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Ayaka catches her eye at the crescendo. A tall, lean stranger, cape billowing as she raises her glass of whiskey and sips slowly. Her eyes, a silver streak of starlight, follow the movements of the crowd on the ballroom floor, waltzing and twirling, their laughs hollow as they echo off the domed ceiling of the room.
She doesn’t know who she is, this handsome woman who immediately caught her eye, this noble with the blondest of hair and sharpest of gazes. Ayaka’s heart thuds in her chest as she watches her raise a gloved hand and tuck a stray strand of sunlight behind her ear. Every move she makes, however insignificant, makes Ayaka shiver and yearn, fascinated as she is.
“Who is that?” She finds herself asking her older brother, her cheeks only slightly coloring. She is not known to interest herself in others, much less women. The Shirasagi Himegimi is a shy, sharp lady— her brother’s right hand. Not a pining young girl, obsessed with a stranger she’s only glimpsed from afar.
Her brother blinks down at her, enthralled by his own thoughts, no doubt. She watches him unfold his fan with a snap of his wrist, his eyes calculated, his smirk of mischief hidden behind designs of Orobaxi slain by their Shogun. “Grandmaster Jean Gunnhildr if I’m not mistaken. Ruler of Mondstadt.”
Ayaka gulps, the title fanning the flames of her attraction. Good lord, what a woman. “Do we know anything about her?”
Her brother merely raises an eyebrow. He is surprised at her interest, but not necessarily disappointed. He probably assumes it’s of political nature. He might not be wrong, but he’s also not entirely right.
Ruler of Mondstadt. Their relations with the land of Freedom are tenuous at best; a cordial, forced thing that neither party is willing to acknowledge. As one of the three Commissioners of the land of Thunder, her brother should be the one striving to fix that issue, as per the Shogun’s will.
Except Ayato seems more interested in Lady Ningguang of Liyue this fine evening, another ruler who cannot tolerate him. She watches as he raises a glass in salute towards the white-haired woman, only getting a mere raised eyebrow in response.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters behind his fan, his eyes half-crescents, a mimicry of a smile hiding cunning and wit. “This woman hates me.”
Ayaka nods towards Lady Ningguang and receives a gentle smirk for her trouble. The Himegimi grins at her brother, subtle and inherently competitive. “She loves me, though.”
Ayato’s smile back is condescending. Ayaka might even venture to say embarrassed. A win for her. “Dream big, princess. She doesn’t love anyone.”
She rolls her eyes at his antics. They’re both as competitive as nobility gets— namely, extremely so. It has always been a game of theirs to see who could be liked more, who could charm whom first, which head of state would be eating from the palm of their hand by the end of the evening.
Tonight, however, Ayaka is not interested in playing her brother’s silly games. Lady Gunnhildr catches her eye once more, as she throws her head back and laughs at something Guuji Yae said, exposing the pale column of her throat, a tight, dark collar snugly fit around it.
Ayaka briefly wonders how her hands would fit around that throat, but quickly discards the idea, her cheeks burning.
“Lady Kamisato.” She hears from behind her in an even, commanding tone, one everyone in Inazuma is intimately familiar with. Shivers course down her spine as she whirls around, unfurling her fan simultaneously. Thank the Archons, the Shogun cannot read minds.
Sure enough, the Almighty Raiden Shogun, Lightening of the Lands, Supreme Ruler of Inazuma stands before her, dressed in an ornate, ceremonial kimono, her weapon nowhere to be seen. Ayaka still has no doubt she can decimate every soul in this ballroom.
The woman smiles down at her indulgently, a stiff, stilted thing, but Ayaka’s heart warms at the try. “Your Excellency,” she acknowledges, preening under her Goddess’ attention. As much as any Lord or Lady of Inazuma hates to admit it, all of them fawn and gawk like children when their Archon pays them even a sliver of attention. She inspires this quiet, instinctual kind of awe, one that leaves them breathless in worship. “Lovely party.”
The Shogun’s eyes dart around the room as if to ascertain that Ayaka is serious. “Thank you, dear,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” She chances a look at Ayato, entirely unimpressed. “Which scheme is he trying to sink the Shogunate with this time around?”
Ayaka barks out a surprised laugh. Goodness, is she drunk? “Not quite sure, but it might have something to do with Lady Ningguang.”
The Shogun subtly glances at the woman, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “I thought I was clear when I told him it was Lady Gunnhildr I wanted him to impress. Our relations with Liyue are already quite fruitful.”
Ayaka nods. “That, and Lady Ningguang can’t stand him.”
She gets a laugh in response, one that leaves her glowing with pride. The Shogun seems to be in a very good mood this evening —that, or she’s utterly, completely drunk— so Ayaka thinks she can allow herself a small, selfish question. “Your Excellency,” she begins, biting her lip. In a show of good faith, she closes her fan and tucks it away, immediately missing the protection it provided. The Goddess raises an eyebrow at her, intrigued. “I have a question, if you would indulge me.”
The Archon smiles at her, benevolent and with all the patience in the world. “Of course, please. Ask away.”
Ayaka steels herself. This is it. This is how she embarrasses herself in front of the Raiden Shogun. “Lady Gunnhildr… What do we know about her?”
The Shogun blinks. “Well,” she raises a hand to her chin in thought. “She ascended to her position at quite a young age. If I’m not mistaken, she is twenty-seven years old. She acquired the title of Dandelion Knight at the age of fourteen. She’s an excellent swordswoman and an even better diplomat. And,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “she hates your brother.”
Ayaka is wide-eyed as she eagerly laps up every single drop of information that falls from the Archon’s lips. She’s Ayaka’s age. She’s a master swordswoman. Dandelion Knight at fourteen. Oh, Heavens.
“Did she pique your interest?” The Shogun asks, her arms crossed over her chest.
Ayaka tries really hard not to start at her breasts, her face reddening as she nods. “I know you’ve asked my brother to patch things up with her, but I think I can do a better job than him.”
The Goddess snorts. “Things wouldn’t need patching up if he hadn’t screwed them up in the first place. Overreaching for information, always scheming…” She sighs, glancing over at Ayato, tired and disappointed. “Looking ten steps ahead will not do him any good if he trips over the first.”
Ayaka chuckles along, amused. She cannot wait to tease her brother with this newly acquired information. However, the matter at hand is more important. “So… Do I have your permission to try my hand at it?”
The Shogun looks down at her, calculating and sharp as lightening’s edge. After a moment of reflection, she nods to herself. “You have my permission,” she agrees, solemn. Then, her smile turns —is Ayaka imagining it?— mischievous. “Have at it, Casanova.”
And with that, she turns on her heels, marching towards the brown-haired funeral parlor consultant, the both of them already engaged in a warm conversation.
Did she… Did the Raiden Shogun just tease her?
No matter, Ayaka thinks, shaking her head, spreading her fan once more in thought. She needs a plan for how to approach Lady Gunnhildr. Surely, a lady as sophisticated as her, as resplendent, as—
“Excuse me,” she hears from her right, a voice that rings like crystal clinking against crystal. Ayaka’s heart slams against her ribcage as she turns towards the source of the voice, her breath catching in her lungs at the sight of Jean Gunnhildr smiling down at her. Goodness, she looks divine. “Lady Kamisato, is that correct?”
Ayaka barely resists the urge to giggle into her fan. Instead, she smiles and extends a hand. “Indeed, Sir Gunnhildr.”
The blonde bends at the waist, taking Ayaka’s hand and dropping a featherlight kiss on it, her eyes never leaving hers. “Please, call me Jean,” she says, her eyes warm, their steel melting into the most heart-wrenching of blues.
“Jean,” Ayaka tries, feeling just a bit lightheaded. “Then, call me Ayaka, I insist.”
Jean’s smile is a bit lopsided. The sight of it makes Ayaka swoon. “Ayaka,” she says, slowly, as if savoring every syllable. “Would you care for a dance?”
Ayaka sends a prayer to Celestia, to whatever Archon made this possible. She takes Jean’s outstretched, gloved hand, and wonders at how firm and strong her grip is. “With pleasure, Jean.”
At the other end of the room, the Raiden Shogun smiles to herself, satisfied and maybe just a little proud.