They had forgotten to close the curtains, and sunlight pierced through the window to tumble across Aevie’s face. Grunting, she rolled away from it, towards her lover who murmured, “Mmm, chérie,” and wriggled closer to press their naked bodies to one another.

Aevie smiled. It felt lovely to sleep in, after all the activity of last night and staying up entirely too late. Still, she had work to do; after a moment, she opened her eyes and stretched forward to press a kiss against the red blossom tattooed on the back of Isaide’s neck. The other woman shivered, goose bumps breaking out over her arms. “We’ve got to get ready for the show tonight,” Aevie whispered, kissing the flower again before rising from the bed.

Isaide yawned, stretching fully. She propped herself up against the headboard of the bed, rubbing at her eyes, her hair messy and wild. “Tisn’t for awhile yet, aye?”

“Aye,” Aevie replied, sliding a knee-length chemise down over her head. Glancing in the mirror to catch Isaide’s eye with a smile, she stroked a hand through her cropped hair, ruffling the ends to flare out around her face. “But I’m still sore from last night… that’ll take a bit of stretching to get over.”

“Mmm,” Isaide answered, noncommittal. “All these years I’ve known you to stay up too late, play too long, work too hard… and yet you still smile while waking up too early.”

“I love the mornings.” Aevie sashayed to the window, leaning upon the sill and gazing out at the late morning bustle of Nawara’s market district. “But it is definitely not too early to wake up – it’s nearly mid-day.”

The redhead laughed and teased, “So late for chérie!”

Aevie nodded, but her attention had already turned to the scenery outside. Even as she lifted and stretched her graceful legs behind her, she watched the soldiers weaving through the crowds in the streets, scimitars ready at their waists and hands clad in brass-studded leather gloves. Citizens shied away from the alert stances and ever-roaming gazes of the soldiers, and she noted more than one conversation draw to quiet as they passed.

Still, despite all that, the city itself had been dressed to her fullest; garlands of mid-summer flowers, some grown in the Turundi Gardens and others imported, swept between rooftops and trailed bright streamers down over the streets. Bundles of the same decorated lampposts, some of these threaded with small golden bells that jingled softly as people passed by; paired with the musicians dressed in the bright, lively orange and gold of the new Shah’s livery hired to wander the streets, the city fairly sang to the heavens.