leaned forward. “You aren’t letting him … I mean, this is none of my business, but you are making sure he … he has reason to marry you?”
Her suspicion stung no matter how on-point it was, and Zia bristled. “He loves me, Daradi, and is a good man. But if we’re talking about protecting our reputations and marriageability, what about you? You stay over at the palace quite often, and you collect rent on your own - do you think people don’t talk?”
“I don’t need a husband,” Daradi pressed. “Not for financial support. I enjoy working, and if I marry, it will be for love - and I understand what a privilege that is. I don’t want you to be …” She sighed and sat back. “Well. You understand.”
Zia coughed. “I … I do. Thank you for your concern, but trust me, everything will be fine. Just … don’t tell my parents.”
That made Daradi snort. “As if your mother would listen to a word I said.” She looked up as the door opened, the chimes above it signaling a new arrival, and the way her face lit up - and the way she tried to hide it - made Zia turn as her friend stood.
“Ah, Your Radiance! Itie, finish your food. Tremon,” she called as the king made his way to them with a broad smile, “bring the ledger.”
She turned to Zia with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Zia, I have to get back to work. Do you want to know what your nobles are up to?” she said as she waved the ledger she’d been handed in the king’s face, transitioning between banter and business without pause. “Zia, we should go shopping for materials for new dresses for Liberation Day. I will send a servant tomorrow.” She nearly hit the king on the head with the ledger in irritation. “Do you know what they’re doing?” she asked again.
His Radiance, who had crouched to greet his younger brother and get a hug, looked up with a warm, playful smile. “No, but I expect you will tell me in great detail, as well as how to fix the situation.”
Daradi put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips as she looked down at the king. “Kings shouldn’t be sarcastic to their citizens.”
“That is not what you said yesterday.” He stood and grinned down at Daradi.
She frowned up at him. “Well, you shouldn’t be sarcastic to me. Now look, I have about twenty nobles and merchants today alone who I am going to throttle, and if you look here …”
They were standing close enough that their arms pressed together, and the king quite frankly looked like he was paying more attention to how Daradi’s hair smelled than what she was actually saying. Zia was a bit sore that her friend hadn’t introduced her to him, but they would be properly introduced at the Liberation Day celebrations.
She was handed a bag of maize bread on her way out the door and passed it to the servant boy who had accompanied her after giving over her shards. As wonderful as it would be if Daradi married His Radiance, she hoped they wouldn’t announce it until Thenoran had proposed and her father had accepted.
Then again, maybe they wouldn’t marry - Daradi had enough money that she could afford to be a man’s mistress. She’d been right when she’d pointed out that she didn’t need a husband to support her. It flew in the face of tradition, but she was doing well as a businesswoman in her own right. Her father had been wise to train her to take over his business, as opposed to Ranaman.
Well, it didn’t matter. Thenoran would propose, and Zia wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. If Daradi got her way - and it seemed that Daradi got her way often with the king - there would soon be a need for female magistrates, though they wouldn’t be Sun-Priests, of course. Zia would be not just a magistrate's wife, but a magistrate in her own right, and she would be able to keep innocent people like her father out of jail, so no child would ever have to wonder why their father was gone and if he would ever return again. Those three years without him had been terrible, but they’d been lucky that he hadn’t been sacrificed. Whatever her mother had done to convince the priest who had presided over the trial that the murder her father had been accused of didn’t warrant the death penalty for him, she didn’t know, but she was glad it had worked.
“Mama! Papa! I’m home!” she called as she unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “I wasn’t murdered, and despite Daradi and some Vanguardsmen being there, there was no orgy!” The servant giggled as he trotted off to the kitchen. Zia headed up the stairs, only to turn back around midway up and squeal with disgust as her mother’s cries of pleasure reached her. “Ew! Ew!”
There was faint laughter from her parents’ rooms, and she escaped to the kitchens to get some tea before heading to the garden at the back veranda of their townhouse. Her herbs were coming in nicely. She tended to them before picking up a book of legal rulings, and curled up on a lounge chair with her tea until her younger brother - who got to do anything with anyone with no protest from her parents - wandered out and let her know dinner was ready. It was about all her parents would let her do at so late an hour, and she promised herself that she would give her own daughters more freedom than she herself had.