Chapter Text
You stare blankly out of the porthole of your cabin, eyes stretched out to beyond the edge of the horizon, trying to ignore the ship’s endless unsettled rocking against the open ocean that carries you to your new home. Even after a week of sailing, you still haven't grown accustomed to it. Perhaps you never will.
It's difficult to focus beyond your nerves as your attendant Tonia makes a fuss over your appearance. You had both been preparing since dawn, combing and pinning your hair half up, applying just enough makeup to enhance your natural features, and laying out an assortment of dresses on the bed for you to choose from.
"First impressions are everything," she says, and you feel your head spin. "What about pale pink? I'm sure he will like that. Or the - "
"Your Highness?" Another servant appears in the doorway, peeking her head around the frame as she knocks to see if you are in a fit state to receive guests. "Grand Duke Tartaglia is here to see you before we arrive. The Captain says we shall be at the port before noon.”
“I’m not yet dressed. Give me a moment!” you reply, blinking away the tears behind your eyes that threaten to spill over. You look down at your white linen chemise, and Tonia makes a show of bowing her head when she hands you a thick blue velvet robe to cover yourself with. "You may enter."
Your older brother Ajax enters the room, closing the door behind himself. His mess of ginger hair falls softly into his eyes, as he carries a large flat box that he sets down on the bed with a warm grin.
He’s dressed in his finest ceremonial attire - a white brocade sash draped over a long forest green coat, adorned with silver aiguillettes and medals of distinction, with a pair of grey riding breeches and black leather boots to match. In every regard, he looks to be the perfect prince.
It’s a stark contrast to the plainer grey dress that Tonia wears, a girl two years your senior yet much lower in station. Bastard-born to a well-regarded Courtier and one of his own servants, your attendant would never have the luxury of wealth or titles that you possess, even though her features resemble your brother more than yours ever had.
“I brought you a gift,” he unfastens the buckle and carefully lifts the lid to reveal a beautiful ball gown. It is the same deep green as his uniform with an ornate silver thread damask embroidered into the fine silk skirt.
He reaches in and removes the dress, holding it out at arms length for you to inspect. “I wanted to give it to you for your birthday but… perhaps you’ll have use of it before then.”
You feel a lump form in your throat when you bring your hand up to touch it, catching the expectant look in his bright blue eyes as he waits for you to respond.
Smooth to the touch - the fabric is so light and intricately stitched that it’s hard to believe that anyone could make something this perfect with human hands alone. “Ajax… You didn’t need to -”
“Of course I did. I promised I would,” he laughs, as if he’s proud of himself for remembering. “I had it handmade back in Liyue before I came home, the finest silk that money can buy, painstakingly crafted by the Tianquan’s personal modiste. I had to call in a lot of favours to make that connection - but based on the results I believe it was entirely worth the wait.”
You’re speechless.
You still remember the way that you had sobbed as he said his goodbyes, all those years ago when he was sent half-a-world away, after first being appointed as the Snezhnayan ambassador to the Empire of Liyue in the South. You had begged him not to leave you behind at the Winter Palace.
Back then, he had held you tight and reassured you that he’d be home soon with more gifts than he could carry.
When you met him again three years later, his brief return was accompanied by another two coaches filled with souvenirs from his travels. The only allied country that he hadn’t gotten you anything from was Liyue simply because he could fit nothing else in the carriages. Tonia had joked that there would’ve been more room if he had stayed behind, but he promised you that the next time you saw each other, he would make up for it by giving you the most exquisite and expensive gift that the Southern Empire had to offer.
“I can’t believe you remembered… This must have cost a small fortune,” you laugh in disbelief.
“A large fortune,” he shrugs with an easy smile. “I thought that you could wear it when you are presented at court. It matches my uniform so it’ll make a strong first impression - really show off just how united we are so they know not to mess with you. Mondstadt’s little Prince and his courtiers won’t know what hit him.”
Mondstadt’s Prince, you nervously swallow. Other than his name and the fact that he is the descendent of one of the Knights that overthrew your Great Grandfather King Decarabian, you know next to nothing about Diluc Ragnvindr - the man you are to marry.
Shock rippled through the Winter Palace when the announcement was made. The Tsaritsa, Empress and Autocrat of all Snezhnaya, was planning to offer her only daughter as a bride to the usurpers in the South, to solidify a prospective military alliance between the two countries after decades of mistrust and animosity.
Back then you had spent a whole month begging your Mother’s advisors and attendants for a meeting, just five minutes to plead your case and implore her to call it off, for a chance to change her mind and see what a terrible mistake this was.
But she refused to see you.
The Tsaritsa already had an heir in her first legitimate son the Tsesarevich - your other distant brother that you barely spoke a word to - and a spare in Tartaglia as the Grand Duke. Two sons to serve Snezhnaya as Harbingers in her court whilst you had enjoyed your sheltered life as a Duchess away from the politics and games.
But as a woman, there was only one way that you could serve your country. Your Empress expected this of you, and there was no escaping it.
So you were met with nothing more than a letter of well wishes, not even granted the satisfaction of a face-to-face argument or explanation. She had left you to wait, confined to your apartments in the palace until the day that Grand Duke Tartaglia arrived to escort you from your home one last time.
Some empty words on a page and the knowledge that you would be dragged kicking and screaming if you continued to refuse led you to finally relent. The rift between you and your Mother stretching so wide now that, when the gates of Zapolyarny closed behind you for the last time, it was almost a relief to leave that Court of Frost behind.
There was no going back now.
“Your Highness?” you hear Tonia speak, although at this moment she feels so far away. It’s too difficult to hide your emotions, the burn in your eyes breaking through as tears begin to fall, and you cast your gaze down in a futile attempt to hide your face from everyone in the room. “____?” she lowers her voice now as she addresses you again, but by your own name and not a title this time.
If anyone else dared to speak so freely, it would be considered improper. But for someone you have spent your entire childhood with and consider as close as a sister, you find comfort in the reminder that you’re actually a person outside of the role you were born to play.
“I’m sorry, it’s nothing,” you give a faint smile as you lie. “I was just… it’s such a beautiful dress.”
Tonia looks at you with concern as your words trail off, stepping forward to place her hand on your arms and guide you back towards one of the chairs, before going to take the gown from your brother.
He steps forward and drops to his knees in front of you, his hands reaching up to pat your cheeks dry without smearing the thin layer of makeup on your face. You can see there’s a panicked look in his eyes now, as if he is as terrified as you are, as if he blames himself for not being able to stop this.
“Are you scared?” Tonia asks from across the room as she lays your new dress out.
“I don’t know,” you half laugh.
“You’ll be safe in Mondstadt, I swear to you,” you see Tartaglia’s eyes darken as his jaw clenches. “None would dare to lay a hand on you. Our armies are the strongest in the world and the Fatui’s influence is far-reaching, any threats will be severely dealt with before you even know they exist. That’s only if anyone is foolish enough to try and cross us in the first place.”
“That’s certainly one way to reassure her.” Tonia’s brows raise and she gives you a knowing look, as if to make light of his intensity.
“No matter what the danger is, I will parry it. Isn’t that what any older brother would do? If you have anything better to offer, feel free to speak up.”
She sighs and holds her head high as she replies, tongue in cheek, “I ought to know my place. A lowly servant such as I has no business in your family affairs.”
“And yet you're still talking,” he laughs and cocks his head. “Besides, when have I ever given you the impression that your insight is unwelcome?”
“Enough,” you give a half-hearted smile and decide to interrupt before the playful squabbling can escalate into an actual argument. “I’m just nervous, I think. I don’t really know what to expect.”
“Well… They say the Prince is quite handsome and brave. Apparently he became a Knight when he was just fourteen, although how much of that is down to his natural talent or his father just being King is anyone’s guess.” Tonia tries to reassure you.
“Right.”
It doesn’t really work.
“Okay,” she rocks back on her feet as she racks her brain for anything else. “They also say he’s a King in the making, many expect that he will be elected by the council once Crepus dies.”
“Who’s 'they'?” It's Tartaglia’s turn to raise a brown now.
“You know… people… generally,” she shrugs. “Surely you’ve heard the rumours? You’re much closer to the world of royal gossip than I am.”
“So much for abolishing hereditary monarchy,” he scoffs.
After King Decarabian lost the war, Barbatos the Usurper shocked the world by allowing his council to elect Mondstadt's next King from among themselves. Although, now the various factions have begun to struggle against one another in the absence of a strong, unbroken line of succession.
Your marriage to Diluc, and the military backing of your Mother’s empire, is likely to cement the Ragnvindr clan as a political juggernaut that dominates the council for years to come. But it also has the potential to shatter it entirely if you’re unable to step out of your Great-Grandfather’s shadow.
“Look, I’m just saying that there are worse complete strangers that you could’ve ended up betrothed to - better a foreign prince than some aging provincial lord allied to your Mother or the Tsesarevich. Think of it as an opportunity to heal and settle the wounds of the past between your family and their nation.”
“Our nation,” Tartaglia corrects, albeit as if he’s mocking those that say such things and still believe them to be true. “Technically, I am still Decarabian’s lawful heir. Some may argue that this marriage is a compromise far better than those usurpers deserve.”
“Funnily enough, it is only Snezhnaya that still recognises your claim,” Tonia points out. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Be careful who you say that in front of.”
“I’m not stupid Ajax,” she rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t repeat it outside of this room.”
Your brother visibly relaxes when he hears you chuckle at the pair of them bickering, his thumb ghosting across your cheek one more time to catch the last tear as it rolls down your face when you weakly smile.
He goes to stand and turns to Tonia a little lighter than before, grateful that she came to be with you through all of this, knowing that when he returns to Liyue he will at least be leaving you in her safe hands.
“What if the people don’t like me?” you quietly ask. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
"Don’t be ridiculous. What’s there to dislike about you?” he replies.
“You’re beautiful… exceptionally wealthy and have royal blood… sometimes you’re very amusing too, I suppose - ” Tonia pauses to watch for your reaction, slightly irked when she sees the way you cringe at what she’s saying. “Shit, I don’t know, I’m not good at this, what do you want me to say?”
“It’s the thought that counts, Tonia,” Tartaglia offers a smug reply.
She lets out a sarcastic laugh, “Well, I did try my best.”
“If that’s your best, I’d hate to see your worst,” you say.
Tonia takes mock offence, grabbing one of the cushions off the bed and tossing it in your direction only to miss and hit Tartaglia square in the shoulder with a light hearted laugh, “You’ll be fine ____. There’s no point worrying about the ‘what ifs’ until we get to them, and when we do, I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
You had no reason to doubt what she said. Tonia had always been there for as long as you could remember, had grown up with you and served not only as an attendant but as a friend and confidant too. She was loyal to a fault almost, having been the first of your staff to volunteer to make the journey with you, even if it meant leaving the rest of her family behind.
You’re about to open your mouth to respond, to tell her how grateful you are to have her, when there comes a soft knock on the door.
“The Grand Duchess shall not be disturbed,” she says, turning her head towards the sound and dismissing whoever had interrupted.
“I must report to the Grand Duke,” The muffled voice of a soldier responds from the other side.
Tartaglia rolls his eyes just ever so slightly, almost imperceptible had it not been for the frustrated huff he releases before calling out “Enter,” and straightens his back.
Within a matter of seconds you all slip back into the roles you play in public - two noble and respected members of the royal household and their poor little servant that blends in the background.
“Your Highness,” the soldier stands to attention after opening the door, and silently waits for your brother’s nod of approval before daring to set foot over the threshold.
“At ease Grigory.”
“The fools at the port have advised that the north wind may make it difficult to dock in a timely manner,” his eyes nervously dart towards you and then away again when he realises that you are also paying close attention to his every word. “The Captain would like to know your thoughts.”
Tartaglia stiffens slightly, “The weather seems fair enough to carry on. Half our escort should continue as expected, but we shall change course to enjoy the Falcon Coast instead.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
To the unsuspecting passer-by, this exchange would seem entirely innocent, pointless even, but from their tone it was clear that these two were discussing something far more sinister.
You were not privy to the exact meaning of their coded language. Perhaps that is exactly why they had spoken in such a way, but from the atmosphere in the room, you pick up on the fact that whatever it was - it wasn’t anything good.
“What’s happened?” you ask the moment the door clicks shut once more.
“Nothing you need to worry yourself with. Everything is under control,” he puts on a fake reassuring smile, another mask for his face to hide behind. “We’re taking a detour - just means that you two have more time to make yourselves pretty.”
“Are you saying we aren’t already?” Tonia teases.
“Prettier then,” he scoffs and heads for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
There’s a moment's silence after he’s gone, the little joy left in the room dissipating into nothing but a lingering numbness that washes over you with the ebb and flow of the sea.
“He has agents keeping an eye on the port. It’s not safe for us to dock there,” Tonia turns to you and speaks. “Ajax wants to keep a low profile and split the fleet so that we’re a less obvious target.”
Your stomach drops, his earlier words ringing in the back of your head:
“...any threats will be severely dealt with before you even know they exist.”
How typical of your brother to try and shelter you, even if it left you feeling utterly unprepared and blind to what you may be about to face.
“You understood what they were saying?”
Tonia nods and purses her lips,“You pick up on lots of things when people forget that you’re there.”
“What’s the danger?” you dare to ask, part of you not wanting to know the answer.
“They didn’t say,” she releases an uneasy sigh and steps toward you again. “But considering that they don’t intend to turn the ship around and take us home, I’d say they’re either being overly cautious or it’s already been dealt with.”
A thousand different threats fly through your mind - an angry mob, pirates, assassins, or spies from Khaenri'ah set on causing you harm - all absurd yet possible the more you allow your thoughts to spiral, and if not for Tonia, you likely would’ve spent the rest of the journey pondering the horror that awaited upon your arrival.
“Trust your brother,” she says, her blue eyes flicking towards the gorgeous gown that lies draped across your bed waiting for you. “When has he ever not kept his word?”
You say nothing in response at first, slowly getting out of your chair and walking towards the edge of the bed to stroke your hand across the smooth green fabric, tracing the silver thread pattern with your forefinger and as you close your eyes and gather yourself.
“Do you think we’ll ever be able to go back to Snezhnaya one day?”
“Perhaps,” she replies. “Maybe your prince won't be chosen as the next king. Perhaps you could bring him back with you and we can all go home.”
It was a silly question, really. You doubt that you would ever be allowed to return to court if you fail to become Queen. But Tonia's answer had lifted a weight from your spirit, like a window cracked open after the closing of a door, and for a moment, you could fool yourself into believing you have any choice at all.
“You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life,” you whisper to yourself.
“I break a pinkie promise, I get thrown on the ice,” she continues the next line of that morbid nursery rhyme that all the children back home love to sing, and holds her little finger out for you to take as you finish it together.
“... The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again!”
You let out a deflated laugh and let your hand drop to your side again, your eyes looking back towards the endless waves on the other side of the porthole.
-✧-
The wooden oars moan against the water as a doleful wind beats the smaller boats back against the tide that carries you and your retinue ashore. You had known the air would be different here, so unlike the bracing cold of home, but nothing could prepare you for just how blustery this land is.
An open coastline rests a short distance away, a bay which sits at the edge of a verdant plain that stretches as far as your eyes can see, sheltered by cliffs carved from jagged grey stone that has been weathered by centuries of wind and wave.
Everyone is quiet as you approach, although if anyone spoke, you doubt that you’d be able to hear them well enough to reply. Your hands wind into tight fists against your lap as you try to steady your breathing and try not to look too unsettled in front of the strangers set to greet you.
A small group of soldiers stands to attention nearby on the beach, observing you, unmoving as your little boat finally touches the pale sand beneath the shallows and can travel no further alone.
You look away in an attempt to feign disinterest, remaining seated beside your brother and Tonia as the sailors strap their guns to their backs and haul themselves into the sea to drag the vessel onto dry land.
The second you step out of the boat you feel your leather boots sink into the sand, relieved that you decided to wear something more practical upon arrival and save the exquisite dress for a more appropriate time and affair, the fabric of your green cloak flapping behind you as Tartaglia takes your gloved hand with a cautious smile.
“It’s time,” he says, his voice less sure than he expected it to be.
You take one last chance to look back towards the ship that lingers in the bay, frowning as you watch your family coat of arms - a golden mask set against an imperial blue flag - whip so violently against the wind that at any moment you think it might tear away and be lost forever.
“____,” he calls your name.
You feel your throat tighten as you turn back to your brother, allowing yourself one last moment to waver before you step forward.
The soldiers regard you with caution, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords as they throw disapproving glares in your direction when you, Tonia, and Tartaglia, come to stop halfway between them and your own men, parting their formation to allow two figures to approach.
A man and a woman.
They’re both wearing the same black and silver uniform as the rest of their men, although they both wear long overcoats to signify their more senior rank.
The woman is fair of face, walking slightly ahead with her long golden hair pulled back into a high ponytail that passes the length of her coat’s collar. Clearly the one in charge of this unit, yet deceptively soft in appearance compared to the tall man trailing slightly behind.
You recall Tonia’s words back on the boat, how she mentioned that Mondstadt's Prince was said to be handsome and an exceptionally talented member of the Knights of Favonius. You wonder if this could possibly be your fiancé.
Everything about this stranger draws your attention, the warmth of his tanned skin compared to everyone else from his group, his deep indigo hair resting in a lovelock across his left shoulder, the clean black patch obscuring his right eye from view.
He radiates confidence to such a degree that you can’t help but recognise him as nobility, standing out against the rest of the crowd gathered at the beach. You feel an uneasy flutter in your stomach when you notice the curious expression on his face as he stops a short distance away and crosses his arms with a slight grin.
“Well, well… what do we have here?” his voice is teasing and smooth, almost too relaxed for what ought to be a formal affair.
His uncovered eye seems to dance between the three of you - glancing at you, your brother, then Tonia, and back to you again - and it's clear what he’s thinking even without him needing to say it out loud.
The difference in appearance between you and Tartaglia all but confirms the rumours that the Tsaritsa is a woman that enjoys the company of many lovers, although there doesn’t seem to be any judgement or scorn behind the curious look on his face as looks between you both.
“Long time no see… Your Highness,” the man you assume to be Diluc addresses your brother, the use of his title tacked onto the end almost antagonistically, as if it were a playful taunt. “I trust your journey was pleasant enough, although you seem to have missed your destination by a fair few miles.”
You feel Tartaglia squeeze your hand slightly as he laughs, perhaps to reassure you, perhaps to reassure himself.
“And yet you still managed to arrive before us! Although, there’s fewer than I expected. Are the Knights still having a recruitment problem or are they too busy tidying things up at the port to give us a proper reception?”
“We had hardly any notice of your sudden change of plans. There was really no need for the detour. I assure you that everything is under control now,” the man’s eye narrows as he replies, taking another step closer to stand beside his female companion. “But where are my manners? Allow me to introduce Jean, Lieutenant of this unit and one of the Grand Master’s most trusted advisors.”
“Mondstadt welcomes you, Your Highnesses,” Jean gives you a polite smile and bows slightly, although there's no warmth behind it. “The Grand Master knows that you’ve had a long journey. He has asked us to bring you directly to the capital so that you may rest before being presented to the King.”
Given the fact that you didn’t arrive when and where you were expected, that your brother mentioned the port again, and that the handsome man before you seems to want to downplay whatever the disruption was - you don’t believe for a second that your comfort is the reason why your host doesn’t want to delay things any longer.
“We are grateful for his hospitality,” Tartaglia nods and goes to introduce you. “This is my sister, the illustrious Grand Duchess ____ of Snezhnaya, and her attendant Miss Tonia.”
“I’m honoured to meet you, Lady Jean,” you muster the energy to offer a convincing sweet smile, and then turn to the man beside her. “And you too, Your Highness. I look forward to -”
He cuts you off before you can finish your sentence, the sound of a short involuntary laugh escaping his throat as he stares at you in bemusement.
“I’m flattered that you think so highly of me! I hate to disappoint - but I’m not your Prince.”
Your heart drops. Barely ten minutes in and you’ve already made your first mistake.
“Kaeya,” he continues, introducing himself with a self-satisfied smile as if he relishes the fact that you were naive enough to make the assumption, before he bows his head. “Knight of Favonius. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Tartaglia laughs awkwardly and then turns his head to you, lowering his voice slightly to explain, “Prince Diluc’s right hand man,” before he looks back up at Kaeya and Jean to continue on with the pleasantries.
The clarification leaves you with more questions than answers, and an unsettling mix of relief and disappointment.
Part of you wishes that he had been your betrothed - if only for the sake of getting your first meeting out of the way as soon as possible - but you also can’t help but feel more nervous now that you know the type of company that Diluc seems to keep.
The insincere smile drops from his face when he catches you looking a little longer than you ought to, the both of you forgetting yourselves for a moment before you divert your attention to the ground.
Kaeya hadn’t been outright rude to you per se, but it was clear from his demeanour that he had little respect for you. Perhaps this was a small taste of what you should expect from the rest of the people of Mondstadt too.
“It’s been a long morning and I’m eager to see more of our ancestral home. Will we be travelling the main road?” Tartaglia asks.
“It’s the fastest and most secure route,” Jean says and warily looks to the Sailors that escorted you to shore that stand almost level with you - twenty altogether - split equally either side with their guns held diagonally across their bodies with the muzzles rested towards the sky. “If you wouldn’t mind handing over your weapons?”
Your brother releases you and tenses, shifting his weight and bringing his hand up to rest at the ornate silver hilt of the sword attached to his belt
“I certainly would mind.”
Out of the corner of your eye you watch as Kaeya does the same.
“We cannot permit entry to those bearing arms. I ask that you hand them over to our custody for the duration of your visit to be returned upon your departure.” Jean stands firm.
“It would be a violation of our military protocol to surrender such advanced weaponry to those with inadequate training in handling firearms. Wouldn’t want anyone to hurt themselves.”
There’s venom laced between his words and Jean picks right up on it, clenching her jaw slightly at the suggestion that her men are improperly trained, although, she’s smart enough to recognise Tartaglia’s attempt at deflection.
You look back to the formation behind Jean and Kaeya, every single man equipped with nothing more than armour and swords, and it's clear that he doesn’t trust that they won’t just take the guns to try and reproduce them.
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
“I don’t think you understand. We -”
“I apologise for my brother,” you step out and interrupt him before the situation can escalate, addressing Jean directly. “You must forgive his caution; we are aware that there was trouble before our arrival. He just wants to ensure my safety.”
“I assure you that the Knights will do our utmost to protect you, Your Highness,” she replies.
“Perhaps a compromise then?” you force yourself to smile and try not to feel guilty for stepping on your brother's toes. “One of our men takes the guns back to the ship, and the rest remain with us to bolster your escort.”
“What about him?” Kaeya nods his head towards Tartaglia.
“He keeps the sword,” you answer bluntly.
“Oh?”
Kaeya stares you down, waiting to see if you blink first. You don’t. Your heart races as you offer an ultimatum:
“Or we can all return to our ship and make our way back to Snezhnaya. I’m sure that my Mother will be greatly disappointed with the reception we received.”
For a moment, they say nothing - exchanging knowing looks between one another until Kaeya gives a silent nod, as if to make his feelings on the matter known before he looks toward you with thinly veiled contempt.
“Very well,” Jean replies. “I suggest you make your arrangements, a carriage awaits at the edge of Windrise.”
The two bow, leaving without another word, and you feel the tension in your body release.
“You handled that well,” Tartaglia says, a little proud of you, as if he’s forgotten that he was part of the problem.
“I would’ve handled it better if you told me what was going on,” you hiss.
“It’s nothing.”
Tonia, who has remained silent until this point, chimes in, “Clearly not,”
“Some of the locals at the port had been drinking. Getting restless, throwing bottles and jeering,” he snaps defensively. “You didn’t need to know something so trivial.”
You doubt that what he says was the true extent of it - given the fact that the knights had only sent a small portion of their men to meet you, when you had been expecting a ceremonial affair. But you see no need to argue with so many watching. There was likely a riot then. You make a note to find out more about it later.
You follow your hosts to the edge of the beach, your feet occasionally falling atop the footprints they leave in the sand that trail towards the lush grass of Windrise.
At the start of a winding dirt road you see a large yet plain wooden carriage attached to two enormous black Friesian horses, hardly suitable for someone of your status - although you imagine that is exactly the reason why it was chosen in the first place. Seeing as you aren’t sure of the risks that lie ahead, perhaps it’s better not to draw too much attention.
Tartaglia steps into the carriage first, inspecting the interior before turning and holding out a hand to help you inside, his grip tightening around your fingers when you feel your boot slip against the mounting block.
“Watch your step, Princess,” Kaeya pulls up beside you atop a grey Andalusian stallion, tugging on the reigns with one hand to bring it to a shuddering halt. “I’m supposed to get that pretty little face of yours back to the city in one piece, remember?”
“Thank you so much for your concern,” you reply, teeth gritting together. “I wish you a safe journey as well. It would be a shame if you fell off that high horse.”
You don’t stop to look back at him as you hear him chuckle to himself, the sound of hooves kicking up dirt as he directs the horse away, taking a deep breath as you successfully climb into the carriage and try to remain calm after embarrassing yourself for a second time.
Once you’re all seated and ready to depart, you watch as Tartaglia draws the thin curtains closed, hiding you away again until you reach your new and unfamiliar home.