A fantastic piece by  lowfunctioningfastrunningsnail of Sanya. You may remember her from a piece I did awhile back about a Desert Bitch Queen. Well, she has a name now! I'll be expanding on her story more soon, along with a few other characters. Some you've seen already, like Vexa, Kopa, and Zaleka; Others will be new faces, so keep an eye out!

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“Are you ready, Sanya? They’ll be asking for us shortly.”

The caracal nodded, looking down into the shallow basin of water that mirrored her own reflection back at her. She flicked an ear, casting the dark tuft of wispy fur upwards so it stood tall. “Just about,” she muttered, turning her face from side to side to ensure she hadn’t missed a spot during her grooming. A light jingle accompanied each shift as the intricate linking of chain and jewelry that hung from her body clinked together.

This was the part she minded least about these meetings. The long, flowing skirt she wore was one of the softest things she’d ever felt, and it brought a smile to her muzzle with the way it almost floated around her as she moved. The first few times she had been selected for this duty, she had felt a bit self conscious; Her role was to entertain, and the lacy top she wore left just enough to the imagination to draw her guests’ focus on to her rather than whatever matter they had come to discuss. It was a calculated move, just another way for The Royalty to keep the upper hand during negotiations. Just as Sanya had made her peace with the revealing nature of her outfit, so too had she made her peace with her role. She was there not to entertain, but to distract.

Her position afforded her a unique advantage few others had. As she focused on her dance, her ears were always on a swivel, listening over the gentle waves from music from the bard behind her for the little bits of conversation coming from across the room. As she swayed, she absorbed all she could.

Satisfied with her appearance, Sanya turned to the serval beside her, currently fussing over a stubborn bit of hair on her forehead. “So, what do you think they’ll be discussing today? I heard the guest was an ambassador from the west. Do you think they are having more trouble at the jungle border?”

“Sanya!” the serval hissed. “You know it isn’t our place to discuss things like that!”

The caracal rolled her eyes. “Come on Aliya, how can they expect us to sit on meeting after meeting and not think about it?”

Aliya stopped fussing over her tuft and glared at Sanya. “Because it's not our place,” she growled. “We have a good thing here, one of the best jobs in the palace. Don’t go ruining it trying to be someone you’re not.”
Sanya flicked an ear but said nothing. She knew her friend had a point, but it didn’t take all of the sting out of her words. Before she could reply, the curtain to the room was pulled aside and a voice called, “It’s time.”

⭑⭑⭑

The dance had become second nature to Sanya. The bard behind her closed his eyes and began plucking along the stringed instrument set across his lap. With a soft thump, Sayna brought a paw down. Moments later, she repeated the motion, establishing a smooth rhythm. She closed her eyes, letting her paws carry her through the familiar steps. Her ears twitched, angling across the room to where the emissary sat.

“... and it’s starting to become quite the problem. Spices aren’t as easy to come by as they once were, and I’m afraid the supply won’t be able to keep up with the demand.”

“Problems from the jungle?” Sanya thought to herself. “That area’s always been tricky, even at the best of times, but it’s never been bad enough to have a serious impact on things.” The spices that were brought back from the jungle were varied, from simple edible ones to add flavor, to medicinal herbs for poultices, and even those rare few that held a special place in the religious ceremonies.

She shuffled a step, nearly missing a beat. Her nose twitched as she caught Aliya’s glare from the corner of her eye. “I’m fine, worry about yourself.”

Aliya flicked her tail to the side, two short twitches. “I’ll have to worry about a lot more if you mess this up.”

Sanya pivoted on her toes, turning away from her friend. As she listened, the conversation shifted; A pleading edge had crept into the emissary’s voice. Sanya watched for any signs on either of the two lions seated on the massive cushion that served as their shared throne. Neither of their faces showed signs of empathy. They were cold and uncaring.

“Listen to him!” Sanya screamed in her head. “You know this goes beyond spices! He’s losing his friends every time they have to go deeper and deeper into that gods-forsaken place. Help him!”

The King blinked, his massive golden eyes fixed on the emissary. Sanya’s stomach sank. She knew the expression. She looked to The Queen seated at his side, finding the same cold look. “They aren’t going to do it…” she thought, forcing her ears not to droop. “They don’t care.”

Her vision blurred, and she squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. She forced a smile, letting her paws turn her round and round. “It should be me, sitting there. I could do it. I’ve listened to people plead with them day after day, I know what it takes.”

The bard swept upwards through an arpeggio, his paw dancing up to the highest string. Sanya spun around, opening her eyes, finding herself standing in a thin beam of sun pouring through a crack in the massive curtain hanging behind the throne. And all at once, it hit her. “It will be me.” Her muzzle parted in a small o shape. For all of her wishing and wanting, she had never once considered the fact that she would be the one to take that throne.

She twirled again, skirt swirling out around her just ideas swirled through her mind. The how was cast aside, and instead she indulged in her ambitions. Delusions of grandeur were no longer just delusions, they were her future. It was a single moment for her in which it all suddenly became tangible. She listened to the emissary give the obligatory thanks, the words sounding empty and hollow, tinged with a sadness that came from knowing he had failed.

“You didn’t fail,” Sanya thought. “They failed. They failed to protect you. They’ve become too content in their den, hidden away from the world to laze about in the sun.”

With a mighty crescendo, the bard’s paws lay still. The final notes echoed around the room, bouncing off the sandstone walls. Sanya held her pose, arms outstretched, her veil slowly swishing to a stop. She stared at the emissary, the first honest smile she had given during her performance.

“I won’t make their mistakes.” Her shone with ambition, glowing a deep simmering emerald. “I won’t fail.”