excerpt: Bea's pulse does something strange beneath her skin, the staccato thumping of it making her even more lightheaded than the weather.
Chiara flushes deeper, almost scarlet, and Bea doesn't think it's just from overheating anymore. "Let a girl have some secrets, would you?" She tries to protest, breathless.
REGALIS <- read under the cut, or on ao3
Antivan summers are always hell, but something about the grime in the capital makes them even more oppressive. Bea remembers them from her childhood, remembers the feel of sun-heated stone against bare feet, the stink of leather and bootleg wine in the air when she'd wander out of the safety of her mother's room in the brothel.
Bea's clothes stick to her damp skin unpleasantly, and a bead of sweat rolls down her forehead to catch on her brow as she and Chiara sit on the steps of the royal palace. The stench doesn't quite reach up here, and Bea finds that she misses it. It's a strange thing, coming back to the city you once called home.
"Remind me why we needed to be here?" She asks Chiara, who's fiddling with the collar of her shirt in discomfort.
"When was the last time Viago went anywhere without you?" Chiara replies, flat and annoyed. She tries to fan herself with her hand, but Bea knows it's pointless. The afternoon sun is a cruel mistress; she's beautiful as she beats down on you.
Bea hums, considering. "True. But why are you here?"
"Another one of his reminders, I suppose." Chiara scoffs, something bitter and sharp in her voice. "About the family."
She says family like it's poisonous. Chiara is an enigma to Bea, most days, but today even she can't hold onto her composure in the blaze of summer heat.
"Ah, yeah, that'll do it. Bringing you out into a furnace to remind you of that chip on both your shoulders." Bea punctuates the light jab with a wink. Not much has ever stood a chance of burning the humor out of her, not even this city.
The chip is their status as royal bastards. Chiara is Viago's niece, and Bea isn't privy to how she'd ended up in the man's care, but he's protective of her. It should be an indication for Bea to stay away, but ignoring glaring warning signs is a particular talent of hers.
Surprisingly, Chiara barks out a laugh, or whatever passes for one from her. It's not something Bea's ever heard before from the redhead, so she tucks it carefully in a corner of her mind to be hoarded like a jewel.
She catches the way Chiara's eyes linger on her when Bea pulls her dark hair up in a bun, so it'll stop sticking to her neck. Files that away, too.
"Really, he could've staged a coup and made himself king by now. I'm surprised he hasn't." Bea says, thinking out loud.
Chiara snorts. "He's a patient man, my uncle. It's the only way he's able to tolerate you, isn't it?" It's a jest, light-hearted, and Bea marvels at it. The heat really is doing funny things to people.
She allows herself to lean in closer to her fellow Crow, conspiratorial. "And what about you? Any ambitions you'd like to let me in on?"
She lets her hand drop onto Chiara's knee, casual as can be. Chiara doesn't make a move to push her away. Instead, her knees part just a touch, and her breath hitches. Bea's noticed, sometimes, an auburn head peeking out of the lab's window when she's training on the grounds. She's glad she guessed the meaning of that presence correctly, apparently.
Bea's pulse does something strange beneath her skin, the staccato thumping of it making her even more lightheaded than the weather.
Chiara flushes deeper, almost scarlet, and Bea doesn't think it's just from overheating anymore. "Let a girl have some secrets, would you?" She tries to protest, breathless.
Still with her hand on the other woman's knee, Bea pivots a little, to look at the grand statue of Queen Asha in the courtyard. The chiseled crown rests on her beautifully crafted head, delicate and resplendent. It's quite the image, and she can't help but superpose Chiara's features onto the work of art in her mind.
Bea gestures down towards the statue with a sweeping move of her arm. "A crown like that, on your brow? Tell me if you ever need help making it happen."
And then, she does something terribly, unfathomably stupid. She's already chalking the folly up to exhaustion in her head as she darts in to press a feather-light kiss to the corner of Chiara's mouth. The other woman's brows fly up, but once again she makes no move to stop Bea. The salt of her sweat transfers to Bea's lips, and Bea delights in it.
She can't help but grin at the lack of rejection.
"I've heard I make for a very loyal guard dog, you know." She whispers against the warm skin of Chiara's cheek. "Should you ever need one."
When she pulls back, she watches Chiara's mouth curve into a small smile, a spark lighting in the other woman's eye.
Bea realizes rather suddenly that she's not joking at all. The thought is less terrifying than it should be.
