Work Text:
You may be biased, but you truly believe your lady is the fairest in all of Lemuria.
Even while simply sitting at her vanity, with last night’s drawls clinging to her body and stray strands poking in odd directions, Rafayel exudes an aura of grace and excellency. Most would say this comes natural to the bloodline of Lemurian royalty, but you know very well that it’s her genuine persona and charisma that makes her well-loved by many. That’s just who she is.
Though, with her head down and hands toying at one another, there seems to be something sorely amiss. And as her dedicated handmaiden, it is well within your right for you to placate any woes she may have—spoken or not. Sensing this much, you continue in your task of morning preparations before breaking the quiet air.
“My lady,” you say, gently combing your fingers through her waves of lilac to start. Taking careful sections with practiced gestures, you begin to work the foundation of a few braids. “Forgive me for imploring, but is there something bothering you?”
Her fidgeting comes to a pause, and your words seem to pull her out of a stupor. Her eyes find yours through the mirror, and she offers a slight smile. “Was it that obvious?”
You give a nod, using the remaining hair to form a neat bun. “By now, you would tell me something that occurred in your dreams. If not, maybe about how Thomas might nag you once again during your duties.”
Looping your handiwork together into a cohesive updo, your voice shifts slightly to mimic him as you continue. “Something along the lines of ‘Your Highness, please don’t draw on the imperial paper! This is for delegations with the North,’ or whatnot.”
The mention of her royal advisor causes her to snort briefly, and she waves with a breathy laugh. “Oh, goodness! Your impression was so remarkably close, I nearly thought he was standing in this very room with us.”
Your head shakes in disagreement, though there’s a lightheartedness to your voice. “I doubt he would be pleased to hear that, my lady.”
Rafayel grins, adding more fuel to the flame. “Please. He is an old man and a stickler for the rules of the book, I am sure he will live.”
“That… is somehow worse,” you point out, and it draws out another laugh from her. The poor fellow is only a couple years your senior, after all.
Seeing the tension in her brow drop slightly, a small part of you is relieved. In the back of your mind, you silently send an apology to Thomas for using his name in vain.
“Well in any case,” she straightens her shoulders, addressing you once more through the reflective surface. “You are indeed right. There has been something on my mind as of late.”
Your ears perk up at this, and notably so does your heart. You inhale through your nose, and exhale a response of, “From the sound of it, it does not seem favorable.”
“Hm.” She hesitates, looking back down at her lap somewhat nervously. “If I say it, promise not to tell a soul?”
“I would not dream of it,” you say with utmost sincerity. You honor her words like they were the prophecy bestowed by Sea God themself—nay, even greater—though you wouldn’t dare to let the Elders know that much.
“I give you my word and will protect whatever you say. I trust you, and in such, place trust in me as well.”
Received reassurance is evident in gratitude. “Thank you.” With a deep breath, she begins. “So, you see… Last afternoon, you know how I attended the luncheon with Madam Talia’s circle?”
Talia is one of the few Lemurians who decided to settle down as a Viscountess, despite being part of the royal family. She eloped with a Viscount from another territory in recent years—and her kind face comes to mind at the mention.
“I do,” you answer. “Is Her Grace fairing well?”
Rafayel snaps her fingers. “Extremely. Love was written all over her face. As always.” She shakes her head in disbelief and slight snort, though her smile gives way to underlying appreciation.
“That aside, it began out as usual,” she reminisces. “Laughing over the bittersweet tea in ceramic cups and occasionally dipping into whatever gossip is hot in their circles.”
You acknowledge her opening, taking a pin to secure the bundle of hair in place. “Sounds about right.”
“Somehow, the conversation pivoted into more, uh,” Rafayel makes vague gestures with her hands. “Intimate waters, you could say.”
Oh. Well, that’s certainly an area of discussion. You reach to pull a couple strands out from her temple, framing her face with detail. “You are well past that age, my lady. Surely, you can dance around these topics if need be.”
Her ears flush ever so slightly, and she instinctively reaches to touch the warm edge. “That… is where the problem lies.” She avoids your curious gaze entirely, now playing with the pearl dangling from her earlobe. “I decided to partake in these exchanges for once.”
Having completed her hair, you approach the vanity’s countertop and prepare her necklace. The iridescent jewels glint against the room’s natural lighting, and you’re careful to raise it as you turn to Rafayel. “Ah, par for the course. So then, what of it?”
Everything she says next comes out in a rushed exclamation of, “I told them I know how to please a lady to fruition as an off-handed comment, and now they all think I am some kind of womens love touch encyclopedia! I mean, for Gods sake, I have never even kissed a woman, let alone held hands with one carrying an inkling of romance! Sure, there are some things in the library books, but it does not compare to something real—!”
It’s as if a dam broke, spilling out the earnest feelings bottled within. The waves crash at your steady fortitude, one after another.
Her Highness is breathless by the time the last word escapes her. The red from her ears have quickly rushed to the apples of her cheeks, soon buried in her hands.
Calmly, you return the accessory to the vanity and slowly kneel in front of her. It wouldn’t do any good to add to her emotional outburst. You decide this much, masking your surprise and racing heart, instead choosing to speak at a comfortable level.
“My lady,” you say gently, reaching to coax her face away from defensive hands. She barely moves. “Please, do not be embarrassed.”
“This is disgraceful,” Rafayel manages through the muffle of her palms. She barely peeks an eye towards you, but it’s one filled with terrible embarrassment. “I made a fool of myself, the gall of it all. How do I entertain this audience at our next gathering, knowing I’m nothing but a near fraud?”
A piece of your heart strums in sympathy. “Do not speak of yourself so lowly. You simply spoke in turn during the heat of a moment, yes?”
There's a pout to her voice. “Humiliatingly so.”
“You handled it with as much grace as you could,” you try to reason.
Smoothing over her fingers with your own, you try once more to lower her guard. A small success grants you the warmth of her hands in yours. You squeeze the pads of her thumbs lightly. “Besides, how would they know of the possibility that you misspoke? It seems they have great faith in you and less room for doubt.”
She starts to chew on the lower plush of her lip. “They… would not really know, actually.” Her inhale is still a bit shaky. “But I know, and that guilt is eating at me. Haunting me, even. I fed them empty words and they ate it like it was the finest seared salmon on a silver platter.”
Her lower lash line carries a partial weight of her feelings, tears quickly forming as they look at you. “And now you know everything as well. What am I to do with myself?”
You raise a finger to catch a stray tear as she blinks. “You are not to blame for something you have yet to experience. There is no wrong in fabricating a truth this once to defend yourself.”
“I suppose,” she mumbles, accepting the thoughts you offer.
“Besides, there is always time for you to discover that kind of affection.” You return her hands into her lap, rising from the floor and giving her a partial bow. With your head partial to the floor, it acts as a shadow to the warmth your cheeks feel as you continue.
“Anyone who is a recipient of Her Highness’ endearment is worth the effort and memory that you’re bound to create by your own hands.”
Smoothing out the skirt of your uniform, you end on a profound note and straighten your back. “So, give yourself that grace and patience. You’ll be able to live up to those words soon enough, knowing how wonderful you are.”
Rafayel remains in place, even after you turn to resume your duties and scan the vanity countertop.
“Shall we finish dressing you up?” You ask in her silence, clearing your throat and redirecting yourself. “I believe you have an audience with Countess Solana come early afternoon. You still need to have breakfast first though, and—Ah, ah?”
With an unspoken swiftness, Rafayel rises from the cushion and stands against your back. Her hands grasp the marbled edge and keep you well within her frame in the process. The thin layer of her drawls do well in sending the heat of her body into your own. It’s dizzying and dangerous at how… nice it feels. Think any harder, and you could acutely feel the pressure of her chest now sinking into your back, and—
Startled, you snap your head towards her in an effort to voice your concern. What is going on?
“My lady, this is quite—“
She takes this opportunity to slide a hand around your jaw, gently keeping your wide gaze onto hers.
“Say,” she interrupts, her tone as smooth as the finest silks in her closet. Her eyes shift to your parted lips, before returning upwards. “You meant it earlier when you said you trusted me, yes?”
“Of course,” you tell her.
She asks with three, genuine words. “Do you promise?”
Your response is as natural as the air you breathe. “I promise.”
Rafayel smiles at this, one that reaches the crinkles of her eyes. “Excellent. It is decided then.”
A Lemurian’s gaze is one filled with great color and power. You see your dumbfounded expression glimmering within them. “Pardon?”
She leans closer, her words fanning across your lips. “I will live up to those very words you and I speak of. Right here, right now.”
Pinch.
You must be pinched because surely you are dreaming. Especially so, when Rafayel’s mouth closes the distance and ever so softly touches yours. Everything in the world comes to a still, and the only thing you could sense is Rafayel. There is a level of control to her tender effort, even as she pulls back to look at you.
A searing imprint of affection lies in its wake of where her lips once were. Warm, soft, and terribly lovely.
Your surprise lags behind the initial touch. “You, did you just, did we just—“
Kiss.
The beloved Princess of Lemuria just kissed you. Your first one, no less. And much to a supposed horror there should be for being the object of such an important individual’s affections, you find that foremost, there’s a sense of… elation. Beneath that, it’s accompanied by a brewing desire of wanting to experience it once more.
Oh, heavens. You hope the Sea God does not smite you for this.
”Barely,” Rafayel observes, her thumb tracing your bottom lip. Her nail presses slightly and the plush skin follows, parting under her guidance. “It is more along the lines of a peck, really.”
You can feel your face grow immensely warm at her casual tone. Your hands curl into themselves, gaze pulling away with regret in your sigh. “We mustn't act like this. It is… improper, Your Highness.”
To nip the bud early on is the best thing you can do, no matter of the want that pricks your bones in every passing second. “Let us forget this happened, for both of our sakes. I am sure this is just another spur of the moment.”
You only meant to speak out of her best interest. But with the way she cradles your face to return to hers, you can clearly see the upset drawn in her brow and slight narrow of her eyes. The blue shimmers in displeasure, and a flicker of hurt amongst the red melting below it.
Your curiosity addresses her in a familiar tone. “My lady?”
“No,” she says firmly. “I cannot allow that.” Her voice softens, and her forehead touches yours as honesty comes forth. “We made a promise, a vow of trust. I wish to see this through, and would only ever ask this of you, as selfish as it is.”
”I did not dare to imagine that this is what you truly meant,” you point out. Disbelief mixes with an underlying insecurity as you speak. “And with me, of all people." A mere handmaiden, a shadow to the royalty that shines before you.
"Why are you acting this way?”
It comes out worse than it did in your head. You’re stunned at the mere audacity that is wrung from your chest, and try to amend yourself. “Forgive my ill manners, my lady. I am…”
“I…” She swallows, and quietly admits, “I want this. Always have. And especially with you. Is that so difficult to believe? That I could have even an inkling of desire for you?”
Truthfully, you’ve been rendered speechless.
What a complication you’ve entangled yourselves into.
You bite your lip, weighing the internal scales—to appease her would subsequently allow you the same pleasure, but most definitely become a brutal blow if this were to reach the ears of others within nobility.
Then, there were your own lingering feelings, dangerously blurring the lines of respecting the royalty and of Rafayel as her own person. Every heartbeat burns a bit more than the last in realization of where you felt yourself being taken.
“…I am inclined to agree on the earlier counts,” you mumble. You turn within her closed embrace, and she allows you the space, hand falling. “This is indeed selfish.”
Her gaze is downcast. “I understand.” A look of regret begins to wallow in those ethereal eyes of hers. “For burdening you with my emotions like this, I deeply apologize for my actions.”
Picking up that very hand, you bring her knuckles to your lips in brief greeting. Her breath comes to a still in seemingly nervous anticipation.
“And yet, here I am sharing that burden with you.” You place her hand to meet the space between your brows, bowing partially in respect—a token of your sincerity and devotion.
“I wish to fulfill this promise made, at the very least. But please,” you add with a light sigh. “Allow my poor heart some time to recuperate. I do find this to be quite sudden, in all honesty.”
The smile that fills Rafayel’s face is so radiant that when you lift your head to ascertain her reaction, you nearly believe the sun has blinded you from where you stand.
“Oh, thank you,” she exhales in pure adoration. She brings you to her chest in an affirmative hug, arms looping over your shoulders.
“Thank you for accepting me in this way. I will do everything in my power to ensure our vow goes smoothly.”