Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My mother tongue is French. This is a translation. This work has not been proofread. Please be indulgent!

PROLOGUE

Night has long since fallen. It has lowered its heavy inky curtain on the world, putting an end to the festivities that has been animating the palace for two days.

It's not every day that the Fire Nation welcomes its long-lost children. Many were surprised to see them again, the heirs who were thought to have been permanently erased from the family tree, banished, perhaps dead.

If Fire Lord Ozai hadn't passed away so suddenly, it's likely no one would have wondered what became of Prince Zuko and his younger sister, Princess Azula. They have hardly been seen since the dark times when the Avatar posed an unprecedented threat to the Nation.

Their names had become cursed here and there is no soul audacious enough to whisper them. The young Prince was said to be a traitor of the worst kind. He had been around the Avatar for a while, trying to dethrone his own father. But after the young airbender's resounding failure, and his mysterious retirement, the banished boy is said to have left his friends and led a dissolute life. His exploits have reached the ears of the Fire Nation, further sullying Ozai's name.

There was a time when he could have consoled himself thanks to his daughter, the beautiful and cunning Princess Azula who was said to be unfailingly loyal to him. But she, too, disappeared without a trace, a few weeks after Sozin's comet. No one knows what became of her, except the Fire Sages who brought her back with her brother after the Fire Lord's glorious funeral.

The Elders preferred not to have to call them, but the Fire Lord must be a member of the royal family. Since their uncle chose hedonistic life over political responsibilities, they had no choice but call for Azula and Zuko, last survivors and direct heirs of Ozai, both accomplished firebenders.

The Prince and the Princess, now grown-up, shared only brief glances during the banquet organized to honor them. Although seated side by side, no one heard them exchange even a word.

Zuko arrived first, recognizable by the scar that adorned his sullen face darkened by his constantly frowning eyebrows. He didn't say a word or ask a question about his father's last moments.

With his back straight, the same stern expression imprinted on his features, he witnessed the arrival of his sister in front of the palace gates. When the porters put the palanquin down on the cobblestones, he first saw a white hand then a graceful wrist adorned with sparkling bracelets, slowly coming out of the carriage. The porter who helped her out of the palanquin bowed very respectfully, but she didn't give him a look. If her amber eyes met her brother’s golden ones, the moment was so fleeting that Zuko hardly remembers it.

He watched her walk proudly towards the palace, silent and beautiful as the daylight. Her cheekbones seemed higher, her bearing even more haughty, but she was very similar to the memory he had of her. He noticed that if he himself had grown over the years that have separated them, she herself had kept the same silhouette.

All he knows is that she has spent the last seven years in a Fire Temple, with nuns and priests watching her every move. He wonders to what extent this monastic life has changed her and he sighs at the idea.

The first evening, the Sages insisted on letting them take a little rest. The festivities took place without them. They did not see each other again until the next day.

The Sages summoned them to the Throne Room and explained to them before the extinguished brazier that the Fire Lord died without deciding which of his children would ascend the throne. Zuko's betrayal does not make him the best candidate, but he remains the first born. “Plus," the Great Sage, added “We have never seen a woman ascend the throne in the entire Fire Nation History. The pretty conservative people might not like that.”

They assured them of their deep respect and offer to clear them of all their sins and any suspicion of treason or scandalous behavior. They will let them discuss and find an agreement.

“Now that you are accomplished and reasonable adults,” they said, “We hope that you will be able to put aside your old rivalries and find a solution that is in the interest of the Nation. The nation was severely shaken by the end of the war. The worst thing that could happen to our people would be a fratricidal war between the two heirs to the throne. You two need to find an arrangement. At the end of the month, the gods will decide which of you will ascend the throne of fire. The other will have to swear allegiance to the new Fire Lord and give him or her," they added - bowing respectufully before Azula -  "guarantees that he or she will make no attempt to usurp the throne. At the end of the month, if you haven't find an agreement and you haven't succeed in convincing us of your good faith, then you will decide during an Agni Kai.”

The Prince and Princess didn’t complain, nor tried to discuss the conditions. Standing, side by side in front of the Throne of Fire, they did not exchange a glance and returned to their private apartments.

That same evening, the Sages invited them to join the festivities and a lavish banquet greeted them. The courtiers came to make them compliments, all hurrying to bow before the Prince and kiss the hand of the Princess. Zuko wondered how she manage to always compose a polite smile while himself is unable to hid his impatience.

It was only when night has definitely fallen and the last servant left the reception room that the Prince turned his head towards his messmate and gestured for her to follow him. Very calm, she accepted the hand he held out to her and smirked when she saw him grab a bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses. Then she let herself be dragged outside the room, looking for a more intimate place to collect the secret of their reunion.

Chapter Text

The former Fire Lord's chamber is shrouded in darkness. The silver moonlight seeps through the casement window. Its faint glow gives the room an ominous and menacing look. The furniture casts its looming shadows on the floor, completing the illusion.

It feels like this room has been abandoned for years. No parchment, no trinkets cover the desk or the shelves. The bed sheets have been removed, indicating that servants have come to empty the room. If Ozai left personal belongings there, invisible hands must have been ordered to take them to prevent curious people from poking around here.

Above the sumptuous four-poster bed hangs the last trace of the owner of the place: a huge full-length portrait represents Ozai, flame in hand, in front of a wall of fire, dressed in his ceremonial attire. The painter has done a remarkable job: the golden eyes seem to twinkle in the dim light and stare implacably at intruders.

It is here, of all the rooms in the palace, that the prince and princess have chosen to hid from prying eyes and ears, without having to tell each other, as if guided by an inexplicable instinct.

They didn't come here to mourn the loss of their father, though.

On the contrary, they are in a joyful mood, intoxicated by the wine that flowed freely this evening and excited at the idea of their reunion. The princess settles comfortably on the bare bed and turns on her side to watch her brother ignite the dozen torches in the room with a wave of his hand. A little drunk, the princess thinks they look like faces giving her a knowing wink. She’s hardly impressed by the gloomy atmosphere of the room, nor by all the splendor of which she was deprived during the seven years she lost, cloistered in this austere temple, with uptight girls and old nuns with withered necks who lived only to lecture her.

As Zuko paces the room, glasses and bottle in hand, she looks up at the painting hanging just above her head. Her father looks down at her scornfully and Azula gives him a sardonic smile. She thinks she should feel sorrow. That's what the nuns of the Fire Temple would expect of her. She should perhaps offer Agni some prayers for Ozai's soul and perform some ablution, but all she feels now is a heady sense of freedom and the delicious irony of the situation: the one who claimed locking her away forever now rests in the crypt beneath the palace, a pitiful heap of ashes gathered under the funarary statue the royal sculptor executed hastily. She thinks to herself that she might pay him a visit tomorrow. Perhaps Zuko will agree to come with her?

He has finished walking around the room and he now pushes an armchair towards the bed, pours wine into the two glasses and hands one to Azula who accepts it without a word. Finally he sits down to face her, his feet still in boots stretched out on the mattress. She has a sense that he is even less affected than her by their father’s death and feels her heart swell in her chest.

She wonders if he remembers like her the last night he spent in this palace, the day before the Black Sun, just before his despicable betrayal.

She has been waiting for this day for seven years. She's going to give him a chance to explain himself and if his excuses are satisfactory enough... They'll see where the night brings them.

As long as they know each other, she’s always been the first to speak. She won’t break this rule tonight:

“So...”

This is the first word she has spoken to him since their reunion, more than thirty-six hours earlier.

“So, what?”

“I can see that years of wandering have achieved to turn you into a peasant, brother” she observes, glancing at the muddy stains his boots left on their father's immaculate mattress. “Or is this some barbarous custom? It's true that they say you've been slumming over the last few years since you left the Avatar. If half of what I've heard is true, then I should be terrified to stay alone with such a depraved man. And in a drunkenness state, while I'm so vulnerable.”

Is it him or has Azula's voice become more silky, more childish too?

Her eyes shine with a mysterious glow and the dancing flames are reflected in them.

“And would you do me the honor to tell me what you heard exactly?” he asks without looking at her, trying to see his reflection in the globe of the crystal glass he holds in his hand, anxious to hide his confusion from her.

“Oh, don't worry, brother dear, nothing that isn't extremely flattering to you. I know you made a fortune in the arms trade. Men fear your fighting skills and honest women abjure themselves to spend a night in your bed. My brother's scandalous behavior earned me the hatred of some mothers at the temple and the contempt of many of my sisters.”

Zuko lets out a contemptuous snort: “I didn’t know that the inhabitants of the convents reveled in stories of debauchery! Do they know what sins led you there, Sis?”

She giggles.

“I've so often burned to spit the truth in their faces, if only for the pleasure of reading the horror in their dull eyes.”

“And what prevented you to do so?” he asks. “What were you risking? Father wasn't planning on bringing you back, was he?”

“Who can claim to know what Father's intentions were?” she said, stretching on the bed, lascivious. “He struck you with treason, but he didn’t take away your title, even years after your disappearance, even though he knew he would have no heir when he died. He didn't even think to legitimize one of his many bastards.”

“He probably thought he would leave you the throne once you were cleansed of your sins,” he sneers.

"I don't think so," she replies sincerely. “In our father's eyes, I was no better than you. People despise traitors, but it is first their wives or their whores that are dragged through the mud. And since it is obvious that I don’t belong to the first category…”

A silence settles between them. Azula rolls over onto her stomach and rests her cheek against her crossed arms in front of her. She stares at her brother who shows her his scarred profile. The light from the torches throws dancing reflections on the folds of his scar.

Zuko has grown strong. His now long hair is pulled back into a neglected manbun which gives him wildling air he cultivates. He grew and his neck thickened. His shoulders are squarer than the last time they saw each other. But Azula has also changed. Her gaze is deeper and sadder, her cheeks have sunk slightly and he wonders if this is the result of the frugal life the Fire priests imposed on her. Her body has blossomed, however, and he can't help but stare at the tempting curve of her hips as she pushes herself up on one elbow.

He suddenly felt a little nervous, he, the ladies'man. How ironic!

“So, the throne, uh?” he growls, looking up at her to dissipate the tension in the air.

“Yeah," she replies simply.

“I suppose I’m deluding myself by asking this question but by any chance, did you plan to go back to knitting shawls in your monastery while I sit quietly on Ozai’s throne?”

With a smirk, Azula shakes her head from side to side.

“I suppose I’m deluding myself by asking this question," she echoes him, “but by any chance, do you intend to return to duel with some Earth Kingdom commoner before abusing his grieving widow while I have Father's crown adjusted to my size?”

“I've never abused a woman in my life,” he replies calmly. “All those who shared my bed had given their consent. I don't know what sordid story you've heard, but I'm not a savage.”

“Of course,” she said. “A prince remains a prince. Your greatness honors you, brother dear. But tell me, how many little bastards have you blessed the world with since we last met? And how many poor dishonored girls have you forced to take the veil or get rid of a troublesome little guest?”

“None, as far as I can tell” he replies.

“Such a greatness! You've always had such a keen sense of honor, Zuzu. I've always admired you for that," she comments, bringing the glass to her lips, her head resting on the palm of her hand.

Zuko raises his head and a questioning eyebrow. She couldn't disguise the note of bitterness in her voice. Or did she do it intentionally? You never know with Azula.

A dark fire burns in his sister's pupils and he guesses that a deadly rage is simmering under the feigned courtesy.

“Are you mad?” he ventured, looking at her with golden eyes.

“At who?” she asks in a falsely naive tone. "Mad at the brother who exposed me for my lies before abandoning me to an abusive father? Or at my lover who dishonored me and then left without caring what would happen to me?”

Zuko freezes and gestures towards her, but his other hand clings to his chair, dampening his first impulse to join her.

“I'm sorry,” he finally mutters. “I did not measure the consequences of my actions.”

Azula is silent and empties her glass in one gulp. She motions for Zuko to fill it and he obeys.

"How did he know?" he asks tentatively, sitting down again. “I mean Ozai. He put you in that convent because he knew the truth, didn't he?”

“Maids… Some evidences," she says absentmindedly. “But that's in the past,” she adds, leaning on her elbow to sit up on the bed. “Let's stop talking about that. I don't want to stir up this whole sordid affair, nor old wounds to come and tarnish the joy of our reunion. We were kids. Kids make mistakes.”

Their eyes meet and they stare intently at each other for a moment. She always knew how to read him like an open book. But Zuko is no longer the impulsive, naive young boy she used to manipulate once, and he's determined to prove her wrong if she still believes she can bend him to her will.

“Adults also make mistakes sometimes, don't they?” he said with a smirk. “And some don’t learn from their past faults”

He guesses from the tension in the air that they will commit more than one tonight.

She doesn't answer but he knows from her smirk that she has seized the hint. She takes a long sip of wine, and holds out her hand to invite him joining her.

Zuko smiles back at her and quietly gets up. He puts his glass on the bedside, stretches and takes a few steps forward to face his sister. She hands him her empty glass and he puts it down next to his. Azula's face comes level with his stomach and she lifts her chin to seek his gaze, like a tamed animal awaiting its master's reward. He frames her face and strokes her lower lips with his thumb. Azula puts a hand on his waist and gently draws circles around his navel.

"We have a decision to make, you and I," she said quietly, her eyes down on his stomach. "A decision that concerns the future of our nation. Well, if it means anything to you. After all, you left voluntarily. I can't believe you're seriously interested in the throne. But maybe you were hoping for something else by coming here?"

She spoke her last sentence slowly, making sure to lock her burning gaze into his. It feels hot at once.

While Azula does her best to hide the frantic beating of her heart from him, she can't help the throbbing in her throat, betraying her excitement. However, she's not the only one with something to hide. But Zuko isn't ashamed of the bulge that distorts his crotch and that Azula can feel pulsing against her chest. If their last embraces were of the classic kind, he guesses that those to come will be much more ardent. Zuko has known many women and something about the way Azula slowly runs an expert hand over his lower stomach tells him that she hasn't waited wisely for him these seven past years.

The thought makes surge in him a strange mixture of arousal and bitterness.

“Coming here, I thought I was done with all that shit,” he admits. “With Father, with you. But when I saw your pretty little bitch’s face emerging from that palanquin, I realized I wanted that damn crown, and I'd be crazy to let you take it from me.”

“Oh really?” she says in a cajoling voice, running the tip of her index finger along her brother's crotch, as if to appreciate his length. "And what would you do with me once crowned Lord of Fools?”

“I'll put you in your rightful place,” he sneers, caressing her cheek. "Right at my feet. Exactly like you are now.”

“Please Zuko! We both know who really holds the power when a woman kneels at the feet of a man.”

"You weren't that bold the last time I saw you,” he smirks. “I can see that you don't just pray in convents.”

“A ladies'man as yourself probably knows that the only women who fuck more than whores are nuns! And then, teenage girls like to chat about boys!”

He’s not going to contradict her. When he is lovesick, Zuko draws closer to temples and convents. He knows that there will always be a pretty nun, a bit cheekier than the others, to pervert. He doubts that Ozai let that happen though.

“Do you include yourself in this rule?”

“I guess there's only one way to find out..."

She challenges him and Zuko realizes that he loves it. He grabs her head with both hands and forces it against him.

Azula can't resist any longer. She presses her eager lips against the growing evidence of his desire and trails a few searing kisses down his length. How badly he wishes there is no fabric to separate her mouth from his skin. Zuko closes his eyes and tilts his head back, taking a deep breath before looking down at her again. He releases her only to pull on the stripes of his belt but stops when he notices that she has moved back on the bed and that she is avoiding his gaze. He lifts her chin to force her to look at him. He probes her impassive face, his question written in his golden eyes. It's only because he knows her so well that he can tell she's upset.

“What’s wrong?”

He finds it difficult to conceal a hint of annoyance and impatience.

“Why didn't you come get me?” she whispers, frowning. “I waited for you.”

He didn't expect this. Then he considers that Azula may be Azula, but she’s still a woman. He supposes that the convent must have exacerbated the weaknesses inherent in her sex. He sighs.

“Father would have hunted us down, he would have had us killed,” he replies just as quietly, releasing the threads of his belt.

“Hide behind these excuses!” she said, turning away from him.

But Zuko is not determined to take the blame for everything that has happened to her. He sits next to her on the bed. Finally, it seems that she’s hurt more than she wants to admit.

“Look, I'm sorry I left you. But at the time, it seemed to me that it was the only thing to do. I saw no other solution. Sooner or later you would have denounced me to Father. You were using our relationship to keep control over me.”

“It's easier to believe that, isn't it? Did it occur to you for a second that maybe I was doing this for other reasons?”

He burst out laughing before he could stop himself.

“Don't make me laugh, Azula. We both know how things would have ended. After tricking Father into thinking I killed the Avatar to protect yourself, you thought that by sleeping with me, you would have a formidable weapon at your disposal to blackmail me with.”

“I was in love, Zuko,” she says him reproachfully. “You were my first love. I gave up my virtue and my friendship with Mai for you. And you ran away from me, without even leaving me a letter to explain. Or let me know you told Father everything. You only came back to annihilate me with your Water Tribe peasant.”

Zuko remains silent. Does she think he never blamed himself for that? But the family environment had become too toxic and despite the less and less brotherly feelings he had for Azula, it was impossible for him to stay without feeling terrible.

Then Aang had lost the fight with Ozai, and he was gone. The Phoenix King's first offensive had been repelled thanks to the efforts of Sokka, Suki, and Toph to wipe out the air fleet. But once the Avatar was defeated, hope had deserted the Rebel troops and the Fire Nation continued to expand. Zuko and Katara had returned, leaving behind a defeated and broken Azula. Upon hearing the news of Aang's disappearance, the group had dispersed, crushed by grief. It had changed everything, but Zuko couldn't come home, not after having betrayed his father, not after ruining his sister's life. Not after everything that had happened. Father was going to kill him if he set foot in the Fire Nation again.

“You said it yourself. I was a kid. I panicked. I was ashamed of what we did and I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to look you in the eye again after treating you like this. Please forgive me, little sister. Forgive the stupid jerk I was.”

He would have preferred not to come to this, but the night is moving fast, and he hasn't gotten what he wants yet.

Azula still refuses to look at him.

“What happened to her? The water peasant?” she asks.

“I haven't seen her for years. Why? Are you jealous?” he teases her.

Azula still doesn't answer.

Zuko puts a hand on her cheek and forces her to turn her face towards him. He studies her sulky pout for a moment and without consulting her, forces his lips to hers. She lets herself go. Zuko assumes that's a good sign.

He breaks the kiss and wraps an arm around her slender waist.

“Let's not fight over things we can't change,” he begs her softly, nuzzling his nose in the crook of her gazelle neck. “You said it yourself. The past is the past. We can't change it. The Sages ask us to make a decision for the future. We have a month to fin an agreement. What about leaving that aside and to enjoy the present for once. What do you say?”

Azula lets him slip a hand into the collar of her dress and run his finger along the gap between her breasts. He cups one with his hand.

“We can spend all night deciding if what I did seven years ago was right or wrong, whether I betrayed you or not. Or else we can pleasantly spent the last hours we have left before dawn.”

He’s certain that his confidence unsettles Azula a little. He didn't get her used to it. When he used to find her at night, in her old room, the guilt that twisted his entrails was almost written in his eyes and sweated from every cell of his fiery body.

“Okay,” she whispers, almost shyly.

“Let me make amends tonight...”

“Yes.”

He feels like he's going to take her for the first time. The same exhilarating feeling of transgressing one of humanity's greatest taboos washes over him, but this time he feels no remorse. What is there to lose anyway? He's not going to do anything he hasn't already done. Azula is docile, like on their first night on Ember Island, when, after another argument with Mai, he had put an arm around her waist to pull her towards him. When she came to find him on the beach to comfort him.

He only realized later that it was probably her first time but he didn't find the strength in him to regret the roughness he showed. More serious worries were gnawing at him at this moment. And Azula never complained anyway. She was the one taking the initiative to join him, slipping into his sheets after their return to the palace and who came to claim ardent embraces.

The new Azula seems worried, almost fearful. It's so exhilarating to have the advantage for once. Finally, despite her sarcasm and vain provocations, it seems that monastic life has succeeded to soften his little sister's fierce temper.

As he spoke, Zuko began to grope quietly on her side, searching for the knot that held her robe together. When he finally finds the stripes, he gently tugs on them and slides a piece of the clothe over her shoulder. The garment is so light that it opens completely and reveals a porcelain-white body.

Zuko inhales the air around him and his arousal kicks up a notch.

He gently pushes her back to lie down with her on the bed. He locks their eyes to demand her consent. She nods gravely.

At that moment, he decides to say something nice to her:

“I missed you.”

Azula may find it hard to believe, but she allows herself to close her eyes for a moment, reveling in the feel of his lips on her collarbone. A great shiver runs through her body when Zuko's hand ventures between her thighs and his fingertips brushes their inside, just once. Then he captures her lips between his.

He only realizes now how much he genuinely missed her. None of his many lovers has ever known how to produce this discharge which bursts in every cell of his body each time he kisses her. He never found this vertigo of interdiction with another.

He feels her about to faint when he leaves her mouth and moves down her chest, stroking the tip of her breasts with his tongue, while compulsively digging his fingers into her hips. He doesn't notice the few purplish, long-faded marks streaking her belly.

“I want you so badly,” he confesses, parting her thighs to make his way between her legs.

He spent the previous night in unspeakable confusion, unable to sleep, trying to remember how it felt to have her around him, how she tasted, how it felt to abandon himself in her white arms.  Should he join her? Was she going to reject him if he was too bold?

Azula moans and runs a hand through his hair, encouraging him to explore further. She gasps, but he denies her the wave of pleasure she's been waiting for. He wants to proloundge her desperate longing. He nibbles lightly on the inside of one of her thighs then slowly pulls himself up, pecking her body with loving kisses: her belly, her breasts, her neck.

“Zuko!” she begs.

He relishes in feeling her frustration, in holding her in his power for the first time in their lives.

“Zuzu, please!” she almost cries, her voice impossibly weak.

He can’t remember her begging him before. Lust drives him mad and these senseless words escape him:

“You're mine! I will make you beg for me every night of my fucking life!”

Azula pulls away, tearing herself from his kisses and with a quick motion, she forces him to turn on his back and she climbs on top of him astride.

Zuko doesn't mind, and his eyes glow darkly when she starts rubbing herself back and forth against him, slowly first then faster and faster, her open dress falling over her shoulders.

His greedy hand grope at her breasts and bruise them between his hot palms.

Azula throws her head back and no longer keeps her moans to herself. He doesn't know whether she moans with pain or pleasure, and both possibilities fill him with equivalent intoxication.

Emboldened by this inarticulate approval, he clings to her hips and grasps them, like a man clinging to the treasure snatched from him. Azula's breath quickens and he is almost afraid that she will make an heartattack.

He watches her run her hand through her hair, which she brushes skillfully. A cascade of onyx falls over her shoulders, making her look wilder in contrast to the strict bun she's been wearing since he saw her get off the palanquin. Uncontrollable lust shines in her dark pupils and he savors it even more than the intoxicating feeling of friction that increases between his legs.

“Oh my Love!” she moans, running her hand through her mane and letting it slide down her breasts. She lets it rest on her chest as if to protect her heart from a violent assault. "I’m begging you! I can’t wait anymore.”

“Okay, let me just...”

Azula disengages and Zuko quickly takes off his pants and throws them at his feet before falling back against the headboard, carrying his sister in his tracks. He opens his arms to welcome her.

“Wait…” she whispers in his ear before kissing his eager lips. “I want to make you feel good before.”

It is with redoubled arousal that he straightens up on his elbows to watch her move down slowly along his torso, which she covers with hot, wet kisses.

She lingers on his stomach, around his navel and bites into the little folds of skin on his belly.

Zuko abruptly grabs her head, tangles her silky hair between his fingers.

“Yes, like that,” he encourages her.

Docile, Azula obeys. He does not close his eyes. He doesn't want to miss a beat of the show. He sits up to watch while she carries him to the height of pleasure.

“Azula...” he sighs, pressing lightly on her head. “You are so...”

But she’ll never know what she is exactly. He's no longer in a state of mind that allows him to react or speak rationally. He doesn’t understand at first when he sees her throwing her hand back, groping on the mattress next to her, and grabbing something.

“What do you…”

She got up, leaving his manhood erected skyward like an exclamation mark and, kneeling on the bed, she shows him the object she is holding in her hands: his pants.

She gives him a sly look and before he can ask a question, she ignites the garment which consumes itself in seconds in a burst of azure flames.

“What are you doing, for the gods’ sake!”

She throws the garment in his face and Zuko abruptly pushes it aside. He hit the mattress with the pillows to smother the flames, momentarily forgetting he is a firebender.

But Azula has already got up and when he looks at her again, he notices that she has put on her dress and is already closing it around her hips.

“What are you playing? Have you gone crazy or what?”

“What, Zuzu? Don’t tell me you are surprised? The last time we saw each other, you left me sobbing, tied to a railing, deprived of my sanity. You didn’t seriously imagine that I was going to obediently let you fuck me again without compensation? Did you really think I'd spent the last seven years crying after you? What presumption on your part!”

Zuko looks all around him, rage inflaming his lungs, looking for a sheet to cover his naked body but he finds nothing but his discarded tunic on the floor. He gestures to grab it but Azula is faster.

The garment is already a heap of smoldering ashes on the carpet.

“You crazy bitch!” he hisses, furious. “I wanna...”

He summons a glowing fire orb which he sends in her direction but Azula blasts it with a careless wave of her hand. Zuko is thrown back by the shock of the detonation.

“You were talking about enjoying the present? Why not take this opportunity to think about this question of succession and what you really want. Who knows?” she says looking up at the portrait of Ozai who continues to glare at them with deep contempt. “Maybe you could ask Father for advice? Good night, Zuko.”

And just like that, she scurries across the room and leaves him here, dumb, stark naked in a room emptied of supplies, with nothing to put on his back, the overwhelming proof of his arousal still pulsating between his legs at the same rhythm as his heart, overflowing with rage.

The war for the throne has just begun.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – The Bath

A steamy and sensual atmosphere fills the room where four zealous servants move around the princess. This more intimate part of the royal baths contains a single but vast semi-buried wooden basin surrounded by smooth, hot stones over which a servant sometimes pours a bucket of water, causing clouds of hot steam to appear, concealing the bather from inconvenient eyes. Crimson pillows line the walls. In a small alcove, two female musicians delicately caress the strings of shamisen, spreading a soft music which settles on the regular lapping caused by the movements of the princess in her bath. The candles surrounding the pool, the warm colors adorning furniture and the walls contribute to the feeling to enter a giant cocoon, or rather the cunt of an offered woman.

At least, that's the first image that comes to Zuko's mind when he enters the room, followed by a stocky little woman walking with short, hurried steps behind him, hampered in her running by her geta whose wooden heels strike the marble floor at regular intervals.

“Please forgive me, Princess. I told him you didn't want to be disturbed but...”

“But I am the Prince and you have nothing to say," Zuko snaps. “I have to speak to the Princess. Everyone get out of here.”

The musicians stop playing. The four women who attended Azula's bath stare at him with large, round, slightly panicked eyes and turn their heads towards their mistress, waiting for her instructions.

The latter, elbows resting on the edges of the pool, her shiny black hair falling on her shoulders, does not seem embarrassed at all. She waves a negligent hand towards her attendants and says to them in a quiet voice:

“You can leave. Don’t worry about me. It’s said everywhere that my brother has experienced all kinds of adventures. For the shamisen, I don't know, but I'm sure hanging out a towel and brushing hair is in his area of expertise.”

The women exchange embarrassed looks, hesitating on what to do, but Zuko's furious voice startles them.

“Are you all deaf? Get out of here, right now!”

Screeching, they drop brushes, towels and shamisen and leave the onsen, one behind the other, pushing each other a little to be the first to reach the exit.

Azula bursts into a graceful and clear laughter which pierces the stifling atmosphere of the room.

“Oh brother, you really know how to talk to women. You are true to your reputation of a philanderer!”

He stops her immediately.

“I didn't come to play your wits, Azula.”

He tries to look proud in front of the predatory smile she gives him. The room is dimly lit and hides from his sight the voluptuous body he can only guess through the dark surface of the water. That doesn’t prevent him from noticing the satin sheen of her shoulders. The soften light colors her skin a delicate honey hue.

He would like to pinch himself to repress the wave of arousal that overwhelms him at the sight of her slightly protruding collarbones. The recent memory of their embraces assails him and the fury resumes its place in his insides.

“Oh, forgive me, Lord Zuzu. I probably misjudged you. If you were hoping to take a bath, I'm afraid you'd have to wait. Especially since you fired all my servants. I had an exhausting day and I still don't feel completely relaxed.” Then she adds, in a voice from which transpires a perfectly infuriating fake shyness: "But maybe you came to help me solve this problem?"

Zuko is silent and watches her run a hand with long, polished nails through her hair, pulling a heavy lock to one side, showing off her swan neck. In the dim light of the torches, he can still make out the ghost of the marks he left on her skin when he devoured her neck the last night.

“But I don't want to sound selfish, nor opportunist,” she adds, dipping her arms in the water to cross them around her stomach. The movement makes her chest stand out and Zuko feels like the temperature in the room has just risen. “I guess from your expression that you had a rough day too. If you want to join me, you are welcome. I don't mind sharing...”

Zuko considers for a moment the possibility of accepting the seductive invitation but he is determined not to be manipulated. It is dangerous to stand near a woman like Azula. Flying too close to the sun, the reckless idiot ends up getting burned.

“I’m fine. I prefer to stand here.”

“Very well,” she said indifferently. “If you're fine like that... Oh, but I get it! Maybe you wanted to show me your new pants? I absolutely love them!”

Zuko grins and gives an amused snort.

“Well done, sis. I must admit that you had me.”

“So you're not mad at me?” she asks with a falsely contrite air. “I was worried that you didn't want to talk to me anymore after our little disagreement.”

“I'll get over it. I have been through worse.”

The tone is a little brash and Azula doesn’t fail to notice.

“Believe me, I'd love to hear the full story of your many feats, brother dear, but I'm afraid the bath will have turned cold by the time you've finished your tale. My skin will be all wrinkled and I can’t stand that.”

She purses her lips a little, sending in Zuko’s spine a dissonant mix of lust and exasperation. The feeling is familiar and he wonders how he could have let himself be fooled by her little comedy the day before, by this so-called vulnerability she displayed.

“On the other hand’, she continues, “I can’t wait any longer to know how you managed to reach your own apartments and cross the palace, stark naked, with all these guards patrolling the corridors. I'm sure the story is delicious!”

“It is, indeed,” he smirks. “More than you think. To tell the truth, the young maids who came to remove the dust on the furniture this morning at dawn made a funny discovery. But I rewarded them handsomely for their discretion and given their reactions, I don't think they found any reason to complain about the situation.”

He glances at his sister to see if she's seized the hint and he's disappointed not to see the flame of jealousy shining in her pupils.

“Oh, you mean and incorrigible little Zuzu. You had to find a way to win your pride back, didn't you? And what better than a little morning ride to prove to yourself that you're still a man?”

“I never doubted it. If you hadn't played the scared virgin at the last moment, I would have largely proved it to you last night. Unfortunately you missed your chance.”

“Oh no!” she exclaims, putting a hand to her mouth for emphasis. “Don't tell me it was my only chance to win your favor. How will I survive without you? Ah, wait, I think I know… Since I just spent seven years waiting for you to show up!”

This time, it's a cold anger that quivers in her voice and Zuko feels a little disoriented by these successive mood swings. He’s not sure he can deal with the instability of a hysterical woman. Not for the first time, he wonders if she's fully recovered from her nervous breakdown.

“It's funny," he retorts. “Yesterday, when you left me, you said I was making a fool of myself if I thought you had been waiting for me all this years!”

This time he has the last word. But he knows Azula won't let him win the game that easily.

“Why did you come here, Zuko? What's so urgent that can't wait until your little sister is out of her bath? Don't tell me you were hoping for revenge by stealing my clothes and forcing me to walk through the palace stark naked? I know you've never stood out for your imagination, but to that degree, that would be really pathetic.”

“I leave you the enjoyment of these childish games, Azula. I'm not interested in humiliating you. I hurt you in the past, you got your revenge. Now, can we talk like adults?”

Azula gives him a fiery look but she spares him her horrifying smirk this time. She waved her hand at him, notifying by that gesture that she agrees to listen.

“The Fire Sages came to see me earlier,” he begins. “They were looking for you too. They informed me that a delegation from the Southern Water Tribe would be visiting the Caldera next week.”

“Really?” she said, her interest piqued. “What do they want from us? Do you think they found him?

"Him or her", he corrects.

"What's the difference?" she sighs, rolling eyes.

Zuko can't deny that the idea has crossed his mind and he still doesn't know how he feels about it. Sure, it would be a good thing for the world, but still... A new Avatar... It's a bit like letting Aang die a second time. So he eludes the topic.

“Do you?” she asks, rising eyebrows.

“I don’t want the war anymore.”

"Of course," she replies, very seriously. “I forgot that you were a pacifist, just like our dear uncle was. You have always had the wisdom and measure of a true fire monk. Last night you even got a glimpse of their way of life. Those old fools valued chastity as a way to achieve a high degree of moral integrity, did you know that? I see you learned a few things from your experience. And tell me, oh Your Eminence, who will be the delegates? No wait! Let me guess…”

“Exactly!” he replies, struggling to hid his excitement from her. “Sokka and Katara became the leaders of the Southern Water Tribes. They succeeded their father after he died.”

“Interesting,” Azula said dreamily. “So, siblings share power among barbarian peoples?”

“Is this a possibility you were considering?” Zuko asks, more to taunt her than to get a proper answer.

“Why not?” she shrugs innocently. “I’m always happy to share what I have with my flesh and blood.”

Zuko laughs heartily this time. As he's hot, he removes the layers that cover his shoulders and finds himself dressed in a simple sleeveless tunic. He takes off his boots, pulls his trousers up to his knees and sits on the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in the hot water.

Facing him, Azula watched him with great interest. From where he is, he can almost see the throb in her throat that betrays her apprehension – or her excitement, who knows with her?

“When we were kids, you would burn me every time I had the imprudence to borrow one of your toys! I can't see you sharing something as precious as a crown with me!”

“Oh yes, I remember! How delicious it was to see you running towards Mother, your hands on your buttocks to hide the hole in your pants, your cheeks flushed and your eyes filled with tears. Too bad Mom wasn't there to comfort you last night… However, I doubt she would have tasted the joke. She probably would have been furious with me. Like always...”

“Shut up,” he orders harshly.

This time, Azula seems caught off guard. She's probably not used to being given such an order. Even among the fire nuns, he finds it hard to imagine Azula accepting being rebuffed like this. But she is no longer a threat to him. He no longer fears her tricks, nor her manipulations. Father is no longer here to ruin his life, and whatever Azula tries, he doesn't see how it could backfire. If she wasn't a bit interested, she would have kicked him out a long time ago. However, she leaves her observation spot and crosses the basin in a few breaststrokes to join him.

He takes the opportunity to revel in the sight of her buttocks emerging slightly from the water as she swims towards him. He feels his face burn as she puts her hands on his lap but he pretends not to be troubled. He hopes that the moving lights projected by the torches prevent his sister from seeing how nervous he is. Her head is at the perfect height for her to resume what she interrupted last night.

“Come on, my beloved brother. Don’t be mad. It was funny, admit it. Besides, I'm not one of your vulgar peasants who agrees to sleep with you in the straw just to hear you tell them 'I love you' and abandon them. I am your sister, and above all, a princess.”

“So what?”

“So, if you want me, you will have to conquer me.”

“Who told you that I want you? Okay, you’re not ugly and time hasn't spoiled your beauty," he says appreciatively, ogling the curve of her breasts, “But princess or not, you have nothing that I cannot find in another.”

He forbids himself to shiver when one of Azula’s hands leaves his knee to rest gently on his distorted crotch.

“Based on my knowledge of human anatomy, I think that's a pretty strong sign", she murmurs.

Zuko abruptly shoves her hand away. It falls back into the water with a small lap and Zuko pushes Azula away with his foot, pressing it on her shoulder.

Azula dodges, swimming away on her back without taking her eyes off him:

“Oh really?” She pretends to be a little offended and pouts again. “If you're not interested, that's your right.”

She turns on her stomach again, reaches the edge of the pool and pulls herself up out of the water. Zuko doesn't miss a beat of the show and watches her lustfully when she sits on the edge of the basin, a meter from where he stoods. She keeps her legs together but she stretches her chest and Zuko becomes absorbed in contemplating the droplets of water that run down her perfect body. One of them lingers on the rosebuds that form the tip of her left breast and he can't take his eyes off it, waiting to see when it will fall. The urge to put his mouth to it is almost irresistible. Eventually, the drop falls and crashes against her thigh, forming a small transparent star-shaped spot that disappears in seconds.

“Zuzu, could you be lovely and fetch me a towel, please?”

“I’m not your servant,” he replies, too happy to have a chance to tease her in turn. “Fend for yourself.”

“Alright,” she sighs.

She gets up gracefully and Zuko watches her move, swinging her hips ostensibly toward the back of the room. The vision she offers him completes the torture. As she grabs a scarlet towel and begins gently dabbing the back of her neck with it, he realizes she's won, again. When he thought he was annoying her by not acceding to her request, he gave her the instrument of his torture.

Condemned to covet a body that is refused to him, he tries as best he can to swallow back his frustration.

It reaches its height when Azula slides the towel between her legs, on the small black triangle that adorns her pubis. The gesture is intended to be modest but the way she looks intensely at Zuko at the same time makes it almost indecent. He’s captive as she slowly stroke herself up and down with the towel, once, twice, three times. At the last pass, Azula closes her eyes with delight and emits a small, almost inaudible moan.

Look, her parted lips seem mock him, it could have been you instead of a towel. But you missed all your chances, you idiot!

She prolongs the torture by bending down to pick up her kimono which she then puts on her shoulders, taking her time to tie the golden belt around her waist.

When there is nothing left to see, she turns her back on him and makes her way to the large mirror hanging at the back of the room. She pulls up her hair and sticks a silver spike in her bun. From where he is, Zuko can see the dark locks escaping from it and forming curls on her creamy skin. She hums an old tune that he identifies as the lullaby their mother always sang to them before sleeping. He thinks of the legends that Ursa used to read to them about these marine creatures, these naiads with enchanting voices who had the power to lead a man to his downfall.

Will Azula cause his downfall? He doesn’t care for the moment.

“You know, I thought a lot," he says, loud enough to drown out the sound of his sister’s voice.

“Really?” she answers without bothering to turn around, or to look for his reflection in a corner of the mirror. “I didn't know it happened to you.”

Easy, he thinks, rolling his eyes. He doesn't even pick up. No doubt also deciding that this childish remark is unworthy of her notorious sense of repartee, she invites him to continue:

“Tell me everything, brother dearest, I'm dying to know everything. If you've become as agile with your mind as you are with your hands, then I'm all ears.”

Zuko ignores the wave of frustration caused by the memory of their aborted lovemaking. He pulls his feet out of the pool and gets up. Azula is still struggling with her mane when he joins her in front of the mirror.

He stops her wrist gently and, accepting his silent offer, Azula hands him the hairpin. Zuko stuffs it in his pocket, grabs a brush from the basket on a shelf by the mirror, and begins running it through his sister's silky hair.

“I have thought about this,” he repeats, “and I came to the conclusion that a classic war for the throne can only lead to frustrations, and in the longer term, to inevitable conflicts. After all these years of war, our nation needs stability.”

“And what do you propose, O my brother the genius?”

“We have to decide what we will do when the decision has been made. I mean... as compensation. If we're sure we're getting something from each other that we want almost as much as the crown, we'll be less tempted to declare war to each other.”

She doesn't answer right away. Her silence proves that she is thinking about the matter. He lets it settle, fascinated by the movement of the golden comb that stands out against the night of her hair. He could spend hours combing it. He wants to sniff and bite her heavy black locks. Her hair is the promise of a journey, of a one-way trip to forbidden and mysterious lands. It's been a long time since he felt an ounce of guilt at the thought of fucking his own sister. Rich in their respective experiences, he can only assume their lovemaking would be incredible.

“We both have grievances against each other, and reasons for mistrust,” he said softly, “and we both want some things.”

Azula's reflection smiles at him and he's surprised when a playful but firm hand suddenly covers his still crotch. Not still for long. He immediately feels himself grow hard as iron.

“I do have many grievances indeed. And I don't trust you. But I know what you want, Zuko. And it makes you weak,” she whispers, her eyes closed as she leans back to rest her head on his shoulder. He lets go of the brush and immediately presses his pelvis to her back and his hands to her chest, an automatic response, and lovingly strokes the perfect globes of her breasts.

“I know everything about you, but you, what do you know about me?" she exhales. "What do you have that I might want or that I don't already have?”

As she speaks, it seems to Zuko that her palm is gradually warming against him.

It becomes difficult to focus on her words with her hot hand moving over his pants in a maddening back and forth motion.

“I'm a better firebender than you will ever be.” As she says this, the temperature under her palm rises another few degrees, causing Zuko to groan hoarsely. “I'm incredibly smart and pretty, I can have all the lovers I want and people fear me.”

Zuko feels like giving in.

“ 'Zula...” His voice is a hot breath.

And just like that, she lets go and pushes him away. She goes back to the mirror and smoothes the two locks that frame her beautiful face with her fingertips.

Zuko glances at their reflection, blinks once or twice and despite his frustration, he smiles and joins her. He picks up the brush he dropped in his haste, and puts it back in the basket, grabs her hair forcefully and twists it into a tight bun before sticking the silver ornament in it.

Azula puts her hands to her hair, admiring the result.

“Not bad, Zuko. If I win the crown, I might find you a place as royal hairdresser. Your manual skills will finally be recognized, but in a more respectable field than the one in which you have distinguished yourself so far.”

“You can pretend otherwise as much as you want,” he said, stepping back slightly, “but your little prank yesterday proves that you have not yet fully digested what happened during our last meetings. I propose to you, if I win the crown, to give you the opportunity to take your revenge, once and for all.”

Azula whirls around, hands on her hips. The collar of her kimono opens a little and Zuko's eyes dart briefly into the gap before returning to her face again.

"What do you mean by taking my revenge? Did the humiliation I inflicted on you shake your value system? Do you consider to cleanse your soul of your sins and spend the next seven years in a monastery? Or do you expect me to break your heart like you broke mine?”

“Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?” he growls, frowning.

“Yes you're right. For me to break your heart, you need to care a little. Maybe we should focus on the spiritual retirement project only.”

Zuko has an impulse towards her. He puts a hand on one of her hips, forcing her to remove hers and with the other hand, places a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I care about you,” he says. “Really, I mean it.”

“Stop lying to me, Zuko.”

She slips away to escape his cojolery but Zuko has had time to notice the sorrow and the trouble in her amber eyes.

“We will both spare ourselves a lot of time if we are honest with each other. You want me. And by me, I mean my body. Feelings have nothing to do with it. And you don't have to feel guilty about it. I stopped loving you when I realized you weren't coming.”

Zuko laughs frankly.

“Stop acting! You never loved me! I'm sure you greatly appreciated the time we spent together, but you never for a second stopped despising me and seeing me as a rival. This is still the case today! You wouldn't dare to pretend otherwise, would you?”

Azula runs a coaxing hand to his cheek and presses a light kiss to his lips.

“Oh, Zuzu… My stupid pure-hearted brother… You were always terrible when it came to express the true extent of your feelings. I remember how much that pissed off that poor Mai! Oh! and that evening on the beach, how we had to pull your teeth for you to finally be able to say what upset you so much! Only for you to deflower your baby sister behind the rocks the very same night, in anger. Don't lie to yourself, it makes you ugly.”

She suddenly clasps a hand to his scar and pushes him back, then crosses her arms over her chest, resting the weight of her body on one hip.

“Yeah! And everyone knows you're a model in that area!” he replies. “You are the most hermetic person I know. If I hadn't seen you in this state on the day of Agni Kai, I would never have imagined that you were capable of any emotion! Do you know what you are suffering of? Of emotional constipation!”

If Azula is offended, she doesn't show it and laughs heartily.

“Okay Zuzu, one all! We are both disasters when it comes to emotions! So let's save ourselves some trouble and time. Tell me what you want in case I win the crown.”

Zuko stares at her intently, his face closed. He doesn't want to give her the opportunity to laugh at him again.

“I want you to stop the war."

"You want me to stop the war? Nothing more?" she parrots his words with a smirk.

"Yes. And I want you to clear me of all charges against me. I want full immunity for all my past and future actions.”

“All charges? Oh dear gods, what did you do, Zuzu? No, don't say anything, I'd rather not know!”

“Nothing you need to know now,” he says. “I ask for amnesty and a promise.”

“What promise?”

“The promise that you won't try to assassinate me as soon as my back is turned.”

“Why would I want to attempt the life of my beloved brother?” she said, raising an elegant eyebrow. “Have I not repeatedly proved to you my devotion and my unconditional sisterly love?”

“Answer, that's all!” he urges her.

“The peace, a lasting immunity and a promise to spare your life," she sums up. “That's all?”

“That's all...” He pauses a bit dramatically and holds up three fingers just in front of her nose.

“And three nights with you. From sunset to dawn. Then you won't hear from me anymore.”

She closes the distance between them, swaying her hips. A delicate wrist appears from her sleeves and her hand lands on the star-shaped scar on his chest. The one she gave him on the fateful day of their Agni Kai.

She runs her index finger over the contours of the old wound and licks her lips greedily.

“Oh!” she says, feigning surprise. “I guess you're not expecting something platonic.”

Zuko doesn't answer. He takes a step forward. Azula does not recoil. He puts a hand around her waist and with the other, pulls on the belt of her kimono to bring her towards him.

Their pelvises touch and when she looks up at him, their noses brush against each other, then their lips.

“Nope. I’m not.”

They stay silent for a moment and stare at each other. Their jerky breath fills the room. Zuko's heart drummed in his chest, betraying his excitement. There's not enough determination left in him to care.

“Why three nights?” she asks, looking puzzled.

“I know it's an illusion to ask for more. We both know that when one of us takes the throne, the other will have to leave. Permanently.”

“Mmh…I don't know,” she whispers, biting her lower lip, as if struggling with an impossible dilemma. “Is it really worth it?”

“Let me convince you...”

He pulls her sharply against him, closing what was left of the distance between their bodies. Their chests rise in unison. Azula wraps her arms around his neck and agrees to let Zuko's right hand work its way under her belt. He searches for a moment in the silk of her kimono and his hand finally closes on what he has been looking for.

He probes her gaze to make sure of her consent. She nods once. It's so fleeting that he wonders if he saw correctly.

He is both surprised and delighted to feel her already very well disposed for him.

It's not even a caress. Barely a touch but Azula seems unable to speak, too focused on what the hand lost between her thighs is doing. He guesses that she devotes all her energy to hold back the moans of pleasure that beg to escape from her parted lips.

He curls up two fingers and plays at the door of her entrance.

Azula squints and bites her lip. Holding back her pleasure costs her an insane effort. Zuko is absolutely intoxicated, but as Azula's lips part, it's not a moan of ecstasy that breaks through them, but a giggle.

Taken aback, he withdraws his hand. He can read the relief on Azula's face, finally free from the torture he is inflicting on her.

“So?” He hopes his tone doesn't convey his impatience too overtly.

Azula opens her eyes and, arms still clinging to her brother’s shoulders, gives him the most bewitching of her smiles.

“Not so bad,” she said.

From Azula, that means a lot. Not a little proud with himself, Zuko can’t resist the urge to boast:

“This is just a glimpse of what you can have. My regular girlfriends call me the man with fairy fingers.”

“I have no doubt about it. It's your feminine side that expresses itself.”

Zuko's face scowls but he knows better and doesn’t take up the insult:

“So, do we have a deal? Three nights? No pranks, no firebending, no burnt clothes. Just three nights of normal passion between two depraved people who crave each other.”

Azula runs her hand over his shoulders and across his chest, as if considering the question with great interest. He's starting to get impatient.

“Mmm, let me think...”

A more daring hand clings to the knot that holds Zuko's pants on his hips and plays with them for a moment, pulling on them a little, as if to invite him to take them off. A crooked smile forms on Zuko's scarred face.

Her words fall like a cleaver.

“No thanks.”

The smirk immediately vanished from his face. That's not what he wanted to hear. But he keeps his calm. Everything is always a matter of negotiation with Azula.

“Two nights. And all daytime of the third day.”

She brushes his lips with hers and speaks through them:

“Rather throw myself into a basket full of fire scorpions,” she replies with amusement.

“Then one night,” he begs, gripping her lower back tightly to hold her against him. “To finish what we started.”

Azula is having a lot of fun, there's no doubt about it. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him tenderly on the neck, then pulls back a little to probe his gaze.

“I won’t go back on my word. What you got yesterday is already more than you deserve.”

Zuko lets out a long sigh, presses his forehead against Azula's, rises his hand and cups one of her breasts, which he gently presses between his curled fingers, making his sister chuckle in contentment.

“Give me a chance to convince you,” he whispers, dropping his hand back to where it had been seconds before. “I can do better.”

“You've just had your chance,” she said, superbly ignoring Zuko's fingers, much more enterprising this time, which gently make their way between her thighs. “It's like your firebending skills. Despite impeccable technique, it always turns out…” She closes her eyes and grimaces when Zuko's finger enter her roughly… She's still wet for him and her breath just died in her throat. A small strangled cry escapes her.

Their gazes meet and they stare intensely at each other. Zuko continues what he has started and Azula lets him do, a blazing fire consuming her night-black pupils. Her unfinished sentence still hangs in the air and like a criminal in the dock, Zuko, a grimacing grin twisting his asymetrical face, awaits her verdict. It falls just as Azula seems about to succumb.

“Mmh...disappointing," she announces, forcing him to withdraw his hand. “That’s the word!”

Zuko can't believe his ears. He takes a step back, jaw clenched.

Azula, as a benevolent judge, gives him her advice:

“That's because you still haven't learned how to channel your energy, it's no wonder you've never been able to generate lightning. I remember how you’ve always been… impatient and aggressive during our time together. When you made love to me, you always ended up roaring like a buffalo in the middle of a fight! I was sometimes afraid that you would die of a heart attack in the middle of our loving embraces!”

“I changed," he defends himself miserably. “I was just an inexperienced teenager with raging hormones. I have practiced a lot since. I have become a very attentive lover.”

Azula pats his cheek affectionately and says with a smile:

“I believe you, dear brother.”

Thereupon, she withdraws and after a last fiery look, returns to the pool. She sits down on the edge opposite the one where Zuko sat earlier and in turn dips her feet in the water, playing with her legs which she swings like scissors in front of her. She looks like a little girl having fun splashing on the edge of a river.

Zuko feels like he's on fire. He tries to stay calm. You don't get anything by getting angry with a girl like Azula, he reasons himself. The more he shows his emotions, the more she will turn them against him. It reminds him of that secret technique Suki had told him about, which was to use the opponent's energy and strength to subjugate him.

“And you," he says, still annoyed. “What are you going to ask?”

“Me?” she says, evasively. “I don’t know yet. I haven't had much opportunity to demean myself, trapped between the four walls of a monastery.”

“Come on, there's something!” he encourages her, contemplating her profile.

Azula's head remains lowered to the basin. She looks fascinated by the concentric circles forming on the surface of the dark water. The light of the torches is reflected in them, making them look like those hoops of fire that one can see in circuses. Those through which the artists make ferocious tigers jump under the wide eyes of an amazed crowd.

Zuko suddenly thinks of Ty Lee, long gone, and a strong nostalgia takes hold of him.

But the mood in the subdued room couldn't be further from that of a circus. Azula suddenly turned somber and from afar, Zuko think he saw her lips quivering a little.

“I have no such demands. I don't care about war or peace. I just want to get back what was taken from me...”

It was said so quietly that he's not sure he heard it correctly. He approaches but does not dare to sit near her. He stays behind her and stared at her back and the neck she presents to him.

“I can't give you back the seven years that were stolen from you," he tries gently. “But I swear to you that I will never let anyone lock you up anywhere again.”

“How generous of you, Zuzu! Really, I don't think I deserve such consideration!”

Something happens in Zuko's chest, something that hurts. A feeling he hasn't felt for a long time. Not since Aang disappeared. That's how he felt when he realized he would never see his mother again, and when he left Mai behind to join the team of the Avatar.

A momentum pushes Zuko to come and sit next to her. He resists the urge to put an arm around her shoulders. It's such a simple gesture, so normal, so brotherly… and yet he can't. He has no trouble slipping a greedy hand under his own sister's clothes, or tasting her fruity lips; he has no objection to sleeping with her in their father's not-yet-cold-bed,. But he’s unable to initiate such an ordinary, healthy gesture as consoling his younger sister. He just can't. It’s not him. It's not them. That's not how they act together.

He remains on his guard. Yesterday she tricked him the same way.

He lets a silence pass, then:

“Tell me what you want. I will do everything in my power to grant your wishes.”

“I don't have crazy request like yours. I have no crime to be forgiven and I am not afraid of you. You're not even a threat to my crown.”

“Come on, Zula,” he whispers seductively in her ear. “There is necessarily something you want.”

He jumps when Azula turns around sharply, crushing his fingers under the palm of her hand and spits her venom in his face.

"Why do you want me so much? You can have any woman. There are plenty of girls that life has not yet trampled and are just waiting for you to ruin their existence. So why me? It cost me seven years of my youth! You cost me seven years! If we are to be found, we will lose everything. Why do you think the Elders let me back? They didn't know who my mysterious lover really was! Only Father knew. Why take such a risk? Why me? What do you expect from that?”

Strangely, Azula's outburst of anger soothes Zuko. Freeing his hand, he caresses her arm with the back of his index finger and replies softly:

“Because you're the only one I'm not allowed to have…”

Azula stays silent and stares at the black water.

He lets go of her arm and his hand begins to wander over his sister's thigh, his fist clenching around the fabric of her kimono. She can pretend all she wants, he felt her wetness under his fingers just minutes earlier. Azula stops his hand but doesn't push him away. She suddenly turns to him. Tears that the surrounding light makes brilliant bead at the edge of her eyelids.

They are like an electric shock that compresses Zuko's heart in his chest.

Zuko should have known that one day he would have to face his actions. He now knows that the way he treated his own sister as if she were a worthless whore is the most unforgivable of all his crimes.

Eventually, Mai disappeared from his life. Uncle Iroh, disappointed with his nephew's behavior, turned his back on him long ago. Aang, Toph, Sokka, Suki and Katara also disappeared. All vanished, scattered like ashes all over the world. Of his old life, there remains only this sister whom he sacrificed to his futile quest to become a better human being. She is all he has left and he had the nerve to ask her to offer herself to him as a mere consolation prize.

For the first time, he thinks he richly deserves the humiliation she inflicted on him the day before. He considers for a moment the possibility of telling her the truth about how he got out of this awkward situation. The real version of the story, not the one where his shame turned into an impromptu sex orgy with two common handmaids. But he's not sure that will be enough to cheer up Azula.

“Azula,” he begins. “If we could change the past...”

But he does not finish his sentence. He can’t. If he could change the past, he wouldn't have reacted so instinctively when she'd leaned toward him on Ember Island beach, more than seven years ago, to offer him the comfort of her ruby lips. He would have thought twice before removing the top of her outfit while he held her in his arms. He wouldn't have dragged her between the rocks to deflower her on the sand, taking advantage of the crashing waves to cover up the evidence of their crime. He didn't even do it out of craving, or because he loved her. He had never thought of her that way before this night. He did it for selfish reason, to evacuate all the frustrations of this stupid night. It was purely cathartic. He didn't even stop when her gasps of pleasure turned into moans of pleading pain, her fingers desperately clenching the sand under her palms as he took her like a female dog. If she was in pain, Azula didn't say anything and he was fine with that.

He would have sent her back to her room when, against all common sense, she had come to ask for new embraces, back at the palace. Every time he took her, he did it to get rid of his anger. Humiliating Azula, submitting her to his will was exhilarating. By fucking her, he had the feeling of acting on the world. To defy such a fundamental taboo and in such a reckless way gave him a feeling of omnipotence.

I do it because I can, he would think as he moved back and forth between her tights.

Azula never complained about his deliberate lack of delicacy. She accepted everything and showed him her affection with attentions that Zuko particularly appreciated.

He did to his sister everything he would never have dared to ask Mai. So he didn't feel like he was cheating on her. He made love to Mai. He fucked Azula. They were two different things, very distinct activities. Two different faces of the same object, two people sharing a single body, never meant to meet each other.

There was the Zuko that Mai knew, a boy who was certainly a little impulsive and jealous but who knew how to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. The one Uncle Iroh had forged and his friends had sharpened. The one who knew how to laugh and love. This one died when Aang left for a fatal fight from which he never returned, shattering all of Zuko's hopes.

And there was the other, the one who left the safety of his bed at night to sneak into his own sister's room. This Zuko was dark, brutal; perpetually angry. Today he survived as a cynical and bitter human being who only felt alive in the excess of a completely dissolute life.

Azula was his monstrous outlet, his perversion made flesh. Once, when he thrust himself in her shamelessly on her mattress or pinned her against a wall in some hidden corner of the palace, it never occurred to him that he was doing anything wrong. And when it was over, when he came to his senses, like a souse after a night of drinking, when the shame and the enormity of their crime came crashing into his face, at least he knew why he hated himself. And he did it again because it was the only way not to feel like the most miserable of men.

But eventually, things changed. When he realized that he was thinking of Azula when making love to Mai, that every night, he was looking for this vertigo of incest, he was afraid.

If he could change the past, he wouldn't have denounced her to Father on the day of the Black Sun.

He wouldn't have come with Katara with the intention of dethroning, perhaps killing, the one who had shared his bed for weeks and offered herself to him without asking for anything in return.

He would have come to take her out of the prison where their father had put her after discovering in what abominable acts his children had indulged.

But he couldn't. He couldn't just give up the honest man he was desperately trying to become. Azula was the dark angel of his life, the one through whom darkness seeped into his tortured heart. Letting her establish her empire in his heart and mind was a renunciation. It was easier to stay away, to pretend it didn't exist. To prétend she didn't exist.

He had preferred to leave. He hadn't even left her a letter. He had fucked her one last time, knowing he would never see her again. He hadn't been more gentle than usual. He had left the room, glancing for the last time at his sister's sleeping form, devastated, but sure he was doing right.

But now, even years later, when all that's left of their forbidden affair is the exhilarating feeling of breaking the laws of men, and from Azula’s perspective, a lot of hurt and grievance, he can't tell her his remorses. The words do not cross his lips. The simple words that others exchange like a handshake – “I'm sorry", “Thank you”, “Forgive me”, “I love you” – these words neither Zuko nor Azula could ever speak out loud.

It is a foreign language between them, reserved for strangers. Between them there has always been only hatred, distrust, humiliations. And sex… Oh, Agni, the sex! If he managed to collect the scattered pieces of her heart, and by chance he became Fire Lord, would she agree to give herself to him? He would then have the power to keep her here, she would be his prisoner. And he would know how to convince her to warm his bed during the long winter nights. Despite his remorse, he doesn’t find in himself the strength to regret their antics, nor the strength to fight against his unnatural desires.

All he can do right now is pretending to pay attention to what she feels. Circling her shoulders, he whispers:

“Just tell me what you want. And I will try my best to give it to you.”

Azula returns him his blazing gaze. He winces as her sharp fingernails dig into the flesh of his wrist. The crazy glow that dances in her pupils is deadly. Zuko gets lost in this dark fire and for the first time in years, he thinks he’s scared.

He is riveted to her scarlet lips when she opens them to respond:

“Only one thing: I want to get back what was taken from me.”

Zuko frowns. He reduces the distance between them. What can she claim as hers? The crown she never wore? The honor he stole from her? The youth she lost in a convent? Intangible things, concepts...

He opens his mouth to question her, but she precedes him. The words she is about to say will shatter his world in pieces for ever.

“I want you to find our child.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - Tears and Blood

A pale morning has dawned and a white light crosses the casements of the high window, imprinting small moving lozenges on the bare ocher walls. Under the misty gaze of the young girl, crying with exhaustion and writhing in pain on her cot, they look like diamonds sparkling in a river bed. Dying embers, remnants of a long-burning fire, still crackle in the fireplace. Nobody cares about keeping the hearth, even though it's the middle of the winter and the night has been cold. The people who pace the room and move around it warm the atmosphere as surely as a bright fire.

An incessant parade of women: nuns, doctors or nurses, all sporting the same exhausted and tense face, come and go tirelessly around the bed whose soiled sheets have been thrown up in a ball towards the edge of the mattress.

From the space between her spread legs, rises from time to time the hoarse voice of an old woman, belching commands that have long since lost all meaning for her.

She casts a pleading gaze skyward, as if imploring help that will never come, and remains fascinated for a moment by the flickering light of the half-burned candles that continue to dance on the shabby chandelier hanging from the cracked ceiling.

The teenage girl lets out a new wail. It's not really a cry, but a barely human sound, halfway between the growl of a wild beast and the whistling of the wind that seeps through the gaps in the snowy peaks. It's a terrifying sound and for a second, everyone pauses to cast a horrified look at the young woman who is dying on her bed of pain. She has no trouble guessing the reason for their terror: if her father were to learn that his daughter died in such sordid circumstances, under their responsibility, these women will have to pay the highest price.

If she felt able to speak, the young girl would sweep away their fears by spitting in their face the sad truth: that her father doesn't really care what happens to his monster of a daughter, who has given up her honor and virtue for a traitor of the worst kind.

A new intolerable cramp wrings her womb, radiating to her lower back and tears her a new scream. Nausea escorts the pain and she fears she’s going to vomit again. But her stomach is empty and a spasm twists it. For the first time in her life, she thinks she can relate to her mother. How can you grown attached to a creature who inflicts such torture on you? And this, for the second time in your life? No wonder she could never love her.

The young girl, who's barely sixteen years old, vows to herself that if she survives this ordeal, she will never let such an abomination happen again. She thinks back to the nine months of nausea, fatigue, insomnia, occasional pain, shame and fear that she experienced before that fateful day and a deep sorrow falls on her shoulders. The old woman eyeing between her thighs yells at her to push harder.

She doesn’t understand what she is yelling at her, but a hand both firm and gentle comes to wrap her wrist and a benevolent voice whispers in her ear:

“Come on, cuttie, it's almost over. One more effort.”

For some absurd reason, this simple act of kindness from a complete stranger cheers her up and she pushes with all her might. But nothing happens. A desperate sob escaped her chapped lips.

The sweat on her forehead beaded in large drops that fell on her nose and cheeks to merge with her tears. At the same time, a particularly vicious contraction scorches her burning insides and before she can hold it back, a dazzling jet of azure flame erupts from her wide-open mouth, streaking across the room like a meteor. The women present in the room let out a terrified scream and the shrewish old woman who was bustling between her knees has just enough time to lower her head before it turns into a living torch. When she gets up, she strikes the young girl roughly on the inside of her thigh and this simple gesture of banal wickedness brings the poor girl to tears, more surely than the violent cramps that have been tormented her for hours.

“What a shame to behave like that!” she scolds her. “You're not the first, nor the last whore to kick a brat out of your lustful belly, you depraved little slut! Behave!”

The young woman would like to protest, to scold this woman for her insolence. But what’s the point? The midwife the nuns called for when she went into labor doesn't know who she is. She is not in a position of superiority here. She will never be again. The boy who put her in this situation made sure of it for her.

As a flash of incredible pain comes through her already bruised body, her brother's face appears to her. She can see it move above her, standing out from the silver surface of the moon which it hides from her with each new swerve. The dazzling disc reappears, each time her sibling throws himself forward to devour her mouth or her neck with greedy bites. She thinks back to the dark glow that ignited his gaze, that mixture of hatred and desire that she saw flare up in his pupils every time he took her. She thinks back to the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks, a few meters away, indifferent to the sacrilege taking place on the sand, between the rocks. The searing pain she felt then, the impression of being torn apart inside, was nothing compared to what she’s enduring now. This blood was that of desire and passion. That of the love she felt for her brother. The blood she shed for him that night flows again between her thighs. But it no longer has the same meaning. This blood is shame, irrefutable proof of their fault. She can feel the warm, thick liquid escaping from her, bubbling like a cursed river.

She is sure she will die. Who can survive such torment? She's too delicate, too pretty, too young for that. But just when she thinks of giving up, of remaining deaf to the senseless injunctions of the old woman, yelling at her to push in her wicked voice, an irrepressible call from nature, a violent surge of life invades her. She feels enormous pressure in her lower back and the need to push is stronger than her.

An unbearable burning sensation ensues. It’s like a creature with sharp, incandescent spikes – a dragon or a fire hedgehog? – painfully working his way through a narrow tunnel with walls made of tender flesh. In the distance, she hears a person screaming, screaming to the point of bursting their lungs. It takes a few seconds for her to realize that it is her own voice that fills the room, drowning out those of the nuns who stand there, arms dangling helplessly.

She thinks she should be ashamed, but she doesn't have enough energy left to really care.

And suddenly, something happens. It only lasts a few seconds but it's unbearable, unimaginable. Something is there, between her thighs. A huge thing that seems stuck there and is growing, growing. She won't live a second longer with this grotesque appendage swelling between her legs. She wants it to be ripped away, and never mind if it kills her.

A new contraction. The hoarse voice of the old woman orders her to push a last time and two strong hands brutally crush her lower abdomen, taking her breath away. The woman presses so hard on her belly that the young girl is sure that her old arthritic feet must have lifted off the ground. With a final howl, she pushes with all her might. Something a little viscous quickly slips between her legs, like the nimble eel trying to escape the fisherman's hands, squealing from the young girl an almost amused gasp of surprise, and suddenly she's free.

A great silence falls over the audience and the young girl, panting, gasping, her body bruised and her womb suddenly empty, raises her head to see what is happening.

“How is...”

She had sworn to herself, however, to show only cold indifference to this little being who justcame out of her and who irremediably ruined her life. She knows that they are not meant to know each other. Getting attached is useless. Sometimes she had to reason with herself in the heart of the winter nights. When the isolation that had been imposed on her brought her to search for the little shiver of life that she felt growing inside her. It was like a friend you found in the evening after a grueling day.

Sometimes an unconscious hand would stray to the gentle swell of her belly to spread some warmth there. A little kick answered her. Sometimes it was ripples, like waves, that ran all over her stomach. The young girl would hold back a smile or an amused exclamation, feeling in her heart the mixture of excitement and guilt of a schoolgirl who can’t help but respond to the charming smile of the boy who looks at her and gives her a small wink behind the gate, under the teacher’s stern gaze.

She promised herself not to try to know, not even to try to see. But she can't help herself. Is it... will it...?

A strangled cry similar to the meowing of a wild cat suddenly rises, piercing the silence, and the young woman throws her head back on her pillows, her heart beating wildly.

She gets up on her elbows but surprisingly strong arms hold her back and pin her to her mattress.

“Wait!” she cries weakly.

She wants to protest but is silenced by a fat, ruddy woman who stands in front of her, hiding from her sight the old one who leaves the room limping on her stiff leg. Turning her head to the side, the young girl sees between her old veined arms a bloodstained sheet in which a tiny moaning form is moving. She catches a fleeting glimpse of two small fists raised skyward, slicing through the air and moving feebly like the stems of reeds bent by the wind.

Then the silence.

The heat that filled the room thanks to the comings and goings of the nuns and midwives quickly gives way to an icy and penetrating cold. Winter regains its rights and also settles in the heart of the young orphan mother.

The arms that held her loosen their grip. A hand wipes her forehead with a cloth and washes her face streaked with gray tears. A surprisingly warm feminine voice whispers:

“There, there, cuttie. It’s over.”

***

Six years later:

“Our guests will arrive tomorrow at dawn. At your brother's request, I had the rooms in the west wing prepared for our most distinguished guests. If you have any special requests, we are at your disposal.”

The Grand Intendant’s voice barely reaches the Princess, who stares at the glittering rooftops of the Caldera, one hand clenched around the crimson curtains of the giant window.

“Princess?”

At the mention of her title, Azula barely turns her head towards him and clears her throat:

“Perfect, my brother seems to have the situation well in hand. As far as I'm concerned, you might as well put them to sleep in the stables, or in the kennel with the dogs. I don't care.”

She keeps from turning around to revel in the contrite face of the Intendant, who is probably wondering what meaning to give to these words and dismisses him with an impatient wave of her hand.

The man doesn’t insist and finally leaves Azula alone. She can now lose herself at leisure in the contemplation of the landscape spreading at her feet. She never thought she would ever see the elegant architecture of Caldera City’s buildings that stretch around the palace, nor the endless expanse of the sea that glistens on the horizon. The sails form white spots that stand out against the emerald surface of the ocean. She watches them glide on the waves with indifference.

The landscape is sumptuous but she does not allow herself to be overwhelmed by the melancholic beauty of the end of the day. On the contrary, she experiences a certain relief and an exhilarating sense of liberty. During the seven years she spent cloistered in this temple, she was never able to enjoy such a clear view. Sharp peaks surrounded the building, hiding it from unwelcome eyes; and all she could see from her window was the gigantic belly of the mountains barring the horizon, fearsome colossi of stone placed here to guard lost girls. Like in the tales Mom used to read to Zuko at night.

Ozai's death blew up those huge boulders that kept her prisoner and shattered the dikes of her mind. For the first time in seven years, Azula indulged in hope. And this hope gave birth to a small spark that she tries to maintain in a corner of her mind, fragile and flickering flame. This hope scorched her fiercely when she grabbed Zuko's arm near the pool and saw the shock in his eyes as she told him the heaviest of her secrets.

But now she doesn't know what to think. As he always does, her coward of a brother fled at the first opportunity, after stammering an unintelligible apology. He didn't seem to believe her, until she undid the belt of her kimono to show him the purplish streaks that ran across her perfectly flat stomach, indelible marks that screamed their crime in the face of the world. Every time Azula looks at them, shame overwhelms her. These lines, faded by time, seem to insult her, reminding her of the baseness to which she once indulged. She knows that nothing can ever erase them. But sometimes she thinks that if she were offered the chance to get rid of them, she would refuse. These marks are the only tangible sign that a life has grown within her. They are like little signs that a friend would have drawn in indelible ink on a blank page before disappearing forever. Or like the letter a lover leaves for his mistress before leaving her to go back to sea or join the battlefield. The letter Zuko never wrote to her, the farewells Mother never said to her.

Eventually, Zuko would get used to it. In her great leniency, she decided to give him time. After all, it took her more than six days to accept the news. She remembers her reaction and her disbelief when the doctor that Father had brought to the palace after the Agni Kai told her the unthinkable.

She hadn't even noticed that she had stopped bleeding. The arrival of the comet that increased her powers tenfold while obscuring her sanity, Zuko's terrible treachery, Mai and Ty Lee's turnabout, Father's abandonment, all that had swept away everything else. There was enough to think about like that. The silhouettes that appeared sometimes in her mirror, gray shadows with barely discernible features, the voices that whispered in her head at night did not give her time to focus on what was happening in her body.

Father did not forgive her for her defeat. He hadn't expected to find his daughter devastated when he himself had returned triumphant from his deadly fight against the Avatar. The Phoenix King's victory hadn't been as great as he had hoped: those brats had managed to neutralize part of his fleet and the Earth Kingdom had survived the invasion. It was with disgust that he watched his daughter, plagued by her demons, screaming and squirming in a straitjacket under the worried gaze of the Fire Sages waiting for his sentence.

Zuko had flown off on his furry monster with his peasant girl as soon as news of the Avatar's disappearance had reached his ears. That, Azula couldn't remember. Her broken mind had prevented her from understanding the events that followed the passage of the asteroid.

When finally she had regained her senses, after a few days of pure stupor, Ozai had finally been able to send his best doctor to examine the Princess.

What the latter had discovered had sealed Azula's fate, forever. It hadn't been difficult for Ozai to find out the identity of the mysterious lover. The maids' tongues had quickly loosened and when her father came to confront her, her crime was written on her face. She hadn't even tried to deny.

Even today, Azula considers herself lucky that he spared her the punishment he inflicted on Zuko, or that reserved for the poor maids who had the misfortune to speak the truth he demanded. Azula’s face remained intact. But Ozai had another punishment in store for her. Drawing his inspiration from his father’s words, he announced his verdict to his dishonored daughter:

“There is no worse outrage for a woman than to sully her honor by compromising herself in the arms of a traitor. What's more, your brother. This fool died in my eyes on the day of the Black Sun. But you, you my daughter who I trusted, you've done so much worse! You let the wolf into the fold, you protected him, you lied to me to keep him close to you. You let him corrupt you and dishonor you. I lost my daughter because of your monstruous desires. I want you to know the pain of losing a child in turn.”

Terrified, Azula had waited several days for Father to carry out her punishment. She had never been instructed in such things and she didn't know what to expect. She ended up asking Li and Lo how you get rid of an unwanted child. They answered her and their response terrified her. She feared the pain. She feared blows and blood. But there was none of that.

Over the weeks, cloistered between the four bare walls of the small, cold, and grey room of the monastery where Ozai ordered her confinement until she gave birth, she had seen her belly grow. It soon became apparent that the herbal teas the nuns gave her daily contained nothing but herbal tea. No powerful fist, no furious foot came slamming on her stomach to eject the abomination that was growing inside her.

No. The punishment chosen by Father was even worse. Azula would know the pains and humiliations of an unwanted pregnancy, she would know the doubts and the fear. But worst of all, she would experience love and attachment. Those unexpected symptoms that had ended up arising from a light kick under her palm, or the feeling of a feather caressing the inner walls of her womb. He left her alone with this little companion. The only faces she was allowed to see were those of the Mother Superior who’d come to oblige her to pay her respects to the ancestors and of the sister with trembling hands and shifty gaze who would bring her her meals.

It is therefore naturally that Azula began to develop a sort of tenderness for this little being who was growing within her. She'd spent the past few months scolding herself, convincing herself that she felt nothing for this troublesome guest who was causing her back pain, keeping her up at night, and ruining her life. Sometimes, the thought of carrying Zuko's child within her brought a wave of fury and disgust that was greater than her. But immediately, the hope surged with it : maybe it would make him come back. They were forever linked by the child she was carrying and sooner or later, no doubt, he would come. He would get her out of here and they would start their lives, far from the crown, far from war. Away from all this mess.

And as the years passed, the story of her brother's antics began to reach her ears in the convent where she was sent after giving birth. Apparently, he had preferred to punish his father by tarnishing his name and his fame with outrageous conduct. He collected women like trophies and messed with men. He was said to be elusive, like an air flow. By his degrading mores, he challenged Father's authority. If anyone could cross the mountains and the hostile lands where the convent was hidden, penetrate its impassable walls, it was him. He could pick her up one night and get her out of there. She had thought about escaping, but the steep mountain slopes posed a challenge, even for a bender as skilled as her. She hadn't forgotten Ozai's warning. And then, what the point ? For whom would she go? She had nowhere to go, no one to find. No one wanted her and here, she could stay far from Father's eternal contempt and wrath. He never came to see her. It was better to stay here and wait for Zuko to come.

But he didn’t.

Sometimes, she dreamed he did, though.

She would tell him about their baby, and he would profusely apologize. He would take her with him and they would rebuild everything from the ashes of their old life. Both of them, the two burnt nestlings of the Phoenix King.

Over time, Azula's beautiful naivety gave way to despair, then to bitterness, until the day she decided that there was no reason for her to be the only one to suffer. She approached the other girls. Father hadn't come to see her for a long time and the nuns had relaxed their vigilance. No one is suspicious of the burnt-wings bird.

Only the Mother Superior knew who she was. The former princess used her anonymity to lose what virtue she had left. Sometimes merchants and visitors knocked on the doors of the temple, seeking asylum for one night.

After seeing some of her comrades leave their mattresses at nightfall to join them, she decided to imitate them, encouraged by Zirin, a more daring fellow with whom she had befriended.

The first time a boy, other than her brother, slipped a hand under her clothes, she bit wildly into the tongue he had boldly stuck into her mouth. The furious boy, covering his chin with both hands, had limped off a bit and once the shock had passed, Azula and Zirin had decided that the experience was all in all quite entertaining. She let the next one go a bit further, and when he entered her mouth with his tongue, she responded with a caress instead of a bite.

She experienced all the pleasures that intimacy between two young and attractive people can offer. Things she had never thought of. Things that Zuko had never done to her and that would have ended up attaching her to him if he had thought about it. Often, when the fingers of a reckless boy were lost between her thighs, she found herself wondering if somewhere, on the other side of the world, her brother was pleasuring another girl in the same way. She wished it was her.

She experienced ecstasy. She experienced the resulting shame. She even thought she had fallen in love once or twice. But she never found the thrill of her passionate embraces with Zuko again . He was probably not the best lover one could dream of at the time. He was eager, clumsy and always furious. But it was him. Alone among all these hypocrites who feared her, he had wanted her. Their lovemakings were often painful and humiliating for Azula. But the pain and shame weren't too high a price to pay if it meant her brother could start to lo- to notice her.

Azula was not the shy type. Her various adventures achieved to embolden her. Men soon flocked to the gates of the temple to enjoy a night of delights in the company of the mysterious resident of the convent, who was said to be an unprecedented beauty. The nuns were surprised, not understanding the reasons for these increasingly frequent visits.

It was said of Azula – nobody knew who she was then – that she was an incredible woman, that one night in her company opened the doors of paradise. But the most exhilarating thing was that she was said to be a virgin. Because yes, although Azula accepted all kinds of caresses and pleasures, although she was said to be an expert in the art of making a man happy, no one had had the chance to fully possess her.

Rumors began to circulate among the residents. It was said that she was the daughter of an important man and that she had to arrive pure at the wedding. She was not the first girl to educate herself for the big day while preserving the essentials.

No one knew about the child. As soon as the offspring was expelled from her corrupted womb, Ozai ordered that Azula be sent away to another monastery where her identity was kept secret.

Azula had made a promise to herself: she would never suffer this senseless pain again. She did not have the virtue of the nuns, nor the resilience of those courageous mothers that nothing can beat down. Chastity was not for her. But never again would she let a man breach her fortress. Never again would she risk reliving the cold loneliness and overwhelming feeling of an empty stomach.

Forever, her womb would remain Zuko's inviolate domain. No other men were allowed to enter. If one day her reputation were to reach her brother's ears, and if, enticed by what he knew, he were to come to her, she would torture him, as she had tortured her suitors, until he begged her on his knees to let him regain this sacred ground.

Zuko was obsessed with it, but Azula knew that it was nothing more than a field of ruins. Her belly, unvisited since that cold winter day, was an arid land. She had decided that nothing would ever grow back on this barren soil. Not until the child was returned to her.

Zuko would take a while to accept. But if he wanted her, if he really wanted her like he claimed he did, he would have no choice but to achieve the impossible.

Left alone in the living room, Azula abandons her spot behind the curtains and walks towards the sofa where she collapses, taking advantage of her solitude to abandon good manners.

It felt like torture pushing back Zuko's caresses and containing her pleasure when he touched her the other day. But she has to stay strong.

Zuko never gives up. Sooner or later, having recovered from the shock of the news, he will come crawling back to her. She is sure of it. She has seen this flame shining in the eyes of her lovers too often not to recognize it.

It's been six days now since that conversation in the privacy of the royal baths. The palace is huge. This is the perfect place to disappear. Until Father cloistered her within the austere walls of the temple, never had Azula felt so alone than in the vastness of this overcrowded place.

Zuko is hiding but Azula doesn't need to go looking for him to find out where he is. Knocking on the doors of the city's brothels is enough to find the Crown Prince, drowning his distress in the intoxication of wine and flesh. Azula would give him a little more time, but they don't have an infinite amount of it. In three weeks, they will have to decide what they'll do when one of them will ascend the throne. If no decision has been made by then, they will have to face each other in a deadly Agni Kai neither of them wants.

The Sages show the first signs of impatience and everyone inquires what form the struggle for power will take.

After having considered all the possibilities, from the most serious to the most fanciful, ranging from the consultation of the people by suffrage, to the divine election, passing by the race of turtle-ducks in the royal gardens, Azula herself still wonders. She cannot decide alone. Tomorrow arrives the Water Tribe delegation, as well as high officials from the Earth Kingdom. Why not rely on the decisive forces of their nation and other peoples? The pawns will soon be in place: all that’s left to do is to move them on the chessboard. And they will see which of the king or the queen will survive the carnage.

Night has fallen, covering under a blue veil the richly decorated floors and walls of the pretty room where Zuko has let himself be led. From the ajar window which opens onto the central square, they can hear the quiet murmur of conversations of the last street walkers who are slowly returning to their lodgings. But the noise of the mattress springs, creaking to the rhythm of the cries of joy of the young woman lying under him, prevents him from distinguishing them clearly. If the pretty young lady seems at the height of pleasure, Zuko doesn’t share her enthusiasm.

Even with eyes closed, it’s complicate to focus on visualizing the face of the one he is thinking about at the very moment. This wanton little noblewoman whom he picked up right in the middle of a group of girls giggling like schoolgirls, during the banquet organized the day before, is the noisy type. Usually he loves that. But not tonight.

Exasperated, he slaps a hand over her mouth, hoping to stifle this exuberant display of ecstasy, but that only heightens his young mistress's arousal. With an impatient groan, Zuko sinks himself hard inside her, making her feel his full length. The girl gasps and her wide eyes stare absently at the crimson canopy that swings gracefully over Zuko's shoulders. Her lips whisper words that Zuko doesn't understand, but he thinks she may make out a silent prayer to some inferior deity to forgive her for her scandalous conduct.

He wants things to end quickly. Yet these are his favourites, these nobles’ daughters, tight in appearance, who turn out to be lecherous women as soon as the varnish has cracked. Zuko did not have to deploy treasures of ingenuity to convince this one to drag him to his father's house, a few streets from the palace, taking advantage of the absence of the old Admiral to engage in activities that some wouldn’t consider very virtuous.

Tonight, however, like every night for six days, he fails to fully enjoy a night of pleasures with a loose young lady. It's the second night he's spent with her and he's already tired of her particularly loud outbursts of affection.

Taking advantage of the unexpected silence he has just imposed on her, Zuko withdraws and turns her over on her stomach. His hand gropes in the dark, along the croup she’s offering. A long voluptuous complaint quickly tells him that he has found his way and he resumes his office. He closes his eyelids tightly and thinks of the beach.

It is always the image of this cove hidden from view that he summons when he wants to speed things up. He collapses with all his weight on top of the girl and buries his face in her neck, thinking of the scarlet lips and amber eyes of the one he craves so much.

It's better that way.

Prisoner between Zuko's torso and the mattress that squeaks more than ever under their weight, the girl is jubilant.

Panting, perspiration beading on his forehead and feeling her close, Zuko has a sudden idea.

“Call me Zuzu!” he commands in her ear in a hot breath.

The girl hastens to obey.

As soon as she shouts the word that has so often scratched his ears, Zuko feels a wave of pleasure wash over him in the region of his sacrum and with a grunt of a furious beast, he gives one last pelvic thrust and releases himself into her.

He doesn't disengage right away and stays like that, lying on top of the girl. He comes and goes slowly behind her without ceasing to think for a moment of the other woman, the one who must already be sleeping between the silk sheets of her four-poster bed, over there, in the palace, a few streets away, perhaps dreaming of the treasure they have taken from her.

When he finally frees her to turn heavily on his back, one arm bent over his forehead to wipe away the sweat that has formed there, the young girl slips into the triangle formed by his elbow and lays her head on his chest. Zuko doesn't even bother to hug her.

“Oh, honey! It was prodigious!”

The prodigy doesn’t even answer. The praises of his numerous conquests have long since ceased to make him blush or even to amuse him. What the point to break open doors? This one didn't even notice his obvious lack of enthusiasm.

The girl stirs a little against him and jokes in a caressing voice:

“So... Zuzu, that's it? It's a funny nickname! Do all your mistresses call you that?”

“Only my sister,” he explains seriously, looking for his one-night lover's gaze.

The girl considers him for a moment, her mouth half open, looking dazed. Zuko lets out a chuckle and hastens to reassure her:

“Just joking.”

The girl gives an embarrassed chuckle and Zuko wonders if she too has heard of the rumors going around about him and Azula. Perhaps it wasn't the brightest of his ideas to barge in the middle of his sister's bath, when she was surrounded by half a dozen witnesses.

Now that he has freed himself from part of his frustration, he has only one desire: to be alone. But he remains a civilized man. Prince or not, one cannot decently dismiss a girl from her own room in her father's house, especially after her virtue has been irretrievably compromised. He opts for another strategy.

“I'm thirsty,” he said. “I would like to have a little more of that wine you made me taste in the living room.”

With a smile, the young woman kisses his chin and goes down to his neck where she lingers a bit.

“As you command, my Lord.”

He watches her get up and despite his tormented mind, he appreciates the chiaroscuro the moonbeams cast on her hips as she puts on a silk dressing gown. The memory of another full moon night comes back to him, there, on the white sands of Ember Island.

For six days, everything seems to bring him back to this memory, to these first forbidden embraces in the secrecy of a summer night.

The night when it all began.

When his young mistress leaves the room, Zuko finally allows himself to breathe. Throwing his head back on his pillows, he thinks of Azula and the secret she told him the other day.

Zuko has to admit that he didn't believe her at first. He never once thought that their licentious pastimes could have led to such a tragic outcome. Even in him, whom the ban on incest had long since ceased to frighten, the idea gave rise to nauseating spasms. You don't impregnate your own sister. It is a fundamental law which is indisputable, even for a monster of immorality like him.

Since she made this unbearable revelation to him, Zuko has been hiding. He tries to get drunk on alcohol and sex so he doesn't have to contemplate the loathsome truth. But above all, he can’t face the gaze of the one he mortally hurt without knowing it. He doesn't think he can bear Azula's feverish look again as she was bruising his forearm, mad hope igniting her dilated pupils.

Maybe he should have stayed after she showed him the faded lines that covered the lower part of her belly, just above the zone where he dreams of getting lost again. He behaved like a coward and does not try to find himself excuses. He didn't dare to question her further. What she told him was enough. He fled at the first opportunity, mumbling that he needed to be alone to think. It was enough for one night. He doesn't want to know the sordid details.

But it's almost worse staying in ignorance. Since then, he lives, tortured by his fantasies which unfold before him the whole thread of events.

He imagines a grim delivery in the sad infirmary of the seedy convent where Ozai cloistered her during the last months of her pregnancy. He imagines the tears and the cries of despair when unfamiliar hands snatched from her the child whom, by some harrowing unforeseeable accident, she had come to love.

He figures out Azula’s petite figure, prostrate in her tiny cell of the convent, ruminating on the memories of the last months. He sees how she has gradually become the receptacle of a deep hatred and a stubborn rancor.

He didn't even think to ask her if it was a boy or a girl.

Lying in the bed of a wanton young noblewoman he didn’t known two days earlier, smell of sex floating in the room, he considers not for the first time what his life would have been like had he known. Zuko hasn't thought much about the child, too busy digesting Azula's rejection and picturing her suffering.

He damaged his little sister in more ways than one. What she had endured by his fault, he wouldn’t have wished on his worst enemy.

Sooner or later, he will have to face her cruel gaze and contempt. He will have to redeem himself.

I want you to find our child.

Zuko lets out a laugh devoid of any amusement. How can she expect him to find a child lost for six years, whose sex he doesn't even know? A brat probably long dead – why would Ozai bother with such a compromising bastard? –

If it hadn't been for those mauve lines that snaked across her belly, if it hadn't been for that immense distress in her eyes, he simply wouldn't have believed her.

Of course he hasn't promised anything yet. He guesses that there, inside the palace walls, Azula is waiting for him, hanging on to his decision. Only three weeks remain before the Sages, under the laws of their ancestors, force them to face each other in an Agni Kai whose outcome will be mortal. Part of him assumes it's what the old men want, for them to kill each other. They both covered their nation with shame. Zuko doesn't want to hurt the sister he loves any more, but he also knows that if he has to choose, he won't sacrifice himself. And he expects no less from Azula. Between them, love has always rhymed with hate. The unconditional tenderness that a brother is supposed to feel for his sister isn’t familiar for him.

He is also aware that no peaceful outcome is possible if the one who wins the crown does not offer the other a compensation commensurate with the suffered humiliation.

She just has to agree to sleep with me. Then I'll bring her kid back to her.

A surge of guilt twists his intestines at this selfish thought, immediately replaced by an anger older than him.

Zuko clasps both hands to his face and suppresses a groan of rage. In less than one week, his sister threw away all his certainties. She broke the shell he took years to build. She made him tender and vulnerable again. Zuko knows what happens when he let emotions guide him. He ends up losing the object of his desires, the affection of an uncle who loved him like a father, or even a precious friend who was supposed to save the world. And he promised himself never to let life hurt him so badly.

He will not let guilt make him lose sight of what he came to seek in this country where nobody wants him. He wants this crown, he wants the power he was unfairly denied as he tried to do the best for the world. He wants to fuck his sister every time his ardent body expresses the desire to do so. He wants her for himself alone, perfectly submissive.

He hadn't imagined that seeing her again would unleash such a storm in him. Of course, he didn't only have brotherly thoughts in mind when he came here. No doubt that one night, nostalgia would have inevitably led him to the princess's apartments. The memory of their passionate embraces, never fading, haunted him every time he closed the door behind him and the girl he wanted.

However, he hadn't anticipated the hurricane that formed in his body and in his head when he saw her come out of the palanquin the other day, more beautiful and more desirable than ever. The certainty that he wanted her, and only her. The superb disdain she displayed the first two days exacerbated his desires to the point of driving him mad with frustration. Her refusals, which he faces with as much aplomb he can, give rise to need for destruction.

He knows this can't last any longer. He feels like he's about to explode, and nothing is more dangerous than a powerful firebender in the throes of rage.

It's all about negotiation with Azula. If he accepts her proposal, maybe he will manage to convince her? But no! If he's the Fire Lord, he doesn't have to convince anyone. He will demand that she gives herself to him. If she really wants this child she claims to love, she will do anything he desires.

As he works out the steps of his plan, the girl enters the room with a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses.

Five minutes later, Zuko is propped up comfortably on his pillows, a drink in his hand, the other leaning on the head of the girl who rewards his patience in the most judicious way. He tries to relax. The next time he finds himself in Azula's presence, no more teasing, no more childish jokes, no more courtship. They are no longer children, nor horny teenagers tortured by their hormones. The Elders asked them to behave like adults. Adults don't play childish pranks on each other, they don't bicker about who deserves first place, they don't dig into the past looking for still-open wounds to throw salt inside. They don't give in to their impulses as soon as a pretty woman -including their attractive younger sister- shows off a bit of flesh.

Responsible adults discuss and sign contracts.

If Azula is crazy, she hasn't forgotten to be smart. If she wants the crown and earn the respect of her people, she will be forced to listen to reason.

This thoughts succeed in soothing Zuko, long enough for the girl under the blanket to find the door to his paradise. He surrenders and gives her the key.

Chapter Text

Previously in Dangerous Games:

Chapter 5 - Snow and Fire

The Fire Sages have meticulously arranged the palace in order to graciously host their esteemed guests. From kitchens, teeming with life and frantic activity, to the luxurious and peaceful rooms of the royal wing, adorned with warm-toned tapestries and expertly carved gilding, everyone has given their best to ensure that everything is ready and that nothing is lacking for their comfort. This is the first time in decades that the royal palace opens its doors to representatives of the Water Tribes. This can explain the wary glances the members of the delegation cast as they pass through the door, shoulders hunched and jaws clenched, before entering the imposing hall where gigantic red and black columns rise skyward like towering ancient trees.

The room is undeniably intimidating, Azula acknowledges inwardly. A surge of pride courses through her veins as she sits with Zuko on the specially arranged double throne. Every now and then, she feels her brother's lustful gaze on her, leaking her body like a molten metal, increasing the sense of her own importance. They stand close to each other for the first time since her unthinkable confession in the royal spa. A mixture of apprehension and arousal floats between them like a heady perfume, so palpable that she’s surprised no one else seems to notice.

Lately, the idea of torturing Zuko ceased to amuse her though and despite the evident tension, she’s almost pleased to welcome her former enemies. Her brother can no longer elude her and will be forced to stop acting like a coward, and the situation will finally have a chance to progress. She knows this feeling is shared. The Sages had them summoned this morning. They expressed their deep discontent. Since Zuko and Azula still haven't reached an agreement, they hope this diplomatic meeting will speed things up. To Azula, this can only mean one thing.

The twelve members of the delegation take place around the throne and Zuko stands up to welcome Chief Sokka and Chief Katara. All are dressed in leather outfits covered with flowing deep blue fabrics - barbarian clothes, Azula thinks to herself. The contrast with the dominant scarlet and black of the walls and columns surrounding them is striking.

The water siblings move forward but Azula doesn't make a move.

Katara is instantly recognizable. Time has enhanced her exotic beauty. Her ultramarine eyes shine against the coppery background of her skin, and her hair cascades down her back. Two thin braids on her forehead meet at the back of her head, exposing her temples. Azula looks up at Zuko and can't help but notice his cheeks flushing and the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallows nervously. His eyes shine with a special golden glow. She knows this expression only too well having seen it invade her brother's gaze every time she offered herself to him. A jolt of jealousy threatens to shake her entire body but it’s nothing ; she relies on her innate talent to conceal this intrusive emotion and it’s gone.

The boy is there too. She never really paid attention to him until now. She vaguely remembers Ty Lee's incessant babbling about this lad they were tracking down together and whom she intended to make her knight servant once their mission was complete. Azula would simply raise a disdainful eyebrow and exchange dismayed looks with Mai.

However, when he raises his ocean irises towards her, she has trouble hiding her surprise. The years have changed him. He’s not a boy anymore. He’s a man. His smooth, slightly rounded cheeks have given way to a more angular jawline and high cheekbones. He's grown at least eight inches since the last time and she figures he must tower over her by more than a head. He's taller than Zuko now. The short sleeves of his tunic reveal appreciably sized biceps and Azula feels something stirring in her lower stomach. She blushes involuntarily when he casts a harsh glance at her, as cold as a wintry night. Katara catches her gaze at the same moment, her turquoise eyes frozen in an expression that seems to say, 'Don't you dare!'—etched like a warning in the frost.

Azula swallowed hard. After so many years, sharing a space with the woman who ruined her life makes her more nervous than she would like to admit. Katara places a hand on her brother's arm and something about that gesture causes the princess inexplicable pain.

Azula has experienced envy often enough in her lifetime to recognize it when it arises. However, it doesn’t make it any easier to understand. She has nothing—absolutely nothing—to envy about them. No one has ever pushed the limits of sibling bonds as far, nor experienced the dizzying effects of forbidding as much as she and her brother have.

The connection she has with Zuko is unique. So why does this brotherly contact, pitifully healthy and devoid of any sexual connotation, cause this surge of rage within her?

She turns to her brother, with the vague idea of taking his hand, but the idiot has already come down from the stage and joined his former friends. He remains in a grotesque position, a little frozen, his arms slightly outstretched as if hesitating to invite them into a friendly embrace. But Sokka and Katara remain still, their jaw clenched, their gaze stern and critical. Obviously, Zuko's abandonment after the fall of the Avatar stuck in their throats.

Azula resists the urge to laugh. She's not the only one to have grievances against dear Zuzu tonight. The night promises to be entertaining.

The look the girl cast on Zuko is even harsher than her brother’s and Azula shivers at the memory of penetrating cold frozing her bones when the peasant had locked her in that icy flower on the day of Agni Kai. She feels on the verge of suffocating, as if water were once again invading her lungs and a confused feeling of panic grips her. She banishes it as she does with every unpleasant thought.

Had she succeeded in killing the water peasant, things would have taken a drastically different turn. Azula would have summoned the royal doctor, ensuring Zuko's healing before Father's return. After intense negotiations, no doubt she would have managed to provide some perspective into his stubborn mind and convince him to leave with her. She always did. She didn’t understand that at the time, but she would have come to accept it eventually. What was the point of lingering in the Fire Nation, clinging to a meaningless title, once the Phoenix King reigned over the world? Better to follow Zuko and savor a simple life with him, far from father, far from fear.

Of course, these were the naive and foolish musings of a teenage girl, confined in a convent, waiting for the prince she had fallen for to free her from her fortress. As she watches her brother and his clumsy attempts to reconnect with his old friends, she feels more than ever the desire to take on the crown of which she was so unfairly deprived.

Zuko leads his guests to the throne and as they stiffly bow to her, Azula finally agrees to get up. Her face lights up with her most charming smile, and she opens her arms, revealing a splendid dress with wide sleeves encrusted with gems and gilding, where arabesques of silk thread intertwine. She doesn’t fail to notice Sokka's gaze sliding down the collar of her dress, and the strange sensation settles again in her lower abdomen. Zuko notices, and she feels swollen with pride when she sees the red rising to his ears.

“My dear friends,” she greets them in a cordial voice. “It has been so long since the walls of this palace hosted such an event. The Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe, ready to walk hand in hand to decide the future of the world together. Welcome. My beloved brother and I are honored to welcome you under our roof.”

Katara and Sokka exchange eloquent looks under their furrowed eyebrows and Azula understands that the negotiations will be tougher than she had hoped. With the girl, at least, she corrects herself. A new furtive glance from Sokka speaks differently.

“Thank you,” Katara responds coldly as Zuko observes her anxiously. The girl deliberately avoids his gaze. “Certainly, we didn’t expect such a warm welcome. However, I was hoping for more privacy,” she adds, scanning the room, filled with people: imperial guards standing at attention, the old goats of the council of Fire Sages, their arthritic bodies slumped in their armchairs, their glassy and inquisitive old gazes focused on the pretenders to the throne, and the courtiers who dart curious and eager glances at the newcomers. “Is there a room where we could discuss in private...” she said, pointing to their escort.

“There’s no hurry!” Azula interrupts her gleefully. “You had a very long journey and must be exhausted and starving. We'll have plenty of time to talk after a good dinner and a proper night in a warm bed.” She shoots a fiery glance at Sokka, whose skin takes on a warmer hue. “How about a feast to celebrate your arrival? Our chef truly outdid himself.”

Sokka's eyes light up and beneath his manly features, Azula recognizes the somewhat stupid and spontaneous teenager she once met and fought.

Katara ostensibly lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Come on, Katara,” Sokka cheers her up with a smile. “We aren’t going to offend our hosts. It’s important to observe cultural practices when traveling abroad. It's probably a Fire Nation custom-”

“Oh, shut up, Sokka, will you?” Katara snaps at him. “If you're hungry, just say it instead of hiding behind the protocol. Very well,” she adds, looking Azula straight in the eyes. “Let's go dinner.”

She wouldn't have used another tone had shechallenged her for a fight to death. 

“Follow me,” Azula replies with a predatory smirk that makes Sokka blush again.

She gestures towards the gigantic archway behind the double throne and watches as Katara walks past Zuko. Their eyes meet briefly and the peasant's cheeks turn slightly brown just before she lowers her eyes to the ground.

Interesting… Azula muses.

Azula suddenly feels like a somewhat outdated architect faced with a new challenge. The energy that left her after her confession to Zuko returns.

This stay promises to be entertaining.

It’s almost midnight when Zuko returns to his chambers. After a rather sinister banquet in the royal family dinner room with the Southern Water Tribe delegation, during which only Azula's hypocritical laughter was occasionally heard, the four main guests gathered in the small living room to talk in private. Azula insisted that this meeting take place somewhere more intimate than the throne room, so that they could speak as "equals".

The expression draws a bitter chuckle from Zuko, still hours later. As if anyone would believe her. After seven years, his sister once again showed evidences that she is still the same narcissistic, power-and-attention-hungry bitch he remembered. All evening, they had to endure her hypocritical compliments, her forced laugh, the provocative glances she addressed to the men, her barely disguised allusions to things Zuko would rather keep secret. Twice Zuko’s heart skipped a beat as she got very close to the topic he’s trying to avoid at all costs. It seems like a game to her and he is not far from thinking that she invented everything, that this baby story is just one of her countless lies, aimed to torment him.

Zuko would be furious if he wasn't so depressed.

All evening, he watched Sokka and Katara’s reaction, each time he felt bold enough to speak. If Sokka appeared friendly and open to dialogue, the same cannot be said of his sister who expertly played the card of indifference, avoiding direct eye contact with Zuko and refraining from addressing him, a stark contrast with Azula’s behavior. She has clung to him all night, sitting next to him at the table, touching his shoulder to talk to him, making sure to press her chest against him, asking his opinion on everything, calling up the time when she hunted them around the world, like former schoolmates sharing memories, barely aware that she was making everyone uncomfortable. Or probably too conscious. In the living room where the four of them had gathered, she sat on Zuko’s lap, going so far as to make him a necklace of her arms for greater emphasis when Sokka noticed awkwardly: “So… you two seem in better terms now, right?”

“Zuzu and I are more than friends, as you can see,” Azula replied happily, pressing her ruby lips against his ruined cheek, drawing a grimace of disgust from their guests. “Family is everything, isn’t it? All these years we spent fighting, what a waste of time! Your sense of sharing and family is a great source of inspiration for us,” she flattered them, irony evident in her mocking voice. “As soon as I learned of your political arrangements, I asked Zuzu what he thought of this. But my brother has his pride, you see! He fears what people would say if he’s reduced to share with his baby sister!”

And for good measure, she ran her hand through his hair to ruffle it, further humiliating him.

Zuko doesn't really know what he had expected from this reunion. Great effusions? A convivial evening filled with hearty laughter as they reminisced about the good old days? Perhaps that's what occurs when people part on amicable terms, but certainly not when one member of the group has callously abandoned his friends without a word—not even for the one who saved his life.

Zuko has to admit that Katara's attitude hurts him deeply. There is a chasm between them that Azula is clearly trying to bridge through a perilous tightrope performance, sometimes cajoling, sometimes teasing, sometimes threatening. He knows his sister well enough to guess that she's nervous deepdown. She’s overly talkative and her smile is unnatural, not to mention her slightly maniacal bursts of laughter that elicit everyone’s perplexity. It's obvious that she feels threatened by the presence of Sokka and Katara and this only makes her more dangerous and unpredictable.

Beyond the emotional turmoil, there are huge stakes behind this meeting. The Sages expect a lot from it and Zuko can’t help but picture them, watching through the key hole, their old backs bent with age, eager to catch any word, any information that could lead them to the new Avatar. Because that’s what it’s all about, right? The Sages didn’t renounce the imperialist views of their former master, and this diplomatic visit is only a lure, not to say a trap. Zuko is sure of this: the Sages got the sign.

Zuko made some interesting discoveries over the last week, and each day, Zuko raises the veil a little more on the Fire Sages’real intentions. He found nothing about an illegitimate child, a bastard born in shame and probably smothered in its cradle, but he learned a lot while searching the archives in the catacombs of the Fire Sage temple. Although most cities and provinces surrendered after Aang’s defeat, things did not go as Ozai had planned. The Fire Lord did not return unscathed from his legendary duel with the Avatar. The boy caused irreparable damage, and while he did not completely strip his enemy of his firebending, his attempt severely affected Ozai's abilities just before Aang was consumed by a power too great for him. Of course, in the official version, Ozai is the one who killed Aang, but the evidences are there, on paper, written by Ozai's own hand.

In the weeks following his return, rumors circulated that Ozai had lost his ability to generate lightning, which explained his decision to give up on reclaiming sovereignty over Ba Sing Se (swiftly retaken thanks to Iroh and the intervention of the White Lotus). Ozai returned to the Caldera victorious, but weakened, humiliated, his fire nearly extinguished. The pompous title of the Phoenix King quickly faded into oblivion, and he was fortunate that Azula was neutralized before his crown could adorn her forehead.

After Sozin's Comet, Ozai spent the last years of his reign hiding in his palace, concealing his weakness behind the image of a ruthless dictator. Through a brilliant propaganda campaign, he persuaded the Northern Water Tribe to deliver the new Avatar when he or she will be born, promising sparing them from the Fire Nation's wrath in return.

This is the quest the old goats of the Council are pursuing. Here they are, hovering over them like vultures before a deadly battle, waiting to see whether he or Azula will prove worthy of this mission. They rely on Zuko's past friendship with the young leaders of the Southern Water Tribe and Azula's legendary insight.

Zuko has told nothing of this to his sister, but she’s cunning enough. He’s pretty sure she searched the temple archives long before he thought of doing so. What he knows, she knows too.

It's still early, Zuko muses. Aang discovered his true nature when he was twelve. Roku, Zuko's great-grandfather, was over sixteen. But the Water Tribe leaders did a good job. The birth records of children born in the days and weeks following Aang's defeat are now carefully stored in the temple's catacombs, and possible candidates are under constant surveillance.

Katara and Sokka haven't broached the subject tonight, and Zuko is not surprised, certain that they share the same belief as him: Aang would have chosen to reincarnate into the Southern Water Tribe. He was careful not to tell anyone about it during his years in exile. No one expects that the new master of the four elements will be born in a sparse tribe where the only person gifted with such power was too young to give birth. Masters are sometimes born from non-bending lineages. He is well-placed to know that. Katara's parents weren’t waterbenders, nor did Toph's mother and father have any ability to bend earth to their will.

Unfortunately for him, it's almost certain that Azula has come to the same conclusions. She's way too smart.

They haven't had time to talk about what Azula would do if the new Avatar were identified, but something tells Zuko he won't like the answer. Nor will Sokka and Katara. During dinner, a strange idea crossed Zuko's mind. What if the master of the four elements had to be born in the Fire Nation, and he had incarnated into the child he and Azula conceived in sin? Azula is a monster, but would she have gone so far as to strangle her own baby in its sleep? She would more likely have used it to conquer the world.

Faced with the wall of silence erected by Katara, Azula failed to obtain the information she wanted. She knows that Zuko has no desire to deliver the new Avatar to the Fire Sages and the last supporters of Ozai, a force still alive in the nation. He knows his sister well enough to understand that she will seek to take advantage of this weakness at the first opportunity.

Neither Sokka nor Katara seemed to believe in Azula's supposed redemption, and her adoring little sister performance not only fooled no one but certainly didn't help Zuko's case

Of course his former friends are unaware of the true nature of their relationship, the full extent of their perversion. They would run away if they knew.

During this evening, despite the coldness that Sokka and Katara brought back in their luggage, as a souvenir of their frozen lands, Zuko also felt strangely free for the first time since his return. Azula's cuddles and flirtatious attitude let him cold, he didn’t shiver at her touch and thought nothing of the heady scent of jasmine that reached his nostrils whenever she came too close. Not once did he arbor sinful thoughts toward her. Azula is his dark secret and deep down, he hopes that the embers of friendship are still hot enough to keep the specter of corruption at bay.

On the other hand, nostalgia crushed him every time Katara and Sokka shared smiles or jokes from which he was excluded.

More than anything, he was struck by their sense of solidarity, the sincere and healthy love uniting them. Seeing Sokka and Katara, it was as if the word family had danced in letters of fire before his eyes. And this realization makes him terribly bitter. That's not what he sees when he looks at Azula.

Did his sister feel the same? He thinks so. And it was obviously just as painful for her. She made it clear in her less than subtle way. Zuko still shudders with rage at the memory.

This terrible evening reached a climax when Azula decided to go to bed, an hour before everyone else, pretending deep fatigue. He turned livid, then scarlet when she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a furtive kiss on Zuko's lips, in full view, before wishing them goodnight. He barely had time to meet his former friends’ stunned gaze before looking away and disappearing into his glass of wine.

Far from lightening an already heavy atmosphere, Azula's departure plunged everyone in an awkward silence, full of unspoken accusations. His sister’s affectionate – and very inappropriate – gesture was an elephant in the room.

Zuko only managed to stammer a few words. He told them about his sincere desire for peace, and his intention to normalize diplomatic relationships between their two nations, but his voice must have cruelly lacked conviction. His hesitation found a cruel reflection in Katara's contemptuous glares and Sokka's skeptical pout. He knows exactly what they think of him. His unexpected alliance with Azula makes them sick.

Zuko couldn't take his eyes off his friends, especially the one he had spent so much time convincing of his good faith, years ago, only to ruin everything, like the peasant wiping his dirty feet on a luxurious carpet.

Unorthodox thoughts had crossed his mind every time Katara tucked her hair behind her ears, or bent down to pick something up. But Zuko immediately banished them.

Katara loved Aang and from the way she keeps talking about him, it's obvious that she still does. By leaving them, Zuko betrayed the young boy's memory and destroyed all their efforts. That's what she thinks. No need for words to express it. She probably also blames Zuko for having given up on stopping his megalomaniac father and for letting darkness fall definitively on the world.

Zuko isn’t the one who killed Aang, yet he feels Katara's anger entirely directed at him.

Katara loved Aang. Yet deep within, Zuko had always sensed this indescribable connection, akin to a distant fragrance that irresistibly drew them together. This mysterious bond only heightened the gravity of his betrayal to its ultimate extent. Naturally, Zuko never entertained the idea of trying anything with Katara, not in the past, not tonight, not ever.

As for Azula, years has enhanced her natural beauty. His sister probably noticed it too, judging by her almost ridiculous need to stand in his shadow tonight. But Azula has no reason to worry, (if she still feels something for Zuko). He won't try anything. Katara belongs to Aang, no matter what. He won’t betray his friend’s memory. Years may have stripped him of the little honor he had left, but he won’t break this barrier.

Zuko steps into his room, cloaked in darkness save for the faint glow of dying embers in the hearth. Despite his weariness, the thought of retiring to bed doesn't appeal to him. Instead, he contemplates summoning a maid to prepare a bath. He could join one of his numerous mistresses to change his mind, but he realizes he has no desire to do so. A solitary evening is maybe exactly what he needs. Zuko removes his cape, boots and pointed shoulder pads, leaving only a tunic and baggy pants. He walks towards the door, ready to call a maid when a sweet voice rises in the darkness, making him almost scream in terror.

“Are you going out, Zuzu? Where are you leaving? To corrupt the innocent daughter of another courtiers, or trample on what remains of the little virtue you have left in a brothel of the capital?”

“Damn, Azula,” he gasps, his hand clutched to his chest, “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

There’s a rustle when she leaves the bed in which she laid, and he stares as she joins him with an infuriating chuckle. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling suddenly lights up, casting a sepulchral blue glow into the room and she’s here, dressed in a flowery kimono that perfectly hugs her curves. Her hairstyle is different, he notices: her dark mane cascade freely down her shoulders and a row of thin braids starting from her temples, joins at the back of her head. She's stunning. Something unsettles him about her, but the feeling dissipates the moment his gaze gets lost in the opening of her collar.

“How ironic a heart-breaker like you would end up this way!”

"What the hell were you doing in my bed?" he growls in response, determined to remain impassive to her witticisms.

“So what? Now you’re complaining about it? Last week you were basically begging me to spend a night with you. What changed?”

But Zuko prefers not to answer. He walks to the mirror and removes his topknot, his jaw clenched. Azula follows and leans against the wall near the mirror. Arms crossed over her chest, she rests her weight on one hip and watches her brother run his hand through his finally freed mane. He's almost certain he saw her biting her lip as he took off his tunic, revealing an athletic torso adorned with an old star-shaped scar. The gaze of women rarely embarrasses him, and in other circumstances, he might revel in the predatory gleam that sparks in his sister's eyes. However, at this moment, he is simply mad at her.

“Are you planning to stand here and watch my bedtime? Maybe you want to tell me a story, like our mother?”

A grimace twists Azula's lips and nostrils but it's so furtive that he wonders if he hadn't imagined it.

“Don’t be bitter, brother. This evening was so delicious, you see? I was looking for a way to extend it. A sort of climax to end a perfect night. But I was out of ideas. I came to see if you were more inspired than me...”

The trap is so obvious that he doesn't feel within him the arousal such a proposition once caused. Refusing to play her game, he looks away and grabs his dressing gown and night pants and disappears behind his screen.

“Go back to your room, Azula,” he orders from behind the paper screen. “I'm not in the mood.”

But Azula only hears and does what pleases her, she doesn’t need an invitation to take what she thinks is rightfully hers. And the object of her desire is right here, in this room. Zuko peeks from behind the screen. She walks towards the carafe of wine placed on the lacquered ebony nightstand and fills two glasses. She returns to him, pushes back the paper screen and hands him the crystal globe. He takes it without a word and walks stiffly towards the bench under the window. Azula follows his every movement and sits down in front of him. They look like two twin sphinxes guarding the entrance of a temple. Aware that he can’t get rid of her and that he can no longer escape the conversation he has been trying to avoid for a week, he sighs and begins, without looking at her:

“Go ahead. Say what you have to say, then leave!”

“You were pathetic tonight”, she says as a statement.

“Thank you,” he answers with a sip of wine. “Something else?”

“Look, I get you were anxious about meeting them again, but honestly, showing them all that vulnerability... Your face was dripping with contrition, it was almost sickening. You are Prince Zuko, pretender to the crown. A dragon! You know neither fear, nor remorse, nor guilt. You have to close the door to those feelings.”

“I thought we were talking about me, not you,” he retorts, counting the raindrops that crash against the window. He gives her a furtive glance then returns to his contemplation before muttering: “I forgot that in this family, to be born with a heart is seen as a disability.”

“Believe me, Zuzu, I really try to understand you. I do. But you didn’t make it easy. Unfortunately, a boy - whom I won’t name here - stepped on my heart seven years ago and wiped his feet on it last week when I was trying to piece together its scattered pieces.”

“Seriously, sister?” he snaps, rolling his eyes. “You and I know perfectly well why you told me that baby story!”

“Oh! Really? So tell me, brother, I can’t wait to know your version.”

He risks looking into her eyes. An insane fire illuminates her pupils and he represses a backward movement.

"You don't believe me, do you?" she yelped. “The marks on my belly aren't enough?”

“At first,” he complies, “I thought it was a huge lie, one of your tricks to manipulate me, soften me and make me feel guilty for abandoning you.”

“Oh yes? And what changed?”

“I thought about it. It's more insidious than that,” he says. “You always have an ulterior motive. By making me go after a hypothetical child, you hope to keep me away until you take the throne. Besides, nothing proves that I am the father!”

“Come on, Zuzu… Do you really think I'm so cynical as to use my own child for a crown?”

“Yes,” he replies, sincerely. “I really do.”

“Cruel…” she comments in what looks like a little haughty and offended laugh. And her face disappears into her glass. She drinks with deliberate slowness, her head thrown back. Zuko swallows, caught in spite of himself by the spectacle of this delicious throat, crossed by small spasms each time a sip of wine goes down her esophagus. Obscene ideas penetrate his mind like darts and an inconvenient wave of desire seizes him. He ignores her remark, incredulous at this fake vulnerability she displays.

“So?” he challenges her, banking on their argument to chase away these intrusive thoughts.

“So what, dum-dum?”

“I bet you had fun tonight? Did you come to brag about how you humiliated me in front of my friends? Have you gotten enough revenge or should I expect a crescendo of sheer meanness for the duration of their stay.”

“Who said it would stop after they leave?” she retorts with a disdainful grimace.

“Don’t get on my nerves, Azula. You are playing a dangerous game!”

“What game are you talking about?” she sighs, rolling her eyes.

“I’m talking about your little show. What was that kiss, right under their noses? What are you playing? You want to destroy all my chances of reconciling with them, that’s it? Are you trying to cause a scandal? Or to take revenge because I ignored your request the other day! But what did you expect with such a revelation? What were you thinking? Did you expect me to hug you, swear my eternal love to you, look for our child on the other side of the world, bring it back to you? Did you expect the three of us to form a beautiful and healthy family?”

Azula giggles but the laughter sounds fake. She accompanies it with a strange smile, a little silly, which doesn't resemble her. Her mouth seems to grow into her face and splits it in two. But her eyes don't laugh. They are cold and still like two amber stones. Her lips move as if to say something but the words get stuck somewhere between the withered organ that serves as her heart and her divine throat. Zuko can't believe it. Could it be that-?

Azula gets up and pretends to walk away, staggering a little.

“Oh…” she says, bringing a delicate hand to her forehead. “Maybe I shouldn't have had that last drink. I feel so funny! You were right, Zuko. Maybe it’s better if I retreat to my room. You win.”

No way! She's not going to get away with this! He no longer has any desire to sleep. And to be honest, as true as she gets on his nerves, he doesn't hate her company. It's always better than being alone with depressing thoughts. She started all this, he's not going to let her slip away at the last moment. He steals her wrist and pulls her towards him. Two hands grip tightly on her hips and their pelvises collide, like two Siamese brothers united by the same piece of flesh. He grabs her pointed chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him and he bites into her red painted lips. She surrenders to the kiss but he notices that her arms remain pressed against her chest, as if to protect her heart from a fatal blow. Zuko refuses this obstacle between their bodies and he forcefully uncrosses hers arms which she leaves hanging at her sides while he brings her closer to him. His greedy hand searches her collar and he cups her breast, bruising it under his hot palm. He gets hard when she moans against his mouth and he deepens the kiss.

He doesn't really know why he behaves like this. Maybe he doesn’t know a better way to reach her. Only sex can bring some equilibrium in their unbalanced relationship. He was always the leader when they were in bed together. But since their return, even this advantage has been stripped away from him, and it’s unbearable. He doesn't care about consent tonight. He knows her well. She can pretend as much as she wants, she’s not looking for a caring lover. She mumbles something and their lips part with a crude suction sound. But he doesn't care and melts into her neck which he begins to devour greedily, sending delicious shivers throughout Azula’s body.

“Zuko!” she begs, after a moment, desperately gasping for air. “I didn't come for that!”

“You shouldn’t have come then,” he said firmly, forcefully kneading her lower back. And he captures her lips again to silence her. But Azula bites into it, and he steps back, his legs hitting the bench under the window. He touches his bruised lips and looks at his fingers: three drops of blood bead and sparkle in the light of the lamp.

“You—” he begins in a menacing tone.

“I won’t sleep with you tonight, Zuko,” she explains calmly.

Her cheeks are a deep red and stand out in the middle of her milky skin. On her neck, a purple mark is stretching where he tasted her. She readjusts her kimono, a distant smile floating on her ruby lips.

Seriously?! Zuko is not used to that kind of resistance and all the frustration of this horrible evening explodes in his face as she tightens the knot of her belt around her waist like one locks a cellar overflowing with food right under the nose of a starving-soul.

“Come on, don’t act like a coy virgin! It's no coincidence that you're coming to see me this evening,” he says with bravado.

“How would I have done it before?” she asks innocently with a reproachful pout that he would find charming if it wasn't completely feigned. “You hid like a puppy who wet his master's carpet.”

“Don’t make me laugh. You always find what you are looking for! As if I just had to hide to get rid of you. You're worse than a ringworm on a stray cat.”

“You flatter me,” she said with a smile. “You know so well how to speak to women.”

He feels her relax a little under the familiar music of their banter. He takes the opportunity to reduce the distance between them. He doesn't really know what he feels anymore after her strange reaction. He feels his most rational thoughts escape him, as if swallowed up in a whirlwind of contradictory emotions: pity, rage, frustration, regret, lust...

He makes a move to take her hand, but she immediately pulls away.

“You will never change, Zuzu! Still the same little whiny, needy boy. If you crave affection so badly, why not go cry into your little water peasant's petticoats? She will be much too happy to console you.”

Here we are... Zuko thinks with a mixture of satisfaction and surprise. It's not like Azula to give in so quickly. He extends his arms to take her by the waist and bring her even closer to him.

“Katara?” he inquires. “She hates me.”

“Oh yes, she hates you!” she confirms, her eyes strangely bright. “So what? That didn't stop her from teasing you like a little slut all evening!”

“Wh-what? You’re talking nonsense, Azula! She barely looked at me!”

“As if it were necessary!” she spits, visibly hurt. “And you pride yourself on knowing women! With all those girls you've fucked, don't tell me you haven't learned anything about body language! Everything in her attitude screamed your name!”

“No,” he stammers, taken off guard. “You're wrong. I-”

“And it worked perfectly! You didn't take your eyes off her all evening!”

A slightly stupid smile tugs at the corner of Zuko's lips. His heart is suddenly lighter and he almost feels... happy?

“Do you really think she-” he urges her.

“If I tell you!” And she tries to escape but he refuses to let go. His smirk widens and he feels overcome by the exhilaration of an athlete who broke his own record.

“Are you jealous?” he teases fondly, suddenly overcome by a surge of affection for his sister. He always likes her better when he gets what he wants, even if didn't know he wanted it.

She shrugs, without looking at him. He still holds her waist and she no longer tries to escape. She seems a little miserable: her lips fall downward in a heartbreaking pout and a flash of guilt passes through him but also – and he is a little ashamed of this – an overwhelming feeling of omnipotence.

“Is that why you clung to me all night?” he asks, unable to disguise the amusement in his voice. “Are you afraid that I choose her over you?”

“You did it once, right?” she accuses him. “What tells me you're not going to do it again?”

Zuko can't believe his ears. Tears, real tears, drown her irises and flow down her cheeks. Azula is a good actress, but not so good that she can feign grief so realistically.

“It’s not the same,” he defends himself, without knowing why he even bothers. “I was trying to do what was right...” -And fucking my sister was not the better way to reach that goal - he restrains from adding.

She tries to escape him again and her wrist slips into the palm of his hand like the smooth, lively body of a snake hiding in its lair. He lets her go.

“And when she asks you to use your power to protect the new Avatar – because let's be clear, that's what this is about, the real reason of their visit! Even you must have understood it! ‒ When she begs you to hide him from me, what choice will you make?”

Zuko no longer smiles. His features hardens and he frowns: “We're talking about an innocent child, Azula!”

“A child who likely grew up hating Fire Nation! A threat to our throne, to our family! And you, you are ready to sacrifice everything for the beautiful eyes of a peasant girl who despises you, all because you were unable to protect the last airbender. And you feel guilty for his demise! Admit it, you dream of being a hero in her eyes and taking the Avatar's place in her bed!”

“What are you talking about! Aang was only thirteen! He and Katara never…” He stops and massages his eyelids as if to chase away the beginnings of a violent migraine. He is suddenly very tired. He doesn't even know why he's trying to reason with her. Azula is not rational, probably never was. Who knows what's going on in the mind of a girl who, at barely fifteen years old, shamelessly offered herself to her own brother after a random boy rejected her.

“Let things be clear,” he finally said without losing his calm. “I refuse to associate a seven years old child with your quest for power!”

“Never mind! You said it yourself,” she replies. Arms crossed over her chest, she examines her perfectly manicured nails. “I always end up finding what I'm looking for. I will find the new Avatar and deliver him to the Sages who will make me the new Fire Lord.”

“And how do you plan to do it?” he sneers.

“You're not the only one with arguments, Zuzu.” She uncrosses her arms and places her hands on her hips, a wicked smile lighting up her angelic face. “I'll find a way to get your girlfriend and her idiot brother to talk. This will be child's play for me.”

Zuko bursts into a joyless laugh: “Yes… Sure! They will never trust you!”

The corner of her lip curls into a smirk as she moves closer. She flats her hand on his chest and whispers: “You see, brother dearest, that's what’s good about being a heartless monster. People like me don't shy away from any method.”

“Over my dead body!” Zuko growls menacingly, smoke escaping from his clenched fists. “I won’t let you harm them, let alone an innocent kid. Am I clear, Azula?”

She steps back but the glint of challenge still ignites her eyes when she retorts:

“Try to stop me!”

“I won’t hesitate for a second,” he replies. And there they stand, challenging each other, years of rivalry, unhealed wounds and incomprehension flashing in their golden eyes. Finally, she breaks the silence:

“You’re ready to fight for a child you don’t even know,” she bursts out. “But you don't lift a finger to find the baby you put in my womb!

“It’s not a baby, Azula! It's a six-year-old kid whose name we don't even know! A child who doesn't know who it is or who its real parents are! It's a mistake, nothing more, an abomination, it should never have happened! The fate of the world doesn’t rest on its shoulders, so leave that child alone! You will only succeed in ruining its life! He or she's probably happier without us! Make up your mind!”

He regrets his words the moment they pass his lips but it's already too late. The cruel words pierce her skin like acid rain. She takes it bravely at first, then her lips begin to tremble. She turns around and leaves the room, menace vibrating in her voice:

“Your choice!”

And with these words she disappears, like a flock of swallows leaving their branch.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 – New Alliances

Sleep is evading Sokka.

His entrails growl in protest every time he rolls onto his belly—his usual sleeping position. He’s thought about going to Katara, asking her to soothe his poor, overworked stomach, but he’s not quite ready to face her scolding… or the inevitable “I told you so.” The sharp looks she gave him as he piled food onto his plate were annoying enough. Still, he wishes he were staying in the same wing as his sister and the rest of their delegation. The fact that they're all scattered across distant rooms makes him uneasy. He doesn’t believe Zuko would hurt them—but he can’t say the same about his sister.

He turns over in bed again and lets out an exasperated groan. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to banish the haunting image of those golden eyes and ruby-red lips. Almost without thinking, Sokka begins mumbling the old protective chant his mother taught him as a child—the one meant to ward off evil spirits and keep them at bay.

Holding the Fire Princess’s gaze feels like giving her free rein to rummage through his thoughts and secrets. Sokka has never had Katara’s talent for keeping things to himself—and the secret he’s guarding is the explosive kind. More than once during dinner, he felt Katara’s foot nudging him sharply under the table. Does she think he’s an idiot? As if he’d spill that secret—the one they were entrusted with six years ago—to their most dangerous enemy.

Yue, Sokka remembers fondly.

He thinks back to that surreal scene they witnessed as they were weeping by Hakoda’s deathbed. The brave man had been mortally wounded during a Fire Nation raid. The sons of fire had grown more and more aggressive after Aang's disappearence. The last survivors of the Southern Tribe had eventually fled north, seeking refuge behind the walls of their northern kin. Only the eldest, the infirm—those unable to endure such a long and grueling journey—and a handful of warriors who refused to abandon their homeland remained. Among them were Sokka, Katara, and their father… may he rest in peace. When it became clear that no children had been born in the southern tribes for months, the Fire Nation army began to leave them alone and turned their greedy, child-slaying gazes toward Agna Qel'a.

Lying on his back in his silk sheets, one hand clutching his dolorous stomach— “Why do they spice their food so much in this cursed country?” His thoughts drifted to the moonbeam, its sepulchral glow casting a spotlight on the dying man’s body. He recalled the words their father had spoken just before his final breath. The voice was surprisingly young—soft and gentle—a stark contrast to Hakoda’s deep, warm, and virile tone. Sokka recognized it instantly: the voice of the Moon. Yue. She had revealed everything to him and Katara, the new leaders of the Southern Water Tribe and the Avatar’s loyal friends.

Sokka and Katara kept the secret for six years. Six long years, protecting it like a treasure, torn between the crushing grief of losing their father and the pride that he had served as the messenger of this extraordinary revelation.

It had been less than six months since Aang had left. Their father's death had only prolonged an impossible mourning. But there was still that hope they carried in their hearts and that kept burning like the last candle: Aang's final message, delivered to his friends by two of the people Sokka loved most.

Every night, Yue's voice, cloaked in mystery, echoes in Sokka's head, reeling off the same words over and over again, etched in the marble of his memory like a lullaby learned in early childhood.

Born in the depths of winter, from the flesh of the enemy, the new Avatar shall break the cycle and emerge stronger than ever.

Sokka and Katara had spent years searching for him—without success. True, they possessed two crucial pieces of information, but it hardly brought them any closer to their goal: after all, they couldn’t possibly track every child born during winter across the entire Fire Nation. Perhaps it was clever of Aang to delay his return, yet he would have made their task infinitely easier by revealing the exact day he would come into the world—or at least the year!

If Katara didn’t break down in tears every time the name of the young Air Master was spoken, he might have dared to voice his true thoughts about their friend’s plan. More often than not, he wondered if Aang had done it on purpose.

What if protecting the new Avatar wasn’t truly their mission? What if Yue’s message served only to comfort them about the child’s fate—or even to lead them astray? After all, who would suspect that, after millennia of an unbroken cycle, the master of the four elements might break the rules and be born in a different nation, on a date of his choice.

But Katara doesn't share his opinion and she doesn't want to hear anything.

Ozai’s death had changed everything, of course. “A real stroke of luck,” Katara had said—an unprecedented opportunity to learn more. Sokka had to admit, it had been clever of her to come up with the idea of infiltrating the Sages’ temple with Toph and Teo. The machine built by their friend’s father had managed to unlock the five seals hiding the sanctuary. A bit of phosphorescent powder brushed onto the statue’s eyelids created just enough of an illusion to get the Fire Sages worked up. Teo had taken care of luring one of the old men into the temple.

“The new Avatar has been found! He has returned!” exclaimed the old geezer who was the first to enter the hidden chamber. He ran off on his trembling legs to alert the others, which gave Toph just enough time to carve an opening into the statue—wide enough for two people to slip through.

When Sokka spoke to the Sages with a voice from beyond the grave, amplified by the echo, they all bowed and listened devoutly to the words of their ancient master, eager to hear anything that might help them track down the young prodigy. They looked terrified. It was the first time Avatar Roku had spoken to them directly.

“The child Avatar hides in secrecy, waiting. He was raised to hate the Fire Nation, and those who guided him have twisted that hatred into a weapon. They have betrayed the sacred mission of the Avatar and turned him into a threat. If he rises, he may shatter the peace we fought so hard to build.”

“Where is he hiding, Lord Roku? Please, tell us!” the old men pleaded, visibly shaken.

“Only the young chiefs of the Southern Water Tribe hold the knowledge to identify and locate him.”

“So… we capture them? Torture them?” asked one of the elders, his voice frail with dread.

“No!” Sokka exclaimed, a bit too quickly. “Hurt them, and they will never speak. Offer them peace. Show them your goodwill. Your master is dead. The Sages must return to their true purpose: to serve the Avatar faithfully. That is your duty now—I command it!”

“But Master Roku…” another Sage began, “these young chiefs are our enemies. They’ve resisted our influence at every turn. And if the Avatar was raised to despise us—how can we not see him as a threat?”

“Yes!” Sokka thundered, this time with deliberate force. “That is exactly why you must find him and raise him according to our values. He is still young—still moldable.”

“But what about the Southern leaders? If they discover we’ve found the Avatar, they’ll stop at nothing to reclaim him!”

“Then you offer them a deal,” Sokka insisted, each word sharp and deliberate. “The Fire Nation must relinquish all claims over the Northern and Southern Tribes and sign a permanent peace accord with all the other nations. Make them believe it’s over. Only then will they allow you near the Avatar.”

“B-but Master Roku…” the Great Sage stammered, so shaken his ceremonial hat trembled. “Who would be entrusted with the Avatar’s training? Surely they won’t allow us to do it?”

“No. They will give him to the ancient order sworn to protect the Avatar—a neutral group composed of members from all three nations.”

“The White Lotus?” one of the Sages cried out. “Then we’re doomed! They’ve sided with the Water Tribes for years!”

“That’s false,” another Sage interrupted. “The Great Lotus declared strict neutrality two years ago. They’ve withdrawn from all political entanglements.”

“And you believe that?” a third protested.

“Silence!” Sokka roared, the echo of his voice bouncing off the stone walls. His own ears rang with its force.

For emphasis, Toph drove her heel into the ground, making the earth rise beneath the elders’ feet and hurling them backward in startled confusion.

“Listen to me!” Sokka declared, his voice firm and resolute. “There is a path forward. The spirits have given me… a prophecy ."

He let the word hang, dripping with mystery. The Sages, now silent and wide-eyed, leaned in. Sokka took a breath:

“Six years ago, in the heart of winter, a child was born—a powerful firebender.”

“In winter? But the strongest firebenders are always born in summer!” one Sage protested, his voice laced with doubt.

“Silence!” Sokka snapped, barely containing his frustration. “Do you dare question the will of the spirits? They chose to bring this child into the world in the dead of winter—for a reason. It is the flame that burns in the dark. The light that stands defiant against the storm.”

“Who is this child? What role will he play?”

“It alone has the power to counter the new Avatar. He will be our answer—” Sokka paused dramatically, only to be jabbed in the ribs by Toph’s elbow.

“H-how did you say it again, Master Roku?” one of the elders asked timidly. “We didn’t quite catch it.”

“The Antivatar! That is what we shall call him!” Sokka declared triumphantly. Toph buried her face in her palm.

“You must find this child and bring it to the Fire Nation. It is our only hope.”

“But how will we recognize him?”

“It is said he was born of the enemy’s blood… a child born in secret, descendant of the Fire Lord himself.”

There, Sokka paused again, aware that he was walking a fine line. Revealing even a fragment of the prophecy he had guarded so closely left a bitter taste in his mouth. Could these elders truly believe him—and, convinced they were protecting their nation from the Avatar, hand the child over to them on a silver platter?

“But… Master Roku,” the Great Sage ventured cautiously, “what exactly is this child meant to do? Is he… meant to destroy the Avatar?”

Skepticism was evident in his voice, much to Sokka’s annoyance. From his hiding place, he bit his lip, desperately searching for an answer before the old men could see through the deception.

“No!” he snapped. “The Avatar is the guardian of balance. You will place him under the White Lotus’ care — but your eyes must remain on him at all times.”

“At all times? But how?”

Sokka got impatient. Did he really have to explain everything to them?

“Come on, guys! Surely you have spies — or some evil ways to persuade people. Do what the Fire Nation does best!”

What Sokka now saw on the Sages’ faces through the hole wasn’t skepticism—it was stunned disbelief. Toph jabbed him in the ribs again. Blushing with embarrassment, Sokka offered a sheepish shrug in apology. Realizing he needed to fix things, he pushed his luck further :

“Meanwhile, you will train the Antivatar . It will serve as your deterrent—your counterbalance—should the So uthern tribe leaders or the White Lotus attempt to turn the Avatar against you.”

“Are you deaf? Don’t you understand the meaning of my words?” Sokka growled, a hint of worry creeping into his voice as the Sages remained silent.

“Y-yes, Master. You were very clear! The Antivatar will become the guarantor of peace.”

“Then leave this place at once! Find that child! It is time for it to be reunited with its family and to discover its destiny.”

“Yes, Master! Very well. As you please!” the Great Sage pleaded, kneeling with clasped hands. “But at least tell us how to accomplish this! Where can we find the child?”

Suddenly, Sokka found himself at a loss for inspiration. He glanced at Toph and saw the same dismay mirrored in her pale eyes. She shrugged.

“You are the Fire Sages!” he shouted. “Chosen for your great wisdom. Figure it out!”

The old men exchanged surprised glances. Panic rising, Sokka shouted, “Now leave this place! And don’t return until your mission is complete!”

Then, a torrent of water suddenly poured down on the old men’s heads. They fled on their frail legs, crying out loudly.

Sokka and Toph emerged from their hiding spot, bent over with uncontrollable laughter. They joined Katara, whose face was illuminated by one of her rare smiles.

“Seriously, Sokka! ‘Figure it out’? You truly couldn’t find better? Has a fire termite crawled into your skull and eaten your brain or what?”

They laughed again, then slipped away to join Teo, who was waiting outside with Haru and a balloon.

It’s always easier when Toph is around, Sokka thinks now, painfully aware of their friend’s absence. He misses his sister’s smile so badly—almost as much as he misses their father. He has encouraged her more than once to forget Aang and to try dating other boys, but she stubbornly refuses. She will never betray the memory of their friend.

He hasn’t told anyone how much he’s relying on this mission to heal his little sister’s broken heart. If, through the Sages’ efforts, they manage to capture the Avatar and ensure his or her protection, he hopes she will finally find peace within herself.

Another cramp twists his stomach and Sokka leaps out of bed to go to the adjoining bathroom.

He emerges a few minutes later, still feeling no better, and decided that a walk beneath the night sky might do him the world of good.

He soon finds himself lost in the palace’s labyrinthine corridors, taking nearly a quarter of an hour to locate the door leading to the royal family’s private garden. Once outside, beneath the stars, he takes a deep breath. Instantly, he feels better, away from the stifling palace walls. This place is oppressive, and he already longed for the snowy plains of his homeland.

For a moment, he considers sneaking into the archives of the Royal Library. If any record of Ozai’s illegitimate child’s birth exists, it's surely there. Such information could save precious time and allow them to leave this bleak place as soon as possible. But he dismisses the idea just as quickly. They haven’t come this far only to squander their one chance to find Aang’s successor by acting rashly. Besides, the thought of locking himself in a dim, cavernous room holds no appeal.

The fresh air and the act of standing are already working wonders on his aching stomach. He strolls leisurely toward the garden’s center, where a massive golden fountain stand, crowned by a statue of Ozai—identical in every detail (except for the size) to the one in Fire Fountain City’s plaza. Only here, instead of propane-fueled flames, a torrent of water spouts fiercely from its wide-open mouth and clenched fists.

What a megalomaniac! Sokka thinks, rolling his eyes as he walks around the life-size sculpture.

It’s then that he catches it: a curled up figure, sitting on the edge of the fountain. She's leaning forward, arms crossed around her stomach, rocking back and forth, as if she, too, is gripped by painful cramps. He can distinctly hear small sniffles and even something that sounds like a sob.

Sokka blinks a few times. He wouldn't have believed it if anyone had told him. Yet, unless he's hallucinating from overeating — is that even possible?—he's not mistaken. It's her: his old enemy, the Fire Nation princess, Azula. Sitting by a fountain, crying! Is she even capable of it? He doesn't believe she's human enough to have a heart. But there's no mistake. It's her. Her long locks frame her beautiful, tear-stained face, and Sokka feels his heart clench in spite of himself.

Forgetting all prudence, he comes out of his hiding place.

“Are you—uh… Are you okay?”

Later he will tell himself that it is the experience gained in Suki’s dojo that saved his life. With impressive ease, he dodges the jet of azure flames bursting from the princess’s sleeve that grazes his temple. A slightly acrid smell hangs in the air; he recognizes the unmistakable scent of burnt hair. He raises a hand to the side of his face.

“Hey!” is all he can think to say.

“You?” the princess exclaims angrily, standing up to see the intruder. She fumes, humiliated at having been caught in such a vulnerable posture. “What are you doing here? Who gave you permission to come to this part of the palace! This wing belongs to the members of the royal family! It's strictly forbidden to outsiders, especially uneducated peasants like you!”

Springing from the ground on small metal rods, small gas lamps, enclosed in polished glass globes, surround them, and he sees her face quite clearly. Oddly, her insults and threats don't reach him. He can't say why, but with her reddened eyes and slightly wet nose, he doesn't find her particularly frightening anymore. She's shorter than he thought, too, a few inches shorter than Katara. Her flowery kimono flatters her feminine curves in a way he doesn’t find annoying at all. He can't help it. He can't stand seeing a girl cry. Even more so when the girl is pretty—no matter how deadly dangerous she might be.

He ignores her remark:

“Stomach issues too? That marinated pork was pretty spicy, wasn’t it?”

He barely resists the urge to slap his forehead. It might be the worst conversational opener in the history of humankind—and judging by the way Azula’s almond-shaped eyes widen in dismay, she seems to agree.

A silence as thick and awkward as a slab of butter settles between them. Sokka wants nothing more than to sink straight into the ground and vanish.

Then, against all odds, she bursts out laughing—a sharp, clear sound that rings a little too loud, a little too forced. Sokka hesitates, unsure whether to laugh along or flee, and ends up nervously rubbing the back of his neck, grinning like an idiot.

Just as he starts to pull himself together, his eyes drift toward the towering statue of Ozai. And instantly, he curses himself.

“Oh!” he stammers, his cheeks suddenly burning. “I-I’m sorry!”

How can he have omitted something so obvious? After all, he should have understood immediately. Hadn't he gone through the same painful experience only a few years earlier? He feels terrible.

But Azula waits for him to clarify: “Sorry for what?” she presses him.

Ozai was a horrible, megalomaniac tyrant and a child killer. But to the young princess, he was...

“You know, I lost my father too… So...”

She stifles an exclamation, and Sokka doesn't know if it's shock, grief, or contempt that caused it. He doesn't dare look at her.

“You're particularly stupid, aren't you?” she asks in a tone full of contempt.

“I'm often told that!”

“I like that in a man,” she states. And Sokka feels himself blush in spite of himself.

She steps closer, locking eyes with him. He meets her amber gaze without flinching. The grief and pain that had bent her over moments ago are gone, wiped clean as if they’d never been there. Now, she studies him with quiet, calculated interest. There’s something in her eyes—a glint of amusement, or maybe something sharper. Predatory. He shifts his weight, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the growing tightness in his pants.

“You don't have to pretend, you know?” she says in a soft, almost seductive voice he doesn't recognize. Sokka is glad it's dark so she won't notice the purple tint his already flushed cheeks must have taken on. Did she see through him so quickly? He didn't mean—he never seriously thought about—

“W-what?”

“My father,” she explains—and only then does he realize he’d been holding his breath. “He was your enemy. He killed your best friend. I know how much you and your sister hate him. Hate us. Me, my family. Or… what’s left of it.”

“It's not that- Well...” He clears his throat. Sokka is furious. He came for some fresh air, nothing else. How did he get himself into such an embarrassing situation?

“That doesn't change the fact that he was your father,” he tries, aware that he's sinking deeper with every word. “It's normal to be sad.”

“I don't care about that old bastard. I wish we had to bury our dead. I would have loved to see worms feast on his rotting remains.”

The coldness of her tone shocks him almost more than the content of her words, and he stands there, arms hanging loose, unsure of what to say. As if insulting her deceased father's memory has cheered her up, Azula steps closer. She's only inches away from him, and he suppresses a step back.

“I know what you think of us, you and your sister…”

“I… I don’t think anything…”

“Liar!”

Is it his imagination playing tricks on him, or has Azula’s gaze actually shifted down to his crotch—always distorted by… by what, exactly? Why does he feel his pulse throbbing all the way up to his throat? And why can’t he look anywhere but down the plunging neckline of her flowery kimono?

“Zuzu is a moron, and it might run in the family. As for me, I’ve escaped that curse. I pride myself on knowing men well…”

Sokka swallows hard and waits.

“I can read your heart like I can see mine, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. You think I’m a monster, that I’m going to slit your throats in your sleep—yours and your pretty curly-haired little sister’s.”

As she spoke, she had forced him back against the edge of the fountain until he tumbled onto the ledge. He has to look up to meet her gaze.

“Actually, I hadn’t thought about it until you mentioned it, but now it seems obvious and… quite terrifying, to be honest!”

Azula’s lips curl in one of her signature smirks.

“You're more witty than Zuzu says,” she comments appreciatively.

“Thanks, I- w- what? What did he say?” he hisses, furious despite himself. He knows what kind of manipulator Azula is. He's already experienced it. Yet he can't stop the anger rising inside him at the thought of his former friend laughing at him with his sister.

Azula comes to sit next to him and he takes the opportunity to release the breath he's been holding for a while.

“It doesn’t matter,” she sighs. “Who cares what Great Zuzu—the kind-hearted hero, defender of great causes, friend to the weak and oppressed—thinks?”

So Zuko is the reason for this emotional state? Sokka’s mind drifts back to dinner—the way Azula circled her brother like a hungry vulture eyeing a particularly appetizing carcass. He can’t quite put into words the unease that gripped him when she ran her hand over his shoulder, or when she sat on his lap, and even less when she kissed him goodnight on the lips.

Later, when he commented on it, Katara replied that it might have been a Fire Nation custom, without giving the event much thought.

To dispel his unease, Sokka tries to bring the conversation back to a lighter note:

“Siblings, huh? They can be a real nightmare, right? Not easy…”

“It seems easy for you,” comments the princess. “You and your sister seem to get along so well.”

The miserable look she wears is almost convincing, and he has to stop himself from putting his hand around her shoulder. What the hell is wrong with you? He scolds himself.

“It’s not always that simple,” he admits. “But Katara is the best little sister. She’s always looked out for me, and I’ve always looked out for her.”

“You're lucky…”

“I guess we are, yes.”

They fell silent for a moment. Almost imperceptibly, he senses her drawing closer. He holds his breath as a waft of intoxicating scent fills his nostrils. Suddenly, he almost understands why Zuko lets her get so close. Who could resist? Then, just as quickly, he imagines it’s Katara approaching instead—and a sharp wave of disgust washes over him.

“Is something wrong?” the princess asks, sensing his discomfort.

“No. Everything’s fine,” he swallows hard.

Another silence settles and he hurries to break it.

“When Katara and I argue, I have a ritual.”

Azula arches a disdainful eyebrow but lets him elaborate.

“I steal something she cares about and hide it. Then I give her the silent treatment. Don’t answer any of her questions. It can last a few minutes, or several hours or days—depends on how bad the fight is. I stay silent until she apologizes. She breaks down every time.”

“That sounds... childish,” Azula comments.

“If you can’t be childish around your siblings, then with whom can you be? Katara can be a real pain sometimes, and in a terrible stick in the mud. But I’ve known her forever, and no one knows me better than she does. You must feel the same way about Zuko, right?”

“Zuzu returned to challenge me to a deadly fight after I risked everything for him. He turned his back on me, then let my father lock me away for years and simply forgot about my existence. What item is precious enough to compensate for that, Sokka? How many hours of silence do you recommend to repair such an affront?”

“Uh... Yes. Well...” Sokka grumbles, wondering what kind of prison Ozai has locked her in. "Maybe it would be better to count in weeks in your case... Or even years. That seems more relevant..."

“My brother is a fool and a traitor.”

“On those specific points, I can’t argue with you,” Sokka replies darkly.

Azula looks at him, probably surprised by his boldness. She’s dangerously close now—so close he can see every quiver in her crimson lips. He wonders vaguely how they might taste. The tension between them crackles like electrically charged particles before a storm.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks gravely.

“Why am I doing what?”

“You hate my brother even though he was your friend. I spent months chasing you and trying to kill you. I would have destroyed your sister without a second thought if she hadn't defeated me. And yet, you agree to talk to me. Why?”

Sokka shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe we have more in common than we think. We both lost our parents and have a sibling who drives us crazy. We hate Zuko, and… Ah! Apparently, we’re both chronic insomniacs!”

Azula says nothing and he is stunned to see a tear glistening at the edge of her eyelid.

“I thought you two were getting along better," he tries. "At dinner you seemed rather...close.”

He tries to say the last word in the most neutral tone he can muster, but Azula is too smart not to have taken the hint. Perhaps it's best to change the subject. Whatever Zuko did, it must be pretty bad to have managed to hurt such sublime pride. And besides, thinking back, Sokka realizes that Zuko seemed to be submitting to Azula's cajoling rather than participating in it. His confusion increases a notch.

“People change,” he finally explains. “I don’t see why it would be any different for you.”

“I’m Ozai's daughter.”

“Rumor says he stripped you of your title as Fire Lord and as crown Princess after the comet. So you can't be that bad! You know what the proverb says: The enemies of my enemies...”

She pauses, considering his words for a moment, then shrugs.

They stand side by side for a moment, listening to Ozai’s statue regurgitate torrents of water, each lost in their own thoughts. Sokka's run far from what one might consider proper or courteous. An instinct as old as stone tells him that if he made the first move, she wouldn't push him away. He arranges for their hands to brush. What's happening to him? Just yesterday, she was their worst enemy, and tonight, he dreams of the taste of her satin skin. Despite the chemistry he senses between them, he doesn't want to rush her. She seems genuinely unhappy, and experience has long taught him that this is not the right time to attempt an approach. Azula would probably not hesitate to take advantage of her opponent's weakness to strike, but Sokka prefers straightforward blows. His stomach takes advantage of the silence to remind him of itself and he feigns a coughing fit to hide the embarrassing noise of his battered bowels.

“Do you want to take a few steps?” he suggests.

He's so expecting a refusal that he blinks in surprise when she jumps to her feet and leaves the edge of the fountain. She stands in front of him and waits. Sokka looks at her, a little disconcerted.

“Uh… where do you want to go?”

“It is customary for a gentleman to offer his arm to a lady of the Court.”

"Oh! Uh... very good!" Sokka stammers, offering the requested member.

Azula holds onto it and they take a few steps under the moonlight. After a moment, she says:

“The night is so quiet…”

“Yes,” Sokka concedes. “It's as if the war never came here.”

“Oh, it did. Only, it left other kinds of damage...”

Sokka doesn't know what to say; he feels sorry for her. When he tries to catch her eye, she lowers her gaze. For the first time since he's known about her, he's filled with pity and reflects on what her life has been like. A cunning, adored princess, raised as a war machine before being abandoned by her family, discarded like a pet that had become too embarrasing.

Sokka doesn't know what the Sages were thinking when they brought her and Zuko back. What do they hope will rise from the barely smothered ashes of an age-old rivalry? What does the fire princess really know about the Avatar—and the true reason for their visit? What does she think now of her ancestors’ actions? Does she know anything about a child her Ozai might have secretly fathered?

All these questions burn on his lips as he leads her toward the back of the garden, to a large camphor tree beneath which an old stone bench waits. At the base of the tree, a small pond lies still, its stagnant waters dark and silent. Smooth, rounded shapes—like half-submerged stones—break the surface here and there.

They sit together beneath the twisted branches of the ancient tree.

“What's going to happen now?” he dares ask, unable to hold back any longer. “Zuko is the first-born, isn't he? Is he going to take your father's crown.”

“I don't know.”

“How so? Isn't the title passed down from father to son?”

“Normally yes. But my father had disinherited Zuko after his betrayal on the Day of Black Sun.”

“So that means… you're the next Fire Lord?”

“It depends...” she replies evasively.

Sokka grows impatient, but he remembers his promise not to rush her. He's so captivated by what's to come that he forgets about his stomach.

“On what?”

“On you, actually.”

Sokka looks at her, stunned. And his shock only increases when she agrees to reveal a little more:

“The Fire Sages brought you here for a reason,” she explains. “That can only mean one thing: they think you’ve found the Avatar. And they’re hoping one of us will extract the information from you.”

Sokka swallows. He looks away, careful not to betray his secret. He watches distractedly as two turtle-ducks glide lazily across the dark water of the pool, where the moon casts its silver reflection.

“So… what? They'll make them the new Fire Lord?” he adds for her.

“I think that's the idea,” his nightly companion calmly replies, examining her perfectly manicured nails.

“Well, they might be disappointed,” he shrugged, hoping to sound relaxed. “We're don’t know more than you on the matter.”

She shifts her golden gaze to him. He feels as if she could see straight through him, as if she's cast those fiery flames of hers on him. This is a minefield, he thinks. Change the subject, quickly! Don't try anything until you've spoken to Katara! Azula may truly have changed, but he's sure of one thing: he can't trust her, or her traitorous brother. How can he move on without arousing the princess's suspicions? He suddenly remembers the exchange they had with Zuko after Azula left last night.

“Zuko says he wants nothing but peace.”

“It would be foolish of him to say otherwise,” Azula retorts, indifferent. “My brother is basic, but not that stupid. He was born to be Fire Lord. Why would he say anything else?”

“Do you think he's lying?”

“I think he wants the throne. Nothing more, nothing less. And if he thinks you're the key to it, he'll have no qualms about using you. I know the reputation that precedes me, but Zuko has never hesitated to use people to get what he wants. He's a prince. What he wants, he takes. Another family trait, I suppose.”

He shudders at the multiple innuendos hidden in her last sentence. But her admission of her own duplicity paradoxically inspires confidence in him.

“And you? What do you want?”

Her amber eyes sparkle in the darkness and a smirk curls her ruby lips.

“Nothing you don't want too, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Unease settles in his stomach, intensifies, and replaces the pain, more effective than any herbal tea or magic spell Katara can concoct. He can't tell if she's joking or not, and he doesn't know what to say, thinking about all the implications behind her words.

“It's getting late,” he states, standing up. “I-I've had a long journey and I'm exhausted. I think I'll go to bed.”

“Do I scare you?” she asks teasingly. “I don’t bite, you know…”

“No,” he assures, swallowing. “No, not at all... It's just been a long day and-”

She doesn't let him finish. She gets up in turn and stands in front of him. She barely reaches his chin, and yet he feels as vulnerable as if he were surrounded by a horde of cannibalistic giants, or trapped in a web woven by a giant spider that comes to caress him with the tips of its mandibles. It doesn't help when she slides a sharp-nailed finger along his torso, in the neckline of his tunic.

“Your company isn't as boring as I thought. Maybe dear Zuzu doesn't have such bad taste after all.”

“Uh… thanks. Well, I guess?”

She's so close... He only has to tilt his head to kiss her. Then he'll know. What exactly? His heart is pounding in his chest like a wild animal gone mad in its cage.

“Tomorrow night, here, at the same time,” she said.

It's not a question. She spins around, the mark of her nail etched into the skin of his chest. Sokka doesn't have time to answer; she's already disappeared into the night.

Katara steps forward, intimidated, into the immense forest of red marble columns. The ceiling is so high that it disappears into darkness, and she can't find the ends of the pillars.

This is the first time she's set foot in this palace. She had once hoped to enter as a guest, summoned by Zuko himself. If things had gone as planned… If after they defeated Azula, Aang had returned…

She closes her eyes as the tears well up at the edge of her eyelids. Will she ever be able to think of Aang without rivers of sorrow flooding her cheeks?

Katara reaches the end of the long corridor and comes to a crossroads. The two paths that open to the left and right are identical to the one she just walked through. She thinks for a second, trying to remember the path marked on the map Sokka stole from the Fire Sages Temple during their expedition to Crescent Island a few weeks earlier. She curses herself for not bringing it with her.

She turns right. It doesn't matter if she gets lost, she'll retrace her steps. It will at least get her out of the way.

But to keep her away from what, exactly? From whom? From Zuko? From that manipulative, deranged bitch he calls a sister? From Sokka?

She thinks of her poor brother and a pang of guilt grips her. She knows she shouldn't embark on this mission without him. Poor Sokka. All these years, he's watched over her, striving to keep what's left of their family afloat. After their father's death, the grief that circulated like a latent poison in Katara's veins spread to her heart and lodged there forever. She doesn't think she'll ever taste happiness. Sokka puts all his creativity and energy into making her smile, and sometimes, he succeeds. He's the only consolation in her days since the young Avatar's tragic death. He alone gives her the strength to continue.

At least until now. She doesn't know if she can count on him anymore. Everything happened so quickly!

This is probably what made her decide to venture on her own through the palace's labyrinth. Hearing Sokka betray Aang's memory by standing up for Zuko is bad enough, but knowing he's fraternizing with the enemy is simply unbearable.

Zuko didn't kill Aang, he reminded her again this morning. They've been staying at the palace for eight days now, and Katara still hasn't deigned to speak to the Fire Nation prince, ignoring his invitations to have dinner with them. After rejecting the first invitation, Sokka finally gave in to the pressure and now shares meals with the remaining royal family, along with their delegation. Katara eats alone in her room.

"He is sincerely saddened by his death and is not happy about the current situation," Sokka tries to reason with her. "He reaffirmed to me that his only desire is to bring peace to the world.”

“And you believe him? Katara snaped. You who used to criticize me for my naivety and my optimism?”

“I believe that whatever he does, he can't be worse than his megalomaniac father! There is hope of maintaining peace. Why not seize it?”

“Zuko, maybe, but have you forgotten who he's been spending his days with since he came back? Haven't you seen how she's been hovering around him? Always circling, whispering secrets in his ear...”

“Stop it,” Sokka retorted, a slightly guilty look twisting his features. “You don’t know her. She's not that bad.”

“Excuse me?” Katara choked. “Are we both talking about the same person?”

“Are we talking about Azula?”

“Who else, idiot? The girl who killed Aang the first time, does that ring a bell?”

“She obeyed her father's orders... She was very young back then, you know...”

“She’s my age, Sokka!” Katara exploded. “And while she was hunting down and trying to kill a twelve-year-old, I was trying to save the world with you!”

Sokka didn't know what to say, of course, and besides, Katara didn't give him the chance. How can he even defend her? She thinks back to the smoldering looks Azula had given them from her throne the night they arrived. An identical fire had burned across Sokka's cheeks.

She knows her brother well. As good-hearted and loyal as he is, he's never been able to resist the charms of a pretty girl. And Azula isn't just pretty. Dressed in her elegant princess finery—so different from the practical traveling clothes or warrior armor she wore when they fought her—she is strikingly beautiful.

Sokka can be stupid sometimes. She won’t be surprise if he falls under the spell of that viper-tongued witch. After all, Zuko did. She remembers with a growing sense of unease the way she sat on Zuko's lap the other night, the kiss she planted on the corner of his mouth to say goodnight.

She saw how Zuko’s eyes followed her when she left the room. He didn't just seem influenced. He was captivated. Of course, Katara doesn't believe anything so twisted takes place behind closed doors. Even Zuko wouldn't stoop to something so unhealthy. But the thought doesn't lessen her concern. If a woman can have such an effect on her own brother, a womanizer with a well-established reputation, then what can't she have on a man like Sokka?

It took Katara several days to extract the truth from her sibling, but he finally spat it out reluctantly: “Zuko and Azula are nervous. I think the Fire Sages gave them an ultimatum. They must reach an agreement before the end of the month.”

Her curiosity piqued, Katara pressed for more, and Sokka told her what he knew. She momentarily chose not to ask. There would always be time to find out how Sokka learned so much. She doubts the prince and princess would have opened up to the entire delegation over one of those wine-filled meals. It's obvious Sokka is getting these secrets from more private conversations. The fool!

This is how she learned the real reason for the Elders' invitation. They are nothing more than the lever for the Fire Sage’s choice! The first of Zuko or Azula to discover the Avatar's whereabouts will win their favors and ascend to the throne. Does Sokka realize he's playing a dangerous game?

“I know exactly what I'm doing!” he snapped. “I'm not a kid anymore, Katara! I'll know if she tries to manipulate me! If you agreed to come to these meals, you'd see she's not who you say she is!”

“I'd rather throw myself into a fire pit full of fire scorpions!” she retorted before slamming the door in his face.

Katara knows that sooner or later, she'll have to calm down and agree to talk to Sokka again. She can't stay mad at him for long anyway. But they haven't come all this way for nothing! Sokka claims to be gathering information by getting closer to Zuko and Azula. Nothing's stopping Katara from doing some snooping on her own while her brother creates a diversion at his expense. They have a mission. Katara won't betray Aang. She won't leave this country without knowing what happened to the child. The new Avatar. She's come to rescue it from the clutches of their enemies and make it the new bridge between the human and spirit worlds. And if there's one place in the palace that can provide her with answers, it's probably the one she's looking for now.

She reaches the end of the corridor and finds herself in front of a metal door. Decorated with a handle and a dragon-shaped knocker, it presents its hermetically sealed face to Katara, who ponders the secrets this place holds. It's nothing special, and yet... It's right here: the place where Zuko and Azula were born. Where her best friend's killer was also born. The very place where, more than a hundred years ago, on the ruins of the old palace, Fire Lord Sozin made the irreversible and definitive decision to wipe out an entire people. It is in this secluded room that, ever since, the children of the royal family have been born. A sort of family tradition based on a superstition fueled by the Fire Sages.

Katara knows this from the very woman who assisted Princess Ursa during the birth of her two children. It's amazing how much old people can reveal when you listen to them. The tyrant's death has freed speech, and the young leaders of the Water Tribe were delighted to discover it.

Is this where he or she was born? The thought fills Katara with a strange feeling. Conflicting emotions jostle in her head.

Since this prophecy uttered by her dying father six years ago, Katara has had time to accept that the new Avatar would not be born in the Water Tribes. It took her several months, several years even, to live at peace with this idea. It was as if Aang had betrayed her after abandoning her. She understands his plan well: how better to protect the Avatar than by having him born in the womb of the enemy? She doesn’t know if she will find clues there that will allow her to find the child. She places her hand on the bronze knocker and slips the other into her pocket, from which she takes out a large metal key. She discreetly inserts it into the lock and touches the handle, but it does not give her hand the strength necessary to open it.

She should give up and turn back, find Sokka. But she's not sure she can bear the sight of a closed door again when she comes knocking on his bedroom door. Who knows where he spends his evenings? She tried questioning the other members of the delegation, but they saw nothing, heard nothing. A strange suspicion has taken possession of her and won't let go. This suspicion has ebony hair, a mouth painted a vibrant red, and fiery amber eyes.

Katara's rage rises a notch, and that's probably what gives her the necessary impetus. She opens the door and enters the bedroom. A loud commotion makes her jump. A silhouette stands out against the walls bathed in a reddish glow. The light comes from a crackling fireplace in the hearth. The silhouette suddenly rises from the bed where it was lying and advances towards her, obscuring everything. Katara takes a step back and soon finds herself surrounded by two translucent boas that lunge, jaws open, at the intruder. A scream rings out, followed by the familiar sound of torrents of water crashing against the varnished oak floor.

She's about to turn and run away, not thinking that hiding is pointless. She's the only person in this palace capable of bending the liquid element to her will. But as her hand pushes open the metal panel of the large door, an even more familiar voice calls out to her:

“Katara! What in Agni's name is wrong with you? What are you doing here?”

Sitting up in a large puddle, in the characteristic position of a man who has just slipped on a freshly waxed parquet floor, his long, wet black hair plastered to his cheeks, eyes as bright as gold, one of which gleams between the folds of an old scar, she recognizes Zuko.

It is a charming early spring morning. The birds are singing their cheerful melodies, and the rays of a shy sun illuminate the room, gently warming Zuko’s knees. A pleasant breeze drifts in through the open window, caressing his long hair. But none of these delightful sensations can compete with the breathtaking sight of the young woman seated before him.

Azula looks gorgeous in her new dress: a deep red textile marvel with fitted sleeves made of nearly transparent fabric. The upper part, woven in rich crimson and adorned with floral motifs, gracefully hugs her most striking curves, wrapping her from the waist up to her gazelle neck. A darker velvet skirt flares elegantly down to her ankles. He remembers their childhood and adolescence. Aside from her nightwear, she only ever accepted combat gear or the most formal robes worn by both men and women in Fire Nation. This new tendency to wear more feminine attire is a change he can hardly bring himself to resent.

He looks away with a smirk as as she brings a peeled mango to her mouth and savors it slowly, eyes closed, exaggerating her pleasure and the sucking motion of her lips around the juicy fruit.

Catching his eye, she smiles back and wipes her mouth with a silk napkin, which she casually offers to a zealous maid. Zuko marvels at her talent for transforming the most banal gestures into a lewd metaphor.

“You seem to be in an excellent mood, dear brother. A new conquest, I presume? Judging by that charming smile, this one must be far more competent than the last.”

Zuko’s smile widens. It’s true—he’s in an unusually good mood. What his sister doesn’t realize is that she’s already guessed the reason behind his cheerfulness. Yes, he’s made a conquest, but not the kind she imagines. He’s not yet ready to share the secret of his impromptu meeting in the Birth Room.

He should be exhausted, yawning from a sleepless night. Yet, for the first time in seven years, he’s spent an entire night with a woman without touching her, without making a move. The thought never even crossed his mind—he was too absorbed in listening to her speak, in absorbing her reproaches. Somehow, it was strangely comforting. Though soaked to the skin, a familiar warmth spread through him, one long forgotten and nothing like the destructive fire that usually rages in his gut.

He vaguely remembers feeling this warmth once before—memories flicker of nights beneath the stars around a campfire, Sokka’s jokes, Appa’s reassuring furry weight on his back, and Aang’s laughter echoing through the quiet night...

After much screaming and crying, Katara finally calmed down and agreed to share with him the memories of a life that seemed to belong to someone else. He could have been that man. But the death of his young friend threw him onto the thorniest path he could take. And he lost everything along the way: his friends, his uncle, his hard-earned wisdom. He made his mea culpa, and Katara, though doubtful, let him speak.

Yesterday, he felt like he'd found one of those forgotten pieces of luggage, and while there's still a long way to go before she completely forgives him, he tells himself that perhaps some form of redemption is possible. At least in his eyes.

After much screaming and crying, Katara finally calmed down and agreed to share with him the memories of a life that now seemed to belong to someone else. He could have been that man. But the death of his young friend had thrown him onto the most thorny path he could have taken. And along the way, he lost everything: his friends, his uncle, the wisdom he had fought so hard to gain.

He had made his mea culpa, and though Katara still harbored doubts, she let him speak.

Yesterday, he felt as though he had stumbled upon an old piece of forgotten luggage — something left behind on the long journey. And though the road is long before she can forgive him, he dares to believe that maybe, just maybe, some form of redemption is possible. If not in Katara’s eyes, then at least in his own.

“You’re not answering? Well? Has she taken your tongue?” Azula teased, bringing her steaming cup of tea to her lips and abruptly pulling Zuko out of his reverie.
“What a blissful look you have! You look even more foolish than usual! And that’s saying something, believe me!”

Zuko is too happy to be stung by her insults, and he easily senses, beneath the feigned amusement, the hint of jealousy she struggles to fully conceal. He knows that Azula cannot accept the idea of another woman encroaching on her territory. But Katara is of a different nature: she can never offer him the vertigo he feels with Azula, just as his sister cannot provide the peace of mind his friend gives him. They are like the Sun and the Moon: incompatible and irreconcilable stars, navigating two opposing spheres, both queens of worlds never meant to cross paths.

Hey! Who knew you were such a poet, he thinks, amused.

Seeing his sister's smile gradually turn into a tense grimace, he decides to smother the embers.

“None of that, sister.

“So dare I ask what has you in such high spirits? I would have thought that after the distressing scene you gave us yesterday, you’d at least have had the decency to stay hidden in your room and brood, as you used to do so well.”

Zuko frowns, then remembers. The night has chased away the painful memory of the dinner. Unable to endure Azula’s innuendos and insults any longer, he abruptly rose from his chair just as Sokka quietly giggled at yet another humiliating anecdote, knocking over half the food and cutlery on the table.

Zuko forces a fake smile and gathers what remains of his dignity to reply with much courtesy:

“I guess I’ve matured. I need to apologize for my attitude…”

“Really?” Azula raises an incredulous eyebrow before leaning forward to pick up a small bunch of grapes. “So that’s why I’m here, having breakfast with you, after you’ve been methodically avoiding me for the past eight days.”

“I missed my little sister,” he replies with a smile. He stretches to appear relaxed and leans back in his seat. “I was hoping to make peace with you.”

“And what makes you think I want to?” she simpers, leaning toward him with mock interest.

“Your outfit, to start with…”

“What?” She suddenly loses her composure, and her cheeks flush slightly. As always, when he feels he’s gaining the upper hand, his heart races a little, and a surge of adrenaline courses through his body.

“I don’t know,” he said, putting on the most innocent expression, lowering his voice so the servants bustling endlessly around them wouldn’t hear. “But when I’m angry at a girl, I don’t dress up like it’s a special occasion just to have breakfast with her... By the way, I love your dress. It suits your complexion perfectly.”

Azula is unmasked, and like every time when she is uncomfortable, she hides behind contempt and lies.

“Who says I'm wearing it for you?” she sings enigmatically.

Zuko smirks again and leans over to steal a grape from the bunch she’s placed on her plate. He studies her for a moment, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, trying to gauge whether she’s telling the truth. Oddly, he feels only a faint twinge of jealousy. If she feels the need to brag about her romantic conquests in front of him, it’s proof she hasn’t given up on him yet.

Azula's cheeks begin to burn under the intensity of his gaze, and he knows he's right. This only increases his good mood.

“Then I would say that whoever this little attention is intended for is very lucky. You are breathtaking, little sis.”

Azula's face sags, and she suddenly looks much less pretty, but the moment is fleeting, and she quickly regains her regal composure. He loved how much his cheerful indifference gets on her nerves. Seeing her under his thumb makes him forget their last encounter in her room—the odious words he spat in her face, the way he tried to force her, and the shame that consumed him immediately afterward. He forgets the Fire Sages' deadline, which is rapidly approaching. They still have nothing satisfactory to offer—no guarantees, no outline of an agreement to reassure them about the prospect of a fratricidal war once one of them ascends the throne.

He expects a scathing retort, but it doesn't come. Instead, Azula snaps her fingers, and a petite, submissive-looking maid appears out of nowhere.

“Yes, princess?”

“Bring me my herbs.”

“Your herbs, princess?”

“My herbs, you little idiot! The ones I take every morning and which are stored in my medicine cabinet! Come on! What are you waiting for?”

The poor girl nods with a shudder and runs off to the royal family's apartments.

Zuko stares at Azula and gives her his best smile.

"Your herbs? Are you trying to poison me, sister dear?"

“Usually,” she replied, “when you're trying to poison someone, you avoid mentioning the said poison out loud, brother dear.”

Zuko responds with another smile, and they wait in silence for the little maid to return with a sachet of powder in her hand. Azula unceremoniously snatches it from her and pours a spoonful into her cup, filling it with boiling tea before pouring more for Zuko.

"Thank you," he mutters, his gaze never leaving her. He stares as she stirs the purple herbs into her brew and lifts the cup to her lips. When she sets it down, a soft curve of red remains on the rim. His eyes linger there, his mind quietly wandering to another thing around which this shape would fit perfectly.

“Aren't you drinking your tea?” she frowns, nodding toward Zuko’s steaming mug with her chin.
“You know, then again, if I were trying to poison you, I probably would have just poured the powder straight into your cup.”

“Yes, certainly,” he replied, amused. “Unless this powder is the antidote, and the poison’s in the teapot.”

“The teapot I already poured a cup from earlier for myself? I know I’m smart, Zuzu, but you’re overestimating me.”

“I’ve learned it’s dangerous to underestimate you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zuko. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve had a thousand chances—probably none of them at breakfast, surrounded by brainless servants quick to rat me out to the Sages and your little water friends.”

Zuko risks a glance at the little maid staring at her feet without reacting and he feels a vague sense of guilt.

“So you won't mind if I use some of this powder myself?” he retorts, his teeth clenched as he watches the girl’s face. She remains unperturbed, her eyes resolutely lowered to the carpet.

“Oh, please, help yourself!” Azula offers, handing him the small sachet.
Zuko takes it hesitantly and carefully pours a spoonful into his own cup, mirroring Azula’s every movement—even mixing the herbs counterclockwise, just as she did.

He finally brings the drink to his lips and waits for something to happen. Azula bites her lip in sheer amusement.

“So? Do you feel different?”

“Not really,” he replies. “Should I?”

He instinctively turns toward the little maid, who makes the unfortunate mistake of looking up at that exact moment. Her face flushes crimson, and she quickly looks away again.

“I don’t know... As for me, I won’t know for a few days if this powder is really effective. Isn’t that right, Ren?”

“Yes, Princess,” the maid answers quickly.

“What do you mean?” Zuko sets his cup down a little too quickly on the coffee table. He’s already imagining the slow, agonizing death of a slow poison. “Do you know what’s in this?” he chokes out, addressing Ren.

She blushes even more and turns to Azula, a pleading look written in her brown eyes.

“Go away,” Azula suddenly orders. “And tell your little friends not to disturb us under any circumstances.”

Ren scurries off, her cheeks still very red, surely relieved that she is spared the trouble of answering.

“Why are you dismissing her? You don’t want a witness, is that it?”

“Believe me,” Azula says with a playful smile, “it’s better for both of you. It’ll save you from a rather embarrassing scene.”

“What did you make me drink?” Zuko insists, on the verge of panic when the door closes behind Ren. He stands abruptly and his knee hits the coffee table, spilling tea out of his cup.

How could he have been so foolish as to fall in her web? It wasn't unreasonable to imagine Azula bribing half the palace staff to help her get rid of him. Especially after the affront he had inflicted on her.

“Calm down, Zuzu, you're getting tea everywhere!”

“What was in those herbs?" he growls, grabbing her wrist. "You tricked me, you little—"

Azula doesn't resist when he grabs the back of her neck, pulling sharply on her hair to force her head back and lock eyes with her. Despite the table between them, their faces are close enough for them to kiss. But at that moment, he imagines that Azula's smile hides a snake's tongue and fangs that she will quickly sink into his flesh.

“Need I remind you that you were the one who insisted on taking it?” she said calmly, completely unimpressed, neither by his outburst, nor by the anger flaring in Zuko's eyes, nor by the powerful hands encircling her slender wrist and neck. She didn't react either when he increased the temperature beneath his palm.

"Calm down, Zuko," she says, her tone suddenly grave. Despite the grimace she's still wearing, it sounds like a warning. “Don't do anything you'll regret later.”

Zuko lets go of her and feels no guilt at the red mark and the forming blisters on the delicate skin of her forearm. Azula presses the palm of her other hand against it, and when she removes it, the blisters are gone, evaporated in a cloud of smoke. A pang of old, familiar jealousy pours its acid into his heart. He himself has never been able to tame fire and calm the burns with such ease. Perhaps if he had had her skill, he could have worked on his scar before it was too late.

“Tell me what this powder is for, Azula! I'm not playing anymore!”

“Oh, but what a killjoy! I was really looking forward to this lunch together! Come on, relax, you big dumdum. This powder won’t do anything to you at all!”

“How can you say that?”

“Oh, well, I'm pretty sure what will happen. On the other hand, if you start bleeding next week, I'd advise you to see a doctor. Your water peasant will surely do the trick! I'm sure she'll be more than happy to offer you a thorough examination-”

“B-blood?” he stammers, panicking. “What are you talking about—”

And suddenly he understands, and his cheeks flush, even redder than the blood she spoke of. Deciding she's had enough fun, Azula confirms his presumptions:

“It’s a contraceptive powder, idiot! Unless you’re actually a woman — which would explain a lot, actually — I doubt this powder will have any effect on you!”

Zuko remains frozen in his chair, torn between relief and shame.

“A contraceptive herbal tea?”

“Yes, you know... what responsible women do to avoid what, in our stupidity, we didn’t think of seven years ago.”

“I know what a contraceptive is, thank you!” Zuko grumbles, not wanting her to remind him of their youthful mistakes and their terrible consequences now. “Did you make me drink a woman’s tea?”

“You're the one who insisted on taking some,” she reminds him, shrugging her shoulders indifferently.

Zuko is furious, his manhood and dignity attacked in their core. He can already imagine Azula telling this joke at dinner tonight. Sokka will never let him forget it!

“Does the maid who brought it to you know what it is?”

“Given that I haven't yet seen her belly round out despite her escapades with the groom, I would tend to believe that she knows its virtues.”

Zuko has trouble deciding whether she's joking or not. You never know with Azula. He's mortified, ravaged by shame. Ah! Little Ren must have had a good laugh, once she was safe from her masters' muffled threats.

“You let me humiliate myself in front of my servants!”

“Like it’s the first time!”

As if he needed her to revive the painful memory of the little trick she played on him that first night! His expression darkened, dispelling the last crumbs of his good humor.

“Come on, relax, Zuko. Your temper always pushes you to extremes. You can attack me all you want, as always, you are responsible for your own miseries.”

Still fuming, Zuko sits back down and pours himself a glass of plum wine, which he downs in one gulp, as if that will erase the bitter taste of his humiliation.

Zuko orders himself to calm down. If he lets Azula's childish jokes get to him, he lets her win. That's not why he brought her here. Nor to make peace, as she imagines. He pours himself a second glass, which he empties just as quickly. Soon, a joyful inebriation restores some of the confidence she's trampled on with her ridiculous antics.

The sun casts alate golden beam into the room and Azula stretches lasciviously.

“What a beautiful day!” she exclaims. “Now why didn't you tell me why you really summoned me here this morning although you've been ignoring me all this time?”

“I was hoping to take advantage of this private lunch to talk seriously. The Fire Sages’ ultimatum expires in two weeks, and we still have nothing tangible to offer them.”

“Yeah… you're right. It's unfortunate. It would be a tragedy if all this beautiful complicity and tenderness that binds us together ended in the flames of a fatal Agni Kai.”

Zuko feels his lips stretch into a nervous smirk. There's still time to reverse the balance of power. Azula is enjoying herself, he can see it, and he senses that she wants to prolong their little joust. Her excitement is showing through the fabric of her dress. He has to refrain from licking his lips with hunger.

It's always the same with Azula. Love and hate, mistrust and desire intertwine, blurring all boundaries. The more she pushes him, the more he wants her.

He stands up and walks around Azula's chair. She doesn't make a move to interrupt him, but he sees the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up as he places his hands on her shoulders and begins to massage her.

“I thought we'd just talk around this table, but since you've taken all the necessary precautions, perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more secluded. What do you say?" he whispers softly into her ear.

"Mmh," she moaned, tilting her head back as if to offer him her throat. “It's really tempting.”

Zuko takes the opportunity to let his hand slide down her throat and with his index finger, he teases the outstretched tip of her right breast. Azula has closed her eyes. As if she had invited him, Zuko kneels down. He grasps the firm globe of flesh in his hand while sinking his teeth into her neck.

“Zuzu!” she whispers, her hand drifting backward in search of his cheek He feels the flesh of her sharp nails digging into the folds of his scar. Zuko's second hand joins its twin and he cups her other breast. He caresses them lovingly, greedily kneading her over her dress, relishing the feel of the extraordinarily fluid fabric beneath his palms.

Azula lets him do this for a moment, and he's certain that if he lets one of his hands venture further south, he'll feel her wet with suppressed desire. He bites the back of her neck again, knowing he'll leave a compromising mark there. He thinks the better of it.

“By now, the servants have finished my room,” he offers.

“It's very tempting, and I’d love that!” she repeated, her eyes still closed. “But I'm afraid I'll have to decline again.”

“Come on, don't act like a scared virgin. We both know that's what you had in mind when you came dressed like that.”

One of his impatient hand forces its way between her thighs, and a smirk curls his lips.
I knew it! he thinks triumphantly as his fingers meet a warm, damp surface under the fluid cloth of her dress. He bites her neck more greedily than ever.

“Mmm…” she moans. I was planning on meeting someone after our family breakfast. I have a social life, you know?”

Zuko interrupts the kisses and calls back his hand but the other continue to knead her breasts distractedly, almost unconsciously. He crushes a nipple between his fingers, and the pain draws a small moan of pleasure from Azula. She shivers deliciously against him.

"What are you talking about," he tried to joke. "Who in the palace would be foolish enough to try something with you? Dishonoring a Fire Nation princess is punishable by death."

“If you weren’t a pervert trying to bed your little sister at any opportunity, you'd be surprised at the risks a man is willing to take for the woman he wants, brother dearest. Others besides you have noticed my charms, you know?”

“They’d have to be blind not to notice. But I don't see anyone crazy enough to risk their life to compromise themselves in the arms of a lustful witch like you.”

“Come on, Zuzu… Don’t be jealous.” She gently pushes him away, forcing him to reluctantly abandon his playground. She adjusts the wrinkled collar of her dress and her skirt. Her cheeks still pink with pleasure, she turns in her chair to face her brother’s face, distorted by frustration.

“Who?” he asks a little too sharply, struggling hard not to show his annoyance.

“Why should you care? I thought we’d agreed this little game between us had lasted long enough. You turned down my request, and I turned down yours. I’m sure others will be far more eager than you to please their princess.”

Zuko circles her chair and kneels in front of her, his arms braced on either side, making any attempt to flee impossible. He says nothing, his silence heavy with discontent. He always thought she'd wait for him. Surely she's not stupid and reckless enough to risk being caught in the arms of a commoner, just to make him jealous and give in to her whims, is she? Then it occurs to him that if he himself had wanted to make her jealous, he wouldn't have acted differently. Brandishing that herbal tea under his nose, what a childish provocation! Somewhat reassured, he smiles.

“Very well, little sis. Since you have more interesting plans, I’ll spare you from my boring company”

“Is that all? No protective big brother recommendations? No righteous sermons? Should I expect to be followed by one of your miserable spies?”

“You are free to live your life as you please,” he shrugs. “We can talk about the Sages later. Just know that when you tire of your moron, my door will always be open.”

“That’s very generous of you, Zuzu.”

She plants a kiss on his mouth and stands up. She stretches again in a ray of light and closes her eyes for a moment, savoring the caress of the sun on her perfect skin.

“What a beautiful day, truly! So I’ll see you very soon, brother dearest.”

And with a naughty wink, she leaves the room with an ostentatious sway of her hips, leaving Zuko alone with his frustration, his desire and a consuming jealousy that ravages his insides.

He vaguely remembers waking up in a great mood with a weight lifted off his shoulders. But at this moment, he’s not very sure why.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 ‒ The Key

Outside, the hurricane howls ferociously, its gusts whistling through the trees and snapping branches with eerie cracks, like looters dismantling skeletons limb by limb in search of a hidden treasure.

The imposing woman with broad shoulders slams the wooden board against the window, cutting off the last traces of light, and wedges it firmly into the opening carved into the wall. The room plunges back into darkness, lit only by the fire gently crackling in the hearth. The drafts that swept through the chamber ease slightly, but the young girl on the bed keeps shivering nonetheless.

“What a storm, huh! The old folks say it’s the storm of the century! Dunno if that’s true, but far as I’m concerned, I ain’t never seen trees torn clean outta the ground like that! Bam!”

She snaps her fingers, mimicking what she likely imagines to be the sound of a tree violently torn from the earth, and the young girl thinks that something has been torn from her, too. The thought brings tears to her eyes, and a sob escapes her lips.

“Oh no! Sweetheart! Come here!”

In a flash, the broad-shouldered woman is upon her, wrapping her in a rib-crushing embrace. Azula wants to protest, to shove her away, even to burn her—but the strength isn’t there.

Childbirth has drained her body from its energy. Then t he separation has hollowed out her will to live.

Even breathing takes more effort than she can bear. She knows the midwives are worried. In the fog of feverish sleep, haunted by nightmares where clawed hands dig through her insides to steal a part of her, she’s heard them muttering. Ominous words have surfaced in their whispers. She knows she’s lost too much blood.

They spoke of puerperal fever—or whatever grim name they give the illness that’s eating away at her. A doctor came and brushed aside their concern, claiming the young woman suffered only from hemorrhage and shock related to childbirth.

“It's common when they're that young,” he said, his expression stern and distant, as he frowned at the young mother in evident disapproval.

Azula is too exhausted at this point to care about the judgment of some obscure doctor from— from where, anyway? Where did they take her? Of the journey that brought her here, to this remote place where Ozai wanted her to expel the fruit of her sins , she saw nothing, remembered nothing. Her father ordered that she be blindfolded and ear-covered the entire time.

Amidst the snatches of their conversations, she heard that the return trip has been postponed. Her father has left, without her. She knows now that there will be no return to the palace for her. No more crown, no more princess. And she doesn't care. Nothing matters to her anymore.

The woman’s arms close around her in a firm, crushing embrace. She smells strongly of sweat, floral perfume, and boiled milk — a strange combination, yet oddly comforting. Azula doesn’t remember ever being held like this. Not even by Zuko.

When he was done with her, he wouldn’t kiss her, wouldn’t pull her close. He’d just send her back to her room — or head back to his — depending on where lust had taken them. Once, she dared ask if he could stay for the night. He had raised a wary eyebrow, tugged at the braid on his pants, pulled on his boots, and left without a word.

“Go on... There, have a good cry, sweetheart. It’ll pass. I’ve got a daughter your age, ya know? What you’re going through is rough. You shouldn’t have to face this.”

Azula let her face disappear between the woman's opulent breasts, as if hoping to find shelter there, and lets her stroke her dirty hair. No one has bothered to take her to wash since the delivery. The old skin that gave birth to her has cleaned the most ravaged parts, and nurses come every day to give her a basic wash, completing the humiliation. But no one has come to take care of her mane, which now forms thick, matted clumps.

In the comfort of t his strange r’s arms, she finds the strength to ask the question that has been haunt ing her for three days.

“Where is it ? Where did they take it ?”

The woman pulls away but doesn't let go of the poor girl’s shoulders. Azula can see her degraded image reflected in this stranger's eyes. Only then does she recognize her as the one who encouraged her while she was writhing in pain on the day of delivery. The woman’s eyes are of a very special color — unique, even: green, enameled with glints of gold and silver. Despite a physiognomy she would have described as sadly ordinary, at best, Azula has never seen eyes like these. They devour the nurse’s sun-tanned face, and as Azula sinks into them, she sees reflected there an unfathomable kindness.

But she also reads the world's misery in them, as if this woman had been accustomed to absorbing the misfortunes of others in addition to those that must have ruined an already harsh life.

“Your babe ?” the woman ask s very quietly, looking behind her for fear of being overheard. "They didn't tell you anything, huh ?"

Faced with the concern and compassion of this woman, whose empathy seems genuine, Azula feels bold enough to seek out more. Knowing her father is far away only strengthens her courage.

"How was it? Is it... is it okay?"

“Yeah, well, they told me to keep an eye on you. Didn't get a good look at the little thing, but from the way it was howling when it popped outta you, I'd say it was doin’ fine.”

“What was it? A-a boy or a girl?”

“Sorry, honey, can’t tell you. Best you just stop thinkin’ about it.”

Seeing her young patient's face about to collapse again, she pulls her back against her ample bosom.

"Go on, cry all you want and then get over it. You’ve got plenty of time to have another kid, come on. Your dad’s not gonna lock you up forever, is he?”

Azula stifles a yelp of frustration. One thing is certain, at least: this woman has no idea who she is, and especially what kind of man Ozai is.

She vaguely remembers that he came to see her in the hours after the birth while she was struggling with a monstrous fever. He said something she didn’t understand, holding a bundle wrapped in bloodstained swaddling clothes in his arms.

“Is it still here? Can I see it? Just tell me that, please!”

"I can't tell you anything, kitty. I'm sorry."

And just like that, the woman releases her and with one last regretful look, she lifts her imposing frame. The mattress sagged a little and Azula winced in pain.

Three more days pass without any news of the baby. Every night, she listens for sounds from the hallway, and when the wind rises and lets out its powerful wail, she strains her ears, trying to pick out the cries of a child amid its mournful howls. Thanks to the attentive care of the nurse who comforted her, she regains her strength and color but lacks the energy to take more than a few steps around the room.

Then one morning, when the storm has finally subsided, the Mother Superior appears. Dry, with a wrinkled face and tiny black eyes shining like beetles, she looks down on her from her full height.

“Come on, get up and get dressed, daughter. It's time to leave here. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“To go where?” Azula dares to ask.

“Your father has entrusted you to my care. From this day forward, you are under my authority, and I expect you to address me with nothing but respect. You will ask questions only when I permit it, and from now on, you will call me ‘Mother Superior.’”

A nervous, joyless laugh slips from Azula’s lips before she can stop it. It quickly morphs into a manic, old-woman cackle, but she’s too physically drained and too shattered inside to care.

She hasn’t expected the wand to whip across her forearm, drawing an indignant exclamation from her. Clenching her fists in anger, she summons her element, ready to strike back. That old goat’s about to face her fire whip! But nothing happens. It’s not really surprising—after such an ordeal, she knows, even a master of her caliber can struggle with her bending.

"How dare you?" she hisses through gritted teeth.

The stick whistles and hits her this time on the upper lip. Azula cries out in pain and falls back against her pillow. She turns over in bed and curls up to protect her face.

“Keep that insolent tongue to yourself, young lady!” screeches the old nun. “Here, you are nothing! No more princess, no more warrior! Your father was very clear on that point, I believe. If you try anything, if you disobey my orders, if you refuse to follow the rules, if you attempt to run away — it’s the end for your offspring. The Fire Lord has no use for your filthy bastard, and he won’t hesitate to throw it into the sea!”

Azula's eyes open wide and she feels herself falling into the abyss that this cruel warning has just dug in her heart.

“And don't you dare do any research! The moment they hear of you, your filthy runt's guardians have orders to smother it in its sleep. You've made terrible mistakes and regrettable choices. It's up to you to redeem yourself now.”

Azula feels her last strength leaving her, and a great distress lacerates her heart, crushes her bones, and gnaws at her insides. She thinks of Zuko, of blood, and of the moon's reflection on the waves. At that moment, she understands that she will never see him again. Neither him, nor their baby. How she wishes the abyss she imagined were real so she could throw herself into it alive.

The next events unfold like a dream, or rather a nightmare. The nurse who comforted her comes to help her pack. It doesn't take long. She has shed her only treasure. She has only a bag filled with clothes, all identical: the ones she will be forced to wear for the rest of her life. She lets the nurse gather her meager possessions and watches her silently, curled up on the bed in the small room she has occupied for the past six months, both hands pressed against her empty stomach.

When the Mother Superior come to pick her up, the nurse wraps her in another hug. Disgusted by both the sweet smell of boiled milk and this outburst of misplaced affection, Azula lets out a small, annoyed yelp.

"That’s enough, Zoren!" snaps the Mother Superior, clearly irritated by such displays of humanity. "You’re not paid to mother the patients! This girl is a little tramp who doesn’t even deserve the tenderness of a miserable peasant like you!"

The woman lets go of Azula and looks her straight in the eye:

"Tch—look at you, I’ve gone and left you all messed up. Hold still now, lemme fix that."

Zoren smooths the clothes she’d wrinkled in the embrace, and as she pats Azula’s hip to straighten the pocket of her apron, Azula shoves her away sharply.

“Don’t touch me, peasant!”

She feels a little guilty about speaking so rudely to the only person who has shown her humanity, but h er intrusive kindness irritates her deeply as she heads blindly toward her new life. This isn't the nurse who's going to have to spend the rest of her days with a n irascible old woman who doesn't know the definition of words like "empathy" or "humor," not that Azula feels much like laughing right now.

The Mother Superior rolls her eyes and turns on her heel.

"Come on, that's enough. Follow me, young lady!" she orders Azula, who follows obediently, heading without resistance towards a life of humiliation and eternal sorrow.

It was only hours later that she discovered it, after an exhausting journey during which she had to endure sermons interrupted by moralizing silences from the Mother Superior.

She’d barely finished putting her things on the shelf in the room she will share with five other girls who are glaring at her. She slowly unties her apron, her cheeks burning at the thought of undressing in front of these commoners . She muse s, remembering that just a few months ago, laying eyes on her without permission would have been met with severe punishment. Now, curious eyes stare at her shamelessly as she prepares for bed. But as she carefully folds the apron, something falls to the floor. Since she took ages to undress, the other girls lost interest in her and started talking again. No one else seems to have noticed the small, shiny object that has slipped under her bed. Azula discreetly bends down and encases it in her palm.

Footsteps echo in the corridor to the sound of a bell.

“Everyone to bed! Lights out in five minutes!”

The other girls hurry to gather their things , and Azula, forgetting her modesty, finishes undressing and puts on her nightgown. She turns her back on her roommates and faces the moonlit wall. There, she finally opens the palm of her hand. The small artifact is a little damp, but she easily identifies it under the bluish glow of the night star.

It's a gold-plated medallion, quite plain, without ornamentation. A worthless trinket bought from a peasant vendor’s stall. Zoren must have slipped it surreptitiously into her apron pocket while smoothing out her clothes. Azula finds the small clasp on the side and opens it instantly, revealing its secret. She stifles a gasp as the contents spill onto the mattress. Tears well up as she realizes what it is, a lump the size of a melon clogging her throat.

She hurriedly gathers the scattered hairs, as if fearing a sudden gust might burst through the window and snatch away her treasure. She picks up each strand, arranging them into a spike of black hair, placing it back against the gold background of the medallion, where it stands out starkly despite the darkness.

When dawn breaks, slowly bathing the walls in pink and golden light, Azula still isn’t asleep, her heart in pieces, eyes fixed on Zoren’s gift. Later, when the warden’s bell rings down the hall and her roommates stretch and yawn, she’s still caressing the only memory of the little life she carried in her womb.

Azula waits at the edge of the fountain, illuminated by the soft glow of the small polished glass candle holders she has lit. He promised he would come again tonight. The moon shines with a brightness much like the evening when she discovered, tucked inside the locket of a rather uncouth nurse, a small lock of hair as black as her own. Its ghostly glow casts a silver halo around her. She has chosen the perfect spot, knowing that from here she will look utterly irresistible. The moon holds a special place in the hearts of the Water Tribe people.

One of the girls from the convent had told her about the power of associative thinking in the art of seduction. A somewhat extravagant and whimsical girl, with a ravenous imagination. She reminded her of Ty Lee, and perhaps that’s why Azula agreed to make her her companion in misfortune during her time there. Her parents had locked her up in that convent, hoping to tame her free and eccentric spirit. Far from turning her into a docile girl ready to marry, those years cut off from the world only fed her gentle madness—a contagious one at that. The other girls, like her, began reading signs everywhere, seeing messages in the patterns on the surface of the moon sent by young lovers in search of absolute love.

Azula often rolled her eyes at this nonsense, but one day, she witnessed an interesting event. Beneath her jovial and friendly exterior, the girl was the most manipulative bitch she'd ever met! When Azula followed her one night and unmasked her deception, the girl agreed to reveal her tricks, and they became friends.

Zirin taught her how to use the combination of several factors to get what she wants from people, and Azula has put these lessons into practice every day since returning to the palace. Azula knows of Sokka’s deep attachment to the traditions and symbols of his people. She also senses his desire for her, even if he’s not yet ready to admit it. Moreover, she understands that food is more than just a pleasure for him—it’s an obsession. A delicious aroma of cinnamon-filled cakes wafts from the paper bag she had a servant send into town to fetch.

Azula takes advantage of her suitor’s delay to steal a glance at the locket and the treasure it holds. Not a night has passed since she discovered Zoren’s gift tucked in her apron without her losing herself in the contemplation of that lock of hair, cut from the head of a newborn. In the stillness of night, she tries to imagine what the child looks like—what color and shape his eyes might be. Did he (or she?) inherit the pure gold of Zuko’s eyes, or the dark amber of her own? At six years old, the child has undoubtedly begun to show talents for firebending. Azula herself summoned her first flame at the remarkable age of three and a half, while Zuko didn’t produce his first spark until he was five.

Azula closes the locket and holds it to her heart.

It never occurred to her to challenge her father's warnings. Ozai wasn't a man to make empty threats. Sometimes she wonders why he let the child live. Did he hope to one day make him or her his heir?

Ozai is dead now, but the Mother Superior's harsh and cruel words still ring painfully in Azula’s ears: "If you do anything to find your runt, his guardians will smother it in its sleep."

She hopes—perhaps somewhat naively—that her baby’s guardians have grown attached over time and won’t dare to end the life of the child they have nurtured and watched grow. But then she remembers it was Ozai himself who chose the family to raise the child—the same man who was willing to sacrifice his own son to atone for his insolence before an equally unyielding father.

Does Zuko have a chance of approaching their baby without arousing suspicion? Will Ozai have gone so far as to confess to this family the shameful secret of their pupil’s origins? She doesn't know, but she also knows that her brother is the greatest tracker of all time. During his travels, he has made many encounters, and if anyone can bring back the child who was taken from her, it's him.

Unfortunately, Zuko is too busy saving his ass and his trampled friendship with the young Water Tribe leaders. He was on the right track until she stole the boy, right from under his nose. Sokka didn't even realize he was drifting toward her. After their first meeting at the foot of this very fountain, he watched his feet lead him back to the meeting place, night after night. He doesn't seem to understand what drives him back, and this pantomime of a lovesick lover fills Azula with an exquisite sense of satisfaction.

He's certainly not ugly. She's noticed the light glinting off his coppery skin and square jaw. His ultramarine eyes, where the foam-fringed waves of the southern seas seem to dance. More than once in the past few days, she's found herself devising steamy scenarios, some involving a furious Zuzu bursting into the bedroom before joining in the lovemaking, the two men dueling over her.

Azula stifles a nervous chuckle and sneezes, a strange and inexplicable reaction of her body whenever her mind gives birth to unspeakable fantasies.

“Did you catch a cold? I didn't know that was possible in this country!”

She looks up—and there he is. He’s swapped his blue peasant garb for a more sober tunic in the colors of the Fire Nation. She feels a smirk tug at her lips. So it’s already begun, she thinks. She doesn’t recall ever seeing his sister, even during her rare appearances, dressed in anything other than the signature azure of their nation.

Sokka wore a sleeveless tunic that perfectly showcased his well-developed biceps, and she felt a subtle stirring deep in her belly. She had never fully surrendered herself to another man. At the convent, she allowed her lovers to caress her at will and claim her body, freely offering her own favors without shame. They competed in inventiveness to bring her to ecstasy, and she had to find ways to temper their impatience. Yet none had ever possessed her as her brother did. That made her both the most desirable and the most skilled of mistresses. She knows Sokka sensed this intuitively, despite her flawless performance of the ideal princess—an emblem of purity and fragility. It always unsettles Zuko a little whenever he hears her extol the merits of virtuous behavior in public.

“There you are,” she simpers in her most coaxing voice. “I nearly waited for you, Sokka of the Water Tribe.”

She’s well aware of the effect this somewhat ceremonious title has on him. He likes it when she treats him like a prince, and from the way his chest swells with pride, she can tell the charm hasn’t worn off over time.

Zirin, you are a genius, she thinks, thinking of her friend from the convent.

She puts her locket back around her neck and it disappears into the valley of her chest. She feels the cold touch of the metal against her heart.

“Ready for our evening walk?” she asks. “There’s a new place I’d like to show you. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Sokka looks behind him, as he does every time she drags him into the depths of the night. He still wonders what he's doing there, probably terrified that his sister or one of the members of his delegation of degenerate barbarians will discover them together.

The contrast makes her smile because she herself shivers with excitement at the thought of Zuko discovering them. After their private breakfast, she waited for the jealousy—so inherent to his nature—to consume him completely. She expected him to burst into her room, fiery and demanding his due. By putting such pressure on him, he would eventually give in and grant her request.

But he hasn't come. It's been several days now since he last mentioned the Sages or their ultimatum. She doesn't know where he spends his nights and worries that his spies will return empty-handed from the taverns and brothels where he compromises his virtue every night. Azula is starting to get impatient, but she won't be the one to make the first move. No one has seen him wear down the paved courtyard of the royal family training yard, nor in the arena where she practices for hours each day. She finds it almost inconceivable that, with only eight days left before the fight, he is neglecting his exercises.

But Sokka came. He didn't show up, of course, but she knows he's been watching her through the casement windows. There's a reason she chose to train here, in the arena, rather than in the training yard reserved for members of the royal family.

There, dressed in flowing workout pants and a bright red bra that reveals the satiny skin of her back and stomach, she performs her most beautiful figures, moving among her azure flames like a hellish dancer. Sokka is mesmerized, unable to take his eyes off the scene, and she can easily imagine what fantasies keep him awake at night in his silk sheets.

This evening again, he seems hesitant.

“A problem?” she asks in a velvet voice.

“Uh… listen, Azula… I- I don't know how to tell you this but…”

She perfectly controls the mask of disappointment that she lets flow over her face, and guilt quickly covers Sokka's features.

"So, you too... Are you abandoning me?” she whispers, very vulnerable.

“W-what?”

“I thought we were friends. But I was wrong, of course… No sane person would want girls like me in their life…”

“Oh no!” he reassures her. He reaches for her shoulder but stops himself at the last second. She’s still the princess of the Fire Nation, and she’s always the one to make the first move when it comes to getting closer. Even a barbarian like him understands that. Oh, she wouldn’t mind if he took the lead—She’s let men of far humbler birth treat her in ways that would make Sokka’s beautiful copper skin pale.

“Listen,” he continues, “I didn't mean that, I‒”

“It's because of your sister, that’s it? Do you feel like you're betraying her by spending time with me?”

“I- uh...”

Sokka doesn't always shine with his conversational skills, though he can be funny and subtle when he's comfortable. He's confused now, and it's exhilarating to see him torn between loyalty to his tribe and the desire to find out where she's planned for them.

“I know I've done terrible things in the past, and I deserve your contempt...”

She lowers her eyes to the ground, in a perfect performance of contrition.

"Zuzu himself doesn't want to believe I've changed. I can see he distrusts me. I see the hatred in his eyes every time he looks at me, or when I speak to you. As if he thought I was going to reduce you all to ashes in your sleep.”

“What? No! I don't believe that!” he protests.

“Your sister believes it, doesn't she? She's the one who warned you? I understand, don't worry. After all, I almost killed the boy she loved... And my father did kill him.”

She presses her thumb and forefinger into her eye sockets—a gesture she’s borrowed from Zuko, one she’s watched him repeat a thousand times when the weight of guilt folds him inward. Sokka recognizes the sign, and, casting caution to the wind, takes a step toward her.

“Azula… Okay, yes, I admit it. Katara doesn’t trust you. I tried to tell her you’ve changed, but she won’t hear it. She still thinks you’re only being nice to me so I’ll spill where the—”

“The Avatar,” Azula finishes, defeated. “She probably assumes the bloodthirsty murderer in me is practically drooling at the thought of killing a small child barely out of diapers.”

“Uh… yeah. That’s basically it in a nutshell,” Sokka concedes.

“What about you? D-do you feel the same?”

Sokka didn't see her coming and he shudders when Azula's hand brushes the canvas of his tunic, right across his chest. His lust is so obvious, he could make a hat out of it and parade around the palace, she thinks with amusement.

Maybe that would finally get Zuko to react.

Maybe it’s time for her to speed things up with Sokka, so that the stubborn, narrow-minded boy who acts as her brother finally understands into whose skin she intends to sink her claws. He’s probably still picturing her dishonoring herself with some vulgar stable boy, with no other motive than to get under his skin. To a king, a princess of loose morals is an endless source of embarrassment, and if the Sages crown him Fire Lord, he doesn’t need his little sister—officially his most precious treasure—to ruin his name and reputation. Even if he had no qualms about destroying hers years ago.

Her anger at Zuko, still intact, gradually takes over her features and she doesn't have to overplay to let the tears flow down her beautiful face.

It's too much for Sokka who, unable to take it any longer, catches her hand in his and squeezes it.

“No, don't cry! Please! You know what? Why don't you take me to see that place you wanted to show me?”

Azula turns around slowly, taking care to wipe her eyelids with the edge of her free hand. She sniffs once for emphasis. A lopsided smile plays on Sokka's lips.

“Really? You want to?”

“Damn Katara and her warnings! She sees the evil in everyone since Aang left...”

Azula gives him a weak smile and holds out her hand, wet with salty tears.

Sokka grabs it.

“Then come with me!”

And she drags him with her into the night.

"Hey! Wait!" He stops her dead in her tracks and she almost feels her shoulder dislocate. "Aren't we bringing the cinnamon cakes?"

“Ah! The bastards!”

Zuko rolls the letter into a ball and throws it in front of him. It hits the window and bounces to the floor, where it falls, slightly unfolding, like the corpse of a cockroach turned onto its back.

Furious, he tries to calm down, spreading his arms wide across the top of his oak desk – Ozai’s desk – as he struggles to steady his breathing. He has given the best arguments. They couldn’t possibly refuse him after that! He can easily picture those old farts on the Council celebrating the outcome, mocking their future sovereigns over a banquet where wine flows freely. Besides, are the Sages even allowed to drink? he wonders vaguely. Ah, what does it matter! It’s clear these men are nothing but opportunists and careerists—profiteers who cloak themselves in virtue while hiding behind a patchwork of traditions they wave like banners in everyone’s faces. But Zuko knows who they really are.

Ozai isn’t even cold yet, that they’ve already developed a taste for the power the vacant throne offers. Zuko seriously questions their strategy and grows uneasy. If they refused his request, does it mean they have already made their choice? What purpose would antagonizing their future monarch just days before the official announcement serve?
A cold shiver runs down his spine as the vivid image of Azula appears in his mind—sitting behind a curtain of cerulean flames hotter than the sun’s rays. It’s been three days since he last spoke to his sister in private. She can’t ignore the anxiety the looming deadline must be causing her. She surely believes that by playing for time, Zuko will eventually give in to her ridiculous blackmail.

He wouldn't be surprised if she had something to do with the Sages’ rejection. He imagines Azula sitting at a table facing the assembled Council, dictating the letter he just read, then laughing with them at the childish naivety of his arguments.

Peace. World balance. Respect for human rights... Empty words for ambitious people like his sister and the old goats of the Council.

They couldn’t care less about what might happen to the world. All they crave is a powerful Fire Nation, ruled by a bold and authoritarian leader who will restore the power they long to reclaim after a century under the Fire Lord’s yoke. They know they hold a card worth playing.

By stripping his heirs—albeit unofficially—of their title, Ozai created a gaping void, and the elders wasted no time stepping into it. Azula will undoubtedly seize the opportunity to deliver him a lesson in political science, a subject she knows all too well. But for that to happen, she will first have to show up.

Can’t she see that nothing good can come from finding that absurd quest : to bring back the vile product of their crime? That it could expose them irrevocably, in the eyes of both their people and the wider world?

What will the Sages say when Zuko returns from his journey, a bastard child in his arms, and hands him over to his mother, who pulls him into a crushing embrace? It won’t take them long to connect the dots: a daughter exiled for seven years in a convent; a son nowhere to be found, erased from the family tree by a wrathful father…

Some people knew, even back then. Azula spoke of servants who had supposedly denounced her. Knowing his father, Zuko is certain he would have dealt with any troublesome witnesses—but there’s no guarantee others, clever enough to keep quiet, won’t resurface unexpectedly.

And then, to hell with the Avatar, to hell with politics and power games. They’ll be dragged through the mud. The Sages will make sure that the whole world knows in which vile crime the two young heirs to the throne once wallowed. Katara and Sokka will never look at him the same way again.

“Zuko? Is… is everything all right?”

He hasn’t heard her approach. He turns sharply, a flame flaring to life in his clenched fist. Katara recoils, and he immediately softens. The fire vanishes as if snuffed out by a sudden breeze.

“Katara… Excuse me, I didn’t expect to see you tonight…”

“The captain of the guards told me you'd be here, so...”

“No problem, you did well.”

He can't explain why the young woman's presence soothes him, and his anger toward the Sages and Azula quickly dissolves in the shy smile she gave him. He’d thought he'd ever see that smile again, and it triggers something in his chest he couldn't name.

It would be presumptuous to say they've reconciled, let alone to claim she's forgiven him for abandoning them. But after three evenings spent together in the privacy of the small living room where they meet, she grudgingly admitted that she always knew he wasn't responsible for Aang's death.

“I was there,” she recalled. “I know how much you wanted to destroy your father. You wanted Aang to win. It-it was dishonest of me to pretend otherwise…”

And yet, he feels trust slowly taking shape—thread by thread—like the intricate weave of a vast tapestry, revealing something quietly magnificent. Since his friends' return, he’s begun to believe that the bright future he once abandoned might still be within reach. Together, with the new Avatar’s help, they may yet restore balance to this fractured world.

But Azula remains—his dark star, his secret in the shadow. If only he could find a way to convince her to work hand in hand—a way that wouldn’t cost him the last shreds of honor he still clings to.

With Katara, he is painfully aware of the evil that gnaws at him each day. Two amber, devilish eyes; lips as red as the blood she shed for him that spring evening on the beach; a black mane he could touch endlessly without ever tiring. Until he breaks free of this obsession, he cannot become the good and honest man he longs to be.

He got lost along the way and became the shadow of that man, not to say his evil reflection.

He must possess her. Only then will he be free—once he’s had her one final time, once he’s taken everything she has to offer, once he’s grown weary of her. It’s an illusion to think he can resist temptation. He couldn’t as a teenager, even when a peaceful, happy life with Mai was within reach. He ruined this for the sweet darkness of these forbidden nights.

By abruptly ending their secret affair, Zuko only made matters worse, like a drug addict who decides to quit suddenly, instead of gradually reducing his dose of opium. Azula became a beacon in the darkness of his soul. Each of his conquests was only the pale reflection of a desperate search. A vain quest for the ideal partner who would make him feel a thousandth of the thrill he felt when he slipped his hand between the thighs, sweaty with desire for his own flesh.

He can see her, squirming beneath his lascivious touch, her small breasts pointing toward the canopy stretched above them. He sees, as if in a dream, their two bodies burning with a passion as ardent as it is deadly, covered in a thin film of sweat as she rides him tirelessly in the cocoon of their four-poster bed.

Katara regards him with concern, her big blue eyes wide with fear of what he has to say, and he feels a pang of guilt. He feels like he's taking advantage of her. But she wouldn't understand. Who else would?

“Did you get a response?” she asks timidly.

Zuko doesn't answer. His finger trembling with suppressed rage, he points at the crumpled letter lying on the polished wooden floor. Katara steps forward cautiously, then crouches to pick it up. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko watches her, her sapphire gaze fixed on the faded inscriptions traced by an old hand.

“They refused,” she states, “less for him than for herself.”

“They refused,” Zuko echoes her words. “We only have one week left, and Azula is still playing for time! If we don’t have something solid to offer by then, I’ll have to face her again in an Agni Kai. And this time, I’ll be facing her alone. I doubt it’ll end with one of us chained to a gate while the other takes the throne. The Elders are waiting for a more definitive outcome!”

“What a shame Shyu isn’t here anymore,” Katara laments.

“Shyu?” Zuko frowns in incomprehension.

“You know, the Sage who helped Aang, Sokka, and me get into Roku’s temple. It was thanks to him that we escaped.”

“My father has him imprisoned,” Zuko recalls, frowning deeper as memories resurface from a life he thought he had left behind. “He kept him out of the public eye and avoided a trial, aware that executing a Sage would harm his image. Azula tells me about it when I return after…”

He doesn’t like talking about the conquest of Ba Sing Se—not with Katara, not with anyone. The decision that seals his fate now feels like the root of every bad choice he made.

“I find out later he fled during the eclipse. I don’t know what happened to him after that. But if he’d stayed on the Council, he surely would’ve helped us.”

Zuko pinches his nose, disappointed at losing an ally he barely realizes he had.

“I don’t see any satisfying solution,” he mutters.

“Zuko, I know you don’t want to fight with Azula. But… if you win—and I know you can—the threat she poses to your life, and to the world,” she adds, stressing each word, “all of it will disappear.”

“I won’t kill my sister,” he says, turning away from her, a little disappointed that this obvious truth doesn’t strike her. “Though to be fair, I wasn’t exactly a model of family loyalty seven years ago, when I urged Aang to kill my own father.”

“Do you trust her?” Katara presses.

“No”.

“Do you even like her?”

“It’s hard to like Azula. I think you’ve noticed.”

Katara pauses, then lowers her voice, as if about to speak a taboo.

“Do you… love her?”

“It’s complicated...”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to answering that question genuinely — a question he’s only ever asked himself until now.

“I know this scenario is far from ideal. But I don’t see one where we gain anything by keeping her around. Have you spoken to her recently?”

“No, not for several days,” he admits darkly. “She still refuses to stay alone with me.”

He can’t scrub the frustration from his voice—the deep irritation he’s been feeling since their last breakfast. Where is Azula now? In which moron’s arms is she taking revenge for his resistance?

“But why? That first night, she clung to you like a parasite to its host. It’s like you were her whole universe—and now, out of nowhere, she won’t even see you? Don’t you think she has something in mind?”

He thinks back to his hands wantonly kneading her bosom in the patio, to the throat she offered him—before refusing him once more.

“Azula always has something in mind,” he grumbles.

But I can't tell you. I never will.

And suddenly, shame consumes him. Looking down at his hands, he realizes the deplorable consequences of his actions. I impregnated my own sister and then abandoned her. I let our father lock her up and separate her from her child.

It's an unpleasant feeling. Zuko doesn't remember experiencing it often in recent years. Whenever it came knocking on the door of his heart, accompanied by its procession of shameful memories, Zuko simply closed the door by wallowing in the arms of a woman or starting a fight with some brawler.

He can't do this to Katara. Not that the idea disgusts him. Katara has grown and blossomed over the past seven years. He's noticed her full curves, more rounded than Azula's. When he talks to Katara, he sometimes gets lost in the contemplation of her brown curly hair swirling around her graceful neck. If she were anyone else, he would have already taken her to his bed without the slightest qualm.

“I know this is hard to believe,” he blurts out—less out of hope, and more to slam the door on his own guilt. “But I’m certain there’s a way to make Azula see reason.”

“Zuko! You're blind! You know that as soon as she finds the Avatar, she'll try to use him to rule the world. Or she'll seek to destroy him, as your ancestors did. Nothing matters more to her than power.”

Maybe so, he thinks to himself.

“Well,” Zuko said, stifling a mirthless laugh. “For now, there’s no risk! We’re as close to finding the Avatar as we are to building a bridge between the Northern and Southern Water Tribes. Azula herself hasn’t the slightest idea where he is…”

For some reason, Katara doesn’t reply. When Zuko turns to her, her expression is more troubled than usual.

“Katara… is there something you’re not telling me?” he asks gently, each word measured, careful not to push too hard.

In the four nights they’ve sat together by the fire, talking in hushed tones about the fate of the world, she hasn’t once hinted that she might know where the next Avatar is. And yet, something has shifted. The cracks in her emotional armor have begun to show in the soft flicker of firelight.

“What if…” she begins, hesitantly, “what if I had… clues? Nothing certain. Just suspicions. A trail that could lead us to him…”

“Katara…” Zuko’s shoulders sink. His good eye narrows with restrained sorrow, the other almost retreating into the folds of his scar. “You know I’d never hurt—”

He stops short, refusing to say the name that never fails to bring tears to her eyes.

“I know,” she murmurs.

“If you tell me what you know,” he presses, “and I go to the Sages, swear on my honor that I’ll bring the Avatar back—maybe they’ll cancel the Agni Kai. We’d gain precious time.”

Her silence speaks louder than words.

“And who’s to say that, if I talk, you won’t run straight to her?”

“To Azula?”

Her eyes answer for her. Zuko exhales, exasperated.

“Just because I don’t want her dead doesn’t mean I want her on the throne,” he says, his voice strained.

Katara lowers her gaze, her fingers twisting in her lap. Then, her eyes drift toward the window, where a cherry blossom branch sheds its delicate pink petals like silent snowfall. Against the blue canvas of the sky, they fall like a rain of ghosts.

“Katara… talk to me. I know you don’t trust me—not really—but what choice do we have? Would you rather I run into a fatal fight with Azula, not knowing if I’ll survive?”

Her silence speaks volume. Her eyes drop again, and the flush rising in her copper-toned cheeks tells him that it’s exactly what she expects from him. This is how she expects him to redeem himself. A weight the size of an anvil settles in his stomach.

“I’m sorry, Zuko,” she whispers. “I… I can’t tell you.”

And just like that, she leaves—vanishing into the shadows, and leaving him more confused than ever.

Katara, he thinks, is like a snow-capped mountain hidden in clouds: beautiful, distant, and unreachable. The path to her trust is steep, and he knows he can't conquer this summit alone. He’ll need a partner.

Sokka, at least, has been more willing to give him a chance. Though far from warm, he’s listened, shared a meal, where Katara would not.

Yes—Sokka might be the key.

What Zuko doesn’t know is that the key has already been taken—gripped tightly in a hand with long, manicured nails. A hand that knows exactly how to use it.