Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Anyone with blue eyes, Madame wants you. Front of House, NOW!” Yuko screams into the cramped sleeping quarters we all share. Cots and bunks shoved into corners are stacked too high to be safe.

She doesn't need to scream, the room is small enough and none of us truly sleep deep enough anyway.

I get it though.

It's really the only time she's allowed to scream. To let out a crumb of the anger. The rage. We have to be quiet, demure, meek. That's the way men like us. That's how you do well in the Red Houses. Keep your head down, do what you're told, and you get less and less ‘difficult’ clients.

It's a silent hierarchy.

Yuko has adhered to it perfectly. She's Madame's top girl. She has two different colored eyes. One green, one grey, and blonde hair that's smooth like silk. In the quiet moments when we have hushed conversations we think she might've been from somewhere in Ba Sing Se. She was sweet and always used a soft voice with the men, batting her long lashes at them, whispering what they wanted into their ear. That was Yuko's mistake. Being too good. Now Madame will never let her go. Now she lashes out, just enough to be considered ‘difficult’ but never enough to incur any real punishment beyond the cane every now and again.

I'm just behind Yuko.

Not because I give stellar blow jobs or anything. Apparently it's my looks. Dark tan skin, wild curly hair, and those forbidden bright blue eyes. I look ‘exotic’ by their standards here in the Fire Nation. Exciting. Different. I’m quiet too, I keep my head down, do the work, with little complaint, and I’m friendly enough with the other girls. So I'm requested, a lot.

“I wonder what freakshow we'll be serving today.” Lin is much more blunt. The men like that from her though. She's tall, with broad shoulders. She towers over the other girls, and even has some height over the clients we serve. She's asked to spank the men, degrade them, make them feel weak at their request. Her sharp almond eyes carry a soft blue, set above high prominent cheekbones and a square jaw. Her thick straight black hair is cut with sharp angled bangs and an intimidating looking undercut, that she shows off with high tight ponytails.

She's got more confidence than most of us. Since she's the one who holds power in the privacy of the clients’ rented rooms.

Three other girls rise with us, sleepily wiping their eyes. One is barely a child. She was brought here a few months ago. She looks like me. Like my people. She's fourteen. The same age I was when they raided my tribe three years ago.

Again.

They took girls from us.

Again.

I don’t know her name. They cut her tongue out for screaming, and cursing, and fighting. They took her right hand, for bending. Yuko calls her Stump. The name has stuck.

There are consequences.

They won't kill you right away, but they'll make you wish they did.

“Let's go!” Yuko calls from the hall.

The five of us hustle out of the room, our bare feet padding against the worn floorboards until we reach the front of House, where the well maintained marble floors gleam under the soft red light.

We line up by height, as clients expect when 'choosing girls' from Red Houses’. I’m second to last, just before Stump.

An official looking man, dressed in what look like Nobles robes, assesses us with heavy amber eyes. His face is creased in wrinkles, his brow set in what looks to be a permanent scowl. His sharp eyes land on Stump, “She can go to Lau.” He nods to a portly man, watching from just next to the front door.

“Awh! Why that one!? She’s damaged!” His voice sounds like he can’t breathe through his nose properly.

“You’ll take what you get. Our deal is done.” the nobel turns to Madame, “How much for her contract?”

“Six copper pieces.” Madame's voice is sharp and final.

Stump turns to her, her eyes pleading. She shakes her head frantically, muffled sounds coming from her as she begs wordlessly.

“Shut up girl!” The Noble yells at her, as he drops the six pieces that determine Stumps value as a human being, into Madame's slender hand.

Madame produces a scroll from inside the front of her robes, handing it to the portly man named Lau. “She’s all yours.”

Stump starts screaming now, her face beet red, tears streaming. Anger, hurt and fear evident on her pretty face. A Palace guard that had been waiting by the door comes over, gripping her arm to pull her over to her new owner. She grabs my arm with her one hand, nails digging in. Her eyes plead with me, but there’s nothing I can do. Her mouth is open in wordless screams, I can see the torn scarred lump of what used to be her tongue, wriggling in her mouth, trying and failing to form words. 

To barter for her fate.

I shake my head at her, mouthing “I’m sorry.” As she’s dragged away, just behind Lau.

Her screams echo through the room until the door slams behind them. The finality of her fate silences the room for a few seconds.

Blood runs down my arm in stinging rivulets, but I ignore it. 

“We’re in need of some blue eyes at the Red Flame.” The Noble sighs, turning back to Madame, “We’ll take two...” He paces along the line of the four of us that are left. He smiles at Lin, she’s the same height as him, “I’ve enjoyed your services before. Your hand is strong with that whip, I think you’ll do nicely.” He turns to Madame, the wordless question of her value evident in his arched brow.

“Twenty gold pieces. She’s one of my top girls.” Madame explains quickly.

The noble clicks his tongue, “Fifteen.”

“Eighteen.”

“Done.”

Lin steps over to the guards, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She’d taken Stump under her wing, kept her safe when the other girls tried to bully her. I know she’s heartbroken. She keeps her face neutral, but I can see the storm brewing in her dark blue eyes. Whoever requests her services next will be in for a world of pain, to their delight of course. But also to Lin’s catharsis.

The Noble assesses the three of us left, he walks over to me, “This hair,” He takes a curl, sniffing the spiral lock. “She looks exotic. Tasty.” He runs a hand over my shoulder, feeling my skin, “She’s soft too.”

I fight the shiver that wants to skitter down my spine.

He turns to Madame, “I know these are hard to come by, how long have you had her?”

“A little over a year.”

“Is she good?”

“Very, Sir.”

He turns to me, “Are you? A good girl?” He brushes a curl from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek. I tamp down the urge to bite his hand. Taste his blood.

Instead, I smile charmingly up at him, fluttering my eyelashes, “Of course, Sir.” I say in my sweetest, smallest voice.

“Mmm. Very good.” His eyes trail down, fixing on the slight gape in the front of my sleeping tunic. He takes one finger, opening the gap further to peer at my bare body underneath, “Yes, you’ll do nicely among the Royal Court. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had such a tasty little treat at the Flame.” He turns to Madame again, the same arched brow questioning my value now.

“She’s a favorite among my clientele, she brings in a lot of business for me. And you’ve already bought my other dark one.” Madame purses her lips.

“I was sent by the Royal Court to fill the Red Flame with satisfactory girls for the Palace's enjoyment. Are you questioning the Royal Court?”

“No, Sir. I simply--”

“ How much? ” The Noble seems annoyed at having to ask directly.

Madame chews her lip a moment, considering, “Two hundred gold.”

“Done.” He pushes me to stand next to Lin, “I would've paid five.” He smirks at Madame.

“Your patronage, as always, is greatly appreciated.” She turns to the two of us, “Grab your things, five minutes.”

“No need. The Flame provides all necessities,” The Noble waves his hand dismissively.

“Sir, I do have a few items that I use for my services.” Lin speaks quickly, “Including a particular tool, that you seemed to very much enjoy last time.” She gives him her best Dominant smile.

His cheeks pink lightly, before he covers it by clearing his throat, “Very well, five minutes.”

I let out a breath, following Lin back to our sleeping quarters. She stops at Stump's bed first, taking the silk scarf she’d tie around her handless wrist to dance around with when we were entertaining clients. The muffled cries of her barely held in tears are quieted by the rough hurried sounds of her packing the few possessions she’s been able to accumulate.

I only have a few items that I’ve managed to hang on to over the years. A bracelet that contains strands of mine and my brother's hair. Braided into leather strips from the arctic seals my people hunt for food in the South Pole. The charm from my mothers betrothal necklace. Delicate waves and curls carved with tender love, from my fathers family, passed down through his mother. The light blue stone is cool and glassy in my palm. I heave out a sigh, packing away the few clothing items I own, donning my worn shoes and the lighter walking cloak we’re all given in the Red Houses.

Lin’s face is lightly flushed, the only sign that she’d been letting out any emotion, as we make our way back to the front of House. Madame bows lightly as we’re ushered through the doors by the guards. There is no goodbye, no ceremony at our departure. We follow The Noble, he gestures to a smaller less ornate carriage that's hooked to the back of a much larger and more opulent main carriage, “You’ll ride there, with the guards.” He turns to the two large men, “Don’t touch the merchandise, unless you want your hands cut off. They’re to be delivered fresh to the Flame, for inspection by Madame Kaji.”

One guard scoffs, but nods. The other stays silent.

Lin steps closer to me, her protection immediately evident. She holds the two guards' eyes in a glare, daring them to challenge her, begging them to fight her. To allow her to release the hurt, the rage she’s feeling over Stump.

They simply turn, leading the way to the carriage.

It smells like sweat and feces inside. Lin presses close to me, her taller frame shielding me from the disquieting stares of the guards. This carriage is less secured, shaking and bumping with every stone in the road. I must've fallen asleep at some point, because when I’m awake again the sunlight coming in through the small curtained window is a much deeper orange than the bright yellow of this morning. I’m slumped against Lins muscled arm, she’s still sitting up straight, her back stiff. I blink away the strange sensation of unregistered sleep, looking over to see the guards, still staring at me.

One of them smiles, a wide grin spreading across his mouth, showing off his yellow teeth.

Lin scoots closer to me, her glare silently screaming at him to back off.

The carriage jerks to a stop, the guards quickly exit first. Lin goes ahead of me, purposely blocking my exit from their view. She positions herself halfway in front of me as we wait for the Noble to exit the main carriage.

The lanterns hold the familiar soft glow of the Red House district. We’re in the main city now. The capital. The buildings are bigger, more ornate, even in this area of sin and debauchery. 

The Noble simply waves us over, leading us into a large building with red fire motifs and official Palace banners.

We remove our shoes at the landing.

“Ah Madame Kaji! We’ve brought the girls requested by the Palace. Two sets of blue eyes.” The Nobel’s hands rest on my shoulders, pushing me forward, “This one is an exotic. She’ll bring in good coin to your House.”

Madame Kaji is a tall, slender woman. Her hair is in a bun so tight it pulls the skin of her face taught. Almost to the point it appears she might not be able to express any emotion beyond disdain. She's adorned in golden robes, bracelets and rings jingling with her every movement. Several golden hair pins are stuck all through her bun. Her eyes are rimmed in a dark kohl, on her lips she wears a shining gold lipstick. Her dark brown eyes are severe over a thin pointed nose and hollow cheeks. She’s much older than our last Madame, likely having been in the business since she herself was a child. Her eyes are cruel, raking over me.

“Take off that cloak.”

I undo the clasp at my collar, draping the cloak over one arm.

She scrunches her nose at the shapeless sleeping tunic I'm still dressed in, “Take that off.”

I let out a breath, pulling the garment over my head, her gaze scrutinizing the goosebumps that raise on my skin.

“Turn.” 

I do.

“Small chest, but shapely bum.” She assesses, “That hair will be popular.” She steps closer, her finger running over the now scabbed over scratches on my arm from Stump.”Did you get in a fight?”

I shake my head, “No Ma’am.”

“Are you going to be trouble with the other girls?” 

I shake my head again. 

She clicks her tongue, “Then what happened?” 

“Um, just— ran into the doorframe. I wasn’t paying enough attention, and–” 

Her raised hand stops my words, “Don’t lie to me, girl. I know the mark of another's nails when I see it.”

My eyes fall to the floor, “Another girl… didn’t want to leave our last House.” I swallow the lump that wants to form in my throat. 

“Unfortunate.” She acknowledges. The sharp tip of her nail tilts my chin to meet her eyes again, “This is your one warning, girl. Don’t ever lie to me again, and we’ll get along just fine here.”

I swallow hard, nodding, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good.” Her hand drops back to her side as she turns to Lin, “You look like a man.”

“I provide special services, Ma’am.” Lin’s voice holds that edge she reserves for clients when they’re looking to be put down.

Madame Kaji's eyebrows actually raise in surprise, then she smiles, “I see. That may go over well yet with the Nobles.” She steps closer, her eyes raking over Lin’s taller, more broad build, “Cloak,” She waves a dismissive hand, her nose scrunching again at the tunic that was standard at our old House. She wordlessly waves her hand for Lin to take it off as well. She clicks her tongue again, silently circling Lin who keeps her eyes trained on the far wall, “Oh very nice, yes, you’ll do perfectly for what I’ve got in mind.” Her eyes flick back to me, “You’ll be a feature. Trusted clients only. Can’t have any overzealous Nobles damaging such rare packaging.”

I simply nod.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” I answer first.

“Young, and fresh. Perfect.” Madame Kaji smiles.

“Twenty-Two.” Lin says without prompt.

“Seasoned, experienced. I may have you teach some of my younger girls the ropes if you prove useful.” Madame Kaji seems to nod in approval of her own idea.. “How long have you both worked in the Red Houses?”

“Three years. Just about.” I say.

“Nine years.” Lin's voice is quieter on this answer.

“How many Houses have you served?”

“Four, counting here.”

Lin shifts on her feet, “Eleven.”

Madame Kaji’s eyes fall to my faded and worn undergarments, then over to Lin's matching pair. “Have either of you been pregnant?”

I shake my head.

“Once. Six years ago.” Lin's voice has gotten even quieter. 

Every year she has a small private birthday for the baby boy that only made it four days. She lights a candle, and all the girls in the House give her whatever coin we can scrape together so she can purchase a sweet for herself. Last year, we managed a cake, everyone got a slice. Lin sobbed over the haphazard bouquet we made her as a gift for her loss, using flowers we sneakily picked just outside the fence. It was one of the nicest days I’ve experienced since being torn from my home. That evening we served a party who only requested to watch us dance while they drank. No one had to provide anything extra. Lin was convinced it was her son giving us a respite for the day.

“And you are both intact? Regular cycles?” Madame Kaji’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

We both nod.

“Good. We provide a contraceptive tea, you’re to drink it with breakfast every other morning. If you suspect you may be with child do not try to hide it. We track the purchase and dispensing of feminine napkins. Even then, we do monthly checks. Urine tests, included. Any illnesses or infections are to be reported immediately. You are not to work while sick, not even a stuffy nose. We serve the elite. Anything passed on to them should merely be a pleasant evening and a desire to return.” She holds both our eyes a few seconds each, her practiced speech and pauses clear, “Have either of you ever contracted anything from a client?”

“I got a rash during my first month working.” I answer honestly.

“How long ago was this?”

I mentally count quickly, “A little less than three years ago.”

“Was it treated?”

I nod.

“Any symptoms since?”

I shake my head.

“Good.” She turns to Lin.

“I’ve had the odd infection when the men weren’t properly clean. They were treated, and didn’t come back. Recently, I’ve not had to engage in penetration, as many of my clients have preferred insertion.”

Madame Kaji nods, “And when was the last time you dealt with any infection?”

“Over a year.”

“Hm. Don’t expect not to be penetrated here. These men have certain proclivities, and I do not tolerate a stubborn girl. No matter how skilled. Now matter how popular. Whether you’re working in one of the rented rooms, or are summoned to a residence, you represent this House.” Her tone is sharp and her gaze threatening. “The men are required to be screened and clean before we accept any coin here. We permit no walk-ins. This House has a reputation, uphold it, and your life here will be secure.”

“Yes Ma’am.” We say in unison. 

She gestures to a young girl who’s standing awkwardly in the corner, “Burn the tunics and cloaks.” She addresses us again, “We provide three sets of clothing, one is lined for the colder months. You’ll receive a slip for sleeping in. All undergarments are provided by this House. You will get four pairs. Any special events, you will wear specific outfits. Every piece is to be returned, undamaged and clean. If you cannot sew, learn. Our color is red, wear it proudly, wear it well.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Take off those rags, and get cleaned up. Your slips will be brought to you shortly.”

We remove our undergarments, both of us fully naked now.

The Noble clears his throat, “Their contracts are still in my possession.” His eyes slide along my skin, settling on the vee between my legs.

Madame Kaji nods, “Of course. My office is this way.” She leads The Noble through one of the many doors, leaving us in awkward silence.

The young girl runs over, scooping up our clothing and bowing quickly before disappearing somewhere else into the House.

Lin lets out a heavy breath. We both know we’re not permitted to wander the House. Not until we’re familiar with where we are to be when on and off duty. The silence rings in my ears, the insulation must be top notch here, for discretion, of course.

A different door opens, producing another girl, who looks closer to my age. She has gentle blue eyes. She’s taller than me, her soft brown hair rippling down her back like ocean waves. “Hello.” Her voice is soft too. She has two swaths of crimson fabric draped over one arm, she passes one to each of us, “We may have to resize yours,” She notes to Lin. 

They're silk slips, the color of blood. Of this House.

“Don’t put them on yet, Madame Kaji will want to have you checked over after cleaning up.” She gestures for us to follow her through the door she came in. 

She leads the way through winding halls. Red velvety curtains are draped along the walls, surrounding Fire Nation banners. The floor is covered in a plush carpet, likely to keep walking sounds to a minimum. We don’t see any other girls on our way.

“Alright, showers are through here,” she points to the door just to her left, “Wait in there when you’re done. There’s towels so you don’t have to sit around naked. You get five minutes each with the water. House rules.” She looks over both of us, “Don’t be nervous. I’ve worked in some pretty dreadful Red Houses. This isn't one of them. Just keep your nose clean, and you’ll be fine.” She gives us a bright smile.

I can’t help smiling back, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing! I’m Suki by the way. I’m the newest before you two, I’ve been here almost a year. This place is pretty exclusive, so you two are lucky. Well as lucky as a woman can get these days, I guess.” She shrugs.

I nod, “I’m Katara.”

“Lin.”

Suki smiles again, “If you need anything, just let me know.” She turns to leave, “Oh and, welcome to the Red Flame.”

Chapter Text

“Just say it one more time. For me?” His eyes crinkle in a warm smile as he takes both my hands. He brings my knuckles up to his weathered lips, kissing gently. 

I giggle at the light contact, leaning in closer, and scrunching my nose in the cutesy smile he always likes, “I love you, Commander.” I say in a saccharine high pitched voice. 

He groans, a wicked smile now on his dry lips, “Five more minutes, come on?” He takes a step back, trying to pull me with him by my still held hands. 

My eyes flick just over his shoulder, to the clock ticking away steadily.

4…3…2…

I drop my hands from his, stepping fully back into the hall, “Commander, the Red Flame thanks you for your patronage tonight.” I clasp my hands behind my back, not giving him the chance to grab them again. 

“Aw come on! Things were just getting good.” He steps forward, gripping my hips. “One more round?”

A thick muscled arm shoots between us, pushing the Commander back into the rented room, “Your allotted time is up, Commander. Our girl has to move on to her next appointment.” Sen, one of the many burly men who assist in enforcing Madame Kaji's strict rules as a Ward, steps closer to the Commander, blocking him from pursuing me further, “Go on, Ms. Raine. Fifteen minutes.”

I nod, “Thank you, Sen.” I give him a genuine smile.

He returns it with a slight quirk of his lips. He’s kind to us girls, not just keeping us on schedule, but ensuring we’re not taken advantage of beyond our requirements working at the Red Flame.

I turn on my heel, hustling through the door lined halls of rentable rooms. Clients can reserve anywhere from one hour to the entire evening, but no more. Once the sun rises, we’re off duty. Unless we’re requested to a residence, which can span several days if the pay is right. Or if there is a special event. 

I make my way through the labyrinth-like back halls that I’m now intimately familiar with, easily finding my way back to one of the two private washrooms. I splash cool water on my face taking a deep breath, I rinse the sweat off my neck, patting my skin dry with a clean towel. I catch my reflection in the mirror. Bright blue eyes staring back at me.

Raine.

Not Katara.

Not here.

When we first arrived at the Red Flame, Madame Kaji explained that our birth names were to be sealed away, reserved only for private moments among ourselves. "Men don't pay for ordinary women," she said. "They pay for fantasies, for characters, for ideas."

Lin chose the name “Viper”. Suiting her Dominant services. The strength she has, the whip she uses. She commands respect, even in this gilded prison of silk and perfumes.

Suki goes by “Petal”. It’s delicate and soft, like the persona she presents to her clientele. They enjoy it, and it allows her to step away from her true self, hiding it away for moments she carves out for being who she chooses to be.

I remember the day I chose Raine. Madame Kaji had stood before me, tapping her long golden fingernails against her arm impatiently.

"Well?" she'd demanded. "What name will you work under?"

I'd thought of my home. Of the endless sea and sky. 

Of water in all its forms. 

Of freedom.

"Raine," I'd said quietly. "My name will be Raine."

Madame Kaji had raised an eyebrow. "Why that name?"

I'd given her the answer she wanted to hear: "It sounds exotic and mysterious. It will intrigue the clients all the more, Ma’am."

But the truth I kept to myself was different. Rain is water, my element, my people. It’s the power and identity they’ve tried to strip from me.

I glance at the clock on the back wall.

Eleven minutes.

There’s clocks all over the place, so we can keep on schedule. Clients slot times in our schedule. We get fifteen minutes between each one, to either clean up, take a brief rest, or change if our clothes were torn or stained during services. If a client is known to be particularly ‘messy’ we are allotted thirty minutes.

I strip quickly, using a warm rag to clean myself of the lubricant we use.There's an abundance always stocked in the drawers of the night stands in the rented rooms. When we first start out, we have to find creative ways to convince clients to use the lubricants.

We can’t just look at them and say, “When I look at you, I go dry, like sand. For the love of the Spirits, please use it, so you can have your fun. and convince yourself I’m having a good time.”

One way I’ve found is offering to compare the color of my hands to their members. They get excited at the idea of something deemed ‘exotic’ touching them so intimately. I have become very adept at using my hands for their enjoyment. Some nights I don’t have to endure ‘natural services’ and can simply provide the desired experience with my hands and fluttering eyelashes at their flushed cheeks.  Unfortunately, most services are provided ‘naturally’. Clients are not required to wear any protection, hence the screenings, and dirt flavored tea we drink every other day. 

I dry off, dressing again and spritz on fresh perfume. 

I  adjust the straps to my top. The cropped top hugs my chest tightly, its deep red satin shimmering under the dim lights. It barely covers my breasts, exposing my midriff completely, showing off the toned stomach that clients pay extra to touch. The fabric is embroidered with subtle flame patterns in gold thread that catch the light when I move. Two thin straps cross over my shoulders, meeting at a golden clasp shaped like a flame at the nape of my neck. The matching skirt sits low on my hips, flowing in multiple sheer layers that whisper against my skin when I walk. The front and back panels are solid crimson satin, but the sides are split high up my thighs—practically to my hipbones—revealing nearly all of my legs with every step. The slits aren't just for show; they allow for easier movement during the dances we perform, and provide the "easy access" that our high-paying clients expect.

Every girl at The Red Flame wears some version of this uniform, though Madame Kaji allows minor modifications based on our "specialty services." Lin's top is cut more severely, with structured shoulders and a higher neckline that creates a more commanding silhouette. Suki's has additional golden tassels that sway hypnotically when she performs her special dances.

I slip my feet back into the golden slippers we wear indoors—practical enough to move quickly between rooms but delicate enough to maintain the fantasy. The final touch is a thin gold anklet with a tiny bell that chimes softly with each step. The sound announces our presence, a subtle reminder to clients that they're paying for every minute of our time.

When we’re on our cycles, we simply dance in the communal dining room, entertaining waiting guests and booking them for future services if they like us enough. There’s a large bar at the back, girls rotate, tending and serving drinks to get a break from dancing. Suki is one of them tonight.

Eight minutes.

She smiles as I approach, sliding a small glass full of clear liquor over to me.

I toss it back immediately, wincing at the strong flavor.

“Rough night, Raine?”

I shrug, “That Commander has requested me for the past four weeks, almost every other night. Our last three sessions, he keeps having me tell him I love him.” I shudder, “I’m going to let Madame Kaji know.”

Suki lets out a sympathetic sigh, “The curse of popularity. Who do you have next?”

“Parker. Again. He booked two hours, but he never uses the full time. I just hope he’s drunk enough to jack off and go to sleep. I don’t know if I can muster the energy to pretend to like his weird tongue thing tonight.”

“Well, lucky for you, he’s been at the bar all night. He was just taken to his room a few minutes ago. And he is, in fact, very drunk. Should be an easy session for you.” She gives me a smile, glancing at the clock, “Time?”

“Shit, four minutes.” She pours me one more shot, winking when I toss it back and waving as I hustle away.

Suki was right. Less than ten minutes later I’m washing my hands of his mess, as he snores loudly on the bed.

One hundred and fourteen minutes left.

Standing in the adjoined small bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. I smooth the few curls that are spiraling at my temples back into my half pinned up style. The heavy kohl around my eyes is slightly smudged. The blue in my eyes seems extra bright tonight against my tan skin. I step back into the room, peeking around the door frame to the large bed. Parker is sprawled out, still snoring heavily.

I refasten his pants. Pushing him to lay on his side, in case he vomits in his sleep. Then cover him with the thin quilt. 

He snorts, then groans, his eyelids fluttering, “Save some dumplings… for me…”

Parker is one of my easier clients. He’s regular enough, and doesn't ask for anything too strenuous. Lately I’ve noticed him drinking more and more. It makes our sessions easier, but I do worry for him.

His breathing steadies back to softer snores, and I watch him a moment longer to ensure he's deeply asleep.

I step back into the bathroom, plugging the sink. I turn the tap, filling the basin about halfway.

The hair on my arms prickle with silent power as I laser my focus on the water in front of me. I wave my hand over, lifting the water into a formless blob that swirls on itself like a small storm. My heart pounds in my ears at the thrill of being able to practice. It’s been over a month since I last had the chance to try. I flatten my palm, and the water obeys, stretching into a thin disc that rotates slowly above the basin. With careful concentration, I divide it into smaller droplets that orbit each other like tiny moons. The water responds to my slightest thought, an extension of my will that feels more natural than breathing.

Two years in this place, three before in other Houses, and these stolen moments are all I have left of home. Of who I really am. I close my eyes, feeling the push and pull of the water between my hands. Each movement connects me to something ancient and powerful inside me. Something they can never take away, no matter how many clients use my body or how many fake names and false declarations of love I answer to.

A noise from the bedroom startles me. The water splashes back into the basin, and I grip the edge of the sink, waiting. Nothing but Parker's continued snoring.

A distant chime from the hall clock warns me that another quarter of an hour has passed. I should stop now. The risk of being caught grows with every second. But I can't bring myself to end this moment of freedom. Instead, I pull more water from the tap, creating a larger sphere that I rotate between my palms, feeling the cool moisture against my skin. It reminds of the icy shores of our village. 

Before the raids. 

Before everything changed.

The sphere begins to glow slightly as I unconsciously infuse it with more energy. I catch myself, alarmed at how carried away I've gotten. If anyone knew I was a Waterbender, I'd be executed immediately. The Fire Nation's crusade against benders from other nations has only intensified in recent years. Water is particularly feared. 

It is the natural enemy of fire, after all. 

Any non-sanctioned bending is strictly forbidden in the Fire Nation. Punishable by imprisonment, torture, or worse. If Madame Kaji discovered my secret...

The sound of footsteps in the hall sends a jolt of panic through me. I release my hold on the water, letting it splash back into the basin. I turn on the tap to cover the sound, pretending to wash my hands as the footsteps pass by the door.

That was close. Too close.

I dry my hands and check on Parker once more. Still asleep. The clock shows I have just over ninety-two minutes left of my scheduled time with him. Usually, I'd use this rare moment of peace to rest, but tonight I feel restless.

I slip back into the hall, Sen nods as I walk towards him, “Everything alright, Ms. Raine?”

I nod, “Yes. Parker fell asleep. So I’ve got some time to kill.”

“You could nap.” He suggests, leaning against the wall, crossing his large tattooed arms over his broad chest.

I shake my head, “I’m not tired.” I look back at the door, “He’s really drunk. I did lay him on his side, just in case. Could you or one of the others check on him in the next thirty minutes?”

Sen nods, “Of course, Ms. Raine. He’s paid in full, so you’re good to head to the bar if you want to wait out the rest of the session until your next appointment.”

“Thank you. If he leaves a tip, it’s yours.”

He gives me a small smile, “You girls do all the hard work here. If he leaves a tip, which we both know Parker never does, I’ll bring it to you in the morning.”

I giggle at that, “Thank you, Sen.”

“Sure thing. Go have a drink, for me kid.” he winks playfully, shooing me away.

Lin grunts as she takes the seat next to me at the bar a few minutes later, “Spirits, I’m so sick of today.”

“What happened, Viper?” Suki asks, sliding a glass of amber colored liquor over to Lin.

“I managed to book three whipping services, back to back. My shoulders are killing me.” She groans, stretching her large muscled arms above her head, her shoulders popping audibly. “Fifteen minutes in between is not enough.”

“Are you done for the night?”

Lin shakes her head, “No I’ve got one more later on. He booked me for three hours, and he always asks for me to carry him.” She leans in closer, dropping her voice for only Suki and I to hear, “He’s a high ranking General, that likes to wear diapers for our sessions. He gets off on shitting himself. And then he screams like a banshee when I whip him for ‘making a mess’.”

"Poor thing," I say, patting her arm sympathetically. "At least you're getting to work out your frustrations."

"Yeah, on the backs of old men who get off on it," Lin grumbles, knocking back her drink in one smooth motion. "I had Minister Genki again just now."

Suki grimaces. "That man's back must look like a topographical map of the Fire Nation by now."

"Trust me, it does." Lin signals for another drink. "And he keeps requesting harder hits. At this rate, I'm going to accidentally kill the man."

"Maybe that's what he wants," I suggest, swirling my drink. "Some kind of glorious death by Dominatrix."

"Not on my watch," Lin says firmly. "I've been in this business too long to get executed over some General’s death wish."

The bar is starting to fill with more girls as the night progresses. Some are between clients, others have finished their scheduled appointments for the evening. The atmosphere shifts subtly as more red-clad bodies move through the space. A unique blend of exhaustion, forced cheerfulness, and the occasional genuine laugh. I watch as some girls fan out among the waiting men, offering dances and booking future appointments.

"Have you heard the rumors?" Suki leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Which ones?" I ask. "There are always rumors."

"The Prince is back." Her eyes dart around to make sure no one outside our small circle can hear. "Apparently he's been away on some kind of mission for the Fire Lord and just returned to the capital yesterday."

Lin snorts. "Great. Another Royal pain in the ass to service."

Prince Zuko's return is significant news for the Royal Court. I've not seen him personally. He's never visited the Red Flame during my time here. Though his reputation precedes him. The scarred Prince, banished at thirteen and then returned to the fold four years later. He’s known for his volatile temper and fierce loyalty to the Fire Nation.

The conversation shifts as another girl joins us, complaining about a client with particularly foul breath. I'm grateful for the distraction.

Madame Kaji appears at the entrance to the bar area, her golden lips sporting a slight smile. Her eyes scan the room, falling on me. She walks over, taking the drink from my hand and tossing it back herself. “I heard Parker finished pretty early for you.”

I nod, “Yes Ma’am.”

“I had another girl cover the rest of your appointments for the night.” She signals to Suki for a refill.

“Ma’am?”

“You’ve been requested at the Palace.” She takes a large gulp of her drink, “Well… not you specifically, but they’ve requested an ‘interesting looking girl’. So I’m sending you." Her eyes scan over me, “How clean are those clothes?”

“I’ve had three clients tonight. So… not very.”

She clicks her tongue, “That won’t do. Can’t have you serving Royalty smelling like other mens cum. Is your other set clean?”

I shake my head, “No, I had that group of Officers yesterday. Remember?”

She scrunches her nose at that, “Disgusting men. Yes, I remember now. The one threw up on you.”

I swallow back the nausea at the memory of the vomit chunks sticking to my hair, “Yes, and laundry isn’t for a couple of days.” I remind her.

She nods, her eyes flicking over to Suki, “Petal, is your other set clean?”

Suki nods, “Yes Ma’am. I’ll grab it now.”

“Get cleaned up and changed. Front parlor in twenty minutes. Extra perfume, and put on lip stain.” She doesn’t even look at me again before making her exit.

Chapter Text

A frail looking old man is chatting cheerily with Madame Kaji when I step through the door into the front parlor

His faded eyes land on me, desire immediately obvious, “Oh, you weren’t lying, Kaji, she is exotic . Yes, I do believe she will do quite nicely for our Prince.”

Prince? As in Prince Zuko? I look to Madame Kaji, the silent question evident in my wide eyes.

She simply nods, “Remember, you represent this House. Serve him well, Raine.”

“ Raine ? Oooo, even more exotic. Is that your given name, girl?” The old man's excitement is evident. I have a feeling if I weren't serving the Royal family tonight, he’d be booking a session of his own.

I give him my sweet smile, “Yes, Sir.”

“Oh how cute you are!” He reaches out, pinching my cheek like a grandfather, “The Fire Lord will be pleased you sent this one Kaji!”

“Fire Lord Ozai, Sir?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Oh yes. He’s requested a girl to help his son calm after his travels. That stubborn boy refused to make the request himself. So you are being summoned under direct order of the Fire Lord himself.”

Oh great, no pressure or anything.

“Just be sure to do what the Prince requests of you. The Palace is paying top coin for you tonight, do not let it go to waste.” Madame Kaji implores with a hard look.

I nod.

“Off you go then. See you at sunrise.” Madame Kaji turns, leaving me with the older man, as she goes through one of the doors, back into the House.

The old man shuffles towards the front door, “I am called Roan.” He nods his head for me to follow, “The Palace sent me with one of our luxury carriages for your journey up the hill.”

I follow Roan outside to where an ornate carriage awaits, its red lacquered sides gleaming under the lantern light. Golden flame motifs curl around the frame, and the Royal insignia is etched into the door. Two matching black komodo rhinos stand in harness, their scales glinting like polished obsidian against the red lamplight.

"After you, my dear," Roan gestures with a withered hand.

The interior is plush with velvet cushions and silk pillows in deep crimson. I settle onto the seat, arranging Suki's clothes—which fit me well enough but are a touch loose in the chest—as elegantly as possible. Roan climbs in across from me, his joints cracking audibly as he sits.

"Nervous?" he asks as the carriage lurches forward.

"Should I be?" I keep my voice light, playful, the way clients expect. 

He chuckles. "The Prince is... particular. But I suspect a girl with your talents will manage just fine. Just remember, he's not like the Commanders and Nobles you usually entertain. He's Royalty."

I have to fight not to roll my eyes. As if I could forget.

The carriage winds its way up the volcano slope toward the Palace. Through the small window, I catch glimpses of the Capital city below. The glittering lights spreading like fallen stars, the harbor with its massive warships silhouetted against the night sea. In another life, I might have found it beautiful. In this life, it’s merely a reminder of everything this nation has taken from me.

"Has the Prince often requested girls from the Red Flame?" I ask, trying to gather any information that might help me navigate this night.

Roan shakes his head. "No, no. The Prince doesn't indulge in such pleasures very often. That's why the Fire Lord is concerned." He lowers his voice further. "Between us, I think Lord Ozai believes his son needs to release some tension. The boy is wound too tight."

Great. A sexually frustrated prince with a notorious temper. This night just keeps getting better.

As we approach, the massive structure of the Palace looms against the night sky. Large black imposing structures swathed in red and gold. Guards stand at attention at every entrance, their faces impassive behind their helmets. The carriage slows as we pass through the massive gates. A Palace Warden peers inside, nods at Roan, and waves us through. We continue along a tree-lined path until we reach a side entrance to the Palace complex.

"We'll be discreet." Roan explains as he helps me down from the carriage. “The Royal family values quiet privacy.”

A servant meets us at the door. A young woman with downcast eyes who doesn't acknowledge my existence. She leads us through dimly lit corridors, away from what I assume are the main halls of the Palace. Everything here speaks of wealth and power. From the polished marble floors to the tapestries lining the walls.

We pass several servants who avert their eyes as we walk by. They know exactly why I'm here, wearing the Red Flames crimson colors with my hair pulled halfway up, my face painted to accentuate my "exotic" features.

"Here we are," Roan says finally, stopping before a set of ornate double doors. "These are the Prince's private chambers. I'll announce you."

He knocks three times, then enters without waiting for a response. I stand in the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest. I've serviced Nobles, military Commanders, even a Governor once, but never Royalty. The more seasoned girls are usually the ones called away for a night or three to serve the Fire Lord or any of his court.

Roan emerges from the room after a moment, his brow furrowed. "It seems His Highness is attending to matters elsewhere in the Palace," he says in a hushed tone. "But he's expected back shortly." He ushers me inside with a gentle push. "Wait for him here. Quietly.”

I step into the chamber, my heart still racing.

"Remember," Roan says, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "serve the Prince well. The Fire Lord himself has requested this arrangement. Do not disappoint ."

The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone in Prince Zuko's private chambers. The room is larger than I expected, dimly lit by a few scattered lanterns. Unlike the gaudy displays of wealth throughout the rest of the Palace, these chambers are surprisingly austere. Dark wooden furniture, simple tapestries depicting battles and dragons, and a massive four-poster bed dominates one side. There's an unlit fireplace just across from the bed. A large plush sofa and several chairs surrounding it. Two heavy oak bookshelves, are stuffed with leather bound tomes, on either side of the fireplace.

I move carefully, my slippered feet silent against the polished floor. A writing desk sits near the main window, scattered with scrolls and maps. I resist the urge to peek at them. Curiosity in my profession can be dangerous. Instead, I position myself on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, arranging my borrowed clothes to best display my assets.

The silence is overwhelming. In the Red Flame, there's always noise. Music, laughter, conversations. Here, I can hear my own heartbeat, the soft rustle of silk as I shift nervously.

Minutes tick by. What if he doesn't return tonight? What if he's displeased to find me here? Rumors about Prince Zuko's temper have reached even the Red Flame. Some say he's scarred servants for minor offenses. Others claim he trains until his hands bleed, driving himself with a relentless fury that frightens even his instructors.

I notice a glass pitcher of water on a side table. The sight of it calls to me, tempting me to practice while I wait. But that would be suicide. Instead, I focus on my breathing, preparing myself mentally for whatever the Prince might desire. My eyes wander around the room once again, searching for distraction.

A small shrine sits in one corner of the room, with a portrait of a beautiful woman. The Fire Lady, perhaps? I've heard stories about Prince Zuko's mother, how she disappeared when he was young. The portrait shows a gentle face, kind eyes that seem out of place in this nation of conquerors.

Minutes stretch into an hour. My training has taught me patience, but waiting in the private chamber of the Crowned Prince sets my nerves on edge. What if he's displeased to find me here? What if I'm not what he expected?

A sound at the door makes me straighten. I quickly adopt the pose Madame Kaji has drilled into us. Back straight, head slightly bowed, hands folded demurely in my lap, expression pleasant but not overly eager.

The door opens, but it's not the Prince. A servant enters carrying a tray with a teapot and cups.

"Oh!" she startles when she sees me. "I didn't realize... I was just bringing the evening tea."

"The Prince isn't here yet," I explain softly. "I was told to wait."

She nods, placing the tray on a low table. "He often takes tea after his evening training." Her eyes flick over my attire, and understanding dawns in them. She gives me a look that might be sympathy, before quickly averting her gaze.

"Would you like some tea while you wait?" 

I nod, grateful for the small kindness. "Thank you."

She pours a cup, hands it to me, then hesitates. "He's been in a mood since returning yesterday," she whispers, glancing at the door. "Just... be careful."

Before I can respond, she hurries from the room, leaving me alone again with my steaming cup. The tea is fragrant and expensive. Nothing like the bitter medicinal brews we're served at the Red Flame. I sip it slowly, savoring the flavor and the warmth.

The lanterns burn lower as time passes, casting elongated shadows across the chamber. I consider pouring another cup but decide against it. I don't want to appear too comfortable in the Prince's private space. Instead, I remain perched on the edge of the bench, listening to the distant sounds of the Palace settling for the night.

My eyelids grow heavy despite my best efforts. The long night at the Red Flame, the multiple clients, the anxiety of this Royal summons. All of it weighs on me. I blink rapidly, pinching my thigh through the silk to stay alert.

The Palace is quiet now, the hour growing late. 

Perhaps he won't come at all. Perhaps I'll be sent back to the Red Flame, a disappointment to Madame Kaji and the Fire Lord himself.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, the door swings open. A tall figure strides in, shoulders rigid with tension. Even without the Royal insignia on his robes, I would know this is Prince Zuko. The scar that covers nearly half his face is unmistakable. Angry red tissue spreading from his left eye across his cheek and to his ear, which is partially deformed by the burn.

He doesn't notice me at first, moving to a chest where he begins removing pieces of light armor. 

I clear my throat softly.

He whirls, dropping a vambrace with a clatter. His eyes widen, then narrow dangerously. "Who are you? What are you doing in my chambers?" His voice is raspy, as if damaged by the same fire that scarred his face.

I rise smoothly from the bench, bowing low in the Fire Nation style. "My name is Raine, Your Highness. I've been sent from the Red Flame to... attend to you this evening."

"Sent? By whom?"

"I was told the Fire Lord himself requested my presence here, Your Highness."

Prince Zuko turns away sharply, slamming the vambrace he'd dropped onto the chest. He makes a sound of pure frustration, a blast of heat emanating from him that raises the temperature of the entire room. 

I resist the urge to flinch.

"Of course he did," he mutters, "My father thinks everything can be solved with—" He cuts himself off, turning to pace the length of the room.

I remain motionless, still bowed, unsure if I should speak again. The silence stretches uncomfortably until he sighs heavily.

"Stand up," he commands, though his voice has lost some of its edge. "You don't need to keep bowing."

I remain silent, waiting. This is not going well, but there's nothing to do but follow his lead.

"Leave," he says, still not looking at me.

"Your Highness?"

"I said leave." He turns back, his scarred face half-shadowed in the dim light. "I didn't ask for you. I don't want you here."

I swallow hard. Returning to the Red Flame without having pleased the Prince will not end well for me.

"Your Highness," I say carefully, keeping my voice steady despite my rising panic, "if I return to the Red Flame without... fulfilling my purpose here, there will be consequences."

Prince Zuko's jaw tightens, the muscles working beneath his skin. "That's not my concern." But he hesitates, his hand curling into a fist at his side. "My father had no right to send you here. I don't need his... interventions."

I can see the conflict in him. Anger at his father's presumption battling with the knowledge that I'm merely following orders. His gaze softens almost imperceptibly as it meets mine.

"It's not your fault," he admits grudgingly. "But I have no interest in whatever services you're offering."

 I take a small step forward, careful to keep my posture non-threatening. "Perhaps I could simply stay a while? We needn't do anything at all. I could—"

"No," he cuts me off. "I'll have a guard escort you back to the Red Flame. I'll deal with my father's disappointment."

Just as Prince Zuko moves toward the door, it opens again. An older man with a round belly and kind eyes steps inside, carrying a small tray with what smells like jasmine tea. His gray hair is pulled back in a topknot adorned with a small flame ornament, marking him Royalty as well.

"Nephew! I thought you might enjoy some calming tea after your training, but I see you're already occupied with more pleasant activities this evening." His eyes twinkle as he looks between us, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

"Uncle," Prince Zuko's voice is strained. "It's not what you think. Father sent her. I was just about to have her escorted back to the Red Flame."

"The Red Flame?" The older man—General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, I realize—raises his eyebrows. "That's Madame Kaji's establishment, is it not? They say she employs only the most exceptional young ladies." He gives me an appreciative nod that somehow manages to be respectful rather than leering.

"I don't care if she's the most exceptional girl in the entire world!" Zuko snaps. "I didn't ask for company or gifts of any sort tonight. Nor any other night. Father is overstepping, as usual."

"Ah, I see. A gift from my brother, is she? How... thoughtful of him."

"I don't want his 'gifts,'" Zuko snaps. "Especially not this kind ."

Iroh's expression turns serious. "Nephew, I would advise against sending her back tonight."

"Why?" Zuko crosses his arms. "I didn't ask for her."

"I happened to overhear my brother speaking with his advisors earlier." Iroh's voice drops low. "He mentioned that you needed to 'loosen up,' and that if the girl was sent back before dawn..." He glances at me apologetically. "He would have her killed for failing in her duty."

The room goes silent. I feel the blood drain from my face. Executed for failing to please the Prince? It sounds extreme, but not unbelievable. Not in this nation where lives like mine are worth so little.

Prince Zuko's face contorts with fury. "He can't—!" He stops, because we all know the Fire Lord absolutely can .

"Of course, it could have been idle talk," Iroh adds, though his tone suggests otherwise. "But is it worth the risk?"

I feel the tears welling up before I can stop them. They slip silently down my cheeks, my body trembling with the effort to remain composed. Death for failure. It wouldn't be the first time a girl from a Red House disappeared without explanation after being sent to the Palace. To the Fire Lord, himself.

Prince Zuko's eyes widen at my reaction, his gaze fixing on my tears. His jaw clenches so tightly I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. The temperature in the room rises again as his anger builds.

"This is absurd." he hisses, fists clenched at his sides. 

I try to regain my composure, hastily wiping at my tears, but they keep coming. Five years in the Houses have taught me to hide my emotions, but the threat of execution has shattered my carefully constructed mask.

Zuko turns back, his expression softening slightly when he sees my struggle. He sighs, running a hand through his long dark waves.

"My father's cruelty knows no bounds," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Then slightly louder, "Fine. You'll stay the night."

Relief floods through me, though I try not to show it too obviously.

"You can take the bed," he continues, gesturing to the massive four-poster. "I'll sleep there." He points to the plush sofa near the fireplace.

"Your Highness, I couldn't possibly—"

"It's fine," he cuts me off. "I prefer the sofa anyway." His hand unconsciously touches his scar. "The Royal bed is too soft. Too... much.”

Iroh nods, smiling kindly at me. "What is your name, my dear?"

"Raine, Your Highness."

"Please, call me Iroh. 'Your Highness' makes me feel even older than I am." He pours three cups of tea, handing one to me with a gentle smile. "Jasmine. It calms the nerves."

Prince Zuko takes his cup, staring into it as if trying to divine some meaning from the liquid. "You don't need to fear for your life tonight," he says without looking up. "I'll make sure you return safely to the Red Flame in the morning."

"Thank you, Your Highness." My voice is barely audible.

I clutch the warm teacup between my trembling hands, still trying to process how quickly my situation has changed. Minutes ago, I feared being sent back to face Madame Kaji's wrath. Now I'm staying to avoid execution. 

"Your Highness," I say softly, setting the cup down. "I am truly grateful for your mercy." I meet Prince Zuko’s eyes, my voice stronger now. "Please know that I am at your service in any capacity you might desire. Whether it's conversation, a massage to ease your tension after training, or..." I let my words trail off, leaving the implication clear. "I would be honored to make your evening more pleasant, in whatever way you prefer."

Prince Zuko's golden eyes widen slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. "That won't be necessary," he says stiffly. "You're here because my father has forced both our hands, not because I expect any... services."

Iroh coughs discreetly into his sleeve, hiding what might be a smile.

"I haven't eaten since training," Prince Zuko announces abruptly. "Uncle, would you mind if I called for a late dinner?”

"An excellent idea, nephew," Iroh beams. "Nothing soothes a troubled mind like good food and better company."

Prince Zuko pulls on a silk rope near the door, and within moments, a servant appears. He requests dinner for two, never once glancing in my direction during the exchange. The servant bows and disappears.

"Just two?" Iroh questions once we're alone again.

"I assumed you would want something as well, Uncle."

"I would, but what about our guest?"

The Prince's eyes flick to me briefly before returning to his uncle. "I... didn't think—"

"It's fine, Your Highness," I interject quickly. "I'm not hungry." The lie falls easily from my lips, conditioned by years of putting clients' needs before my own.

As if to betray me, my stomach chooses that moment to growl audibly. The sound seems to echo in the quiet room. Heat rushes to my cheeks as both men turn to look at me.

"When did you last eat?" Iroh asks gently.

I try to remember. "This morning, I think."

Prince Zuko frowns. "It’s nearly morning now. Did you not have lunch? Or Dinner?"

I shrug slightly. "We don't always have time between House duties, and tending to clients."

Something dark passes across the Prince's face at my words.

The door opens, permitting two servants who enter bearing trays laden with steaming dishes. The aroma of spiced meats, roasted vegetables, and freshly steamed rice fills the chamber, making my mouth water. They set the food on the low table near the fireplace, bowing to the Prince before silently withdrawing.

Prince Zuko moves to the table, surveying the spread with indifference. Without a word, he takes one of the plates and begins filling it methodically. A portion of rice, slices of roasted duck, vegetables arranged neatly alongside. When he's finished, he turns and extends the plate toward me, his expression unreadable.

"Eat." he says quietly, his raspy voice barely audible. "You need it more than I do."

I stare at the plate, momentarily stunned by the unprecedented kindness. "Your Highness, I couldn't possibly—"

"Just eat," he interrupts, still holding the plate out. "Please."

Our fingers brush as I accept the plate. The Prince immediately turns away, preparing a second, smaller portion for himself. He sits on the floor cushion farthest from me, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on some distant point.

Iroh watches this exchange with quiet interest, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"My nephew may not be the most talkative dinner companion," he says with a warm chuckle, "but his actions speak volumes about his character."

Prince Zuko shoots his uncle a warning glare but remains silent.

I settle onto a cushion and take a tentative bite. The flavors explode across my tongue. Rich, complex, nothing like the bland meals we're given at the Red Flame. Before I can stop myself, I'm devouring the food with undignified speed. Only remembering my training when I catch Iroh watching me with gentle amusement.

"My apologies," I murmur, slowing my pace. "The food is... exceptional."

"Palace chefs," Iroh nods appreciatively. "They can make even simple dishes extraordinary. Though nothing compares to a properly brewed cup of tea."

Prince Zuko watches me silently as he picks at his own food. His scarred face remains expressionless, but there's something in his eyes. A softness that wasn't there before. “Do they not feed you at the Flame?”

I swallow the large bite of rice I’d just put into my mouth. “Madame Kaji provides breakfast and dinner meals, ensuring we’re healthy enough to work. Lunch is up to us, if there’s time.” I clarify quickly. 

During the day, we fulfill any House duties delegated to us by Madame Kaji. We do get an hour or two of free time some days, but lately, with the upcoming holidays and colder weather, things have been exceptionally busy. Some days, if there’s time, we make a large hot pot for lunch. During the nicer months, when the days are longer, we sometimes walk to the markets and have lunch outside at the stalls.

“So why didn't you eat tonight?” Prince Zuko grumbles.

"Dinner service was cut short for a party. I’d been booked for an early client, so I didn’t have a chance to eat.”

He frowns, his eyes flicking to his uncle briefly before returning to me. "That sounds... inadequate."

"It's better than most Red Houses," I say honestly. "Madame Kaji ensures we're healthy enough to work. Some Madames don't care if the girls are half-starved, as long as they're pretty enough to attract clients."

"How long have you been at the Red Flame?"

"Two years, Your Highness."

"And before that?"

"Other Red Houses. I was... acquired when I was fourteen."

His face darkens at this, his fingers tightening around his chopsticks until his knuckles turn white. "Acquired," he repeats, the word sounding poisonous on his tongue. “How old are you now?”

“Nineteen. Your Highness.”

For a moment, Prince Zuko says nothing, simply staring at me with an intensity that makes me want to look away. But I hold his gaze, years of training having taught me that men in power expect eye contact when they desire it.

"Five years," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Five years of your life..." He sets down his chopsticks, his appetite apparently gone. The fireplace remains unlit, but I can feel heat radiating from him in waves.

"It's not so unusual, Your Highness," I say, trying to ease the tension. "Many girls enter the Houses much younger."

"That doesn't make it right!" he snaps, then immediately looks regretful at his harsh tone.

"Nephew," Iroh's gentle voice breaks the tension. "Perhaps some more tea?"

Without waiting for a response, he begins pouring fresh cups for all of us.

"Where were you born, Raine?" Iroh asks, passing me a steaming cup.

"The colonies," I lie smoothly, the story I've told a hundred times before rolling off my tongue in a pleasant tone. "My mother was a colonial, my father..." I gesture vaguely to my skin tone. "Not from the Fire Nation."

Prince Zuko studies me intently, his golden eyes narrowed. For a moment, I fear he sees through my deception. "The Southern colonies?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

I nod, relieved he's accepted the fabrication. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Interesting," Iroh muses, sipping his tea. "I've traveled extensively throughout our nation's territories, and I must say, your features are quite distinctive. Almost... tribal."

My heart stutters in my chest. The Dragon of the West is shrewder than his jovial demeanor suggests.

"My mother said my father was a trader," I offer, elaborating on my lie. "From beyond the colonies. They weren't married."

Prince Zuko's eyes never leave my face. "Blue eyes are rare in the Fire Nation," he says. "Even among those with mixed heritage."

I force myself to meet his gaze steadily, years of practice keeping my expression pleasant despite my racing heart. "That's why I'm popular at the Flame, Your Highness. Men enjoy the novelty of something exotic."

Disgust flashes in his eyes before he looks away. "I'm sure they do." he says, his voice colder now.

Iroh clears his throat. "It's getting late, and I should retire. These old bones need their rest." He rises, bowing slightly to his nephew. "Prince Zuko, I trust you'll ensure your guest is comfortable for the night."

"Of course, Uncle."

Iroh turns to me with a warm smile. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Raine. Perhaps our paths will cross again."

"The pleasure was mine, General Iroh."

After the door closes behind him, Prince Zuko and I are left in uncomfortable silence. He stares into his teacup, seemingly lost in thought.

I set my empty plate aside, unsure of what to do with my hands. I start gathering the dishes left by Iroh and reach for Zuko's still half-full plate. Keeping a client's space clean keeps them happy.

“Leave it.” He sighs. 

I stay in my seat as he strides over to pull the velvet cord again. Less than five minutes later the entire meal is cleaned from the table. A small pot of tea and two steaming cups between us taking its place.

Prince Zuko rises abruptly and moves to the window, staring out at the night sky. "You don't have to stay awake for my sake," he says without turning. "As I said, you can take the bed. I won't... I don't expect anything from you."

I stand and move hesitantly toward the bed, still feeling strange about taking the Prince's sleeping place. "Thank you, Your Highness."

He turns from the window, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "There's one more thing," he says, his voice low.

The familiar dread settles in my stomach. Here it comes . What he really wants from me.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"When you return to the Red Flame tomorrow..." Prince Zuko runs a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "If anyone questions you about tonight—Madame Kaji, my father's Noblemen, anyone—just say things went well. Tell them we enjoyed the... normal services." His unscarred cheek flushes slightly. "It would be better for both of us if that's what they believe happened."

"Of course, Your Highness. I'll say we had a pleasant evening together. That you were... satisfied with my services."

Relief flickers across his face, softening the perpetual furrow between his brows. "Thank you."

"Goodnight, Your Highness,"

"Goodnight... Raine," he replies, walking away from the window and settling onto the sofa.

He extinguishes all but one small lantern with a wave of his hand.

I slip beneath the silk sheets of his massive bed, sinking into softness I've never experienced before. The mattress cradles my body, and the pillows smell faintly of sandalwood and smoke. Across the room, I hear him shifting on the sofa, the sound of his breathing gradually slowing.

Despite the comfort, sleep doesn't come easily. My mind races with the events of the night, with the Prince's unexpected kindness, with the knowledge that tomorrow I'll return to the Red Flame and my life there. I stare at the ornate ceiling, tracing the gold patterns with my eyes until they blur. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel almost safe as my eyes drift closed.

I'm not sure when I finally fall asleep, but I dream of ice and snow, of a home I barely remember, and of golden eyes watching me from across a frozen sea.

***

I wake to soft morning light filtering through the curtains. For a disorienting moment, I don't recognize where I am. The silk sheets, the spacious room. This isn't my crowded sleeping quarters at the Red Flame.

Then I remember. The Prince. The Palace. The threat of execution if I failed.

I sit up quickly, scanning the room. Prince Zuko is already awake, dressed in simple robes, his hair pulled back halfway in a topknot secured with the Royal flame insignia, the bottom half of his hair rippling down to his shoulders in glossy black waves. He stands near the window, his back to me, seemingly lost in thought.

"Good morning, Your Highness," I say softly.

He turns, his expression unreadable in the morning light. "You slept well?"

"Better than I have in years," I admit, then immediately regret the honesty. Clients don't want reminders of your reality.

But he doesn't seem bothered by my candor. "Good." He gestures to the small table we ate dinner at together last night, “There's tea, and scones. I've called for a carriage to arrive within the hour.”

“Thank you, your Highness.” I clumsily climb out of the overly large, overly plush bed. “Um… restroom?” I request awkwardly. 

He points to a smaller door on the far wall, “Take your time. There's no rush. The carriage will wait as long as I want.”

I nod. Padding quickly through the door. My bare feet are cold against the marble. The bathroom is huge. Double sinks span one side, a long counter on either side with a full wall mirror. I catch my reflection, my curls are wild and tangled. I wince at the smeared makeup. Even though nothing happened, I do look properly rumpled. 

I look over at the huge tub that's just under a high window. I consider bathing, but decide against it. I scrub away the remnants of make up from my face, finger comb my hair with the warm water and quickly braid it away from my face in a long plait along my scalp and down my back.  I adjust my rumpled crimson clothing, smoothing the fabric and sliding my golden slippers back on. I take one more moment, assessing myself in the mirror before stepping back into his room.

His eyes hold my stare a moment, before he clears his throat, gesturing again to the tea and scones. 

I gulp down a cup of the fragrant blend, and hurriedly eat a scone standing up. I find myself looking for a clock, the habit of adhering to a strict schedule by the ticking second ingrained in my bones. 

“A servant will let us know when the carriage arrives, you're okay to just relax until then.” He nods towards the bookshelves surrounding the fireplace, “Can you read?”

I nod, “My older brother taught me—” I stop my words. I've gotten far too comfortable in his presence. “Yes. I can read. Your Highness.” I clarify simply, not elaborating further. 

“Then, please. Browse. Spirits know I barely have the opportunity. Someone should enjoy them.” He moves over to the writing desk, his quill scratching against the parchment. 

I run my hand along the spines of the heavy books. Reading the worn letters, I see most of them are theater plays. I've never been to the theater. I pull one out that's less heavy looking and perch myself on the edge of one of the chairs surrounding the fireplace. It’s a comedy of some sort, and I find myself giggling at some of the sillier jokes. It reminds me of my brother. I'm so engrossed in the play that I don't notice Prince Zuko has moved to stand near me until his shadow falls across the page.

"Love Amongst the Dragons," he says, his voice softer than I've heard it yet. "It's one of my favorites."

I look up, surprised by both his proximity and the admission. "The dialogue is quite clever," I offer. "I've never read anything like it."

"You've never seen it performed?" There's genuine curiosity in his question.

I shake my head. "No, Your Highness. We aren't permitted to attend public performances at the Red Flame. Madame Kaji says it creates unrealistic expectations in the girls."

Anger flickers across his face. He takes a seat across from me.

"My mother used to take me to see it every year on Ember Island," he says, his gaze drifting to the window. "The Ember Island Players butchered it, of course, but she loved it anyway."

I notice how he speaks of his mother in past tense but don't comment on it. Instead, I close the book gently. "Thank you for allowing me to read it."

"Keep it,"

“What?”

"The book. Take it with you."

I stare at him, certain I've misheard. "Your Highness, I—"

"I have several copies," he interrupts, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. "And besides, it's just a book."

I bite my lip, looking down at my hands as they run along the worn cover, “We are not permitted such… novelties. And I wouldn’t really have a space to keep it anyway. Other than under my bed, and even there, it could be taken if it’s seen as too much of a distraction from my duties.”

I see his face harden, the muscles in his jaw tightening. For a moment, I think I've angered him, but then I realize it's not directed at me. His rage is aimed elsewhere.

"Hide it then," he says quietly. "Between your mattress and the frame perhaps. Or find a loose floorboard. There are always hidden places. Even in a cage."

“Your Highness, I appreciate the gesture. But I must decline.” I bite my lip again, choosing my words carefully, “This kindness would be wasted on me.”

"No kindness toward you is wasted." he says, his raspy voice barely above a whisper.

I go silent, uncertain how to respond. 

In the Houses, we're taught that our purpose is to serve, to please, to be whatever our clients desire. Not to receive gifts. Not to be shown consideration. Everything is transactional, if we do receive a gift, we’re expected to give ‘extra attention’ to that client, no matter how deplorable the requests. If the gift holds monetary value, it’s sold for money, which goes straight to Kaji. There's an unspoken rule that everything within the House belongs to her. Even personal items bought with our earned shares. And especially us girls.

A knock at the door interrupts whatever I might have been able to come up with for a response. Prince Zuko stands, his posture immediately shifting to something more formal.

"Enter," he calls.

A servant bows low at the threshold. "Your Highness, the carriage you requested has arrived."

"Thank you." Prince Zuko dismisses the servant with a nod, then turns back to me. "It's time."

I rise, smoothing my borrowed clothes one last time. "Thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness." The formal words feel hollow after our conversation, but they're all I have.

"I'll escort you to the carriage myself," Prince Zuko says, moving toward the door. "It's better if we're seen leaving together. It will support the... story."

I follow him through the Palace corridors, keeping a respectful distance behind as befits my station. Palace servants and guards bow as we pass, their eyes carefully averted. I wonder how many girls like me they've seen walking these halls, following behind Nobility in the early morning hours.

We reach a side entrance where an elegant but unmarked carriage waits.

"For discretion," Prince Zuko explains, following my gaze. "It will take you directly to the Red Flame."

I bow deeply. "Thank you, Your Highness."

He looks at me for a long moment, his scarred face unreadable in the morning light. He pauses before we step outside. "Remember what we discussed. If anyone asks—"

"We had a pleasant evening together," I finish for him. "You were most satisfied with my services, Your Highness."

He nods, though discomfort flickers across his features. "For both our sakes."

We reach the carriage, and a servant rushes to open the door. Before I can climb inside, Prince Zuko surprises me by taking my hand. His touch is warm—warmer than an ordinary person's—the heat of his inner fire evident even in this casual contact.

"Raine," he says, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. "If my father or his men ever summon you again..." He hesitates, seeming to struggle with his words. "Be careful.”

The warning sends a chill through me even with the warmth of his hand. "I understand, Your Highness."

He releases my hand, stepping back as I climb into the carriage. Just before the door closes, I catch a final glimpse of him. The scarred Prince standing alone on the Palace steps. He raises one hand in a light wave before turning and walking back into the massive structure.

Chapter Text

Three weeks have passed since that night at the Palace. The rhythm of the Red Flame continues as it always has. Clients booking appointments, girls fulfilling their duties, Madame Kaji counting her gold. Commanders with wandering hands, Nobles with twisted desires, Ministers who demand I call them "Father" while they take their pleasure. I smile through it all, my face a mask I've perfected over the years. Lying on my thin mattress in the crowded sleeping quarters, I find my thoughts drifting back to that plush royal bed. To the softness of silk sheets against my skin. To a night where I was treated as a person rather than a plaything.

Tonight, I'm on my knees on the hard wooden floor of Commander Wei's residence, my back aching as I wait for him to finish with his latest cruelty. He likes to make me pose, kneeling like this for hours, naked and silent, while he drinks and talks about military campaigns with his fellow officers. They look at me occasionally, discussing my body parts as if I'm not present, laughing when my muscles tremble from holding the position too long.

"Blue eyes," Wei slurs, reaching down to yank my head up by my hair. "Pour us another round."

I rise gracefully despite the pins and needles in my legs, maintaining the pleasant smile Madame Kaji has drilled into all of us. As I pour their drinks, one of the officers runs his hand up my thigh, before digging his fingers into my flesh.

"Careful with the merchandise," Commander Wei laughs. "She's expensive."

Later, when they've had their fill of both liquor and my humiliation, Commander Wei orders me to sleep at the foot of his bed "Like the exotic pet you are." No pillow, no blanket, just the cold, hard floor while he snores in his massive bed. I curl into myself for warmth, closing my eyes and imagining, just for a moment, that I'm back in the Prince's chambers. The memory of that plush bed, the quiet respect in his eyes, the way he insisted I eat before he did. These thoughts have become a secret comfort on nights like these.

The next morning, I'm escorted back to the Red Flame by one of Wei's guards. My body aches from the floor, my knees bruised, my scalp tender where he pulled my hair. Still, I maintain perfect posture as I walk through the doors of the Flame. 

Weakness is not tolerated here.

"Katara!" Suki smiles from her bed that's just across from mine. "You're back early."

Lin looks up from where she's mending a tear in one of her special outfits. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my appearance. "Wei again?"

I nod, sinking onto my thin mattress with a barely suppressed wince.

"That man is a monster," Suki mutters, handing me a cup of steaming tea. "Did he at least tip well?"

"Same as always," I say, taking a grateful sip. "Just enough to make Madame Kaji keep sending me back."

Lin shakes her head. "You should rest. We have a busy night ahead."

I nod, grateful for the chance to close my eyes. The tea's warmth spreads through me, easing some of the tension in my muscles. I collapse onto my bed, not even bothering to change out of the thin cloak I'd been given for the journey back to the Flame. Every muscle protests, every joint aches. Sleep claims me almost instantly, my body desperate for even a few hours of respite.

"Katara." A gentle hand shakes my shoulder. "Katara, wake up."

I blink groggily, Suki's face swimming into focus above me. Her blue eyes are soft with concern.

"Lunch is ready," she says. "And Madame Kaji wants all the girls to eat today. We have that big party tonight."

I groan, pushing myself up on arms that feel like they're filled with sand rather than bone. "What time is it?"

"Just past noon. You've been out for about four hours." She hands me a cup of water. "Drink this first."

The water is cool and refreshing against my parched throat. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until the first sip touched my lips.

"Better?" Suki asks, watching me drain the cup.

"Much." I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my bruised knees protest. "What's for lunch?"

"Rice porridge with vegetables. Nothing fancy, but it's filling." She helps me to my feet. "Lin saved us seats."

The dining hall is already crowded with girls in various states of undress. Some in robes like mine, others in the House's signature crimson attire, preparing for this evening's clients. Lin waves from a corner table, her tall frame easily visible above the crowd.

"You look like shit," she says bluntly as we sit down.

"Good to see you too," I reply, accepting the bowl of porridge she slides toward me.

"Commander Wei should be banned," Suki mutters, stirring her own food. "He always returns the girls looking half-dead."

Lin nods grimly. "Madame Kaji won't ban him though. He pays too well."

"Speaking of payments," Suki leans in, lowering her voice, "did you hear who's on your schedule tonight?"

I shake my head, mouth too full of porridge to respond.

"Commander Zhao," she whispers. "He specifically requested you."

I nearly choke. "Again? I just had him two weeks ago."

Lin's face darkens. "He's becoming too comfortable with you. Be carefu l."

Commander Zhao is well-known among the girls at the Flame. He rotates between us, never settling on a favorite. That is, until recently. In the past few months, he's requested me more frequently than any other girl. His preferences are... brutal.

"Madame Kaji must be charging him extra," I say, setting down my spoon, appetite suddenly gone. "She likes to keep my skin clear for the clients who pay for the 'exotic experience’."

Lin frowns, leaning in closer. "I heard he's been bragging to the other commanders about 'taming a Water Tribe savage.'"

My blood runs cold. That’s been his favorite fantasy lately, calling me a savage. Insulting the people he doesn't know I truly come from. He has his theories and suspicions, but I’ve kept my story firm. My name is Raine, and I’m from the Southern Colonies.

A bell rings, signaling the end of our brief lunch break. Madame Kaji appears in the doorway, her golden lips pursed in disapproval as she surveys the room.

"Ladies! Enough chatting. The party tonight requires all rooms to be immaculate. Group assignments are posted in the hall." Her sharp eyes find me. "Katara, you're on the premium suites with Lin and Suki. I want those silk sheets changed and the floors polished until I can see my reflection."

The premium suites are reserved for the highest-paying clients. Military Officials, Nobles close to the Royal Court, and occasionally Foreign Dignitaries deemed loyal enough to the Fire Nation to be granted such pleasures.

"At least we're together," Suki whispers as we gather cleaning supplies. Her darker blue eyes twinkle with a light excitement.

Suki came from Kyoshi Island. Even their small community wasn’t spared the Fire Nation's invasion. Raided for bodies to serve in Ozai’s endless war. Another place torn apart by the regime. Ozai’s lust for power hasn’t lessened, even after his victory over the Avatar.

Suki was trained to fight even before she learned to walk, like so many other girls. When she was barely six years old the island's government and its citizens were dismantled and separated, breaking apart the history and community. They even went so far as to burn Kyoshi’s shrine. Suki was torn from her family, shipped overseas, and put into an “orphanage”. Where she and many other children were forced to work in the foundries, producing military equipment for the new Fire Navy base being built on top of her island home. She was a part of the assembly lines, painting small gold details onto the pieces of armor built and made for the Fire Lord’s armies. 

Suki worked in the factories for almost a decade, until there was an outbreak of pox in the southern part of the capital. Many of the girls in the Red Houses died from the spread. Creating the need for ‘fresh girls’ to tend to the weary road worn soldiers. She was barely fifteen when she was bought.

She’s only half a year older than me, working through the Red Houses for about the same amount of time as I have. Her blue eyes and soft demeanor have gained her popularity very quickly. Helping her move through the less desirable houses until she landed here, at the Red Flame. Lin quickly grew protective over her as well, after we were bought by Kaji. The three of us are the only girls who have blue eyes. The silent hierarchy of girls isolated us enough that it only pushes us closer together.

The next few hours pass in a blur of physical labor. We strip beds, scrub floors, dust ornate furniture, and polish the brass fixtures until they gleam. The work is exhausting, especially after my night at Commander Wei's, but I welcome the distraction. Physical pain is preferable to dwelling on Commander Zhao's growing obsession with me.

My mind wanders as I work. My hands move through the familiar motions of tucking corners, polishing surfaces, restocking oils and lubricants in bedside drawers. I find myself thinking of Prince Zuko again. Would he be disgusted to see the reality of my daily life? The endless cycle of cleaning up after one man only to prepare for the next? I wonder if he ever considers the unseen labor that makes his world possible. The servants who clean his chambers, prepare his meals, stoke his fires. Does he think of them as people with dreams and fears, or merely as extensions of the Palace itself?

I wipe sweat from my forehead, leaning back on my heels as I finish scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain from the floor. My arms ache and, my knees throb, but there's a certain mindlessness to the work that I've come to appreciate. The rhythmic circular motion of the rag against wood allows my thoughts to drift. I can almost taste the delicate jasmine tea he served. My stomach had been so empty that night, and he'd noticed, filling a plate for me before serving himself. Such a small gesture, yet no man had ever considered my hunger before his own desires. I pause in my scrubbing, recalling how his expression had softened when he spoke of his mother and their theater trips to Ember Island. The way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he mentioned the theatre troupe "butchering" his favorite play. There had been genuine warmth there, a glimpse of the boy he must have been before the scar, before whatever hardships had turned him into the guarded young man who offered me his bed while he slept on the sofa that night. I remember how his fingers had brushed against mine when he tried to give me the book. The way he looked at me. Not as property or an exotic novelty, but as a person who might enjoy reading a comedy.

"Daydreaming again?" Lin appears in the doorway of room nine, leaning on her broom.

I shrug. "Just tired."

"It's more than that." She steps inside, lowering her voice. "Ever since that night at the Palace, you've been different. Did something happen with the Prince?"

"Nothing happened," I say truthfully. "That's what was so strange about it."

Lin raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing me.

"Really," I insist. "He didn't touch me."

"The Crown Prince of the Fire Nation paid for a night with you and didn't even touch you?" Lin shakes her head in disbelief. "That's... unusual."

"He didn't pay," I correct her. "His father did. As some kind of... gift." The memory of Prince Zuko's disgust at the arrangement is still vivid. "He wasn't happy about it."

Lin studies me for a long moment. " Be careful , Katara. Men like him aren't for girls like us."

"I know that," I snap, more defensively than intended. "I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were." Her expression softens. "Just looking out for you."

By late afternoon, our chores are complete. Madame Kaji inspects each room personally, running a white-gloved finger along surfaces, checking behind curtains and under furniture for any speck of dust we might have missed.

"Acceptable," she pronounces finally, which is high praise, by her standards. "Now go prepare yourselves. Tonight's guests are particularly distinguished. I expect perfection."

We hurry back to our quarters for a quick meal before the evening begins. Dinner is a simple affair—rice, steamed vegetables, and a small portion of fish—eaten hastily between preparations.

"Save me some hot water," I call to the girls already heading to the washrooms.

"No promises," Lin replies with a half-smile. "Some of us have more to wash."

The washrooms are chaos as girls rush to claim spots in the communal showers. Steam fills the air, mixing with the scent of various soaps and perfumed oils. I squeeze between two younger girls, finding a small space at one of the basins.

"Move over!" someone shouts from the far corner.

"Has anyone seen my hairbrush?" calls another.

"Five minutes each in the showers!" Madame Kaji calls out, standing at the doorway with a small hourglass timer. "We're on a schedule!"

I strip off my robe, wincing as the fabric catches on a fresh bruise from Commander Wei. Lin notices from her spot in the shower line, her eyes narrowing with concern, but she says nothing. We've all learned to carry our wounds in silence.

When my turn comes, I step under the lukewarm spray, scrubbing quickly. The water swirls around my feet, carrying away the remnants of Commander Wei's touch. I close my eyes, allowing myself five seconds. Just five. To imagine clean mountain streams, the icy waters of my homeland. Then I shut off the fantasy along with the water.

I dry off rapidly, wrapping my hair in a towel to keep it from dripping as I hurry to claim one of the small vanity tables. The mirrors are clouded with steam, and girls jostle for position, sharing kohl pencils and passing lip stains from hand to hand.

"Here," Lin appears beside me, pressing a small pot of blue pigment into my palm. "For your eyes. It makes them pop."

"Where did you get this?" 

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," she replies with a wink. "Just use it."

I apply the pigment carefully, using my fingertip to blend it across my eyelids. Lin is right—it makes my blue eyes appear even more vivid against my skin. I line my eyes with kohl, extending it slightly at the corners in the style Madame Kaji insists makes us look ‘mysterious’.

"Seven-thirty, ladies!" Madame Kaji’s voice rings out over the chaos. "Thirty minutes until positions!"

The frenzy intensifies. Girls scramble for hair pins, powder, and the Red Flame’s signature crimson lip stain.

"Katara, can you help me with my hair?" Suki calls from one of the mirrors. Her fingers struggle with a complicated updo designed to show off the elegant length of her neck.

I finish pinning my own curls into the half-up style that clients seem to prefer. 

“Wild enough to remind us you're exotic, tamed enough to remind us you're trained," as Madame Kaji put it.

“You’re not putting yours up? Suki asks.

"Commander Zhao likes my hair down," I murmur as I twist a strand of her silky brown hair into place. "He says it gives him something to hold onto."

"Katara, help me with this clasp," a younger girl asks, struggling with her top. “Please?”

I fasten the delicate hook, adjusting the fabric. She's new, barely sixteen, with the wide-eyed look that will be gone within months.

Lin appears beside us, already dressed in her special Dominatrix outfit, the crimson leather polished to a high shine. "Hurry up, both of you. It's nearly eight."

Chapter Text

We rush back to our quarters, slipping into our House attire. The crimson silk feels cool against my freshly washed skin, the fabric clinging in all the places designed to draw a client's eye. I fasten the golden clasps at my shoulders, adjust the slits in the skirt to reveal just the right amount of leg.

"Positions, ladies!" Madame Kaji's voice cuts through the final rush of preparations.

I take one last look in the mirror, adjusting a stray curl before following the stream of crimson-clad bodies flowing into the main hall. The air is already thick with perfume and anticipation. Men in various states of intoxication mingle near the bar, their eyes following our movements with predatory interest.

I scan the room, my stomach knotting when I spot Commander Zhao near the fireplace. His amber eyes lock onto mine immediately, a slow smile spreads across his face, sending ice through my veins.

"There she is," he says loudly enough for nearby patrons to hear. "My favorite little pet."

I force my lips into the practiced smile, the one that never reaches my eyes. "Commander Zhao. What a pleasure to see you again."

He closes the distance between us. His hand wraps around my wrist, squeezing just hard enough to remind me of his strength. "I've reserved you for three hours tonight," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "I have plans for you, Raine."

I swallow the revulsion rising in my throat. "I'm honored by your continued patronage, Commander."

His other hand slides down my back, resting at the curve of my spine. "Room four?"

"Yes, Commander."

He releases my wrist, turning to finish his drink in a single swallow. I catch Lin's eye across the room where she's already leading a Minister toward the Dominatrix suites. Her expression is clear. Be careful.

The minutes tick by as Zhao finishes his conversation with another Officer. I stand silently beside him, the perfect ornament.

"Come," he finally orders, setting down his empty glass.

I follow him down the corridor, past other rooms where the night's activities have already begun.

Room four is one of the premium suites I cleaned earlier. The silk sheets are fresh, the brass fixtures gleaming in the soft red light. A bottle of rice wine sits on the bedside table, two glasses beside it.

"Pour the wine," he commands, settling into the plush chair near the window.

I move gracefully to the table, filling both glasses with the clear liquid. 

"Bring it here. Then undress for me. Slowly."

I hand him the glass, and he downs it in one swallow, setting it aside with a clatter. His eyes never leave me as I begin to undo the golden clasps at my shoulders. The crimson silk slips down, revealing my shoulders, then my breasts. I've done this hundreds of times. Tonight though, there's something different in Zhao's eyes. Something hungrier, more focused. I untie the sash that holds my skirt up, letting the silk layers flutter to the floor in a blood red puddle.

"Turn around," he orders, "Let me see what I'm paying for."

I obey, turning slowly. The cool air raises goosebumps on my skin.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, but there's nothing appreciative in his tone. It's the way a man might admire a weapon before using it. "Come here."

I approach him, maintaining the graceful walk Madame Kaji has drilled into us. When I'm within reach, his hand shoots out, gripping my wrist and yanking me onto his lap. The sudden movement sends pain shooting through my shoulder.

"I've been thinking about you," he says, his fingers digging into my hip. "About those blue eyes. You know what they remind me of?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "The Southern Raiders. My finest achievement."

My blood turns to ice. The Southern Raiders. The elite Fire Nation force responsible for raids on the Southern Water Tribe. For the disappearance of Waterbenders. For the destruction of my home. The murder of my mother.

"I led six raids myself," he continues, one hand sliding up to grip my throat. Not squeezing yet, just holding. "Captured the last Waterbenders." His fingers tighten slightly. He squeezes harder, cutting off my air for just a moment before releasing.

His hand crashes across my face without warning, the slap echoing in the quiet room. My head snaps to the side, tears springing to my eyes from the sting.

He shoves me off his lap. I stumble, catching myself against the bedpost.

"Strip the bed," he commands. "I want the sheets on the floor."

I pull the silk sheets from the mattress, spreading them on the hardwood as instructed. Zhao watches, sipping his second glass of wine more slowly now, his eyes never leaving me.

"On your hands and knees," he says when I've finished. "Like the animal you are."

I comply, positioning myself on the silk sheets, my palms flat against the cool fabric, the floorboards digging into my knees.

Zhao circles me slowly, his boots heavy with each step.

"On all fours, like a good pet," Zhao notes, his voice thick with contempt. He unbuttons his uniform jacket methodically, unhurried. "Tell me, do you know what the Southern Raiders did to Water Tribe whores like you?"

I remain silent, focusing on a knot in the floor.

His boot catches me in the ribs, sending me sprawling sideways with a gasp. 

"I asked you a question," he growls, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me back into position. "Do you know what we did to them?"

"No, Commander," I whisper, fighting to keep my voice steady.

He chuckles, the sound devoid of any real humor. "First, we made them beg." His hand cracks across my backside in a loud smack. "For mercy." Another slap, harder this time. "For their lives." A third that makes my eyes water. "For their children's lives."

I bite my lip to keep from crying out. This is familiar territory. Zhao's games always begin with pain disguised as discipline.

"Count," he commands, delivering another blow.

"One."

"Louder!"

"One!" I repeat, my voice echoing off the walls.

By fifteen, my skin is on fire, tears streaming silently down my face. Zhao pauses, his breathing heavy, and runs a hand almost tenderly over the welts he's created.

"Beautiful," he murmurs. "Red on brown. Fire on water."

He moves in front of me, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. "Now, you're going to serve me like the conquered savage you are."

What follows is mechanical for me. A separation of mind and body perfected over years. While my body performs as commanded, my mind retreats to that frozen place inside where no one can reach. Where I am still Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, not Raine of the Red Flame.

Zhao is not gentle. He never is. His hands leave bruises where they grip, his movements designed to assert dominance rather than seek pleasure. When he finishes with my mouth, he shoves me face-down onto the silk sheets moving behind me. His other hand moves between my legs, fingers forcing their way inside without preparation. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. We're not allowed to show pain at the Flame. It ruins the fantasy for the clients.

"Dry as a desert," he sneers. "Aren't you supposed to be wet for me? Isn't that your job ?"

He withdraws his fingers and spits into his palm, a crude substitute for the lubricants in the drawer just inches away. I know better than to suggest it.

When he enters me, it's with a single brutal thrust that sends shockwaves of pain through my body. I can't suppress the small cry that escapes my lips.

"I wonder," he says, adjusting himself behind me, "if your mother was as cooperative as you."

Something inside me fractures at the mention of my mother. A dangerous surge of anger rises, bringing with it the familiar tingle of power in my fingertips. The water in the washbasin across the room ripples in response to my emotion.

No. Not here. Not now.

I force the feeling down, burying it deep, as Zhao takes what he's paid for. His grip is bruising, his pace punishing. He calls me names: savage, tribal slut, water whore. 

Each thrust pushes me against the hard floor beneath the thin silk sheet. My cheek bumps against the wooden floorboards with every movement. I feel myself tearing, the familiar burn of damage being done.

He grabs a fistful of my hair, using it to yank my head back at an unnatural angle. The position strains my neck, making it difficult to breathe. His other hand wraps around my throat again, squeezing just enough to make black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

"Blue eyes," he pants, his grip tightening with each thrust. "Such pretty blue eyes."

Just as the darkness starts to close in, he releases my throat. I gasp for air, coughing as he continues his assault.

"You're a good whore," Zhao grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Better than most of the trash here."

He flips me onto my back without warning, my head hitting the floor with a dull thud. His weight crushes me as he positions himself between my legs again.

"Look at me," he commands, gripping my jaw when I try to turn away. "I want to see your eyes when I finish."

I obey, staring up at him with the practiced vacant expression that men like him mistake for submission. The silk sheet beneath me is damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably to my bruised skin. Zhao's pace quickens, his breathing ragged as he approaches his climax.

"Say my name," he demands, face contorted with pleasure and rage in equal measures. "Say it!"

"Commander Zhao," I whisper, my voice hoarse from where he'd squeezed my throat.

He collapses on top of me with a final grunt, his full weight driving the air from my lungs. For several long moments, he lies there, his breath hot and sour against my neck. My ribs ache under his weight, but I remain perfectly still, waiting for him to move of his own accord.

When he finally rolls off me, he doesn't go far. Instead, he props himself on one elbow beside me, tracing the curve of my cheek with fingers that had been brutally inside me.

"You did well tonight," he says, his voice calmer now that he's satisfied. "Almost like you enjoyed it."

I turn toward him, summoning a sweet smile. "It's always a pleasure to serve you, Commander."

He laughs, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Liar. But a good one." He sits up, reaching for the wine bottle. "Clean yourself up. I paid for another two hours, and I'm not finished with you yet."

I rise gracefully despite the pain radiating from between my legs, from my ribs, from the welts on my backside. I move to the small adjoining washroom, closing the door quietly. Only then do I allow myself to exhale, leaning heavily against the sink.

The mirror shows a face I barely recognize. Lips swollen, a red mark darkening on my cheek where he slapped me, the beginnings of bruises forming on my neck. I wet a cloth and clean myself, wincing at the sting between my legs. There's blood, but not too much. Nothing that will prevent me from finishing Zhao's session or serving other clients for the rest of the night.

When I return, he's lounging on the bed, drinking directly from the wine bottle.

"Dance for me." Zhao watches with hooded eyes, occasionally barking commands. "Slower. Turn around. Touch yourself."

I comply with each demand, maintaining the sweet smile that men like Zhao expect. Inside, I retreat further into that frozen place where nothing can touch me. Not his eyes, not his hands, not his cruelty.

For the next two hours, Zhao continues to push boundaries. Demanding acts that skirt the edges of what's permitted at the Flame. He binds my wrists with his belt until my fingers tingle from lack of circulation. He covers my mouth and nose with his hand until I nearly pass out, releasing me just before I lose consciousness. He leaves bite marks on my shoulders, my breasts, my hips, my lower back and the inside of my thighs. Hard enough to bruise but not to break skin. All while taking his pleasure, what he’s paid for. Always careful to stay just within the rules established by Madame Kaji. When he finally tires, the room smells of sweat, sex, and the metallic tang of my blood. My body feels hollow, used up, but I continue to smile, to speak in the soft, pleasing tones that keep clients coming back.

"Was there anything else you desired tonight, Commander?" I ask sweetly, kneeling beside the bed at his feet.

I glance at the clock. 

Seven minutes left.

 "It seems our time is almost up," he says, reaching for his uniform shirt.

I rise, ignoring the screaming pain in my body. "Would you like assistance dressing, Commander?" My voice is honeyed, perfectly modulated so I sound eager to please.

"No." He fastens the buttons himself, watching me through narrowed eyes. "You've been... adequate tonight."

"Thank you, Commander." I bow my head demurely, hands clasped before me. "It's always my pleasure to serve a man of your distinction."

He scoffs but seems pleased by the flattery. "I'll be requesting you again next week. Make sure you're available."

"Of course, Commander. I look forward to it." The lie falls easily from my lips, my expression betraying nothing of the dread coiling in my stomach at the thought of another session with him.

As he adjusts his collar, I retrieve his boots from beside the bed, kneeling to place them before him. It's not required, but I know it feeds his ego to see me on my knees. The extra attention might earn the House a better tip.

"Such a well-trained little pet," he murmurs, patting my cheek with mock affection.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily. Three minutes remaining in his purchased time.

Zhao moves to the door, then pauses. "One more thing," he says, turning back. "Next time, I think I'll bring a friend. Admiral Chen has been curious about you since I described those pretty blue eyes."

My stomach turns to ice, but my face remains pleasantly neutral. "How thoughtful of you, Commander. I'd be delighted to entertain your friend as well."

He chuckles, the sound dark and satisfied. "Such a good little whore. So accommodating."

Two minutes.

I retrieve his jacket from where he'd tossed it earlier. I hold it up for him, helping him into it.

"Thank you for choosing me tonight, Commander," I say, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. "It's always a privilege."

One minute.

He turns, catching my wrist in a bruising grip. "Remember what I told you about the Southern Raiders," he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. "Remember what we did to your kind, savage girl."

I force myself to lean into his touch, as if savoring his closeness. "I'll remember everything you've taught me, Commander." I reply, my voice a seductive promise.

The clock chimes softly, signaling the end of his purchased time.

I step back, bowing deeply in the Fire Nation style. "The Red Flame thanks you for your patronage, Commander Zhao. We hope to see you again soon."

The door clicks shut behind him, and only then do I allow myself to collapse to sitting on the floor. The pain I've been suppressing crashes over me in waves. My throat burns where he squeezed, my ribs ache where he kicked, and between my legs, the stinging has intensified to a persistent throb.

I give myself exactly one minute to feel it all. The pain, the humiliation, the rage. Sixty seconds to be Katara. Then I push myself up on trembling arms, the mask sliding back into place.

I have other clients waiting.

There's no time for weakness, not here.

Chapter Text

Madame Kaji scheduled me for a thirty-minute break between Zhao and my next appointment. Zhao is considered a ‘messy’ client.

When I step into the hall, Sen is talking with another of the Wards. Their light laughter stops abruptly upon seeing me.

“Ms. Raine, everything alright?” Sen's eyes linger on my neck where I know bruises are beginning to form. His jaw tightens slightly, but he makes no comment about it. In the Red Flame, we all understand the unspoken boundaries. What can be acknowledged and what must be ignored.

I force a weak smile, "Fine, thank you, Sen. Just need to freshen up."

He nods, but I can see in his eyes he doesn't believe me. He's worked at the Flame long enough to recognize the aftermath of Zhao. "Take your time. I'll let them know if your next client arrives early."

I whisper my thanks and hurry down the corridor. The private washrooms reserved for us between clients are a small mercy in this place. One of the few spaces where we can briefly drop our masks. The door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, finally allowing my shoulders to slump. The mirror reflects a stranger—hair disheveled, kohl smudged beneath my eyes, crimson lip stain nearly gone. Bruises are already forming around my throat, dark fingerprints marking where Zhao gripped me.

I move to the sink basin, turning the tap with trembling hands. I wet a cloth and begin the process of erasing Zhao's touch from my skin. I dab gently at the bruises on my neck, knowing they'll need to be covered with powder. 

Madame Kaji doesn't like visible bruises—they "disrupt the fantasy," she says.

The water in the basin turns pink as I clean between my legs. The tearing isn't severe, but it stings sharply. I've endured worse.

Seventeen minutes left.

I empty the basin, and begin repairing my appearance. Fresh kohl around my eyes, crimson stain on my lips. I re-apply the blue pigment Lin gave me, making my eyes seem brighter, less haunted. The powder conceals most of the bruising on my neck, though I'll need to wear my hair down to hide the worst of it. I work through the tangles in my hair, arranging the curls to fall strategically over the marks Zhao left. I straighten my crimson attire, adjusting the drape to hide the bruises beginning to form on my ribs. The mirror now shows Raine again. Exotic, desirable, untouched by the cruelty of the last three hours.

Ten minutes.

Walking out to the bar, Suki is sitting in a seat instead of behind the counter, already sipping on the sweet wine she gravitates towards.

Her eyes go wide seeing me, “Fucking Spirits. You okay?”

I nod, waving to the girl tending the bar, “Whatever we have that's strong, please.”

The girl nods, sliding me a small glass filled with amber liquid. I down it in one gulp, the burn in my throat momentarily distracting from the pain radiating through my body.

"Another," I whisper, pushing the empty glass forward.

"Maybe slow down, Raine," Suki suggests, her hand resting gently on my arm. "You have another client in—"

"Eight minutes," I finish for her. "I know Petal, I know. But I need this."

The second drink burns less than the first. I close my eyes, feeling the alcohol spread warmth through my battered body, dulling the edges of the pain.

"Was it bad?" Suki asks quietly.

I open my eyes, meeting her concerned gaze. "It's always bad with Zhao."

"Was he worse than usual?"

I nod, unable to form the words to describe what Zhao had done.

I gesture for a third drink.

Lin appears at my side, her face flushed from exertion. "You look like shit," she says bluntly, echoing her words from earlier.

"So do you," I retort, but there's no heat in it.

She signals for a drink of her own. "That Minister wanted the full treatment tonight. My arms are killing me." Her eyes narrow as she takes in my appearance. "Zhao?"

I nod.

"That bastard needs to fall on his own sword," she mutters, accepting her drink with a nod of thanks. "Preferably while it's on fire."

"He mentioned bringing Admiral Chen next time," I say, keeping my voice neutral despite the dread the words carry. I toss back my drink, signaling for another, sipping immediately.

Lin's face darkens. "Chen is worse than Zhao. He broke a girl’s arm last year."

"I remember." I down the rest of my drink, signaling for another refill.

"Raine!" Madame Kaji's sharp voice cuts through the haze of alcohol and pain. She stands at the entrance to the bar area, her golden lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "Front of House. Now ."

Four minutes.

I swallow my last drink, and set down my glass, exchanging a confused glance with Suki and Lin. Being summoned to the front of House usually means a special client request, but I’ve already finished with my special client of the night. Everyone else I have booked are regulars who don't deviate from the usual structure of their allotted time.

"Did I do something wrong?" I whisper to Lin, wondering if Zhao made some kind of complaint.

She shrugs, her eyes worried. "Go. Don't keep her waiting."

I smooth my crimson attire, checking my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. The bruises on my neck are mostly concealed, my makeup freshly applied. I look presentable enough, though my body screams with every movement.

Three minutes.

"Now, girl!" Madame Kaji snaps, already turning to lead the way.

I hurry after her, my slippered feet silent on the polished floors. The alcohol has dulled the worst of the pain, but each step still sends jolts through my ribs where Zhao kicked me.

When we reach the front parlor, I'm surprised to see Roan standing near the entrance, "Ah! Here she is!" he exclaims, his voice cracking with age.

Madame Kaji turns to me, her golden lips pressed into a thin line that doesn't match the brightness in her eyes. 

Money , I realize. Whatever this is about, it involves significant payment. Perhaps he’s booked an appointment for himself? Though he’d likely be an easier session. By the looks of him, it would be easy to use my hands and a few choice salacious words, to convince him he’s had a magical time.

"Raine, darling," Madame Kaji purrs, gesturing a bejeweled hand toward Roan. "Greet our guest."

I approach, bowing slightly to Roan, “Good evening, Sir.” before taking my place beside Madame Kaji. Her fingers dig into my arm, a warning to be on my best behavior.

Two minutes

"Look at you," Roan says, his eyes traveling over me. "Just as lovely as I remembered."

"Thank you, sir," I reply softly.

"Raine," Madame Kaji's voice is silk over steel, "Roan has come with another request from the Palace. It seems you made quite an impression during your last visit."

Roan steps closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, my dear, what exactly did you do to the Prince?"

I blink in confusion. "Sir?"

"Prince Zuko," Roan clarifies, as if I might have forgotten which Prince I'd spent the night with. "For nearly two weeks after your visit, he was markedly less... angry. His temper was almost manageable. But now he's returned to his usual state—shouting at servants, storming out of meetings, setting training dummies on fire.”

"I—I just provided the discreet service that was requested," I stammer, my heart pounding against my bruised ribs. "Nothing special, sir. Just... standard techniques we learn here at the Flame."

Roan's eyebrows rise, clearly not believing me. "Standard techniques that calmed the most volatile prince in Fire Nation history? My dear, you're being far too modest."

Madame Kaji's grip tightens on my arm, her nails digging into my skin. The warning is clear. Whatever I did, she expects me to do it again.

"In any case," Roan continues, "Fire Lord Ozai has commanded that you return to the Palace tonight.”

One minute.

My heart stutters in my chest. "Tonight?"

"Yes," Madame Kaji interjects, her voice practically singing with delight. "Fire Lord Ozai will have a carriage sent for you within the hour. He's offering triple my usual rate for your services." Her painted nails dig into my arm. "You will do exactly what you did before. Whatever calmed the Prince, whatever pleased him enough to improve his temperament, you will do it again ."

My mind races. But I didn’t actually do anything . I open my mouth, then close it, unsure of what to say. I simply nod.

"Good." She releases my arm and turns to Roan with a dazzling smile. "She'll be ready when the carriage arrives."

Roan nods, satisfied. "I'll return shortly to escort her personally." He bows slightly to Madame Kaji before shuffling toward the door.

The clock chimes, signaling I’m now late. Something that wouldn’t be tolerated on a usual night.

Once he's gone, Madame Kaji rounds on me, her facade of pleasantness evaporating. "Listen carefully, girl. This is a rare opportunity. The Fire Lord himself has requested you, again . Do you understand?"

“Yes Ma’am.”

"Remember what this could mean for the Red Flame," Madame Kaji says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If the Prince becomes a regular patron, other members of the Royal Court will follow. The prestige alone..."

She steers me from the front parlor through a narrow corridor toward her private chambers. Her gold painted nails dig into my arm as she turns, practically dragging me along, her excitement palpable. I stumble, pain shooting through my ribs. Madame Kaji either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

"We must make you irresistible," she says, flinging open the door to her chambers. "The Prince must be unable to get you out of his mind."

Her private room is opulent compared to our sparse shared quarters. Plush rugs from the Earth Kingdom, ornate furniture inlaid with gold, a large oak wardrobe housing her luxury golden robes. She rarely brings anyone here, preferring to maintain the mystique of her personal space.

"Sit," she commands, pointing to a cushioned stool before a large vanity mirror.

I perch on the edge, wincing as the pressure aggravates the welts Zhao left. In the mirror, I see myself. Already made up for the evening's clients, but clearly not to Madame Kaji's standards for Royalty.

"No, no, this won't do at all," she mutters, circling me like a predator assessing its prey. "The Prince needs something more... provocative." She yanks the pins from my hair, letting my curls tumble free around my shoulders. "Yes, like this. Wild. Untamed."

Her fingers probe my scalp, arranging the curls to frame my face. I bite my lip to keep from flinching when she touches a tender spot where Zhao pulled my hair.

"The bruises," she says, noticing the marks on my neck and shoulders, still visible, even with my attempts to conceal them. Her lips purse in annoyance. "Commander Zhao again?"

I nod silently.

"That man," she sighs, more irritated by the inconvenience than concerned for my well being. "Well, we can work with this. The hair will hide most of it."

She turns to her extensive collection of cosmetics, selecting pots and brushes. "We'll make your eyes more dramatic. Smoky, mysterious. The Prince must feel like he's peering into an exotic abyss when he looks at you."

I remain perfectly still as she removes my existing makeup with a damp cloth, replacing it with something much heavier. The kohl she applies extends far beyond my lash line, creating an elongated, feline appearance. She adds shimmering powders to my eyelids and cheekbones, making my skin glow in the lamplight. "Rouge!" she exclaims, reaching for a pot of deep crimson stain. She applies it liberally to my lips, creating a fuller, more pouty appearance. "Men are such simple creatures. They see red lips and think only of what they could be doing with them."

Next, Madame Kaji turns to a large lacquered chest in the corner of her room. She throws it open, rifling through layers of silks and lace with growing excitement.

"Your body is your greatest asset in this business." Madame Kaji declares, as she withdraws a garment of such delicate construction it seems to float between her fingers. It’s nothing like our standard Red Flame attire. Instead of the comparatively modest crimson silk, this is a creation of sheer black lace overlaid with blood-red embroidery strategically placed to draw the eye while concealing almost nothing.

"This," she says with reverent pride, "is reserved for only the most important clients."

My stomach tightens, acid burning the back of my throat. "It's beautiful, Madame Kaji."

"And expensive," she adds, her eyes glittering. "Imported from the Capital's finest seamstress. The Fire Lord himself commissioned three such pieces last year for a personal party in the Palace."

She helps me stand, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she guides me out of my regular attire. I feel more exposed than usual as she circles me, assessing my body with the clinical eye of someone appraising merchandise.

"The bruises on your ribs, and those bite marks" she tuts, fingers hovering over the darkening skin. "No matter. This piece will draw attention elsewhere."

The lace feels like spider silk against my skin as she drapes it over me, adjusting the placement with meticulous care. It clings to every curve, the red embroidery creating an illusion of flames licking up my body. The neckline plunges daringly low, while the back dips all the way to the base of my spine.

"Perfect," Madame Kaji breathes, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "You look like fire itself."

She retrieves a small crystal vial from her collection, removing the stopper to release a heady, exotic scent. "Jasmine and dragon's blood," she explains, dabbing it behind my ears, at my wrists, and—with a calculating smile—between my breasts. "Men respond to it on a primal level. They may not know why they want you, only that they must have you."

The perfume makes my head swim slightly, its potency overwhelming in the close quarters of her chambers.

"Now for the final touch." She takes a small pot of gold-flecked balm and traces it along my collarbones, down the center of my chest, and in a delicate line from my navel to the edge of the lace that barely covers my most intimate area. "To guide his eye," she explains with a knowing smile.

When she finally allows me to look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The woman staring back is a seductress, a fantasy creature crafted from shadow and flame. My hair falls in wild curls around my shoulders, artfully arranged to conceal the bruises on my neck and face.

My blue eyes seem to glow against the dramatic makeup, the shimmer on my skin catching the light with every breath. I look powerful, dangerous, and utterly desirable.

"Remember," Madame Kaji says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she adjusts a final curl, "You are not just Raine tonight. You are a living fantasy. The Prince's fantasy." Her hands rest on my shoulders, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Whatever you did before that pleased him, do it again. And more. The Fire Lord is paying a small fortune for you tonight. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, Ma’am," I reply automatically, the words hollow in my mouth.

She narrows her eyes slightly, sensing my hesitation. "Is there a problem?"

I quickly shake my head. "No, Madame. I'm just... surprised by the summons."

"As am I," she admits, a rare moment of honesty. "The Prince has never been known for his interest in pleasure Houses. His father, certainly, but not the son." Her lips curl into a calculating smile. "Which makes you all the more valuable if you can capture his attention."

A soft knock interrupts us. One of the younger girls—barely sixteen—peeks in timidly. "Madame, Roan has returned with the Royal carriage."

"Perfect timing," Madame Kaji says with satisfaction. She steps back, making a final assessment, adjusting a curl here, smoothing the lace there. Satisfied with her creation. "You'll wear this." She drapes a sheer crimson robe over my shoulders, the fabric doing little to conceal what lies beneath. "Only until you reach the Prince's chambers. Then it comes off."

I nod, swallowing the knot of anxiety in my throat. Every movement sends waves of pain through my body where Zhao had left his mark. I can only hope the Prince doesn't notice, or at least doesn't care.

"Remember what this means for the House, Raine. For all of us." She leads me through the back corridors of the Flame, avoiding the main rooms where clients might see me. This creation is for Royal eyes only, not to be glimpsed by the ordinary patrons of the House.

Lin and Suki are waiting near the back servants' entrance, their eyes widen as they take in my transformation.

"Spirits," Lin breathes, reaching out to touch my arm before thinking better of it. "You look..."

"Like you're about to be sacrificed to a dragon," Suki finishes, her voice a mix of awe and concern.

I force a smile. "Just another night's work."

Lin steps closer, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. "Be careful. If he hurts you—"

"He won't," I interrupt, though I have no way of knowing if that's true. The Prince had been strangely kind during my first visit, but that was before I'd been presented to him as... this. This creature of fire and seduction.

Roan waits in the front parlor, his aged face lighting up when he sees me. "My goodness," he breathes, "you are a vision tonight, my dear."

"Thank you, Sir,"

"The Prince will be... most pleased," he says, unable to tear his gaze away from the revealing lace that barely covers my body.

Madame Kaji beams with pride, as if I'm her personal masterpiece. "Raine is one of our most exceptional girls," she tells Roan. "The Prince is in for a truly memorable evening."

The night air slices through the thin robe as Roan leads me outside, the stone steps of the Red Flame cold beneath the thin golden slippers that do little to warm my feet. I suppress a shiver, maintaining the serene smile expected of me despite the biting chill that sends goosebumps across my exposed skin. The garment Madame Kaji selected might be stunning, but it offers virtually no protection from the elements.

"You are lovely, my dear." Roan says, his voice solicitous as he guides me toward the waiting carriage, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort.

I fight the urge to wrap my arms around myself, knowing it would displease Madame Kaji who watches from the doorway with hawk-like scrutiny. The revealing outfit wasn't styled for warmth but for the Prince's pleasure, and I'm expected to endure any discomfort without complaint.

"Such a lovely evening." I remark sweetly, my voice betraying none of the frustration brewing inside. The temperature has dropped significantly since sunset, and the wind cuts through the sheer fabric like it isn't there at all.

Roan smiles approvingly at my pleasant demeanor. "Indeed it is.”

The carriage door opens, and I'm grateful for the relative shelter it promises, even as anxiety churns in my stomach about what awaits me at the Palace. At least there, I imagine, the rooms will be warm.

"After you, dear." Roan gestures, offering his wrinkled hand to assist me.

I take it with a gracious smile, carefully climbing the steps. Inside, the carriage is plush with velvet cushions, but still carries the night's chill. The bruises from Zhao's session throb beneath the beautiful lace, camouflaged but insistent reminders of the role I must play.

"Comfortable?" Roan asks as he takes the seat opposite me.

"Very much so, thank you," I lie smoothly, my voice melodious and warm against the cold that seeps into my bones.

As the carriage lurches forward, I catch a final glimpse of Madame Kaji through the window. Her golden lips curve into a satisfied smile, her jeweled hand raised in what might appear to be a farewell but I recognize as a warning.

Do not fail.

Chapter Text

Guards eye me with poorly concealed interest as we pass, their gazes linger on the revealing lace that barely covers my body. We arrive at the familiar ornate double doors of Prince Zuko's private quarters. 

Roan ushers me inside, "Make yourself comfortable," he says, his eyes wandering over me one last time. "The Prince may be... some time."

Then I'm alone again in Prince Zuko's chambers, but this time as a very different version of myself. The room is unchanged. The massive four-poster bed dominates one side, the writing desk scattered with scrolls, the bookshelves flanking the unlit fireplace.

I glance at the clock on the mantel. Just past midnight.

Per Madame Kaji's instructions, I remove the sheer robe, and drape it carefully over a chair. The air in the chamber is cool against my scarcely covered skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.

I shiver, both from the lingering chill and the nerves of the situation. Madame Kaji's instructions echo in my mind. Seduce him, please him, become his fantasy. But the Prince who let me sleep in his bed while he took the sofa seems at odds with a man who would desire the creature of seduction I've been transformed into tonight. I sit on the edge of the plush sofa, trying to find a position that doesn't ache. The lace scratches against the welts on my back and thighs, a constant reminder of what I endured mere hours ago.

Minutes stretch into an hour. I pace carefully, wincing as the movements aggravate every bruise. I find myself drawn to the window, watching as clouds obscure the moon, then reveal it again in a celestial dance. The heavy makeup begins to feel like a mask, the perfume Madame Kaji applied now cloying and overwhelming. I fight the urge to wash it all away.

Another hour passes. The lamps burn lower, their light growing dimmer. My body aches from the day, craving rest; but I'm reluctant to sit on the bed—that feels too presumptuous, too calculated. Instead, I perch on the edge of the cushioned bench where I'd sat during my first visit, arranging the sheer lace to display my bare thighs underneath. The door remains stubbornly closed. No servants enter with refreshments, no signs of the Prince's imminent return. I begin to wonder if this is some kind of test—or worse, a punishment. Perhaps the Prince was displeased with my previous visit after all, and this is his way of demonstrating his power. Keeping a girl from the Red Flame waiting for hours, dressed in next to nothing, cold, hungry, and drained from the night. As the second hour bleeds into a third, exhaustion begins to take its toll. The alcohol I consumed to dull the pain from Zhao's session has long since worn off, leaving me acutely aware of every bruise, every welt, every bite mark. My eyelids grow heavy despite my best efforts to remain alert and poised.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, crashing against the wall with enough force to make me jump. Prince Zuko staggers in, his movements uncoordinated and his normally perfect topknot askew. The scent of liquor wafting in as he enters.

"You've got to be kidding me," he snarls when he sees me, his words slightly slurred. " Again ? Let me guess, he sent you to ‘show me a good time’? WELL FUCK HIM! AND FUCK YOU !"

I immediately stand, bowing deeply despite the pain it causes. "Your Highness—"

"Stop." He waves his hand dismissively, swaying slightly. "Just... stop with the bowing and the 'Your Highness' nonsense." He stumbles toward his desk, gripping the edge to steady himself. "Why are you here? Again ?"

"I was summoned, Your—" I catch myself. "I was requested to attend to you tonight."

His face contorts with rage. "My father," he spits the word like it's poison. "Always interfering. Always manipulating." He shoves a stack of scrolls off his desk, sending them scattering across the floor.

I remain perfectly still, uncertain how to respond to this version of the Prince. His anger is palpable, radiating from him in waves of heat that warm the previously cool chamber.

His eyes narrow as they take in my appearance, lingering on the revealing lace that barely covers my body. "What are you wearing?" The question comes out harsh, accusing.

"Madame Kaji selected it specially for tonight," I explain softly.

He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "Of course she did." He stumbles toward me, close enough that I can smell the expensive liquor on his breath. "Tell me, did my father specify exactly how I should use you tonight? Did he give detailed instructions?"

I swallow hard. "No, I was simply told to... please you."

"Do you want a drink?" he asks abruptly, reaching for a crystal decanter on a side table. "I'm having another."

"If it pleases you," I respond automatically.

He scoffs, pouring two glasses with unsteady hands, spilling some on the polished wood. " If it pleases me ," he mimics, his voice bitter. "That's what everyone says, isn't it? 'If it pleases you, Your Highness .' 'Whatever you desire, Your Highness .'" He thrusts one of the glasses toward me, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "No one ever asks what I actually want."

I accept the glass carefully, our fingers brushing momentarily.

"What do you want?" I ask quietly, the question slipping out before I can stop it.

He stares at me for a long moment, his scarred face unreadable in the dim light. Then he laughs—a harsh, broken sound devoid of joy. "What do I want?" He downs his drink in one swallow. "What I want doesn't matter. It never has."

He moves to the window, bitterly staring out at the Palace grounds below. His shoulders are rigid with tension, his reflection in the glass showing a face twisted with barely contained fury.

"My father thinks sending me a pretty girl will fix everything," he mutters. "As if that's the problem. As if that's ever been the problem."

I remain silent, uncertain if he expects a response. A shiver skates down my spine with a draft of cool air.

“Spirits, you’re cold aren’t you?”

“No, your Highness. I’m f—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” he shouts. “I can see you shivering! I can see with my eyes your goose bumps, and hard ni—” He stops his words, his face twisting in frustration. “Fuck! I need to go to bed. Away from you. Away from him.” He continues muttering to himself, his anger rising again. He hurriedly strips his formal robes, stomping over to his wardrobe to dress in his sleeping tunic and pants.

I catch a flash of furious gold eyes before a rumpled tunic is tossed harshly at my face.

“Put that on, it's fucking freezing .” He grumbles, stalking over to plop onto the sofa. He starts a fire with a flick of his bending, before glancing back at me, “You look like a fucking whore.”

Indignation surges through me, “That's kind of the point. Your Highness.” I meet his glare before sliding the admittedly warm tunic over my body. It smells like him, in a strangely comforting way. I brush my hair back from around my shoulders and out of my face.

“That looks better on you anyway,” he growls, “you're too pretty for all that—” he gestures to my face, hair, and clothing. “Bullshit.”

“It was on your father's orders,” I argue, though I don't know why. “ Your Highness .”

He waves my words away, “Yeah yeah. The Fire Lord. All his power and greatness.” Prince Zuko scoffs shaking his head, “He's a fucking joke. You know he didn't actually kill the Avatar?” he covers his mouth, his eyes going wide.

He stands abruptly stomping across the room to tower over me. I can feel the heat pouring off him in angry waves.

“You didn't hear that!” He shouts in my face.

I shake my head frantically, raising my hands in a defensive gesture.

“What did you hear me say?” His low rasp of a voice is much more chilling than his shouting.

“I-I simply… heard you… say that… Your day was tiring. And you think you may have drank too much, and that you're considering having tea and retiring for the evening?” My breaths are heavy with fear now, I have nowhere to go if he decides to beat me to keep quiet—or worse.

He gives a tense nod, his body relaxing a measure, “Good.”

He returns to his spot, slumping back into the sofa, scrubbing his hands over his face with a groan.

“I'm just… really drunk. Talking nonsense.” He grumbles.

I nod, “Yes, Your Highness.” I shift slightly, and his tunic slips off one shoulder, revealing the darkening fingerprints around my neck. 

Prince Zuko's eyes snap to the exposed skin. "What is that ?" His voice is sharp. The slur in his words suddenly less pronounced.

I quickly tug the fabric back into place. "Nothing, Your Highness."

He stands moving towards me again, slower this time. "Let me see."

"It's nothing," I insist, backing away until I feel the edge of a chair bump the back of my legs.

He reaches out, gently this time, pulling the collar of the tunic aside. His breath catches audibly as he reveals the full extent of the bruising—the clear imprint of fingers wrapped around my throat.

"What happened?" The question comes out as a whisper, yet carries the weight of a command.

I remain silent, my eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder. Revealing a client's behavior could have serious consequences at the Red Flame.

"Raine." His voice softens, using the name that isn't truly mine. "Who hurt you?"

"It's part of the job, Your Highness," I finally answer, my voice carefully neutral. "Some clients have... specific preferences."

His eyes narrow. "Turn around."

"Your Highness—"

"Please." his voice is soft on the request.

The unexpected courtesy startles me into compliance. I turn slowly, feeling exposed even with his oversized tunic covering me. Prince Zuko carefully lifts the fabric, just enough to reveal my lower back. I hear his sharp intake of breath as he sees the welts and bite marks Zhao left there.

"These are fresh," he says, his voice tight with anger. "Tonight?"

I nod silently.

His fingers hover over a particularly dark bruise, not quite touching. "Before you came here?"

"Yes."

"You've been in pain this entire time." It's not a question.

I say nothing. 

What is there to say? 

Pain is as much a part of my life as breathing.

Prince Zuko moves away abruptly, returning to the sofa. He sits heavily, head in his hands. "And Kaji sent you anyway, knowing you'd already been... used today."

The crude word makes me flinch "It's an honor to serve the Royal Family, Your Highness," I recite mechanically.

"Stop." He looks up, his golden eyes blazing. "Just... stop with the rehearsed lines."

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Please. Don't call me that.” His voice is a soft rasp.

“What would you like me to call you?”

“Just Zuko.”

I can't help smiling, “Okay, Just Zuko .”

His eyes raise to mine in surprise, then a charming smile breaks across his face, softening the features; even his scar looks less harsh.

A small laugh escapes me before I can catch it. The sound feels foreign in my throat.

Zuko seems equally surprised by my laughter, his own smile widening slightly. For a moment, the tension in the room dissipates, replaced by something lighter, almost comfortable.

"Your laugh," he says, leaning back against the sofa cushions, "It's... nice."

I tug at the hem of his tunic, feeling self-conscious. "Thank you… Zuko."

His name feels strange on my tongue, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with physical closeness. In five years, I've called men by countless titles—Commander, Minister, Lord, Sir, Master, even Daddy—but never simply by their name. Never as equals.

"Would you like some tea?" he asks. 

I blink in confusion. "Tea?"

"Yes, tea. It's a hot beverage made from leaves. Perhaps you've heard of it?" His voice carries a hint of teasing, so unlike the angry Prince from moments ago.

I find myself smiling again. "I'm familiar with the concept."

He moves toward the small table near the window where a tea set rests on a simple tray. "My uncle says tea soothes the spirit. Right now, I think we could both use some soothing."

No servants, no bells rung for assistance. Just the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation making tea for a girl from the Red Flame.

"Jasmine," he says, "if that's alright?"

I nod, lowering onto the sofa, pulling my legs up, so I can curl into the warmth of his tunic. The fabric engulfs me, smelling of smoke and sandalwood.

When he returns with two steaming cups, he sits beside me—not too close—respecting the invisible boundary between us. He hands me a cup, our fingers brushing briefly in the exchange.

"Careful, it's hot."

I wrap my hands around the warm porcelain, savoring the heat against my palms. "Thank you."

We sit in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of sipping and the occasional crackle from the fire.

Zuko groans, the sound weary, slumping  further back into the sofa, “Fuck I’m drunk.” He scrubs his hands over his face, adding another splash of alcohol to his tea, “I’m going to have the worst hangover tomorrow.” He grimaces after another sip of his drink.

I sigh, “I was drunk… well… tipsy.”

“Was?”

I shrug, “It kind of wore off while I was waiting for you.”

He gives me a wry smile, “Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I wasn’t expecting to freeze my toes off,” I meet his smile with a soft one of my own.

His face lights up, “You’re funny.”

“Years of practice,” I snort into my cup taking another drink.

He chuckles, then looks surprised at his own reaction. "I don't laugh much anymore."

"Neither do I," I admit, tucking my cold feet further under me. "Not real laughs, anyway."

We fall into another silence, this one more relaxed, with the warmth of the fire and liquor buzzing through our veins. We both settle more comfortably into the plush cushions. From the corner of my eye, I catch him watching me more than once.

He gestures vaguely toward my neck, where the bruises peek out from beneath his tunic. "How often do your nights end like this? With bruises and... marks?"

I pull the fabric higher, covering the evidence of Zhao's cruelty. "It happens," I say with a practiced shrug. "Some clients are rougher than others."

"That's not what I asked."

"Why are you so drunk tonight, Zuko? What were you trying to forget?"

He blinks, momentarily caught off guard. Then a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, acknowledging my deflection. "Clever."

"Years of practice," I repeat softly.

Zuko sighs, leaning his head back against the sofa. "There was a war meeting. My father was... displeased with my suggestions." His hand unconsciously touches his scar. "I should know better than to contradict him by now."

"Must be difficult," I say carefully, "balancing all those expectations."

"You have no idea. Every decision scrutinized, every word analyzed for hidden meaning or weakness." His eyes drift closed. "Sometimes I drink just to make it all... quieter."

"Does it work?" I ask. "The drinking. Does it make things quieter?"

He opens his eyes, meeting my gaze. "Sometimes,” A wry smile. “Not tonight. Tonight it just made everything louder, especially my father's voice in my head."

I sip my tea, feeling the warmth spread through my body, easing some of the aches from Zhao's treatment. "So you decided to drown your frustrations?"

"Something like that." He takes another sip of tea, grimacing slightly. "Uncle would say I'm dishonoring the tea by mixing it with alcohol."

"Your uncle sounds wise."

"He is. Too wise, sometimes." Zuko shifts, turning more fully toward me. "You didn't answer my question."

I trace the rim of my teacup with one finger. "Most nights," I admit quietly. "Not always this bad, but... most nights leave some kind of mark."

Something dark flashes across his face. "And tonight? Before you came here? Who did that to you?"

"It doesn't matter who—"

"It matters," he interrupts, voice sharp.

"He pays well," I say simply. "That's all Madame Kaji cares about."

Zuko stands abruptly, swaying slightly as he paces in front of the fire. "He shouldn't be allowed to—" He cuts himself off, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Does it hurt? Still, I mean."

"Yes," I whisper. "But I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it." His voice is a quiet rasp.

We go quiet again, as Zuko pours himself another cup of liquor infused tea. He leans over, pouring a small measure into my cup as well. Carefully maintaining a respectful distance as he takes his seat next to me again.

"Can I ask you something?" he says hesitantly, staring into his cup.

"Of course."

"Raine... is that your real name?"

"It's the name I use at the Red Flame," I answer carefully.

"That's not what I asked."

I hesitate, weighing the risk. Revealing personal details is not permitted at the Flame. It breaks the illusion, reminds clients we're real people with lives beyond their purchased time.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I'd like to know who I'm actually talking to." He sets down his cup. "Unless you prefer being Raine?"

There's something in his tone—a genuine interest that I'm not accustomed to—that makes me momentarily consider telling him. Still, years of caution are hard to overcome.

"It's... safer being Raine," I say finally.

"Safer." He repeats the word, his expression darkening slightly. "From men like the one who did that?"

I instinctively touch the bruises on my neck, glancing away. "From everyone."

Zuko nods slowly, as if he understands. "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about. I just..." He trails off, looking almost embarrassed. "I'd like to know your real name. The one you had before all this."

"Katara," I whisper, the syllables feeling strange on my tongue after so long. "My name is Katara."

"Katara," he repeats, testing the sound. “Where are you from, Katara? And don’t say the colonies, we both know that’s a lie.” 

I shake my head, “I'm not supposed–”

“We're not supposed to do a lot of things these days,” he scoffs. “I'm supposed to be fucking you right now. But I'd rather talk. On my father's dime. But if you insist, we can fuck. I can make it good for you. Spirits know those Nobles don't.”

I shake my head, then nod “I-I don't–” I stammer out, feeling flustered and annoyed. It's been a long time since I've been caught off guard like this. Especially by a client.

He chuckles at my reddening cheeks, “You are very pretty.” He tilts his head to one side, as if really looking at me for the first time, “Don't worry, I may be a man, but I'm no pig. Just tell me one thing about yourself. About Katara. And I'll consider your duties fulfilled for the evening.”

I search my brain for a small detail about myself that would satisfy his apparent curiosity, then I open my mouth without thinking, “I like to swim.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Do women of your station have much time for swimming?”

I sigh, “No but I used to swim everyday. Back home.”

“Mmm,” he nods. “Where was home?” 

I shake my head, “You said one thing, you got it.”

He smiles at me again, and my heart does some kind of strange flutter through my chest, “Fair is fair. Perhaps next time, I'll ask for two.”

Chapter Text

Laundry day is the worst day. We’re provided bare minimum clothing as it is, but on laundry day, we usually just prance about in our undergarments; Silk slips the color of blood and matching cotton underwear to allow our ‘areas’ to breathe properly—can’t have us stinking for the clients. Some girls will just spend the afternoon naked, waiting for their cropped tops and layered skirts to dry in the sun. They lay in the courtyard, tanning their skin. Unconcerned about attracting the wrong attention. In the colder months, like now, we use the basement, the already damp air becoming even more so as we hang clothes along the rows of line. The afternoon stretches along, golden rays of sunlight just peeking through the small high windows.

Working at the Red Flame is a luxury compared to the other Red Houses I've been in. Madame Kaji may be strict, but at least we have proper facilities for washing our clothes. In my first House, we had to scrub our garments in cold water with harsh lye soap that left our hands raw and cracked. 

We’re lucky to be here. 

That's what we're told, at least. Madame Kaji reminds us daily how fortunate we are to serve in the Red Flame rather than one of the cheaper Houses near the docks where girls are lucky to survive a year. Here at the Red Flame, we’re called upon by the highest in the Royal Court. Nobles, mostly. Some girls have the honor of serving the Fire Lord, and other members of the Royal Family. And now, even the Crown Prince.

It's been almost three weeks since my second night with Prince Zuko. Three weeks of replaying our conversation in my mind during the quiet moments between clients. Three weeks of remembering how he said my real name. Katara —like it was something important, not just another exotic novelty to be consumed. His momentary anger had been jarring. The strange comment about a dead—or apparently not dead—Avatar, seemed to spark something in him. But it’s not really anything I can worry myself over. Whether the Avatar is dead, alive, or some other state of existence, is useless to me. I’ve got far too many real things to worry myself over. Like keeping up the story that I’m ‘pleasing’ the Prince to Madame Kaji’s standards. She had been ecstatic when I returned, assuming the Prince's improved mood was due to services rendered. I didn't correct her. Let her believe what she wanted, so long as she remained pleased with my performance. The bruises from Zhao have faded, replaced by fresh ones from other clients with similar tastes. 

The cycle continues, unbroken.

“Don’t forget to hang the socks, it’s freezing. We don't want to walk around with moist feet.” Suki brings another sopping wet basket to hang clothes beside me. Her presence interrupts my thoughts.

“Hang them last, to fit them between the skirts.” I remind both of us, out loud.

She nods, “You okay?”

I nod, “No.”

She furrows her brow at me, “What's going on?”

I open my mouth to speak, but a shout stops my words.

“KA-TAR-AH!” Lin’s loud voice calls from upstairs, “Madame Kaji wants you! Front of House! Now!”

“Duty calls.” I sigh, brushing my hands off on one another.

“You look like a mess.” Suki comments.

“So do you.” I stick my tongue out at her, making her giggle.

She stands, smoothing the front of my hair back, she adjusts the hem of my slip, untwisting the left shoulder strap before turning me towards the landing and slapping my bottom, “Good luck!”

I yelp, half jogging away. A playful smile on my lips as I hustle up the stairs, to the front of the House.

Gold eyes meet mine as I round the corner, surprise flickering across the familiar features.

“Zuko?” His name slips out before I can think about it.

Madame Kaji’s hand finds the side of my face in a hard loud slap. The force of it sends me sprawling to the floor, “How dare you address a member of the Royal Family with such disrespect!” She shouts at me, before turning back to the Crown Prince, “My apologies Highness, this girl’s insolence is in no way a reflection of the Red Flame an–”

Prince Zuko's raised hand stops her words, “It’s quite alright, Madame Kaji. The day is hectic, I’m sure your girl just forgot herself for a moment, is all.”

Madame Kaji nods, “Yes, Highness,” She grabs my arm, yanking me to stand, “Apologize, now.” She hisses in my ear through the gritted teeth of her forced smile.

My cheek stings, a small cut from her rings bleeding further as I plaster my sweetest smile onto my face, “My apologies, your Highness. I meant no disrespect. To you or your family.”

Prince Zuko nods, “Of course. I’ve come to request your services for the night.”

”I’ve cleared your schedule and placed your clients with other girls. Prince Zuko has offered to cover their payments in exchange for taking you again.” Madame Kaji says, her stare communicating that I better make her efforts worthwhile. She may not be losing money, but changing client reservations, even for Royalty, could cost her business, current or future, and that is not something she tolerates.

I shift on my feet, clasping my hands in front of myself, bowing my head demurely. “What time would you like me to be ready for you this evening, your Highness?”

“Now.” He says simply, “I’m taking you for the day, I’ll bring you back in the morning.”

I nod, “Yes, your Highness.” my heart pounds in my ears, barely registering his words.

“This will be the third time she’s been to the Royal Palace. I trust her behavior there is satisfactory.” Madame Kaji's eyes burn into the side of my face as I hold Prince Zuko's gaze.

“Yes, Madame. Your girl is perfectly appropriate in her duties–”

“I’d like to try her out for myself.” A deep voice comes from just behind Prince Zuko. 

Fire Lord Ozai steps through the front door, his golden eyes feel like deep, stinging scratches against my skin.

“Fire Lord,” Madame Kaji and I bow deeply, “It is an honor to have you grace our doorstep once again.” She has that gleam in her eyes she gets when she knows there's going to be money made.

“I’m sure it is.” His eyes don’t leave me. “She is pretty, son.” He walks closer, his body heat washing over me in an uncomfortable wave. “You like the exotic ones?”

“My preferences are my own.” Prince Zuko's voice is tight.

******** CW: OZAI BEING A MASSIVELY DEGRADING CREEP AHEAD ********

**Proceed with caution or scroll to end notes for summary**

“Hm.” Ozai reaches up, tracing the small cut on my cheek, pressing his finger into the stinging flesh.

I suck in a gasp through my teeth. Holding his gaze. I have to fight back the urge to snap my teeth at him like a wild animal.  Something about seeing him here in front of me makes the carefully controlled embers of rage that have lived in my chest since the day I was taken, spark and surge dangerously.

He takes a step back from me, “Turn.”

I slowly spin in a circle, feeling his eyes fall on my bottom when my back is to him. I raise my eyes back to his when I’m facing him again.

A slow rapacious smile spreads across his face, “Show me your breasts, girl.”

I grit my teeth, maintaining eye contact, as I slide down the straps of my slip, letting it flutter to the floor around my feet in a small puddle of blood red silk.

His eyes flick down to my chest; a look of distaste crossing his face, “Small.” He traces around the swell of one breast, “Is this what you like son?” His eyes follow the path of his finger.

“My preferences are my own.” Prince Zuko simply repeats.

“So formal.” He clicks his tongue, “Are you this formal with her?”

“I value privacy, Father.”

“Mmm, of course you do.” his hand cups my breast, kneading gently, “You haven’t had children yet?” He slaps the plump flesh, the sound sharp, cracking like whip through the dead silence of the room.

I shake my head, “No, your Majesty.”

“Would you like to?” his thumb circles my nipple.

I swallow hard, fighting every urge to rip his arm from his body.

“We are not permitted to bear–”

He pinches, hard, pulling my breast sharply, “Such an obedient whore,” he tuts. “You’ve trained her well, Kaji.”

And beat him to death with the severed limb.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Madame Kaji gives a light bow.

He cups my face, tapping my cheek lightly, “You are a pretty one.” His eyes flick to my mouth, his thumb traces my bottom lip, he parts my lips, “Wider.” is a whisper.

I obey, because I have to.

He switches his thumb for his two forefingers, sliding over my tongue, and feeling the inside of my mouth. It feels like an invasion, disgusting, and degrading. I could bite down, rid him of his digits. He’d kill me, of course. But it would be worth it. I could swallow his fingers. Taking the precious time away he would need to properly reattach them, let them digest and rot in my belly.

He dips his fingers further back, closer to my throat, making me gag, “Ah, ah. Swallow, pretty girl.”

My throat works hard to swallow the feeling of vomit wanting to stain his robes.

He grins at my compliance, “Such obedience.” He groans, “These lips, and this mouth,” his fingers slide further back, “Tell me, son, what does she feel like on your Royal cock?”

“My preferences are my own.” Prince Zuko's voice is hollow.

“Of course they are,” He takes his fingers out of my mouth, wiping the saliva down in between my breasts. “So private.” He sighs heavily, “Luckily for you, I won’t be stealing your whore tonight. I have diplomats coming in from the Earth Kingdom colonies.” He turns toward Madame Kaji, “I need the triplets. They’re skilled at entertaining groups. And their laughter is convincing enough. Even at those men's awful jokes.” His eyes flick back to me, “Open your mouth for me”

I do.

He spits into my mouth, a satisfied smirk on his face, “Swallow.”

I have to fight to swallow the acrid taste of his saliva. Every cell in me wants to spit it back in his face, a treasonous act. Swallowing hard, I plaster on my sweet smile, again.

He raises an eyebrow, “Hmm.”

Turning to Madame Kaji, he dismisses my presence fully, booming about ‘his triplets’ as she leads him further back into the House.

I fight the urge to cry, and scream and rage. Fury has me trembling against the cold air on my naked skin.

Chapter Text

“Do you have a coat?” Prince Zuko's voice is gentler now.

I shake my head, not able to speak past my clenched jaw.

He steps over to me, lifting my slip back up in a whisper of silk, adjusting the straps back over my shoulders. “This barely qualifies as a handkerchief,” He grumbles, his brow furrowed. He shrugs out of his fur lined cloak, draping it around my shoulders, gently securing the clasps at my throat and chest, “It’s snowing. I can’t have you catching a cold.”

I just nod.

“Wait for me in the carriage.” he nods towards the door.

Without another word, I step out into the cold air, his large warm cloak keeping the chill off my mostly bare skin.

The familiar ornate carriage is parked just outside. I hold my breath; keeping in my rage, my tears. For the solace, the privacy, of that carriage.

The coachman opens the door for me to climb inside. I plop into the seat, to see the man Zuko and I had tea with the first night we met, sitting across from me. “Iroh.” I whisper, holding back the screams and tears I was so desperately looking forward to releasing.

He gives me a sage nod, passing a steaming cup of tea over to me, “It’s a lovely afternoon. Though quite cold. Winter has truly set in.”

“Yes.” The porcelain trembles against the saucer in my hands as I attempt a sip.

Before simply resting the cup and saucer in my lap, not wanting to spill any tea on the red velvet interior.

Iroh takes the set from my shaking hands. He doesn't speak further, just quietly sips his own fragrant brew.

We sit in silence, until the opening of the carriage door makes me jump. I keep my eyes trained to the floor, watching the tiny shadows of snowflakes dance across the ruby red carpet.

Zuko slides in next to Iroh, I can feel his golden eyes watching me quietly, “I've paid for you for the next three days.”

My head snaps up to meet his eyes, “W-why?”

He shrugs, “You're quiet, and you didn't seem too keen on my father wanting to request you.”

Why does he care? Why should he care?

“But–”

“I enjoy inconveniencing him. He's going to be busy with his diplomats and hosting for the next two days, and then he's leaving for the next few months to travel through the colonies and check on the progress of Fire Nation indoctrination. I have you for the next three days; I don’t want him putting his disgusting fucking hands on you.”

My eyes fall to the floor. Reduced to a possession, again.

That's all women are good for in this world. It's hurtful, but not unexpected. That's what being a whore means. Letting men use your body like a possession to sate their own disgusting desires. I'm being used as a toy for them to dangle in front of one another. A petty game between Father and Son, and I'm caught in the middle.

My chest hurts.

“Yes, Your Highness.” My voice is barely a whisper as the tears start to fall, I suck in a breath trying to hold them in, but they fall anyway. The rage Ozai sparked in me burns through my eyes, blurring my vision with tears. 

I watch my hands gripping the fabric of his cloak in my lap. My knuckles white with the contained rage. 

My tears feel hot as lava, scorching tracks down my cheeks. Something inside me is cracking—a wall I've carefully maintained for years. The wall that keeps me safe, that lets me float above my body during the worst sessions, that helps me swallow my voice when I most want to scream. The numbness I've cultivated is cracking, falling away like ice sheets during the first thaw. Ozai's touch awoke something primal in me, something I thought long dead. It wasn't just his fingers invading my mouth or his eyes appraising my body like meat. It was standing before him —the architect of my suffering, the man who ordered the raids that killed my mother, that scattered my people, that put me in chains. The man whose orders tore me from my home when I was just fourteen.

With Zhao and the others, there's always pain to focus on—the bite of nails digging into my skin, the burn of unwanted intrusion, the ache of bruises forming. I can pour all my hatred into enduring those sensations, letting the physical agony distract from the deeper wounds. But standing there, feeling his fingers in my mouth, on my breasts—there was no distraction, just the raw, unfiltered degradation. And beneath it, this molten fury. This man is responsible for everything. My imprisonment in this country. Every bruise on my body, every time I've had to smile through pain and humiliation—it all traces back to him.

I could have hurt him right there. When his fingers were in my mouth, I could have bitten down, tasted his blood. I wanted to. For a moment, I saw myself doing it, watching the shock on his face as he realized this "exotic pet" had fangs. I've never let myself fight back before. The cost was always too high. But seeing him, standing there with that predatory smile—something wild and dangerous stirred inside me. And now I'm trembling not from fear or cold, but from a rage so ancient and primal it feels like it might consume me from the inside out. My fingers itched to pull water from the air, to freeze his blood in his veins, to show him what a Water Tribe "savage" is truly capable of.

My chest hurts.

My mouth is dry.

I feel my shoulders shake with the angry sobs fighting to break free.

“Are you cold?” Prince Zuko's voice is back to that soft rasp again.

I shake my head, then a gasping breath betrays my shattered state. “A-apologies Highness–”

“Zuko. Please.” His hand is large and warm, gently resting over both my clenched fists.

I shake my head again, “I am to adhere to Red Flame standards, Highness. Anything less, especially involving the Royal Family, would be considered treasonous.” My voice trembles on the words, but I cannot allow myself to forget that he is Ozai’s heir.

“Very well.” His hand squeezes mine, “Please look at me.”

Shaking, furious, and craving to rake my nails into his flesh, I meet his eyes. “Yes, your Highness?”

“I'm sorry. About my father. About you–”

“Don't.” I interrupt him before I can think about it, “Don't you fucking dare apologize to me for my life and where I've ended up. Fuck. You. I know my role here. I'm simply a possession. A game. So please, do with me what you will, Highness. But for the love of all Spirits. Do. Not. Pity me.” My entire body is shaking with furious anger. Then every word I just said, hits me like a boulder. I move myself to the floor, groveling at the Prince's feet, my forehead resting on his boots, “Highness, please, have mercy,” I beg, voice wobbling. “As you observed so astutely before, I forget myself.” I’m trembling still, the anger now replaced with fear. “I beg of you, spare my life. If you must punish me, so be it, but please do not let my behavior reflect on those of the Red Flame.” My thoughts go to Suki, and Lin, and all the other girls who will have to suffer now because of my mouth. Will they cut out my tongue? Maybe take an eye for glaring? That’d decrease my ‘exotic value’. No they’ll likely go with the tongue, it’s less visible. Though the Fire Lord will be disappointed to come back to lackluster services.

“Please, just--Get up.” Warm hands take mine, helping me back into my seat.

I don’t meet his eyes, sobs shaking my chest, the tears unstoppable now that the dam has broken. I cover my mouth with both hands, holding in the whimpers and squeaks that want to turn into shouts and screams of desperation. I curl into myself, pulling my knees to my chest, eyes squeezed shut against the terror of retribution from the Royal Family.

“Don’t-- Just relax. Okay?” his voice is soft, almost... apologetic.

The feeling of a soft cotton handkerchief brushing the bleeding cut on my cheek makes me jump. I open my eyes to see he’s moved closer, wiping away the trickle of blood and the unending tears. Staining the white cotton with rusty crimson.

“I want four things, for each day you’re with me. Your services are doubled now for your outburst. And any future outbursts, I will require two more acts of service.” His eyes hold mine, “Is that clear?”

I nod, the tightness in my chest loosening a fraction.

“We’ll start now.” He settles back into his seat.

My eyes go wide, “H-here? W-with your--” I cover my mouth, stopping my treasonous questioning of his orders before I land myself in even more trouble.

“No! Spirits, not that .” He scrubs a hand over his face, “I just mean telling me things about yourself. Like before. The swimming?”

Understanding dawns, followed quickly by relief. Which bubbles up in a light watery laugh that escapes before I can stop it.

He smiles softly at the sound. “Good.” He lets out a breath, “Now,” He studies my slowly relaxing face for a moment, “Where are you from?”

I heave a sigh, conceding at his leniency. My neck would be broken on a rope by now if he’d been anyone else. “The South Pole.” I answer, my voice is a harsh rasp from crying.

He nods, passing me a cup of tea, “Drink. That’s an order.”

The tea is soothing on my throat. Warmth spreads through my chest, thawing the cold fear that had iced over my lungs. I let out a calmer breath, inhaling the jasmine infused steam, letting it quell the panic.

“So you are from the Southern Water Tribe?” Iroh asks gently. 

I pause before taking another sip; then rest the cup in my lap again. “Yes,” I whisper. 

“You were taken in the raids?” I look over at Zuko's hands, balled into tight angry fists. 

I nod. “That's two things,” I tell him. My eyes travel up his simpler fire nation robes to meet his hard golden gaze; His eyes softening when they meet mine. 

“Very well.” He sighs, sipping his own tea. “May I ask you about your time… working. Since last we met?”

“We are not permitted to discuss clients or their preferences with—”

“Yes, okay.” irritation ticks in his jaw. “I just…” He takes a deep breath, shifting awkwardly, “I was wondering if you've been… well? Last time you had those bruises on your neck… and–” he lets out a frustrated sigh.

I blink in surprise at him. No one asks about our well being, outside of one another. I clear my throat, sipping my tea with much steadier hands now, “I've been fine.” I answer honestly. There is no ‘well’ to be in our line of work. 

“And no more… bruising?” He swallows thickly.

I swallow hard. Will he take some of his payment from Kaji if I’m bruised? She’d take it out on me if he did. "Don’t worry. I'm sure if a client of your caliber made your preferences known, Madame Kaji would arrange for any marks to be covered or faded before any of your future reservations at the Red Flame. I'm sorry I was blemished last time, Your Highness." 

Prince Zuko’s brow furrows, opening his mouth to speak.

“Madame Kaji allows you girls to be struck to bruising?” Iroh's voice interrupts, sounding rattled.

I shrug, looking away from the pity in his eyes, “It’s part of the job. Madame Kaji makes it a point to keep us in good working condition.” I try my best to reassure him without lying, “It’s only allowed when it's paid well for. Even more so in my case.” 

“Your case?”

“My skin is a commodity, Highness, if it's damaged I make Madame Kaji less money. Such rare packaging comes at a cost. Clients pay less if their fantasy is broken, if the doll is damaged. Therefore, if a client wants to bruise, they have to pay enough to make up the difference.” 

“What happens if a client gets… overzealous? Are you permitted a break?” Zuko asks in that soft rasp.

I shake my head, “Only in extreme cases. And even then we aren’t allowed more than one night off at a time.”

“But what if you’re severely hurt? I know there's a sick rule. No sick clients, no sick girls. But what happens if a client hurts you to the point of incapacitation?”

“There are boundaries set in place to keep things from getting too… intense.”

“What are these boundaries?” 

“Certain more visible areas aren't permitted to be struck. Lubricants must be used, though some ignore that and it can make a busy night harder. They're never allowed to break skin. Or burn. Some have tried, but we have Wards who listen and watch, to secure and protect the integrity of Madame Kaji's merchandise.”

Zuko's eyes flash at the word ‘merchandise’ “How do the Wards watch what's going on if they’re not in the room?” 

“We have code words we can shout. We have special knocks we use to discreetly call for assistance if our mouths are… otherwise occupied.” I shrug.

“Fucking Spirits.” Zuko scrubs a distressed hand over his face.

“It’s not always like that,” I clarify, “It can be brutal, but Kaji ensures we're well enough to do our jobs. Represent the Flame to her standards, as well as the Royal Palaces’.”

“And what happens when a client breaks all those rules? When the door is locked. When the code words and secret knocks don't work? What then?” Zuko's voice is a quiet rage. 

“Some girls are hurt. Some girls die.” I admit with a shrug, “We’ve not lost anyone at the Flame since I started, but I have heard stories. Madame Kaji reminds us how lucky we are to be where we are. Some houses, girls die constantly. Most others, have bodies moving in and out, alive and dead…It's just a part of the job… If you find yourself in an unfavorable situation, whether it's at a Red House or a personal residence, you have to try and survive; smile politely, tell them what they want to hear, do everything you can to get out of there alive, and hope the damage isn’t too bad. If a girl is seen as a hassle, whether it’s recovering from injuries, or a soured temperament, she runs the risk of being sold. Sometimes it’s to other Houses, sometimes it’s to a private client.” I press my lips together a moment, “whatever happens is going to ultimately be the fault of the whore, so diffusing as much of the fallout beforehand is always the best course. For the House and the whore.”

Zuko's jaw ticks with agitation, “So they just let murderers keep coming back?”

I shake my head, “No. Not at the Red Flame, at least. It's a pretty hard and fast rule, if you kill a whore, you're banned. Since the Red Flame serves only ‘the best’ and we are to be in the best condition, the men we serve can be banned for a lot less, but even then, money talks. Some allowance can be made for lesser grievous acts. Such as cutting a girl's hair without the House's permission. The client may be suspended for a time, and required to buy the girl a wig if they are to return. Gifting the Madame is also a good way to stay in her favor.”

"What about the girls' favor?" Zuko asks.

I laugh, the sound hollow and bitter. "Our favor doesn't matter. It never has. As long as we’re in good enough condition to work, nothing else much matters.”

Prince Zuko’s jaw ticks with barely disguised frustration. “That’s such bullshit .”

I shrug, “It’s easier not to worry myself over it. I keep my head down and survive. That's all I can really hope for.”

Prince Zuko exchanges a look with General Iroh, and his uncle shakes his head subtly. Zuko leans back into the seat cushion, crossing his arms over his chest, staring out the window.

I look out my own window, and realize, for the first time, we’re not headed in the direction of the Palace. Cold fear lodges in my stomach again. “Um… Your Highness. Where exactly are we going?”

Zuko glances over, meeting my eyes, then looks away quickly, “Ember Island.”

“But… Why?” I ask, forgetting formality in my confusion.

He shifts uncomfortably, “It’s my birthday.” He admits quietly, his eyes purposely fixing on the window, “I’m twenty-one today.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the Palace? For celebration?”

A bitter laugh escapes him, “There are no celebrations. Not for me. The dishonored son who spoke out of turn.” He unconsciously touches his scar, his profile sharp against the soft white winter light just outside, “My father doesn't like celebrating his failure of an offspring. Especially one who spent four years in banishment, a grave embarrassment to the Royal Bloodline.”

“Nephew,” General Iroh begins gently.

“It’s fine, Uncle,” Prince Zuko cuts him off. “I don’t want a celebration anyway. all those Nobles pretending they respect me. Most of the Court would rather pretend I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.” I offer, not really knowing what else to say.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but I can see the hurt underneath it, “It’s fine. I don’t need their ceremony anyway. I just…” He hesitates, “There's a theatre troupe performing tonight. Love amongst the Dragons… You seemed to enjoy reading it before, and seeing it in person can be fun. They perform on Ember Island. It was my mother’s favorite…” He trails off, “I didn’t want to go alone. And you mentioned you’d never seen a play before.”

Iroh beams, “The theatre is a wonderful experience! You’re in for quite the treat. And the Ember Island Players are certainly… memorable.”

“They’re fucking awful,” Prince Zuko corrects, though there’s a hint of fondess in his voice, “But it’s tradition. My mother always took me for my birthday. And during the summer, they have more frequent shows, almost every weekend.” He takes a deep breath, “Consider this a thank you.”

“For what?”

"For keeping our secret . My father would be furious if he knew he was paying for conversation instead of..." He gestures vaguely, a flush creeping up his neck. 

"Oh." I feel my own cheeks warming. "You don't need to thank me for that. I’m only doing what's asked of me."

"I want to," he insists. "Besides, it's my birthday. I should get to do what I want at least once a year.” 

The bitterness in his tone makes something in me hurt for him. For all his privilege and power, Prince Zuko seems trapped in a gilded cage not so different from my own.

“That’s why I paid for your time directly today. I don’t need my father sticking his nose in how I choose to spend my day. Well… three days now. I’d initially intended on spending the day with you and returning you in the morning…” 

“Perhaps we could take advantage of the accommodations on the island for the next three days, Prince Zuko.” General Iroh suggests, winking playfully in my direction. 

Prince Zuko nods, “It would be preferable to the prying eyes of the Palace. What do you think?” His eyes fall on me again.

“M-me?” 

“Yes, you. You’re being brought along, you should have at least some say on how we spend our time. There is a beach with a small inn just off the sand, though the weather may not permit swimming. I believe the bigger inn might have hot springs attached, though you’d only really be able to soak. What would you prefer?”

“I—I um…” I wring my hands in each other, fidgeting with Zuko’s cloak in my lap.

“It’s a simple question.” Prince Zuko sighs, rolling his eyes.

“It seems your guest may be a tad overwhelmed at this sudden… change of pace, Prince Zuko.”

“No, it’s… fine.” I let out a breath, “The hot springs would be relaxing for your Highness.”

“Very well,” Prince Zuko nods.

“Though…” I begin, then stop myself. Any orders made of me are to be followed, no matter how strange.

“What is it?” Prince Zuko asks, meeting my eyes again.

“Would it please your Highness for me to attend the theatre in my current attire?” Embarrassment floods me at the thought of sitting through my first theatre show in nothing but a crimson silk slip and matching undergarments. I didn’t even have a chance to grab my golden slippers. I look down at my bare feet, the idea of walking around in the cold weather in such a state for the entire weekend makes my stomach churn.

Prince Zuko follows my gaze to my bare feet, his eyes widening in realization. "I—no, of course not. You'll need proper clothing." He runs a hand through his hair, looking flustered. "I didn't think this through."

"My nephew rarely does." General Iroh chuckles, earning a glare from the Prince.

"We'll stop at the market when we get to the island," Prince Zuko decides. "You'll need warm clothes, boots..." He trails off, seemingly cataloging all the items I might require for three days away from the Red Flame.

I stare at him in disbelief. No client has ever purchased clothing for me—not unless it was something revealing for their own pleasure. "That's not necessary, Your Highness. I can remain in the inn while you attend—"

"No." The word comes out sharper than he seems to intend, because he immediately softens his tone. "I want you to see the play. That's...why I brought you. There are shops on Ember Island. We'll find something suitable before the performance."

"Thank you, Your Highness," I murmur, relief washing through me.

"Zuko," he corrects gently. "When we're alone—or with my uncle—I'd prefer if you called me Zuko."

I nod, not quite meeting his eyes. "Thank you... Zuko."

“And please, my dear Raine, refer to me as Iroh.” He gives me a kind smile.

I nod, “Of course, Iroh.” I say softly.

Chapter Text

The carriage slows as we approach the docks. Through the window, I can see a sleek Fire Nation vessel waiting, steam billowing from its stacks into the gray winter sky. Guards stand at attention along the gangplank, armor gleaming despite the overcast day.

"The Royal Yacht," Iroh explains, noticing my curious gaze. "Much faster than the public ferry, and considerably more comfortable for the journey."

As the carriage stops, a footman opens the door. Zuko steps out first, then offers his hand to help me down. I hesitate before taking it. His palm is warm against mine, his grip steady but gentle as I descend.

The sea air hits me immediately. Salt and cold and freedom. Making me inhale deeply. For a moment, I'm transported back to my childhood, to endless expanses of ice and the constant rhythm of waves against the shore. The pull of the ocean is almost tangible, calling to something deep within me that I've been forced to suppress for years.

"Are you alright?" Zuko asks quietly, noticing my momentary pause.

I blink, pulling myself back to reality. "Yes. It's just... it's been a long time since I've seen the ocean."

Understanding flickers across his face. "Of course.” He keeps a hold of my hand as we approach.

Once aboard the yacht, a servant leads us to an extravagant sitting room with plush seating and large windows offering panoramic views of the harbor.

"The journey to Ember Island takes approximately two hours," Iroh says. “Perhaps you would like the opportunity to clean up before we arrive?”

I nod, “Yes, thank you, Iroh.”

I follow the attendant through the polished hallways to a private cabin. The room is small, with a bed that looks softer than anything I've ever slept on—outside the Prince's chambers—and an attached bathroom. The space is larger than any washroom I've ever used, with gleaming gold fixtures and a shower stall that could fit three people. I exhale heavily, shoulders slumping as I peel off Zuko's cloak and my silk slip. The bathroom calls to me. A proper shower with unlimited hot water; a luxury never afforded at the Red Flame, where we're limited to five minutes each of lukewarm water.

Steam rises instantly when I turn the handle, hot water cascading down in a splendid torrent.

For a moment, I simply stand under the spray, letting the scalding water wash over me. Five years in the Red Houses has taught me to bathe quickly, efficiently. Never lingering, never indulging. But there's no one waiting outside the door, no Madame Kaji timing my minutes, no next client expecting me.

I clean away the remnants of Ozai's touch, scrubbing my skin until it's pink and raw. His saliva, his fingerprints, the memory of his eyes on my body. I want it all gone. The soap smells of jasmine and sandalwood. I wash my hair three times until it feels truly clean. For once, there's no rush, no other girls pounding on the door demanding their turn. I close my eyes, letting the water slide over me, momentarily forgetting who I am and where I’m going.

When I finally step out, my skin feels new. Different. As if I've shed a layer of myself along with the grime of the Red Flame. I wrap myself in a plush towel that feels like a cloud against my skin. I find Fire Nation clothing laid out on the bed—simple but elegant red robes and matching slacks. No revealing silks, no strategic cutouts or plunging necklines. Just practical, comfortable attire. I dress quickly, the fabric soft against my still-warm skin. My hair drips down my back, and I find a comb on the vanity. Working methodically, I separate my damp curls into sections, weaving them into a simple braid, the plait secure against my scalp, trailing down my spine. The familiar motion is soothing, reminding me of quieter days in my childhood when my mother would braid my hair each morning. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. Without the heavy makeup and revealing clothes, I look younger, more like the girl I was before the Red Flame.

Before everything.

A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

"Ms. Raine? General Iroh requests your presence on the upper deck when you're ready."

"Thank you. I'll be right there."

Taking a deep breath, I smooth my hands down the front of the robes. I have no idea what's happening, why Zuko has really brought me here, what he expects from me. But I know how to play this game. Smile pleasantly, speak softly.

Be whatever they need me to be.

The upper deck is bathed in soft winter sunlight breaking through the clouds.

The sea air hits me again, brisk and invigorating. Zuko and Iroh sit at a small table near the railing, steam rising from a teapot between them. A spread of food waits untouched. Dumplings with rice, along with sliced fruits. A sweetness I haven't been permitted to taste in years.

"Ah, there she is!" Iroh beams, gesturing to the empty chair. "Come, join us. The tea is just reaching its perfect temperature."

Zuko looks up, his expression softening as he takes in my appearance. "Feeling better?" he asks quietly.

I nod, settling into the chair. "Much. Thank you for the clothing."

"It was nothing, just a set of extra robes they keep for any emergencies," he says, then quickly looks away, focusing intently on pouring my tea.

My stomach growls at the sight of the food, but I wait, hands folded in my lap, for permission to eat.

Old habits die hard.

"Please, help yourself," Iroh encourages, noticing my hesitation. "The journey is long enough to work up an appetite."

I reach for a dumpling, trying not to appear too eager. The first bite is heavenly—pork and vegetables wrapped in delicate dough, steamed to perfection. I close my eyes briefly, savoring the flavors.

"Good?" Zuko asks, watching me with an intensity that makes me self-conscious.

"Delicious," I admit, reaching for another. "We don't get food like this at the Flame."

"What do you typically eat?" Iroh inquires, sipping his tea.

I shrug, chewing slowly before answering. "Rice, mostly. Vegetables when they're in season. Meat on occasion, but it's usually tough cuts, nothing this tender."

Zuko's jaw tightens, but he says nothing, just continues eating his own food.

The yacht cuts through the water smoothly, the shoreline gradually receding behind us. I find myself drawn to the railing, watching the wake form crisp white patterns against the deep blue sea. Without thinking, I reach out with my senses, feeling the push and pull of the water beneath us. The familiar tug in my core that I've suppressed for so long stirs to life. Just a small movement. Nothing anyone would notice. The water below ripples in response.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Iroh appears beside me, his voice gentle. "The sea has always had a calming effect on me."

I pull back immediately, severing the connection. "Yes," I murmur. "It's been a long time since I've been on the water."

“When was the last time?”

“Honestly? When I was shipped over after the raids. They kept us chained up below deck, but I could still hear the waves against the side of the ship. It was calming to me, even in those circumstances.”

“You must miss your home.”

I nod, “Yes, but this is nice. Seeing the ocean again. I’ve missed it.”

His eyes study me carefully, but his expression remains kind. "The ocean calls to different people in different ways. For some, it's merely a path to travel. For others, it's something more... essential."

My heart pounds.

Does he know?

I force a smile, keeping my voice light. "As I said, I grew up surrounded by water. I suppose it does feel like home in some ways."

"Home," he repeats thoughtfully. "A powerful concept. More than just a place, but a feeling." He gazes out at the horizon. "My nephew has struggled to find that feeling for many years."

I glance over my shoulder at Zuko, who remains at the table, absently pushing rice around his plate. The wind tousles his hair, that he’s let down fully now.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask quietly.

Iroh sighs. "Because in all my years, I've found that sometimes the most unlikely people can help us understand ourselves better." He pats my hand gently. "And because I have not seen my nephew voluntarily celebrate his birthday since before his banishment."

Before I can respond, Zuko approaches, hands tucked into his sleeves against the chill. "We'll be arriving soon. You should eat more before we dock."

I nod, following him back to the table. The remainder of the journey passes in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional gust of chilled wind, and lapping water.

Chapter Text

Ember Island materializes on the horizon, its volcanic peaks rising against the cloud-scattered sky. The yacht glides smoothly into the harbor, where several smaller vessels are docked alongside fishing boats. Even with the winter season, the island has a certain vibrancy, with colorful buildings dotting the shoreline and lanterns strung between posts, ready to be lit at dusk. As we disembark, I notice the difference in the air immediately. Warmer than the mainland even with the winter chill, carrying the scent of salt and tropical flowers even in this dormant season. Zuko leads us from the dock, nodding briefly to the guards who remain with the yacht.

The market is less crowded than it would be during the warmer months, locals bundled in heavier robes against the cold. Zuko moves with purpose, guiding me toward a modest shop with a display of women's clothing in the window.

"Choose whatever you need," he says quietly. "For the entire three days."

I hesitate at the door. "This seems excessive—"

"Please," he interrupts softly. "Consider it as part of my birthday celebration."

Inside, the shopkeeper bows deeply, recognizing the Prince even in his simple attire. "Your Highness! What an unexpected honor!"

"My companion needs appropriate clothing for our stay," Zuko explains. "Something warm, practical, but suitable for the theater tonight."

The woman's eyes assess me, noting my height, build, and complexion. If she has any thoughts about my relationship to the Prince, she keeps them to herself. "I have just the things.”

An hour later, we emerge with several packages. Two sets of everyday clothes, sleeping attire, a slightly more ornate outfit for the theater, and proper boots. Zuko carries the parcels himself, waving away a servant who offers assistance.

“I hope you know, I’ll not be permitted to keep any of this.” I tell him as he leads the way towards the inn.

Zuko scowls, “And why not?”

“We’re not permitted any ‘excess’ at the Flame. And like I said before, I have nowhere to put anything personal. I would never be able to wear them anyway, we have to wear our House appointed attire. I’ll have to go back in my slip. Anything extra will be burned.”

I hear a low growl escape him, “I’ll keep them in my chambers then, it’s only a few pieces. And besides, I’d rather you not walk around my room in that lace monstrosity Kaji sent you in before.”

I give him a surprised look, “Thank you, Zuko.”

He waves away my thanks, striding ahead of me in an angry huff.

As we approach the inn, snow begins to fall in fat, lazy flakes. The building is grander than any I’ve seen before in the Red Light districts I’ve worked in. Three stories of dark wood and red tile, with carved dragons flanking the entrance. Inside, a fire crackles in a massive stone hearth, bringing immediate warmth to my chilled cheeks.

"Prince Zuko," the innkeeper hurries forward, bowing repeatedly. "General Iroh! What a pleasure! Had we known of your arrival—"

"That won't be necessary," Zuko cuts him off. "We prefer discretion."

"Of course, of course." The man gestures to a leather-bound registry. "How may we accommodate you?"

"A suite," Zuko says firmly. "With two separate bedrooms. And a private bath."

“I’ll take a single suite for myself.” Iroh nods, bowing lightly.

The innkeeper's eyes flick briefly to me, then back to Zuko. "Certainly, Your Highness, General. Our finest accommodations have just what you require. Two bedrooms connected by a common sitting area, a private balcony overlooking the bay, and of course, a luxurious bathing chamber. And for you, General, a simpler suite. Also with an attached private balcony, and opulent bathing chambers. A small seating area surrounds the private fireplace as well."

"That will be acceptable." Zuko signs the registry with a quick flourish. "We'll also need dinner sent up before the evening performance."

“It would be our honor, your Highness.” the innkeeper bows deeply before snapping his fingers for an attendant, “They will show you to your rooms.”

The attendant leads us up a winding staircase to the third floor. They stop before an ornate door, sliding a heavy key into the lock.

"Your suite, Your Highness," the attendant announces, pushing the door open with a flourish, pointing Iroh just down the hall to his simpler accommodations. 

The space beyond is warm and inviting. Much more luxurious than I'd expected. A sitting area with plush cushions surrounds a low table, a small fire already crackling in the hearth. Large windows overlook the beach, where snow now dusts the golden sand. Two doors on opposite sides of the room lead to what must be the bedrooms.

"The master bedroom is to the right," the attendant explains, "and the second bedroom to the left. Both have been freshly prepared. The bathing chamber connects to the master suite."

Zuko nods, setting our packages on one of the cushioned benches. "That will be all."

The attendant bows, backing toward the door. "Dinner will be brought up in one hour, as requested. If you need anything else, simply pull the bell cord by the hearth."

When they're gone, I stand awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure of what to do with myself. This is unfamiliar territory—no client has ever brought me to such a place. Even when I am brought to outside motels, the clients always immediately make their expectations clear.

"The smaller room is yours," Zuko says, gesturing to the left door. "You can change there before we leave for the theater."

"Thank you." I gather the packages containing my new clothes, still surprised by his generosity.

The bedroom is simple but elegant. A bed that looks impossibly soft, a small writing desk, and a window with a view of the mountains behind the town. I set my packages on the bed, running my fingers over the fine fabric of the theater outfit we'd selected. A deep blue dress with silver embroidery at the neckline and sleeves, lined with a layer of fleece for warmth. Not Fire Nation red, or Red Flame crimson, but a color more reminiscent of my homeland. Zuko had noticed my eyes lingering on it and insisted on buying it. I change quickly, grateful for the warmth of the proper clothing. The dress fits perfectly, the fabric soft against my skin. I take my time combing out my curls, pulling the top half back with several styled braids. Letting a few curls down to frame my face in a similar style my mother used to do on her hair for special holidays and birthdays.

 I pause as I pass an ornate mirror on the wall,  hardly recognizing myself. Without the heavy makeup and revealing attire of the Flame, I look... different. For the first time in years, I feel a flutter of genuine excitement. A play. A real theater performance. Something I've only heard of. I wonder if my mother was ever able to enjoy such arts before she was killed.

A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts.

"Katara?" Zuko's voice is quiet, using my real name. "Dinner has arrived."

"Coming," I call back, smoothing the dress one last time.

When I step into the sitting room, both men fall silent. Iroh's eyes twinkle with approval, while Zuko simply stares, his expression unreadable.

"The color suits you," Iroh says finally, gesturing to the table now laden with steaming dishes. "Come, the food was just brought up, everything is fresh.”

I take my seat at the low table, still feeling a bit overwhelmed. The spread before us is magnificent. Roasted duck glazed with honey, steamed dumplings, fragrant rice, and vegetables in delicate sauces. My mouth waters at the sight.

"Please, eat," Iroh encourages, already filling his plate. "The island's cuisine is quite special, even in winter."

I sit quietly, slowly filling my plate along with the two men. Zuko's amber eyes assessing my careful portions.

"Nephew, do you remember the first time we saw the Ember Island Players?" Iroh asks, his chopsticks hovering over a dumpling. "You couldn't have been more than seven."

Zuko's face softens slightly. "Mother had to explain every scene to me. I kept asking questions too loudly."

"Yes! The actress playing the Dragon Empress gave you quite the glare," Iroh chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Their masks were terrifying back then," Zuko admits, a rare smile playing at his lips. "I had nightmares about the Dark Water Spirit for weeks."

I watch their exchange silently, noting how different Zuko seems in his uncle's presence. Less guarded, almost boyish at times. It's strange to see the Crown Prince this way, so removed from the formality of the Palace.

"Have you ever seen a play with dragons in it?" Iroh asks, turning to me..

"No," I answer honestly. "I've never seen any play at all."

"Then you're in for a treat!" Iroh beams. "Though perhaps a confusing one. The Ember Island Players are not known for their... subtlety."

Zuko snorts. "That's putting it mildly."

They continue their conversation, sharing memories of past performances, terrible actors, and botched scenes. I listen attentively, nodding and smiling when appropriate, but my mind remains cautious. This feels too normal, too comfortable. 

A dangerous illusion.

Despite their casual demeanor, I remain on edge. This situation—dining with Royalty as if I'm their equal—feels too precarious, like walking on thin ice that could crack beneath my feet at any moment. I can't forget what I am to them. A purchased companion, property of the Red Flame, here at the Prince's whim. No matter how kind they seem, how genuine their inclusion feels, I am still bound by the terms of my contract. 

Three days, and then back to the reality of my life.

"You've hardly eaten," Zuko observes, his eyes on my barely-touched plate.

"Forgive me," I say automatically. "The food is delicious."

"Then eat, please.” He places another slice of duck and a scoop of rice onto my plate, "We have time before the performance."

I take a more substantial bite of duck, the rich flavor flooding my mouth. Iroh nods approvingly, then launches into a story about a disastrous production where the lead actor's dragon costume caught fire mid-performance. I notice how their conversation flows naturally, their relationship clearly built on genuine affection despite occasional moments of friction. It's nothing like the calculated exchanges at the Flame, where every word serves a purpose—to flatter, to seduce, to placate. I remain mostly silent, absorbing their stories about the island, about previous performances of the play we're about to see. I watch Zuko carefully, noting how different he seems here, away from the Palace. His shoulders less tense, his rare smiles coming more easily.

I can’t let myself relax completely. I'm still here because I was purchased, my time and companionship bought for the benefit and behest of another.

As they talk, snow continues to drift lazily through the air against the window. Unhurried, under no obligations to serve or entertain, simply existing. I envy it.

"We should head to the theater soon," Zuko says, glancing at the ornate clock on the mantel. "The performance begins at sunset."

I rise, gathering the few dishes nearest me. Old habits from the House. Never leave a mess for others to clean.

"Leave those," Zuko says gently. "The staff will attend to it."

I hesitate, then nod, setting the dishes back down. 

Iroh stands, stretching with a contented sigh. "I believe I'll meet you both there. I'd like to visit an old friend in the village first."

After Iroh departs, Zuko retrieves a heavy cloak from one of the packages. "It's gotten colder," he says, holding it out for me. The fabric is thick and lined with soft fur.

I turn, allowing him to drape it over my shoulders. His hands linger briefly, adjusting the clasp at my throat. The gesture feels oddly intimate, his fingers warm against my skin.

"Thank you," I murmur.

He nods, stepping back quickly as if suddenly aware of our proximity. "We should go."

Outside, the snow has begun to accumulate, dusting the cobblestone streets. Lanterns glow golden along the path, illuminating our way through the gathering dusk.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, watching snowflakes catch in the lantern light.

Zuko glances at me, something unreadable flickering across his face. "Yes," he says quietly. "It is."

Chapter Text

We walk in silence for a time, our boots crunching against the fresh snow. The theater rises before us, an impressive structure of red-painted wood and gold trim. Banners announcing "Love Amongst the Dragons" flutter in the evening breeze.

"My mother loved this place," Zuko says. "Even though the performances were terrible, she'd bring me every year. She said there was magic in live theater that couldn't be found anywhere else."

"She sounds wise."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, "She was."

The theater's entrance is crowded despite the cold weather; as locals and the few winter tourists gather for the evening's entertainment. As we approach, conversations falter, heads turn, and whispers follow in our wake. 

Prince Zuko's presence has been noticed. 

He ignores the attention with indifference, guiding me through the throng with a light hand at the small of my back. The touch is protective rather than possessive, ensuring we stay together in the crowd.

"Prince Zuko," a theater attendant bows deeply as we approach. "We were informed of your arrival. Please, allow me to escort you to the Royal Box."

We follow through plush corridors and up a private staircase. The Royal Box overlooks the entire theater, offering an unobstructed view of the stage below. Velvet cushions line a private seating area, with a small table holding a teapot and cups.

"Will the General be joining you?" the attendant asks.

"He'll find his own way," Zuko replies, settling into one of the cushioned seats.

Once we're alone, I take in the theater with wide eyes. The ceiling is painted with scenes from Fire Nation mythology. Dragons soaring through clouds, spirits dancing among flames. Below, the audience continues to file in, filling row after row of seats.

"What do you think?" Zuko asks, watching my reaction.

"It's beautiful," I admit honestly. "I've never seen anything like it."

He nods, a hint of pride in his expression. "The Ember Island Theater is one of the oldest in the Fire Nation. My great-grandfather commissioned it."

"The same one who started the war?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

Zuko's expression darkens slightly. "Yes. Sozin."

An uncomfortable silence falls between us. I open my mouth to apologize just as the announcer's voice booms through the large space.

"Welcome, esteemed guests, to the Ember Island Players' performance of 'Love Amongst the Dragons'!" The announcer's voice reverberates through the theater as the audience settles. "Please extinguish all flames and refrain from firebending during the performance!"

The curtains part with a dramatic flourish, revealing a garishly painted backdrop of mountains and sea. Actors in elaborate costumes stride onto the stage, their movements exaggerated, their voices projecting to the farthest corners of the theater. They perform their opening bows to light applause before filing back offstage for the show to begin.

The lights dim gradually, plunging the theater into darkness before a single spotlight illuminates the center of the stage. A woman in an elaborate blue mask steps forward, her costume adorned with scales that catch the light as she moves.

"I am the Dragon Empress," she declares in a voice so dramatically pitched it makes me jump slightly. "Cursed by the Dark Water Spirit to live as a mortal!"

A laugh bubbles up from my chest before I can stop it. The actress's dramatic swoon sends her toppling into a paper bush, which collapses with a sad crinkle.

"Oh my," I whisper, covering my mouth.

The Dark Water Spirit enters next, wearing face paint that's smeared unevenly and a costume adorned with seaweed that keeps detaching as he moves, littering the stage. His sinister laugh turns into a coughing fit mid-monologue. I can't help it. I giggle again, then glance apologetically at Zuko. Only to find he's not watching the play at all. His eyes are fixed on me, a soft smile at the corners of his mouth. I quickly turn back to the stage, warmth creeping into my cheeks. The Dragon Empress is now engaged in a poorly choreographed sword fight with the Water Spirit, their wooden weapons clanking awkwardly.

"Your reign of terror ends tonight!" she declares, then trips over her own tail.

Another laugh escapes me, this one fuller and more genuine than I've felt in years. There's something freeing about it. This terrible, wonderful play with its earnest actors and clumsy execution. As the first act unfolds, I find myself completely absorbed. 

The story of the Dragon Empress falling in love with a mortal man while trapped in human form resonates in ways I hadn't expected. When the Empress reveals her true identity to her lover, risking everything, I hold my breath. The dialogue is stilted and the delivery awkward, but the emotion behind it feels genuine. 

Each mishap, each overacted line pulls more laughter from me. My cheeks ache from smiling, my sides hurt from suppressing giggles that occasionally burst free. I laugh out loud when the mortal accidentally sets his sleeve on fire upon learning his beloved is actually a dragon. The actor's panicked dance around the stage is so ridiculous that tears spring to my eyes. I clap my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my giggles, but they bubble up anyway. The Dark Water Spirit's attempts to sabotage the lovers' relationship through increasingly absurd disguises—including a poorly constructed komodo rhino costume that requires two actors to operate—has me clutching my sides. When the head falls off mid-monologue, revealing a sweating actor inside, I can't contain my delight.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," Zuko whispers, but I can hear the amusement in his voice.

When the lights raise again for intermission, I suddenly realize how thoroughly I’ve forgotten myself. Madame Kaji’s voice rings in my head: Men pay for your time. For you to be the picture of demure deference. Never make them feel small. Do not be too loud. Do not take up space.

I quickly school my expression and turn towards the Prince, bowing my head, eyes downcast. “I’m terribly sorry if my outbursts during the play were disruptive in any way, Your Highness. I promise you it won't happen again.”

As I begin lowering myself into a kowtow, I feel the Prince’s large, warm hand on my shoulder, gently nudging me back to seated. When I meet his gaze, it’s warm and fond. “Please, don’t apologize for enjoying yourself, Katara,” he says softly. Before I can interject, he gives me a small smile “That’s why I wanted to bring you.”

I have no idea how to respond. This is unlike anything I’ve dealt with before, no one has told me what to say when a client actually prioritizes my enjoyment. It’s not something that happens in my world. I open my mouth, then close it, lost for words.

He chuckles, “Please, don’t worry. Just enjoy yourself. That’s an order.”

After an awkward pause, I take a deep breath, calming my frayed nerves a fraction. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I murmur, bowing my head lightly.

He squeezes my shoulder lightly before letting go. “No more of that ‘Highness’ nonsense. Remember? Unless you want to owe me two more facts about yourself," he corrects, almost playfully. “Call me Zuko.” His eyes drift out across the theatre, thoughts wandering.

Looking down at the stage, I see a few pieces of the fake seaweed still strewn across the floor. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face again recalling the Dark Water Spirit’s antics. The tension gradually leaves me, as I watch a stage hand sweep away the stray pieces.

Zuko must follow my gaze. “This is the first time I’ve seen the Dark Water Spirit shed seaweed. I wonder if it’s something new they tried to add this year or if the costume is just that old.”

This draws another giggle from me, as I turn to him,  "The play has been wonderful. Is it usually this..."

"Terrible?" he supplies, turning his attention back to me, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Always. That's part of its charm." He reaches for the ornate teapot at the center of our small table, “Tea?”

“Yes, please.” 

He pours two cups of what smells like jasmine tea. “Sugar?” he asks, lifting the dish full of crystalized cubes that sparkle in the dim torchlight.

I nod, steam rising between us in wispy spirals, watching as he carefully drops a sugar cube into each of our cups. 

"So," he says, passing me the cup, our fingers brush, "what do you think of your first theater experience? Terrible, isn't it?" He smiles at me again.

The cup is warm in my hands as I wrap my fingers around the delicate porcelain. “It’s wonderfully awful.” I giggle lightly, “I can’t decide if they’re truly bad or if it’s all intentional.”

"Oh, they're genuinely terrible," he chuckles, settling back into his seat, his body fractionally closer to mine. "The lead actress has played the Dragon Empress for twenty years. My mother used to say she gets worse every season."

“I can see why you keep coming back,” I take a sip, the warm floral tea is sweet and soothing, “There’s something almost… honest about it all.“

Zuko raises an eyebrow at that, “Honest? That’s not usually how people describe it.”

I shrug, “I just mean… the actors are awful, yes. But they’re giving it everything they have. They’re not pretending to be something they’re not. Well… they are, they’re acting. But they don’t pretend to be good at it. They just… enjoy it.”

He chuckles, meeting my eyes with a genuine smile that softens his face, "I've never thought about it that way. My mother always said it was about tradition, about remembering where we came from."

The theater lights start to dim again, signaling the end of intermission.

Zuko sets his cup down, leaning closer, his body heat radiating against my side, “Wait until you see the dragon costume in the final act,” He whispers, “Last year, it caught fire, and the water spirit had to put it out with a bucket that was supposed to be used in the next scene, and they forgot to refill it for the dramatic reveal.”

I cover my mouth in another laugh as the curtain rises, “Is anything supposed to go right?”

"That's the beauty of the Ember Island Players," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "You never know what disaster will come next."

The second act is even more outlandish than the first. The Dragon Empress's transformation scene—where she's meant to regain her dragon form in a moment of ultimate sacrifice—involves paper flames, visible wires, and a dragon puppet so poorly articulated that its jaw hangs askew throughout the climactic battle.

I'm completely engrossed, gasping at the reveals, cheering when the lovers reunite, and laughing unreservedly at the accidental comedy. When the final act concludes with the Dragon Empress and her mortal lover ascending to the spirit world in a chariot clearly being pulled by ropes from the rafters, I applaud, standing with the rest of the audience and cheering loudly. The applause continues as the actors take their final bows, their makeup smeared from exertion, costumes slightly askew. 

I can't stop smiling, my hands stinging pleasantly from clapping so enthusiastically.

"They were gloriously terrible," I giggle, turning to Zuko as we make our way out of the Royal box. My voice carries a lilt I haven't heard in years. "The Dragon Empress's mask falling off right before her grand speech? And when the Dark Water Spirit's robe caught on that set piece—"

"—and he dragged the entire Palace backdrop down with him," Zuko finishes, a full smile lighting his face. "That was actually a new disaster. Usually it's just the dragon puppet catching fire."

I laugh again, the sound bubbling up freely as we descend the stairs. "I can't believe the mortal's sword broke in half during the final battle and he just kept fighting with the handle!"

"He adapted quite admirably," comes Iroh's voice as he meets us in the theater's grand foyer. His eyes twinkle as he takes in my animated expression. "I see you enjoyed your first theatrical experience."

"It was magnificent," I gush, then quickly catch myself, realizing I'm being far too unguarded. I straighten, tempering my smile to something more appropriate. "Thank you for allowing me to attend, Your—" I pause, glancing at Zuko. "Thank you, Zuko."

Iroh exchanges a meaningful look with his nephew. "The night is still young, and the snowfall has created quite a beautiful scene in the village. Perhaps we might take a stroll? I recall a lovely little shop that serves the most delectable sweet rice cakes this time of year."

"Sweet rice cakes?" I repeat, unable to hide my interest. Sugar is a rare luxury at the Red Flame, doled out sparingly in watered-down tea, presented as a ‘gift’ during the holiday seasons.

"With red bean paste and honey," Iroh confirms with a conspiratorial wink. "The perfect way to end an evening of high culture, wouldn't you agree?"

Zuko nods, his eyes still on me. "Would you like that, Raine?"

There's a gentleness in his question that catches me off guard. He's not commanding or suggesting. 

He's asking me what I want.

"I would," I admit, feeling a strange flutter in my chest. "Very much."

Chapter Text

Outside, the snow has transformed Ember Island into a winter wonderland. Paper lanterns cast warm golden light across the white-dusted streets, and the few pedestrians move unhurriedly through the magical scene.

"This way," Iroh directs, leading us down a narrow side street lined with small shops. Most are closed for the evening, but a few still glow with welcoming light.

I walk with them, my new boots crunching satisfyingly in the fresh snow.

The sweet shop sits nestled inbetween a closed pottery store and a shuttered bookshop, its windows glowing with inviting amber light. The tantalizing aroma of sugar and spice wafts through the door as Iroh pushes it open, a small bell announcing our arrival.

"Master Iroh!" An elderly man with a round face and kind eyes emerges from behind the counter, wiping flour-covered hands on his apron. "What a wonderful surprise!"

"Tyro, my old friend." Iroh clasps the man's hands warmly. "Still making the best sweet rice cakes on the island, I hope?"

"For you? Always the freshest batch." Tyro's eyes widen slightly as he notices Zuko. "Prince Zuko, what an honor." He bows deeply.

The shop is cozy, with just three small tables arranged around a central hearth where a kettle of water steams gently. Colorful jars line the walls, filled with ingredients I can only guess at—dried fruits, nuts, crystallized flower petals.

"Please, sit," Tyro gestures to the table nearest to the fire. "I'll bring a selection of my finest creations." 

We settle around the table, the warmth of the hearth chasing away the chill from our walk. I remove my cloak, draping it carefully over the back of my chair.

"Tyros family has been making sweet rice cakes for three generations," Iroh explains, his eyes twinkling. "His grandfather taught him the secret recipes."

"Which he's been trying to extract from me for decades," Tyro calls from behind the counter, arranging delicate cakes on a lacquered tray.

"A man cannot be blamed for appreciating true artistry," Iroh replies with a laugh.

Tyro approaches with the tray, setting it in the center of our table with a flourish. "My winter collection," he announces proudly. "Each with its own special flavor."

I stare at the colorful array of rice cakes, each shaped and decorated differently. Some are tinted pale pink, others dusted with gold powder or topped with tiny edible flowers. My mouth waters at the sight.

"This one," Tyro points to a delicate white cake with a pink center, "is cherry blossom. And here," he indicates a golden-hued creation, "honey and ginger. The green ones are matcha with sweet red bean."

Iroh immediately selects one, biting into it with a contented sigh. "Perfection, as always."

Zuko gestures toward the tray. "Try whichever you like," he says to me, his voice soft.

I hesitate, overwhelmed by the selection. "Which would you recommend?"

"The cherry blossom is quite special," Zuko suggests, watching me carefully.

I select the pink cake, taking a small bite. The delicate flavor blooms across my tongue—sweet, floral, unlike anything I've tasted before. A small, involuntary sound of pleasure escapes me.

"Good?" Zuko asks.

I nod enthusiastically, taking another bite. "It's amazing."

Zuko watches me intently as I savor the treat, his tea forgotten in his hand. When I reach for the green cake next, his eyes follow my movements, lingering on my face as I taste the bitter-sweet matcha flavor.

"Oh!" I exclaim, unable to contain my delight. "This one's different—earthy, but still sweet."

A smile tugs at the corner of Zuko's mouth, his gaze never leaving my face.

"Try this one," Zuko suggests, selecting a golden-amber cake dusted with what looks like crushed nuts. His fingers brush mine as he places it in my palm, the brief contact sending an unexpected warmth through my hand.

I take a delicate bite, closing my eyes as the rich flavor of caramelized sugar and roasted sesame fills my mouth. A soft hum of appreciation escapes before I can stop it.

When I open my eyes, Zuko is watching me with an expression I've never seen on a client's face before—a mixture of fascination and something softer, almost tender. His tea remains untouched, attention completely focused on my enjoyment.

"The look on your face," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "It's like you're discovering treasure."

I feel my cheeks warm at his observation. "I haven't had sweets like these since..." I trail off, memories of my mother making sea prune candies on special occasions flickering through my mind.

"Since?" Iroh prompts gently.

"Since I was a child," I finish, not willing to share more, despite the comfortable atmosphere.

"Then we must make up for lost time," Iroh declares, pushing the tray closer to me. "Tyro, my friend, I believe we need more tea for these excellent confections."

Zuko nods, still watching as I reach for a deep red cake topped with a crystallized flower.

"That one is pomegranate and rose," Tyro explains from nearby. "A favorite among the young ladies."

"The purple one is lavender and honey," Iroh interjects cheerfully, sliding it toward me. "A personal favorite. Tyro infuses the rice with lavender tea before shaping the cakes."

As I sample each new flavor, Zuko's gaze remains fixed on me, tracking every subtle reaction—the widening of my eyes at the unexpected tang of preserved plum, the small smile that forms when I taste the sweet red bean. He seems to derive more pleasure from watching me enjoy the treats than from eating them himself.

"In Ba Sing Se," Iroh says, sipping his tea between bites, "there's a district famous for its rice cake artisans. They create designs so intricate you almost feel guilty eating them. Almost." He chuckles warmly. "There was one shop that made cakes resembling the animals of the zodiac. The detail was extraordinary—you could see every whisker on the tiny rat cakes."

I listen, enchanted by both the story and the flavors unfolding on my tongue. "That sounds beautiful."

"Beauty that nourishes both the eye and the spirit," Iroh nods sagely. "Much like theater, wouldn't you agree, nephew?"

But Zuko barely responds with a soft nod, transfixed as I reach for a delicate white cake topped with another crystallized flower. When the subtle flavor of jasmine blooms across my palate, I can't help the soft gasp of delight.

"This one," I whisper, "it's like sunshine."

Something shifts in Zuko's expression—a softening around his eyes, a slight parting of his lips. For a moment, the scarred Prince looks almost like he’s having fun.

"My mother loved that one," he says quietly. "She said almost exactly the same thing."

Iroh's eyes move knowingly between us as he reaches for the teapot. "More tea, perhaps? A perfect complement to Tyro's artistry."

As the evening continues, I find myself relaxing into the moment.

Iroh sets down his empty teacup with a contented sigh, brushing crumbs from his beard. "I believe I've indulged quite enough for one evening." He rises from his seat with a slight groan, bowing respectfully to Tyro. "My friend, your creations remain unmatched. Thank you for sharing your art with us tonight."

"The pleasure was mine, General," Tyro responds, collecting the empty plates. "It's not every day I get to serve the Royal family."

"These old bones of mine are calling for rest," Iroh announces, stretching his back with another small groan. He glances between Zuko and me with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "Don't rush back on my account. The night is still young for you two."

Zuko's face flushes slightly. "Are you sure, Uncle? We can walk with you."

"Nonsense!" Iroh waves away the suggestion. "I know my way, and the snow has nearly stopped. Besides," he adds with a barely concealed smile, "I wouldn't want to interrupt what has been such a pleasant evening."

He pats Zuko's shoulder affectionately, then nods to me. "Enjoy the rest of your night. Perhaps a walk along the shore? The moonlight on fresh snow is quite magical."

Before either of us can respond, Iroh is bidding Tyro goodnight and slipping out the door, leaving a warm silence in his wake.

"Your uncle is..." I search for the right word.

"Meddlesome?" Zuko supplies, though there's no real annoyance in his tone.

"I was going to say 'thoughtful.'"

Zuko fidgets with his teacup, turning it slowly between his fingers. "Would you like to walk?" he asks finally. "The beach isn't far."

I nod, rising from my chair. "I'd like that."

Outside, the snow has stopped falling, leaving behind a pristine blanket that muffles our footsteps. The moon peeks through breaks in the clouds, casting silver light across the transformed landscape. I pull my cloak tighter around me, grateful for its warmth.

"This way," Zuko says, gesturing toward a stone path that winds down toward the shore.

As we walk, I find myself stealing glances at him. His profile is sharp against the night sky, his scar almost softened by the moonlight. He seems different here—less guarded, less angry than the Prince I first met.

"Thank you. For the play. For the sweet shop. It's been..." I search for the right word, something that won't reveal too much of my genuine feelings. "Unexpected."

He glances at me, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "A good unexpected, I hope?"

"Yes," I admit. "Very good."

We reach the beach, where lanterns have been strung along a boardwalk that parallels the shore. Their gentle glow creates pools of gold against the snow-dusted sand. The sea stretches dark and endless beyond, waves whispering against the shore.

"It's beautiful," I breathe.

"My family used to come here every summer," Zuko says, his voice quiet. "When I was young, we'd build sandcastles together—me, my mother, and Azula," Zuko continues, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "Before things changed. Before she..." He trails off, swallowing hard. "She used to collect seashells with me. We had a competition to find the most perfect one each summer."

We walk along the shore, our footprints leaving parallel trails in the snow-dusted sand. The moonlight catches on the gentle waves, turning them to silver as they lap against the beach.

"What was she like?" I ask softly. “Your mother?”

Zuko is quiet for so long I almost expect him not to answer. Then, "Kind," he says finally. "She was kind in a way that didn't belong in the Royal family. Patient. She would read to me every night, even when my father said I was too old for stories." A small, sad smile touches his lips. "She smelled like fire lilies. Always."

"She sounds wonderful." I murmur.

"She protected me from my father. From Azula, too, when she could." His fingers trace the edge of his scar unconsciously. "And then one day, she was just... gone. No goodbye. Nothing. She disappeared the night my grandfather died. I was ten. No one would tell me what happened to her."

The raw pain in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't the practiced vulnerability clients sometimes display to gain sympathy. This is genuine grief.

"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it.

We walk a few more steps in silence before Zuko speaks again. "Sometimes I think I see her in crowds. Just a glimpse of someone with the same walk, or the same laugh. It's been more thana decade now, but I still catch myself looking."

Something about his vulnerability, the honesty in his voice, breaks through my carefully constructed walls. Before I can stop myself, I'm speaking.

"I know what you mean," I say quietly. "My mother... she died when I was eight. During a raid." I feel him stiffen beside me but continue anyway. "Sometimes I think I hear her calling my name. Or I dream of her so vividly that when I wake up, for just a second, I forget she's gone." I wrap my arms tighter around myself, not from the cold but from the ache that always accompanies memories of my mother. "She died protecting our village. There was a soldier looking for the last Waterbender in our village. She told him it was her, begging them to take her and leave the rest of us alone. I watched him burn through her chest. Smelled her death..."

Zuko stops walking, turning to face me. In the moonlight, his expression is unreadable. "I'm sorry," he says after a long moment. "The war has taken so much from so many."

I nod, unable to form words around the lump in my throat. This is the most I've spoken about my mother to anyone, since her death. The silence between us feels weighted, full of unspoken things—grief and guilt and the terrible knowledge that we stand on opposing sides of a conflict that has shaped both our lives.

A frigid wind sweeps in from the sea, cutting through my cloak and setting my teeth chattering. I wrap my arms tighter around myself, the chill digs into my bones.

Zuko notices immediately, his eyes tracking the involuntary shudder that runs through me. "You're cold," he says, concern evident in his voice. "We should get back to the inn before this weather worsens."

"I'm f-fine," I stammer, but another shiver betrays me.

He steps closer, hesitating for just a moment before placing his arm around my shoulders. Heat radiates from him—not just the natural warmth of another body, but something more intense, something uniquely Firebender.

"Is this okay?" he asks quietly.

I nod again, unable to refuse the blessed warmth he offers. We turn back toward the path leading away from the beach, our footsteps crunching in the snow.

"Firebenders can regulate their body temperature," he explains, his voice low near my ear. "One of the few practical applications of our bending that isn't about destruction."

The bitterness in his tone surprises me. "That's a useful skill on a night like this."

"It's something my uncle taught me during our banishment. There were nights in the northern seas when the cold was so intense it hurt to breathe." His arm tightens slightly around me. "The ability to generate heat saved our lives more than once."

I lean into his warmth, thinking of the waterbending I've suppressed for so long. The way I could once pull moisture from the air, create ice or steam at will. It feels like another life, another Katara—one who wasn't afraid to use her abilities, one who wasn't beaten into submission.

We turn back toward the village, our footprints already filling with fresh snow as fat flakes begin to fall once more. The wind picks up, whistling between the buildings as we make our way through increasingly deserted streets. By the time we reach the inn, my fingers are numb despite being tucked inside my cloak. The lobby is quiet, most guests already retired for the night. A single attendant dozes behind the front desk, jerking awake as the door closes behind us. "Your Highness," she says, bowing hastily. "Can I be of any assistance?"

"No, thank you," Zuko replies, his arm still around my shoulders. "We're just returning to our room."

We climb the stairs in comfortable silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. The conversation on the beach heavy between us. Intimate confessions neither of us had planned to share. I wonder if he regrets the vulnerability, if tomorrow he'll retreat behind the walls of Royal protocol.

The suite welcomes us with golden warmth, the fireplace crackles softly. I move toward it instinctively, holding my hands out to the flames. Heat seeps gradually back into my frozen fingers, bringing along the painful tingles of returning circulation.

"Here," Zuko says, coming to stand beside me. He takes my hands between his, his touch gentle. His skin is impossibly warm, as if the fire itself flows through his veins. "Better?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. His hands engulf mine completely, thumbs moving in small circles over my knuckles. The innocent touch feels more intimate than any I've experienced at the Red Flame. There's no demand in it, no expectation—just warmth freely given.

"Thank you," I manage, reluctantly withdrawing my hands from his larger ones.

The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but charged with unspoken thoughts. I move toward the window, watching snowflakes dance in the moonlight. Despite the late hour and the day's adventures, I feel restless.

"I should probably turn in," I say, though I make no move toward my bedroom.

Zuko studies me from where he stands by the fire. "You don't seem tired."

I laugh softly. "I'm not, actually. At the Flame, I'm usually just starting my night at this hour." I trail my fingers along the windowsill. "My body's rhythm is all wrong for normal people."

"I'm hardly normal," Zuko says with a wry smile.

"True. The Royal schedule probably keeps you up at all hours too."

He shakes his head. "I rise with the sun. Firebender habit." He hesitates, then adds, "But I'm not tired yet either."

I turn to face him. "So we're both wide awake in the middle of the night. What do people do at this hour when they're not... working ?" I raise a suggestive eyebrow at him, keeping my expression playful.

He rolls his eyes, a small smile adorning his lips, "This inn is known for its hot springs. They're open all night."

"Hot springs?" I repeat, the idea instantly appealing. The memory of the cold still lingers in my bones even in the warm room.

"They're fed by the volcanic vents under the island," he explains. "Private pools carved into the rock, open to the sky. The snow falling into the steaming water is..." he pauses, searching for the right word, "peaceful."

"That sounds wonderful," I admit.

Zuko nods, moving toward a cabinet near his bedroom door. "There should be robes in here. The pools are clothing-optional, but there are light swimming garments provided if you prefer."

My heart skips a beat at the casual mention of nudity in relation to Zuko. At the Flame, my body is a commodity, displayed and used at others' pleasure. The idea of choosing to bare myself, of soaking in water simply for enjoyment, feels strangely liberating.

"I'd like that," I say softly.

Zuko retrieves two soft white robes from the cabinet, handing one to me. Our fingers brush in the exchange, sending that now-familiar warmth through my hand.

"There's an entrance just off the lobby downstairs," he explains. "Just be sure not to wake any of the ‘normal people.” He winks at me, walking towards his room to presumably change into his own swimwear.

In my room, I slip out of the blue dress, carefully hanging it in the wardrobe. Opening the cabinet in my room, I find a neatly folded bathing suit - a modest two-piece in deep burgundy with gold trim. Fire Nation colors, of course, but the cut is surprisingly practical rather than revealing. I slip it on, relieved to have something appropriate for the occasion. The fabric hugs my curves without exposing too much, covering more of me than my Red Flame attire ever would. I pull the soft white robe over it, tying the sash securely at my waist.

When I step back into the common area, Zuko is already waiting. He stands by the window, gazing out at the falling snow, his own robe tied loosely over what appears to be simple black swimming trunks. His bare chest is visible where the robe gapes open, revealing toned muscle and pale skin marked with its own collection of scars. His hair is loose around his shoulders, making him look younger, less severe than his usual Royal appearance. The firelight catches in the dark strands, highlighting them with amber. He turns as I enter, his eyes meeting mine.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice that soft rasp that's becoming dangerously familiar.

I nod, feeling shy, despite years of professional intimacy with countless men. This feels different—a choice rather than an obligation, pleasure rather than performance. This isn't a transaction. There's no script to follow, no practiced seduction to employ. Just two people about to enjoy hot springs on a snowy night.

He leads the way through the silent inn, our footsteps muffled on the thick carpets. The lobby is deserted now, the front desk abandoned for the night. Zuko guides me down a narrow hallway lit by small flames flickering in wall sconces.

"The private pools are through here," he explains, opening a heavy wooden door.

Beyond lies a stone pathway illuminated by lanterns, winding through a garden that would be lush in summer but now stands in skeletal winter beauty. Snow dusts the bare branches of ornamental trees, and steam rises from multiple small circular pools carved into the volcanic rock. The air is humid and warm against the snowflakes drifting lazily from the night sky. A short passage opens onto a series of stone-lined pools steaming in the night air. The space is illuminated by soft lanterns hung from bamboo poles, casting golden light across the rippling water. Snow falls gently from the open sky above, melting instantly as it touches the heated pools.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, taking in the scene.

The soaking pools are arranged in terraces, each slightly lower than the last, with smooth stone steps leading between them. Privacy screens of bamboo and flowering vines separate the different bathing areas, creating intimate spaces even in the open-air setting.

"The highest pools are the hottest," Zuko explains, leading me along a stone path. "The water cools as it flows down to the lower levels."

We pass two occupied pools where couples soak, their faces flushed from heat and sake. They barely glance our way, too absorbed in their own conversations or the peaceful night around them.

Zuko stops at an empty pool near the top terrace, secluded behind a particularly lush screen of winter-blooming jasmine.

The steaming water looks inviting, its surface disturbed only by falling snowflakes that melt once they reach the water. I hesitate, uncertain of the protocol. At the Flame, disrobing is a performance, calculated to entice and arouse. Here, with him, I'm not sure how to proceed.

"I'll turn around," Zuko offers, already moving to face away from me.

This simple courtesy—so rare in my experience—touches me unexpectedly. "Thank you," I murmur, waiting until his back is turned before slipping off my robe and placing it on a nearby chair. Zuko does the same with his, offering hand as he begins stepping into the pool.

I take his offered hand, grateful for the support as I step into the steaming water. The heat engulfs my legs instantly, drawing a soft gasp from my lips. The sensation is divine—like sinking into liquid silk. I lower myself fully into the pool, the water rising to just below my collarbone, and I can't suppress a contented sigh.

"Good?" Zuko asks, a hint of amusement in his voice as he settles opposite me.

"Incredible," I breathe, tilting my head back to watch snowflakes and steam swirl above me. "I've never felt anything like this."

The volcanic heat seeps into my muscles, melting away tensions I didn't even realize I was carrying. Each breath draws in steam scented faintly with minerals and the sweet jasmine growing around us. I close my eyes, letting myself float slightly, supported by the buoyancy of the water.

When I open them again, I catch Zuko watching me, though his gaze remains respectfully at eye level. Unlike the men at the Flame who devour me with their eyes, his attention feels different—appreciative without being invasive. He's deliberately keeping his focus on my face, despite my swimsuit clad form being visible through the clear water.

"Is the temperature alright for you?" he asks, his voice softer than usual.

I nod, sinking deeper until the water laps at my chin. "Perfect."

"You must have been quite the swimmer, growing up surrounded by water," he observes, leaning his head back against the stone edge of the pool."How long has it been since you've been swimming?" 

I tilt my head back, letting my hair dip into the water. "Years. Not since before I was taken."

"But you enjoyed it? Before?"

"I loved it," I admit, my voice softening with memory. "In the South, we learn to swim almost before we learn to walk. Even with the freezing temperatures, it's a necessary skill."

"Weren't you cold?" His genuine curiosity warms me almost as much as the water.

I laugh softly. "Terribly. But we had special suits made from seal skin that helped. And there were hot springs near our village—nothing as luxurious as this, but they were our refuge after long hunts or fishing expeditions."

"Your brother—did he teach you?"

The mention of Sokka sends a pang through my chest. "No, my father did. But Sokka and I would race each other constantly. He hated that I was faster, even though he was—is—two years older."

Zuko smiles, the expression transforming his face. "Siblings and their competitions. Sounds familiar."

"He was ridiculous about it. He'd claim the water was colder on his side, or that I had a head start, or that seaweed had tangled around his ankle." The memories flow freely now, bringing with them both joy and sorrow. "I haven't thought about him in so long."

"Do you know what happened to him? After..."

"No. I hope he survived. That they all did." I pause, then add quietly, "Sometimes I dream about returning home, finding them all still there, waiting."

Reality crashes back like ice water. What am I doing? Sharing childhood memories, talking about my family, my home—things I've buried deep for my own protection. I'm not here as Katara of the Southern Water Tribe. I'm here as Raine, a girl from the Red Flame, purchased for the Prince's pleasure. Sharing personal stories, laughing, enjoying myself as if this is real. As if I'm not just a purchased body to serve his whims. I'm forgetting my place. My purpose. I lower my eyes, pulling back from the dangerous intimacy of the moment. Madame Kaji would be furious if she knew how I was behaving—not seducing the Prince, but connecting with him as if we were equals. As if I were a person with value beyond my body.

I'm a fool to forget my place, even for a moment.

"I should stop talking about such things," I say, my voice cooler now. "You didn't bring me here to listen to stories about the South Pole."

"I don't mind. Actually, I—"

"It's inappropriate," I interrupt, sliding slightly away from him in the water. "Forgive me, Your Highness."

"Don't do that," he says, frustration evident in his tone. "Don't retreat behind formality. And don't call me 'Your Highness' when we're alone."

I stare at the rippling surface of the water, watching snowflakes dissolve as they touch it. "I shouldn't forget what I am," I say quietly. "What this is."

The steam rises between us, filling the silence that follows. I can feel him watching me, but I don't meet his eyes. The peaceful moment is gone, replaced by the familiar tension I've learned to navigate at the Flame. 

This is safer. 

Boundaries are safer.

I'm nothing but a whore from the Red Flame. A possession. Property. This momentary kindness doesn't change that fact. In three days—well two now—I'll be back in crimson silk, spreading my legs for whatever nobleman pays Madame Kaji's price. No matter how gentle Zuko seems, no matter how much he makes me feel like a person instead of an object, the truth remains unchanged.

Stupid girl. Getting attached will only make everything harder when you return. I move further away from his proximity, bowing my head in the proper demure way expected of me in the presence of a client.

"Did I say something wrong?" Zuko whispers cautiously.

"No," I reply, my voice cooler, more professional. "The water is just very warm. I needed some space."

He studies me for a long moment, his golden eyes searching my face. Something in his expression tells me he doesn't quite believe my excuse, but he doesn't press.

We lapse into silence, the only sound is the gentle lapping of water against stone and the faint rustling of leaves in the chilly island breeze. Steam rises between us like a veil, obscuring his features slightly. It's better this way. Easier to remember who we really are to each other.

The heat gradually seeps deeper into my muscles, and despite my mental resolve to maintain distance, my eyelids grow heavy. The day's events—the theater, the sweet shop, the emotional conversation on the beach—have taken their toll. I stifle a yawn behind my hand.

"You're tired," Zuko observes quietly.

I straighten, blinking rapidly. "I'm fine, Your Hi—" I catch myself. "Zuko. I can stay as long as you wish."

He shakes his head, rising from the water. "No, it's late. We should both get some rest." Water streams down his chest, highlighting the defined muscles and scattered scars. He reaches for his robe, wrapping it around himself before offering me mine. "We have no real plans for tomorrow. You can sleep as late as you want."

The consideration in his voice makes my chest ache. This strange kindness is more dangerous than any cruelty could be.

"Thank you," I murmur, taking the robe and turning away to put it on, self-conscious in a way I never am at the Flame.

We walk back to our suite in silence, our footsteps the only sound in the sleeping inn. The warmth of the hot spring lingers in my limbs, making each step feel dreamlike.

At our suite door, Zuko fumbles with the key, his fingers slipping against the metal. I stand just behind him, my damp hair cooling against my neck. The lock finally gives way with a soft click.

"Well," Zuko says, stepping aside to let me enter first. "This was..." He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes not quite meeting mine.

"Yes.” I reply mechanically, “Thank you for today. All of it."

An awkward silence stretches between us. We stand in the center of the room, neither moving toward our respective bedrooms.

"Sleep well," he finally offers, his voice catching slightly.

"You too." I twist the sash of my robe between my fingers. "Goodnight... Zuko."

His name still feels forbidden on my tongue, a small rebellion against everything I've been taught at the Red Flame.

I move toward my bedroom door, feeling his eyes on my back. At the threshold, I turn. "Happy Birthday, Zuko."

He nods, something unreadable flickering across his face. "Thank you, Katara."

My real name in his mouth sends an unexpected shiver through me. Before I can analyze the feeling, I slip into my room and close the door softly behind me.

The bed welcomes me with softness I rarely experience. I shed my robe and the still-damp swimsuit, pulling on the sleeping clothes we purchased earlier—loose pants and a simple top in soft cotton. So different from the revealing silks I wear at the Flame.

As soon as my head touches the pillow, exhaustion overtakes me. The emotional whiplash of the day—from Ozai's degrading inspection to Zuko's unexpected kindness—has left me drained. My limbs still carry the pleasant heaviness from the hot spring, and my mind drifts almost immediately.

In my dreams, I'm running along a snow-packed shore, the cold air sharp in my lungs. Ahead of me, a familiar figure waves, his wolf-tail whipping in the arctic wind.

"Come on, slowpoke!" Sokka calls, his voice exactly as I remember it—playful, teasing, beloved.

I chase after him, laughing as snow crunches beneath my boots. The sky above is a perfect blue, the sun glinting off endless fields of ice.

This is home—the real home I've tried so hard to forget.

The one I know I’ll never see again.

Chapter Text

Sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains eventually pulls me from the deepest slumber I've had in years. The bed cradles me like a cloud, soft and impossibly plush compared to my thin mattress at the Red Flame. For a moment, I simply lay, savoring the sensation of being completely at ease, my body sinking into comfort rather than tensing for the next client. Rolling over, I'm surprised to see how high the sun sits in the sky. I must have slept until mid-afternoon, my body claiming the rest it's been denied for so long. The room is silent except for the occasional drip of melting snow from the eaves outside my window. I stretch languidly, reluctant to leave this haven of warmth and softness. The room is quiet, the inn's sounds muffled by thick walls. No Madame Kaji pounding on my door, no urgent summons to prepare for a client. Just silence and sunlight.

I rise reluctantly, washing my face in the basin of fresh water left on the small vanity. I dress in one of the simple outfits Zuko purchased yesterday—loose crimson pants and a fitted tunic with gold embroidery at the collar. When I enter the shared sitting area, Zuko is nowhere to be seen. The room is empty, but a covered tray sits on the low table, still steaming. Beside it, a folded piece of parchment bears my name—my real name—in elegant script.

I unfold the note, running my fingers over the careful characters:

Katara, You seemed peaceful. I didn't want to wake you. I've gone for a walk in the courtyard. Eat, please.Take your time. - Z

The simple consideration makes something flutter in my chest. I lift the cover from the tray to find a small feast—steamed pork dumplings, sliced fruit, a pot of fragrant tea, and even a sweet rice cake like the ones from last night. My stomach growls in response. I eat slowly, savoring each bite,  and watching the fire crackle in the hearth, savoring the slowness of the afternoon. Not dictated by clocks or timers. After finishing my meal, curiosity pulls me toward the window. Through the glass, I can see that the snowfall has stopped, leaving a pristine white blanket covering the inn's gardens.

I wrap myself in the warm cloak from yesterday and venture outside, curious to find Zuko and apologize for oversleeping. The air is crisp and cold, but the sky has cleared to a brilliant blue. My breath forms small clouds as I follow footprints in the snow around the side of the inn.

I hear him before I see him—the rhythmic whoosh of controlled flame, punctuated by deep, measured breaths. Rounding a corner, I stop in my tracks.

In a cleared space surrounded by snow-laden trees, Zuko moves through a series of firebending forms. He's shirtless despite the frigid temperature, his upper body gleaming with sweat that turns to steam in the cold air. Each precise movement sends arcs of golden flame spinning from his hands and feet, illuminating his concentrated expression. I freeze in place, unable to look away. The winter sun catches on his skin, highlighting every defined muscle flexing and releasing with each controlled movement. His bare torso is an image of controlled strength—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and ridged abdominal muscles, tensing and releasing with each stance. There's an undeniable grace to his movements, a fluid power that contradicts the brute strength and aggression I've come to associate with firebending. Zuko’s forms flow like water, one motion bleeding seamlessly into the next as flame extends from his fingertips in disciplined arcs.

A warm flush creeps up my neck. I've seen countless men's bodies at the Red Flame—have been paid to admire them, to praise them with honeyed words regardless of their true appearance. But this is different. This unguarded moment wasn't meant for my eyes, wasn't performed for my benefit or approval. Sweat glistens on his chest, steam rising from his heated skin in the winter air. His hair, tied back in a simple knot, has come partially loose, dark strands clinging to his  neck and temples. The scar that marks half his face seems less harsh in this light, just another part of the beautiful, complicated whole of him. Scars I hadn't noticed before trace paths across his torso—some thin and precise like training wounds, others jagged and angry. Each tells a story I find myself wanting to know.

I should announce my presence or quietly retreat. Standing here watching feels like an invasion of his privacy. Yet I remain rooted in place, mesmerized by the raw elegance of his practice.

He shifts into a more complex form, muscles coiling before he launches into a spinning kick that sends a wheel of flame circling outward. The fire dissipates harmlessly against the snow, creating a momentary rainbow of steam in the sunlight. His landing is nearly silent, a testament to years of discipline.

"You can come closer, you know," he calls without turning, his voice slightly breathless from exertion. "The snow will protect you from any stray flames."

Heat floods my face at being caught staring. I step forward, crunching through the snow until I reach the edge of his cleared practice area.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," I say, clutching my cloak tighter. "Your forms are beautiful."

He turns to face me fully, chest rising and falling with quickened breath. A small, almost shy smile touches his lips. "Thank you. They're from an ancient scroll my uncle found—firebending techniques that existed before the war, when bending was about harmony rather than destruction."

Up close, the effect of his bare chest is even more distracting. A thin sheen of sweat highlights the contours of his muscles, steam rising gently from his heated skin in the cold air.

"Did you sleep well?"

I nod, forcing my eyes to stay on his face. "Thank you for letting me rest."

"You needed it," he says simply, reaching for a shirt hanging from a low branch. I feel an irrational disappointment as he pulls it over his head, concealing the view I'd been secretly enjoying.

"Your bending is extraordinary," I say before I can stop myself. "I've never really known firebending as... art before." I admit. "It was almost like..." I hesitate, unsure if the comparison would offend him.

"Like waterbending?" he suggests,  "That's what Uncle says too. He believes all bending shares the same roots, just expressed through different elements."

Suddenly, I feel a pang of envy so sharp it nearly steals my breath. The sight of him bending so freely, so openly—practicing his forms with no fear of punishment or death—makes something twist painfully inside me. His element answers his call without hesitation, while mine remains locked away, a forbidden part of myself I've had to deny for years.

"Must be nice," I mutter, the words escaping before I can stop them.

"What?" Zuko asks, tilting his head.

"Being able to just... practice whenever you want." I gesture at the cleared area. "In the open air. Without worrying who might see you."

He looks confused. "I suppose I've never really thought about it."

Of course he hasn't. The privilege of Royal blood—to bend openly, proudly, without fear of execution. While I've had to bury my connection to water so deeply I sometimes wonder if it's still there at all. I've lied about my identity, my homeland, denied the very essence of who I am just to survive.

"Are you alright?" Zuko asks, stepping closer.

"Fine," I reply, my voice cool. The warmth I felt toward him moments ago curdling into resentment.

"I thought maybe we could walk through the village today," he continues, "There's a market today for the Winter Festival that—"

"Whatever you wish," I cut him off.

He frowns. "It's not about what I wish. I thought you might enjoy it."

"Very thoughtful," I say, the words clipped and short.

"Have I done something wrong?" He asks, confusion evident on his face.

I shrug, looking away. "Nothing at all. You're a Prince. You can do as you please."

"That's not—" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "What happened? You were fine a minute ago."

"I am fine." I snap, then immediately regret my tone. This isn't his fault. Not really. It's the world we live in, the war his family started. Still, watching him bend so freely while my own abilities remain locked away feels like salt in an open wound.

"Katara, I—"

"We should go back inside," I interrupt. "It's cold."

He follows me as I trudge through the snow, his footsteps crunching behind mine. The bitter envy still churns in my stomach as we enter the inn, the warmth inside doing nothing to thaw the ice forming around my heart.

In the sitting room, Zuko tries again. "Would you like some tea? I can make—"

"No, thank you." I say curtly.

He sighs, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "Are you hungry? We could—"

"I'm fine."

"Did you enjoy the breakfast I had sent up?"

"It was fine." I reply, even though it had been the most delicious meal I've had in years.

Frustration flashes across his face. "Have I done something to offend you?"

I shrug, turning to look out the window at the snow-covered gardens where he'd been so freely practicing his bending.

“Are you mad at me?”

I shake my head, scowling at the ground, “No, Your Highness.”

“Katara…”

I let out a sigh, straightening my shoulders, “What would you like to do for the remainder of the day, I am here to serve after all. If you’d like to go back to your room for some rest…”

A low frustrated growl comes from him, “You know I don’t want anything like that .”

“Well then what do you want!? Why am I here!? Is this fun for you!? Acting as if these luxuries are simply everyday conveniences!” I cover my mouth, bowing deeply, “Highness I’m–”

“No, no it’s… fine. Raine . You’re right. You’re here to serve. And neither of us should let ourselves get too comfortable as to forget our stations.” He sighs heavily, “For today just… We’ll go to the food stalls. I’d like to try the varieties they have there. You’ll come along. You’ll keep your head down. And do not dare speak to me in that manner, ever . Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” I say in my most demure voice, rising to straighten my back keeping my eyes downcast to the ground in front of me. I clasp my hands just in front of me, keeping my mouth shut, waiting for further commands.

"Very well." Zuko says, his voice clipped and formal.

The warmth between us has vanished like steam in winter air. We walk side by side yet miles apart, the easy camaraderie of yesterday now replaced by the proper distance between a Prince and his purchased companion. We clean up in our separate rooms. The shower is blissfully warm, angering me further at the luxury he’s so accustomed to. I dry off quickly, braiding my hair again before dressing for the colder weather of the day. The silence weighs heavily as we leave the inn, nodding politely to the staff who bow deeply at Zuko's passing.

Outside, the village has transformed. Colorful lanterns hang from every eave coloring the daylight, and vendors line the streets with stalls draped in festive banners. The scent of spiced meats and sweet pastries fill the air, mingling with the crisp winter breeze. Children dart between adults, their laughter rising above the general hum of conversation.

Under different circumstances, I might have been enchanted. Instead, I follow three steps behind Zuko as protocol demands, my eyes lowered, my expression carefully neutral. I've slipped back into the role I know—the obedient companion, seen but not heard, unless spoken to.

Zuko stops at a stall selling steamed dumplings, the vendor's eyes widening in recognition before he bows so deeply I fear he might topple into his cooking pot.

"Your Highness! What an honor! Please, sample our finest offerings—on the house, of course!"

"Thank you," Zuko replies stiffly, accepting a bamboo plate with several plump dumplings. He glances back at me, hesitates, then adds, "Two plates, please."

The vendor hurriedly prepares another serving, passing it to me with considerably less ceremony. I accept it with a demure nod, careful not to meet anyone's eyes directly.

We continue through the market this way—Zuko receiving effusive greetings and free samples, me trailing behind like a shadow. He tries several times to include me, offering tastes of particularly good dishes or asking simple questions, but I respond with minimal words and downcast eyes.

This is safer. This is what I know. The brief illusion of equality, of genuine connection, was just that—an illusion. Better to remember my place now than suffer later when reality reasserts itself even more painfully.

"Prince Zuko!" A cheerful voice breaks through my thoughts. General Iroh approaches, arms laden with packages, his face flushed with cold and good spirits. "And the lovely Raine! I was hoping to find you both. The market is magnificent today, is it not?"

I bow respectfully but remain silent. Iroh's smile falters slightly as he glances between us, clearly sensing the tension.

"Nephew, have you tried the fire flakes from the stall near the fountain? They're using a new spice blend this year—quite invigorating!"

"We haven't made it that far yet," Zuko replies, his voice noticeably cooler than when he usually speaks with his uncle.

"Then we must remedy that immediately!" Iroh declares, clapping a hand on Zuko's shoulder and steering us toward the fountain. "The Winter Festival only comes once a year, after all."

I follow at the appropriate distance, keeping my eyes trained on the cobblestones beneath my feet. The crowd parts respectfully for the Royal pair, whispers following in our wake.

"You know," Iroh says loudly enough for me to hear, "there's an old Fire Nation saying that food tastes sweeter when shared with friends."

Zuko's shoulders tense visibly. "Uncle..."

"Just an observation," Iroh replies innocently. "Ah, here we are! The finest fire flakes in the Fire Nation."

The vendor nearly falls over himself bowing when he recognizes Zuko. Iroh orders three servings despite my silent headshake.

"One for each of us," he insists, pressing the small paper cone into my hands. "Tell me, young lady, have you ever tried fire flakes before?"

I hesitate before answering. "No, General Iroh."

"Then you are in for a treat! Or possibly a shock to your system," he chuckles. "They can be quite spicy for the uninitiated."

Zuko stands awkwardly to the side, his own cone untouched. "You don't have to eat them if you don't want to," he mutters.

"Thank you, Your Highness," I reply formally, "but I'm happy to try them if it pleases you."

His jaw tightens at my tone. "That's not what I meant."

"What my nephew means," Iroh interjects cheerfully, "is that your enjoyment matters too. Isn't that right, Prince Zuko?"

"Yes," Zuko says stiffly. "That's... what I meant."

I take a small flake and place it on my tongue. The heat explodes immediately, making my eyes water and my throat burn. I struggle not to cough, maintaining my composure through sheer force of will.

"Perhaps we should find something more suitable to the lady's palate," Iroh suggests, noticing my discomfort. "I spotted a stall selling moon peach tarts that looked delightful."

"Whatever you think best," Zuko responds, his voice flat.

As we walk, Iroh fills the uncomfortable silence with stories about previous Winter Festivals, "Did I ever tell you about the time I won the ice sculpting contest despite being a firebender? The judges were quite surprised!"

At the moon peach stall, Zuko awkwardly purchases a tart and offers it to me. "These are... less spicy," he says, attempting a small smile.

"Thank you, Your Highness," I respond, accepting it with a proper bow.

His smile falters. "You don't need to keep being so formal.”

“It is what’s expected of me, Your Highness. What you’ve paid for.” I remind him.

"I didn't pay for your formality," Zuko snaps, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "I paid for your time."

"And how would you like me to spend that time, Your Highness?" I ask, the question deliberately ambiguous.

His golden eyes narrow. "Not like this."

"Like what, exactly?"

"Like you're just going through the motions. Like yesterday never happened."

I take a small, deliberate bite of the moon peach tart, chewing slowly before responding. "Yesterday was a mistake. I forgot my place."

"Your place?" Zuko's voice rises slightly, drawing a curious glance from a nearby vendor. He lowers it again, leaning closer. "Is that what this is about? Your 'place'?"

"We both know what I am," I say quietly. "What this arrangement is."

Iroh has wandered ahead, tactfully giving us space while pretending to examine a display of painted masks.

"I thought we were..." Zuko stops, frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw. "I thought we were becoming friends."

Friends . As if such a thing were possible between the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and a Water Tribe captive forced into prostitution.

"Friends," I repeat, the word bitter on my tongue. "Is that what you tell yourself when you purchase women from the Red Flame? You were born into privileges. Like buying my time. I was stolen, sold into slavery. To be bought by men like you."

"That's different," he hisses. "I can't change what I was born into any more than you can."

"The difference is you benefit from being born," I counter, my voice barely above a whisper. "Your birthright gives you freedom. Mine took it away."

We stand there, the festive market swirling around us, a chasm widening between us with every charged word.

"I'm trying to help you," Zuko says finally.

"I didn't ask for your help." The tart feels heavy in my hand, its sweetness now cloying. "I didn't ask for any of this. Your pity. Your... friendship ."

"It's not pity," he insists.

"Then what is it? What do you want from me, Zuko ?"

His golden eyes flash with something unreadable. "I want you to be real with me. Not this... performance you're putting on."

"This isn't a performance," I snap, my voice sharper than intended. "This is survival. This is what keeps me alive . I can't afford to forget what I am, even for a moment."

"And what exactly are you?" he challenges, stepping closer.

"Property," I state. "Merchandise. A whore from the colonies who survived by learning when to speak and when to shut up. By pretending to be someone else."

"That's not who you are to me."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Oh? And who am I to you, Prince Zuko ? Some charity case? A fun distraction from Royal duties? Or maybe I'm just a novelty—the exotic pet you can parade around for three days before returning to its cage."

His face hardens. "You are not a pet, Katara."

"Stop using my name like that," I whisper harshly. "Like it means something."

"It does mean something. You mean something."

"No, I don't. Not really."

Zuko takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "Look, I didn't bring you here to fight."

"Why did you bring me here, then? What's the point of all this?" I gesture vaguely at the festival around us. "The play, the sweets, the hot springs? What game are you playing?"

"It's not a game," he insists, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just wanted you—"

"What? To pretend for a few days that I'm not what I am? That you're not what you are?"

“Just be Fucking real with me, Katara!”

"Real?" I laugh, the sound sharp and brittle. "You want me to be real? Fine. I resent you. I resent these clothes, this... charade of normalcy when we both know I'll be back in silk and rouge in two days, spreading my legs for whatever Nobleman pays the highest price."

Zuko flinches as if I've struck him. "That's not—"

"Not what? Not what you wanted to hear? What did you expect, Zuko? That I'd be grateful for this temporary reprieve? That I'd forget what I am because you bought me a dress and some sweets?"

His jaw tightens. "I never meant to make you feel that way."

"It doesn't matter what you meant," I say, my voice dropping lower. "This isn't real. Whatever happened yesterday... it can't be real ."

People are starting to notice our tense exchange, curious glances thrown our way as they pass. Zuko seems to realize this too, his posture stiffening.

"We should continue this conversation somewhere more private," he says stiffly.

"There's nothing more to say.”

He falls silent, his expression unreadable.

"Prince Zuko, perhaps we should sample the tea at that charming stall," Iroh suggests, materializing beside us with perfect timing. "I hear they're brewing a special Winter Solstice blend."

The tension between us remains, a tangible thing in the cold air. Zuko gives a curt nod, and we follow Iroh to the tea stall, our argument suspended but unresolved. The vendor bows deeply as we approach, hurrying to prepare his finest blend.

We stand in awkward silence as the tea steeps, the festival continuing around us in a swirl of color and sound that feels jarringly at odds with the heaviness between us. When the vendor hands us each a steaming cup, I accept mine with a murmured thanks.

Zuko and I spend the rest of the afternoon in a tense silence. Not even Iroh's jovial laughs and light-hearted jokes can break the strained atmosphere that's grown between us. 

Iroh glances at us intermittently whilst leading the way through markets and different Festival activities and events. I can't help smiling at a group of children gathered around a stall decorated like a tiny theatere. Their giggles and laughter make the air feel lighter, if only for a moment.

Chapter Text

I stand watching the children watch the silly puppet show. Zuko and Iroh continue to wander along the stalls, disappearing around a corner, further into the throng of the crowd. I only half notice myself moving closer. In our village,  something similar was done with shadows cast by hands to make different shapes while stories were told. This is much brighter; I've never seen anything like it. Each puppet has their own colorful clothing cut from pieces of felt, their comically large mouths opening and closing with every word.

When the characters get into an argument, the puppeteer's voice gets hysterically high as he makes them scream at one another over a cart of cabbages. I laugh at the absurdity of the spat, causing a few kids to turn and glance at me.

“Sorry,” I whisper, smiling sweetly at them. 

One little girl’s bright green eyes don't leave me. Her face is awestruck as she slowly rises from where she was sitting, walking closer on her short chubby legs. 

“Wowww, Miss. You're so pretty.” She beams up at me, her hand grabbing at the fabric of my slacks. “Your skin is so lovely, even though it's dirty. “

I give her a kind smile, “Thank you.” I say quietly, “You’re pretty too.” 

“HANA! NO! DON'T TOUCH THAT THING!” A severe-looking woman with matching green eyes snatches the girl by one arm, yanking her away from the proximity of me.

“Apologies, ma'am; I was only looking at the puppet show.” I bow lightly.

When I rise, she smacks me across the face hard, turning my neck at a sharp angle. The slap rings through the small square, drawing the attention of the children and even the puppeteer who momentarily pauses to peek over the top ledge of his puppet's stage.

“How dare you speak to me!” She bellows, “You dirty whore! Who do you think you are!? Being near children!?”

Tears sting my eyes, but I keep my head bowed and my hands clasped tightly in front of me, “I sincerely apologize, ma'am.”

"You think I can't see what you are?" The woman's voice rises, drawing even more attention. "Look at your skin! That dark color. Like some cursed spirit. We all know what your kind does in the Fire Nation." Her eyes rake over me with disgust. "Dirty-blooded savages are only good for one thing. And here you are, contaminating decent children with your presence. Your kind should stay in the Red Houses where you belong!" She yanks her daughter further away, as if I'm contagious. "You think it's appropriate for children to see someone like you walking around like you're decent?"

I deepen my bow, keeping my eyes downcast and my voice soft. "I meant no offense, ma'am."

"No offense?" she scoffs, her face contorted with rage. "Your very existence is offensive! Dark skinned whores like you should be kept in your proper places. Not left to roam free, parading around decent establishments pretending to be respectable."

A small crowd has gathered now. I can feel their stares boring into me, some curious, others disgusted. The puppet show has stopped completely. Unfortunately, the woman seems to be energized by the audience, her voice only growing louder.

"I've seen your type before. Batting those blue eyes at Fire Nation men, spreading your filthy foreign legs. It's disgusting."

"I apologize for any offense," I murmur, my voice soft and contrite. The perfect picture of remorse.

Inside, I'm burning.

My blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the woman's continued tirade about "moral decay" and "protecting innocent children." I imagine the water from a nearby fountain rising up, wrapping around her throat, silencing her hateful words. I imagine her eyes widening in fear as she realizes what I am—not just a whore, but something far more dangerous.

"—absolutely disgusting," she's saying now. "At least have the decency to wear your House colors so clean people can avoid you. Though with that complexion, I suppose we should all know what you are anyway."

The sound of water falling in the fountain stops for a split second. I need to calm down. My fingernails dig into my palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks.

The woman looks down at her daughter. "This is why we don't associate with their kind, Hana. Dirty girls like her only come to the Fire Nation for one purpose. To service men, and ruin families."

My face burns with humiliation, but I maintain my composure, dropping into a deeper bow. "I apologize for disturbing you." The basin of a nearby fountain trembles imperceptibly, water rippling in response to my anger. I want to scream that I didn't choose this life, that I was stolen from my home, that her precious Fire Nation destroyed everything I loved.

Instead, I smile apologetically, keeping my eyes respectfully lowered while my heart thunders with fury.

"That's right, know your place," the woman sneers, spitting on the ground at my feet. "Dirty savages should stick to the Red Houses where they belong."

I feel a presence beside me, then Zuko's voice cuts through the tension. "That's enough."

The woman turns, ready to unleash more vitriol, when recognition dawns. Her face pales as she registers the Royal insignia on Zuko's cloak and the distinctive scar across his face.

"P-Prince Zuko!" She drops into a hasty bow, pulling her daughter down with her. "I didn't realize—"

"Clearly," he says, his eyes cold. "You've insulted my guest."

The woman's eyes dart between us, confusion and horror warring on her face. "Your... guest? But she's—"

"Completing that sentence would be unwise." Zuko interrupts, his voice dangerously calm.

The crowd has fallen completely silent now. The puppeteer has abandoned all pretense of continuing his show, watching us with wide eyes from behind his makeshift stage, puppets laying limp beside him.

“A-Apologies, Highness—”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to her.”

The crowd shifts uncomfortably. The woman looks like she'd rather swallow glass than apologize to me. Her daughter peers around her mother's skirts, confusion clear on her innocent face. The woman's jaw tightens, her eyes flickering between Zuko and me with thinly veiled revulsion. She swallows hard, clearly wrestling with the command to apologize to someone she considers beneath her.

"I'm waiting," Zuko says, crossing his arms. His voice carries the unmistakable edge of Royal authority.

"I..." the woman begins, then stops, her face contorting as if the words physically pain her. "I apologize if my words were... inappropriate." She practically spits the last word, her eyes never meeting mine, instead focusing somewhere over my shoulder.

Zuko's eyebrow raises dangerously. "Perhaps you've forgotten who stands before you," he says, his tone deceptively even. "When addressing someone in the company of the Crown Prince, you will show proper respect."

The woman pales further, her knuckles white where she grips her daughter's shoulder. "Of course, Your Highness." She turns to me fully now, forcing a stiff bow. "Please accept my... apologies... for my hasty judgment. I spoke out of turn. I was merely concerned for my daughter's well being around... certain… creatures."

The backhanded apology is met with another sharp glare from Zuko. Behind her, several onlookers shift uncomfortably, clearly sensing the tension.

Despite the insincerity dripping from every syllable, I incline my head graciously, my features arranged in a mask of serene acceptance. "Your apology is accepted," I reply softly, my voice carrying none of the rage still churning inside me. "I understand your concern for your daughter."

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I've had years of practice swallowing worse. The rage still burns beneath my skin, but I've learned to bury such feelings deep, where they can't betray me. What matters now is ending this spectacle before it draws even more attention.

Zuko's jaw tightens, clearly dissatisfied with her half-hearted apology, but I place a gentle hand on his arm.

"Please, Your Highness," I murmur. "It's not worth the trouble."

He holds my gaze for a moment before giving a curt nod. "Very well." He turns back to the woman, whose face has gone ashen. "You are dismissed."

The crowd begins to disperse, the entertainment of public humiliation concluded. The woman hurries away, dragging her confused daughter behind her. I can hear her hissed whispers about "Royal peculiarities" and "exotic tastes" as they disappear into the crowd.

I stand perfectly still, the model of composure; even though inside I want to scream, to rage, to call on the water from every fountain and snow pile to wash away the filth of her words. I breathe deeply, pushing the anger down into that frozen place inside where I store all my unacceptable emotions.

"Are you alright?" Zuko asks quietly, his hand hovering near my elbow but not quite touching.

"Yes, Your Highness," I answer automatically, my voice empty of inflection. "Shall we continue our tour of the festival?"

His brow furrows at my formal tone, but he nods, falling into step beside me as we move away from the puppet show. Iroh joins us, his usually jovial expression solemn.

"Such ignorance is unfortunately common," Iroh says gently. "Even in places as beautiful as Ember Island."

I nod, but say nothing. There's nothing to say. The woman's words weren't new—I've heard variations of them countless times. Only this time, someone intervened.

"Perhaps we should return to the inn," Zuko suggests, eyeing me with concern. "We can have dinner sent up."

"Whatever pleases you, Your Highness," I reply, my voice still carefully controlled.

The walk back is silent. The festive atmosphere feels hollow, the colorful decorations and cheerful vendors a mockery of my inner turmoil. I keep my head bowed, my face a careful mask of serenity to hide the storm raging within me.  Despite my earlier attempts to remind Zuko and I of our roles, I had still allowed myself to slip into some fantasy world of calm and peacefulness.

How quickly that illusion of normalcy had shattered.

For a moment—just a moment—I'd forgotten what I was. What I will always be in the eyes of the world. The woman's words echo in my mind, each one a barb that finds its mark with painful accuracy.

Chapter Text

Back at the inn, I excuse myself immediately, retreating to my room. Once alone, I lean against the door, finally allowing my composed expression to crumble. My hands shake with suppressed emotion—rage, humiliation, and a bone-deep weariness that never seems to leave me.

I slide down against the door until I'm sitting on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The tears come hot and fast, my shoulders shaking with the force of my silent sobs. I press my sleeve against my mouth, to muffle the sounds of my breakdown. Five years of practiced silence serves me well—even now, I know how to cry without being heard. 

How stupid I was to think I could simply walk among normal people? To believe for even a moment that new clothes and a Prince's company could erase what I am. The woman's words weren't even the worst I've heard, but something about today—about these past two days of almost-freedom—made them cut deeper than usual. I curl into myself on the floor. Five years of degradation, of being treated as less than human, and it still hurts. 

It shouldn't, but it does.

A soft knock at the door startles me. I freeze, holding my breath.

"Katara?" Zuko's voice comes through the door, hesitant and low. "Are you alright?"

I swallow hard, hastily wiping the tears from my face even though he can't see me. "I'm fine, Your Highness," I call back, my voice carefully modulated to sound pleasant against the rawness in my throat. "Just resting a moment."

"You don't sound fine," he says, concern evident in his tone.

"It's nothing," I assure him, injecting warmth into my voice. "Just a bit tired from all the excitement. The festival was lovely."

There's a pause. "Can I come in?"

"I'd rather not right now, if that's acceptable," I reply sweetly. "I'm just changing into something more comfortable. I'll join you shortly for dinner."

Another pause, longer this time. "That woman was wrong," he says finally. "Everything she said was wrong."

Fresh tears well in my eyes. "Of course, Your Highness," I agree pleasantly, my fists clenching against the floor. "Please don't trouble yourself over it. I've heard much worse, I assure you."

"That doesn't make it right," he insists, his voice tight with anger.

"Perhaps not," I concede, keeping my tone light and unbothered. "But it's hardly worth your concern. I'll be out momentarily."

I hear him sigh heavily on the other side of the door. "Take all the time you need," he says quietly. "I'll have dinner brought up. Come out whenever you're ready."

"Thank you, your Highness. You're most kind." I press my palms against my eyes, willing the tears to stop. "I'll join you shortly for dinner," I promise again, ignoring his comment entirely. "Would you prefer I wear the blue dress again, or something simpler?"

"Whatever you're comfortable in," he answers, frustration evident in his tone. "Katara, I—"

"Twenty minutes," I interrupt, my voice still carefully sweet. "I just need twenty minutes. Please."

I hear him sigh, then the sound of retreating footsteps. Only when I'm certain he's gone do I allow the tears to flow freely again, silent sobs wracking my body.

The woman's words replay in my mind, each one striking with perfect accuracy. 

Dirty savage. 

Whore. 

Contaminated. 

The worst part is that I can't even argue. This is what I am now—what the Fire Nation has made me. I allow myself to feel this weakness, this indulgence in self-pity. To remember the girl I once was, the future that was stolen from me. To hate the Fire Nation, to hate the Royal Family, to hate Zuko—even as his kindness confuses me. I pull myself off the floor, moving to sit on the bed. I should wash my face, change my clothes, put on my professional mask. I should meet Zuko and Iroh for dinner as promised. I should smile and laugh and pretend that the woman's words didn't cut through me like ice cold daggers.

But I can't.

The weight of it all comes crashing down on me—not just today's humiliation, but all the years of accumulated degradation. Years of being nothing but a body to be used, a commodity to be traded. Years of swallowing my rage, my disgust, my grief. 

My survival depends on my ability to compose myself, to walk out there with a smile, to pretend none of this matters. To be able to rebuild my mask. But something inside me has fractured too deeply this time.

The tears won't stop. My chest feels hollow and tight simultaneously, each breath a struggle. I press my fist against my mouth, trying to muffle the sounds that want to escape. I can't face them. Not Iroh with his kind eyes that see too much. Not Zuko with his conflicted concern and his Royal guilt that changes nothing about what I am or where I'll return.

I pull myself up from the bed, legs shaking. The dinner waiting beyond that door might as well be on another continent. The distance feels insurmountable. Instead, I stumble toward the small closet on the far wall, sliding the door open with trembling hands. The dark, enclosed space calls to me. A refuge. A place to hide. I crawl inside, pulling the door closed behind me. The closet smells of cedar and something faintly floral. The darkness wraps around me, comforting in its anonymity. Here, I don't have to be Raine or Katara. I don't have to be anyone at all. The space is empty except for a few spare blankets folded neatly on a shelf. It reminds me of the small spaces I used to hide in as a child, when raiders came to our village. Of the cramped cargo hold where I was kept during the journey north. Of all the places I've made myself small to survive.

I pull my knees to my chest, burying my face against them as the sobs come harder. Years of careful restraint crumble away, leaving only the raw, bleeding wound of everything I've lost. My home. My family. My dignity. My ability to bend freely. 

My very self.

The pain washes over me in relentless waves. I rock slightly, arms wrapped tightly around myself, as if I might physically hold the broken pieces together.

The voices blend together – the woman from today, clients at the Flame, guards from the ship that brought me here, Madame Kaji, Commander Zhao. An endless chorus reminding me of my place in this world. I lose track of time in the darkness, my sobs eventually quieting to exhausted whimpers. My eyelids grow heavy, the emotional toll of the day draining my last reserves of energy.

A soft knock echoes from somewhere far away.

"Katara?" Zuko's voice calls, muffled through two doors now. "Dinner's here."

I should answer. I should pull myself together. I should fulfill my duty.

But I'm so tired. So very tired of pretending.

My eyelids drift closed, my breathing gradually steadying. The darkness cradles me, warm and safe. My last coherent thought before consciousness slips away is that I'll be punished for this failure. 

Sleep is mercifully dark and dreamless.

***

I stir at the sound of the closet door sliding open, a sliver of light cutting through my blanket of darkness. My body feels heavy, drained of all energy. Through swollen eyelids, I glimpse General Iroh's concerned face peering down at me.

"Oh, my dear," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "What troubles have driven you to hide away like this?"

I try to respond, to apologize for my weakness, but my throat produces only a raspy sound. My limbs feel weighted with exhaustion, my face stiff with dried tears.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable," he says softly, reaching into the closet.

Strong arms slide beneath me—one supporting my back, the other under my knees. I'm lifted with surprising gentleness for a man of his age, cradled against his chest like a child. The scent of jasmine tea and smoke envelops me.

"I'm sorry," I manage to whisper as he carries me toward the bed. "I didn't mean to—"

"Hush now," Iroh interrupts, his voice kind but firm. "There is nothing to apologize for."

He lays me down carefully on the soft mattress, my body sinking into its comfort. My muscles ache from being curled up for so long in the confined space.

"Rest," he insists, pulling a blanket over me. "Real rest, in a proper bed."

I should protest. I should get up, fix my appearance, fulfill my duties. Madame Kaji would be furious to know I'd failed in my obligations to a Royal client. But my body refuses to move, surrendering to the comfort of the mattress and the warm weight of the blanket.

"The woman at the market," I begin, feeling I should explain myself.

"Was cruel and ignorant," Iroh finishes, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. "Her words reflected her own failings, not yours."

A fresh tear escapes, sliding down my temple into my hair. "But she’s right about what I am."

Iroh's weathered hand rests lightly on my shoulder. "And what is that, exactly?"

"A whore," I whisper, the word sharp on my tongue. "A dirty captured savage spreading her legs in a Fire Nation Red House."

"Is that truly all you are?" he asks, his golden eyes holding none of the judgment I expect. "Is a flower less beautiful because it grows in harsh soil? Is the moon less magnificent because clouds sometimes obscure it?"

I close my eyes, too tired to puzzle through his metaphors. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to say nothing," he replies gently. "I want you to rest. To breathe. To remember that circumstances do not define the essence of who we are."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I shouldn't have—"

"There is no shame in grief," he interrupts gently. "Or in anger. Both are honest responses to injustice."

I blink up at him, confusion mixing with exhaustion. "But I failed in my duties. I was purchased to—"

"To be a companion," he finishes firmly. "And companions need rest when their hearts are heavy."

He moves to the small table near the window, pouring something from a steaming pot. The familiar scent of chamomile fills the air.

"Drink this," he says, returning to the bedside. "It will help you sleep properly."

I struggle to sit up, my limbs leaden with fatigue. Iroh supports my back with one hand, holding the cup to my lips with the other.

"Small sips," he instructs.

The tea is sweet with honey, warming me from the inside. I hadn't realized how cold I'd become in that closet.

"Where is..." 

"My nephew is taking his evening meal in the sitting room," Iroh answers, understanding my unfinished question. "I told him you needed solitude and rest more than company tonight."

Relief washes through me. I'm not ready to face Zuko, yet. Not ready to reconstruct my carefully crafted persona.

"Thank you," I whisper, my eyelids growing heavy again as the tea does its work.

Iroh takes the empty cup from my trembling hands, setting it on the bedside table with a gentle clink. "Sleep now," he murmurs, his voice as soothing as the tea. "Tomorrow will bring clarity."

I want to thank him again, to explain myself better, but exhaustion claims me before the words can form. My consciousness slips away into blessed darkness.