#A Convenient Arrangement

[punkpoemprose]

A Convenient Arrangement- Part 15

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating: T (No spice here, see previous chapter for mature content) Length: 2056 Words A/N: One more chapter to go if all goes as planned. Perhaps an epilogue after that if I'm feeling really brave about it. Thank you all for joining me on this ride. I hope you like this penultimate chapter!

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains of Anna’s bedroom and Kristoff, despite Anna’s efforts to thoroughly exhaust him the night before, had been awake for some time. To the credit of the castle staff, or perhaps Elsa, no one had come up to wake them and demand their pre-dawn attendance toward any matters.

Anna was facing him, her body curled toward him, and he leaned up a bit, moving slowly to not disturb her, so he could block the incoming light with his chest. Anna was usually a heavy sleeper, he knew as much from their nights together, but he was enjoying watching her calm slumber and wanted to avoid her being disturbed if he could help it.

Her hair was slipping from the braid he’d put it in the night before, little tendrils of frizz sticking out and clinging to her pillow. She’d performed mock annoyance with him when he’d insisted that they couldn’t sleep until he’d helped her remove all her hairpins, but she’d acquiesced and leaned into his touch when he’d brushed out her hair and plaited it to the best of his ability. In the daylight he wasn’t sure what strands he’d missed in braiding, and which had slipped out in sleep, but either way he was proud of how well he’d done caring for his wife.

He brushed a few loose pieces of hair away from her face with a finger, careful not to wake her. She scrunched her eyes a little in return, but didn’t wake, giving him more time to take in the way she looked in peaceful sleep.

He thought that someday, if she would let him, he’d count all the freckles that danced across her nose and cheeks. It would take him weeks, months, maybe even years to catalog all the details of her body, but he was excited to have the challenge. He’d never before wanted to spend so much time with a single person as he did with Anna, and he was certain that even if he had her for the rest of his life, it still wouldn’t be enough time for his taste.

***

Anna woke feeling comfortable, warm, and safe. Her first sight of the morning, through bleary eyes, was Kristoff’s eyes on hers. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the sunlight illuminating his face, and she felt her lips quirk into a soft smile that matched the contented one she saw on his face.

“Good morning Anna.”

He spoke softly, easing her into wakefulness. She was grateful for it as, despite sleeping very well after the evening’s excitement, her willingness to wake up fully was at odds with her wishes to simply never leave bed ever again.

“Good morning,” she returned, the sound of her voice mingling with a yawn she could not suppress despite her best efforts.

He smiled a bit more at that, a grin that she recognized as amusement lighting his features with joy. She wasn’t at all upset by his amusement at her yawning. Kristoff was, perhaps, the only person that held her unwillingness to leave bed in high regard. She supposed, feeling warm at the thought, that it was perhaps in his best interest to keep her in bed for as long as possible given the enjoyment they’d both gotten out of the night before.

“Are we going to try to do something today, or should I try to find someone to bring us breakfast in bed?”

Anna smiled at the suggestion. His eyebrow waggled a bit at the suggestion of staying in bed, and she knew that, despite his insistence at taking her lead in their relationship, that he would be just as happy with that option as she was.

“I have plans for us,” she said, feeling only slightly bad for not agreeing to stay in bed all day with him. If he was upset by this answer, he certainly didn’t show it.

He yawned then, smiling at her still and pulling her closer by her waist.

“What would that be?”

She smiled, nuzzling into his chest once she was close enough to him. She was uncertain as to whether he’d even hear her with her head tucked into his chest when she said, “I just thought that since we’ll be back to learning out new duties soon, that it might be a good idea for us to take the day together to talk a but more about what our relationship is and also I think it might be food for both of us to make another appearance in public so that no one thinks that yesterday was a show. Maybe we could walk around the city and do a little visit with some of the kinder shopkeeps we met yesterday? I could buy you a gift since I didn’t give you one yesterday for our party. I never even got to give you one for our engagement. It just seems like it might be nice.”

Kristoff’s eyes seemed to move elsewhere in the room for a moment but returned to hers quickly. She didn’t really question it, but she did notice it. She supposed he was just thinking about the other things that he had to do in the day and was looking for a kind way to shut down her idea.

“That sounds perfect Anna,” he said before she could even think of a way to backpedal her offer.  She should have realized by now that she never needed to doubt herself when it came to Kristoff. All his reactions to her had always been honest and kind.

She smiled and nuzzled into his chest, not quite ready to get out of bed and start the day after all.

***

Anna had brought him through the city again, shopping and chatting with store owners like they had before, but today the city had been the quietest he’d ever seen it. He’d seen folks sleep off festivals before, but unfairly it seemed at times that they were the only citizens of the city to be out of bed even well into the afternoon. Of course, he had known that his and Anna’s marriage had been looked upon favorably by the people of Arendelle, given that it was the purpose of the arrangement in the first place, but even he was impressed by the amount of debauchery and joy their belated wedding celebrations had inspired.

The few beleaguered shop keeps that they had managed to speak will had been happy for their visits, of course, but he was just as happy when he and Anna, blessedly without a castle guard, had retired from the city proper and decided to spend time on some of the public lands in the surrounding hills.

The afternoon was already upon them, and Anna, in her infinite wisdom, had purchased all the makings of a picnic in the markets and shops they visited.

“I know I already have so many picnic blankets and baskets,” she said, laying everything out with his help, “but now that I actually have cause and company to go out and use them, I feel like it’s not a waste to have bought another.”

“And” Kristoff added with a chuckle, “you were worried that if we went back to get one you already had, and your sister saw us back in the castle, she would realize we were heading out and make us take a guard this time.”

“That is a not insignificant possibility. It may also be possible that I liked the pattern on this blanket because it looks like your sash.”

She was blushing, and as Kristoff looked between his sash, the one he wore most often, and the picnic blanket, he did notice the same mix of yellows, reds and purples, even if the pattern itself was different. He slipped his hand to the fabric around his waist and slid across the blanket to her side. Between them were the remainder of the sweet breads, fruit, and wine that they’d bought in the market.

“Here,” he said, slipping the fabric from around his waist, offering it to her, but then thinking better of it and offering, by extending his hand, to wrap it around her waist for her.

She gave him a curious look, but then acquiesced with a soft grin and allowed him to put it on her. He hadn’t intended to use it as an excuse to put his hands on her waist, but it wasn’t at all a negative to the interaction. He held her, and reveled in the way she looked at him with so much love and excitement in her blue eyes when he stroked his thumb down her side. He tied it gently around her, moving slowly to prolong the contact of his hands on her body. When he was done with his task and managed to pry his hands away from her, he felt something like pride in seeing her wear something of his so proudly.

She’d seemed just as pleased in the market when she’d picked up a similarly styled sash for him as a gift, one that happened to feature the signature green color of so many of her dresses. He tied that to his own waist much more expediently, physically marking himself as hers much in the same way he’d just marked her as his.

Whether it was the latent magic from the valley in the stone, or his own awareness of the ring in his pocket making it feel warm against his let at the thought, he wasn’t certain. What he did know was that as Anna looked at him with utter reverence, their bodies leaned close together in the verdant hills of Arendelle, he’d finally found the right moment to offer it to her.

He was already on his knees, but he did his best to appear intentional in his actions when he reached into his pocket and pulled from it, carefully watching her eyes as he did so, the ring that he and the trolls had crafted from his heart stone. He didn’t need to glance down at it to see what she sawm he had every detail of the stone and its setting memorized from its creation, a pink stone flanked on the side by other, non magical clear stones, set into a golden band. His family, far better with stone and the metals and gems extracted from them than he could ever be, had made it to his exact specifications. It was imperfect in ways that made it mean much more to him, and by the excitement he could see in Anna’s eyes, he had no doubt that she would love it for those details as well.

 The stone was small and only a piece of the crystal. In his family’s traditions, Anna would have been given the whole stone on a cord as their engagement gift, but given that Anna was not a rock troll who could hold a heavy stone around her neck and the fact that they were already married, some amendments were to be made. If she accepted the ring, the rest of the stone would already be hers, but he hoped that he would have her blessing to turn most of the remaining crystal into other things, earrings, a necklace, to celebrate their wedding and anniversaries. He hoped that she would take it and that she would agree to marry him again.

He cleared his throat, trying to remember the perfect words he’d thought about repeatedly, to ask his wife to marry him. None came to mind, and he wasn’t certain that he’d ever come up with any in the first place.

The joy, excitement, and adoration in Anna’s eyes told him that it didn’t matter. Her hand pressing to his sash, the one she wore on her waist, gave him the courage to say what was in his heart.

“Anna, my beautiful wife, would you do me the honor of marrying me again?”

She nodded, and while her eyes held tears, he knew they were happy ones. She agreed without question, and he knew that this, the moment that she tackled him onto the blanket, pressing her lips to his in joy, was the first day of the rest of his life.

And what a beautiful life it would be.

[retiredteabag]

Wishful thinking

Arranged marriage with Nanami… next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.

"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.

When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.

You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.

And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.

Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.

All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.

But, oh, how wrong you had been.

--

You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.

Offers for your hand.

Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.

You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.

Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.

Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.

You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.

By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.

Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.

You knew little of the man you were to marry.

Here was what you had:

He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.

He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)

And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.

You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.

And that was all you had.

"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.

You huff out a breath, "Thank you."

That's what they all say.

You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.

Afraid you would turn out like her.

You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.

"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.

She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.

Great.

What were you to say to that?

"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.

"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.

"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.

The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.

"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.

You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,

"Well, are you coming?"

You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.

"Stand up straight. Serve us well."

You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.

Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.

You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.

You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.

Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.

That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?

The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.

Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.

You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.

Fear shot through you.

An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.

Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.

Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.

You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.

In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.

You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.

The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.

You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.

The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."

You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.

There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.

Oh, right. "I do." You say.

You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.

The officiant hands something to the man before you.

He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.

His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.

He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.

A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.

He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.

Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-

You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.

This was it, right?

There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.

The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.

Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.

So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.

You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.

But that was too wishful, was it not?

[seongwars]

𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency Rating: T/NC-17 Summary: After falling prey to one of Choi San’s cruel games, you vowed yourself to a life of eternal spinsterhood. But when a fire leaves the Choi estate in ruins, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life. Word Count: 7.8K Warnings: you were a bet trope, misogyny, men being disappointing, angst, swearing, inaccurate depictions of the era (sorry history buffs 😭)

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a/n: it's here! the rewritten version of Ardently, now known as Wallflower! Note that those who signed up for Ardently's taglist will be tagged here, but let me know if you'd like for me to remove you!

feedback on this new version is also appreciated

"I’m joining a convent!" you declared dramatically, clutching a small sack packed with nothing but a pair of sensible shoes, and a shawl for your new monastic life.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your mother snapped, reaching for your arm as you darted past her with surprising agility, fueled by equal parts adrenaline and spite.

“I will not be trapped under the same roof as him!” you shouted, narrowly avoiding Anna, the head maid, who was attempting to form a human barricade by the parlor door. 

“The sisters of Saint Hala will understand my plight! They’ve taken in women for less!”

Joe, the head butler, a sweet old man, tried to sidestep your wild trajectory near the staircase, but you spun past him with an impressive maneuver. He groaned, pressing a hand to his lower back as you darted away, Anna and your mother hot on your heels. 

You burst out the front door and onto the gravel path. Anna was close behind, huffing as she struggled to keep her bonnet in place, while Joe followed at a more measured pace, muttering about the indignities of old age. Your mother, however, stalked after you like a woman possessed, her voice rising above the commotion.

“Kang Y/N, stop this nonsense! “You are not becoming a nun just because the Choi family is staying with us!”

You whipped around briefly, clutching your sack like a shield. “You’re asking me to endure the unspeakable horror of living under the same roof as Choi San!”

“I’m asking you to behave like an adult!” your mother shot back.

“I am an adult!” you retorted, darting further down the path. “One who is capable of making her own decisions!”

Behind you, the haphazard mob of your mother, Anna, and Joe screeched to a halt, their gasps of exertion mingling with the crunch of gravel underfoot.

“What now?” you barked, spinning around to glare at your entourage, your chest heaving from the effort of your escape. 

“My lady!” Anna squeaked, her voice strained. “My lady, wait!”

The answer came in the form of an unfamiliar silence. Slowly, you realized the mob wasn’t staring at you—they were looking just beyond you.

Confused, you turned toward the gates, and there he was.

Choi San was standing just a few feet away, halfway down the steps of his family’s carriage. He stared at you, his head tilted slightly, dark eyes wide with confusion as he took in the spectacle: you, breathless and disheveled, holding your pitiful sack like a runaway, while your mother, Anna, and Joe formed a panting, disorganized trio behind you.

For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of the breeze through the estate’s trees.

San blinked, clearly at a loss for words. His hand lingered on the edge of the carriage door as if he were debating whether stepping back inside would be the more sensible option.

“M-Ms. Kang?” he asked hesitantly, his voice soft and cautious, entirely devoid of the insufferable smugness you had expected.

Your face flushed a furious red, caught somewhere between humiliation and indignation. You had not run halfway down the estate path, your mother, Anna, and Joe in hot pursuit, just to be confronted by him of all people.

“You!” you spluttered, pointing a shaky finger in his direction, the sack swinging precariously at your side.

“Me?”

“Mr. Choi!” your mother shrieked suddenly, pushing past Anna, her skirts swishing dramatically.

“Mr. Choi, stop her!”

“She’s running away!” Anna exclaimed, clutching her chest as though this scandal was enough to make her faint.

“Block the path, tackle her if you must, anything to stop this madness!” Joe groaned, rubbing his aching knee.

Without giving anyone a chance to act, you spun on your heel and bolted. Your little sack was clutched tightly in your arms, its contents jingling faintly as your feet crunched against the gravel. 

Behind you, the chaos reached its peak—San calling your name in confusion, Anna’s faint protests, Joe muttering curses about his knees, and your mother’s furious shrieks of indignation. 

But none of it mattered. You had escaped. For now.

You hadn’t always loathed Choi San. At twenty, you’d even been drawn to his charm, captivated by the effortless confidence he exuded. But that admiration was short lived, turning into bitter resentment after he lured you into a reckless wager, a cruel game fueled by his arrogance that left you humiliated and betrayed.

4 Years Earlier

“Why the doom and gloom?” Wooyoung asked as he plopped into the seat across from San. He leaned back, stretching his legs out comfortably, as he took a swig of his scotch. 

San shot him a glare, the kind that would make lesser men falter, but Wooyoung only raised a brow, unfazed. San’s jaw tightened, and he gripped his glass more firmly.

“I’m not,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Wooyoung scoffed. “What’s going on? Did someone step on your pride or just your heart? Oh wait,” he feigned realization, snapping his fingers.

“It’s Dami, isn’t it?”

San’s jaw clenched visibly at the jab, and for a moment, he contemplated chucking the glass across the room just to see Wooyoung flinch. But he didn’t. It had been weeks, weeks since Dami’s defection to Lord Jeon, yet the sting of her rejection still burned like an open wound. 

San, the youngest and only son of Viscount Choi, had an uncanny knack for charming everyone he met. His charisma was well-known, making him the center of attention in any room. He wore his rakish reputation with pride, his flirtations harmless enough to keep him out of scandal but tantalizing enough to make him the subject of constant speculation.

And for a time, his charm had captured the heart of Han Dami, the daughter of a baron and the envy of every debutante. Together, they had been the couple of the season—the talk of every ballroom, the object of admiration and envy alike.

But that was before.

Before she abruptly ended things with him, San had entertained dreams of romance. A sweeping love story that defied the harsh realities of their world. But love alone was never enough. He lived in a world where practicality reigned, and expectations of passion often crumbled under the weight of ambition and survival.

“Look,” Wooyoung began, waving a dismissive hand. “Wallowing doesn’t suit you. If you’re so hung up on her, why not make her regret it? Win someone else over. Let her see what she gave up.”

San’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against his glass. The idea was ridiculous, childish, even, but it wormed its way into his mind nonetheless. Wooyoung, ever the instigator, saw it instantly. The faint flicker of hesitation in San’s eyes, the way his pride clashed with caution. 

“If you’re so confident, give me a name, and I’ll prove you wrong,” San finally said. 

“The Wallflower.” 

“Wallflower?”

“Miss Kang Y/N,” Wooyoung elaborated, his grin widening.

“Sister to the Earl Kang. You’ve seen her—always hiding in the corners, avoiding conversation like it’s a plague. Invisible to most. Certainly not your type.”

Your debut season in society was a whirlwind of excitement and trepidation, a delicate dance between anticipation and the subtle pressure to conform. As the younger sister of Earl Kang Yeosang, you entered the glittering world of the ton with a blend of expectation and apprehension. 

While others were preoccupied with securing advantageous matches or making influential acquaintances, your thoughts frequently wandered to the world of literature. You dreamt of a future where you would hold your first published book in your hands—a future that seemed distant amidst the societal demands of the present.

San scoffed, setting his glass down with a deliberate clink. “Since when have I needed a type to charm a lady?” 

“You’ll find no eager glances or fluttering fans with this one. She’s not desperate for attention. She’s reserved. Thoughtful. The sort who can see through a man’s empty words.”

“What’s the wager?”

“If you can truly win her over, I’ll fund that expedition you’ve been pestering me about for months,” Wooyoung replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He secretly hoped San would fail—an expedition of such grandeur was bound to cost a pretty penny.

San’s lips curved into a confident smirk. “Consider it done.”

A wave of laughter and cheers erupted in their circle of friends. The challenge had been laid out, and San’s self-assured response had ignited a buzz of excitement. He would prove Dami wrong. If she had chosen security over passion, then he would show her and everyone else that he was still the man every woman desired.

After all, what harm could there be in making a wallflower blossom?

The first attempt San set out to woo you, was at a hunt hosted by his family. The day was crisp, with a low mist hanging over the expansive grounds of the manor, a sprawling estate nestled against the autumnal countryside. The air is filled with the distant sounds of hounds barking, horses snorting, and the low murmur of conversation from the assembled guests.

Amid the cluster of gentlemen in their riding coats and polished boots, you spotted San, seated atop his stallion. His posture was relaxed yet commanding, drawing more than a few admiring glances from the assembled ladies.

San caught your gaze from across the clearing and nudged his horse in your direction. Your heart began to pound against your ribcage, each beat growing louder, more insistent, until it drowned out the distant chatter of the other guests. 

You were suddenly, acutely aware of the many eyes turning to watch this unexpected approach—mamas murmuring behind their fans, young ladies whispering behind gloved hands, and even the gentlemen casting curious glances. You could almost hear their thoughts: Why is he riding toward her? What does he mean by it?

“Ms. Kang,” San greeted as he reigned in his horse beside you, his voice low and smooth, laced with that familiar, infuriating hint of amusement. 

"What a welcome surprise."

You tilted your head slightly, fighting to keep your voice steady even as your fingers nervously fiddled with the leather handle of your riding crop. 

“Mr. Choi,” you replied, allowing a thin, polite smile to play on your lips, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here, away from the rest of your party.”

“And yet, here I am. Fate has a strange way of bringing people together, don’t you think?” San’s voice was smooth, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Or perhaps it’s your…habit for being everywhere at once,” you insinuated, taking a jab at his reputation.

His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he took in your demeanor. He had expected you to be as shy and reserved as the rumors suggested, but you defied those expectations entirely.

“Will you be watching from the sidelines like the rest?” San asked, a teasing edge in his voice that softened into genuine interest. 

“Or might you be bold enough to take part in the hunt yourself?”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “I might surprise you, Mr. Choi. I’m not one to sit idly by when there’s excitement to be had.”

San’s confusion quickly turned to intrigue. “I look forward to seeing you out there,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of quiet confidence. He gave you a slight, respectful bow of his head before guiding his horse back toward the group.

You caught the faintest hint of a smirk playing at his lips as he rode away, and a wave of frustration mingled with something warmer, something unwelcome, swept through you. You turned your horse away forcing yourself to ignore the whispers and sideways glances, and made your way over to where your brother and the rest of the hunting party had gathered. 

It was unusual for women to join the hunt, an activity traditionally dominated by men, but you had never been one to follow convention. Ever since you were a child, you had accompanied your father on his excursions, slipping away from the stuffy drawing rooms and the tiresome embroidery lessons to ride beside him. Your father had always encouraged your spirit, delighted in the way you held the reins with such determination, the way you matched him stride for stride through fields and forests.

The horns sounded, a clear, commanding call that echoed across the fields. The hounds sprang forward, their lean bodies surging across the estate, their howls filling the air with a primal energy. You urged your own horse to move, feeling the familiar rush of excitement as the wind whipped against your face, the ground blurring beneath you. 

San hadn’t expected to see you mounted on a horse with such a determined look in your eyes. The sight was a stark contrast to the reserved demeanor you usually displayed at social gatherings. As he watched you ride, he saw you weaving through the other hunters with practiced ease, your movements fluid and confident. The way you handled your horse, guiding it with subtle commands, spoke of a skill honed over years.

A thrill shot through him, an electric spark that danced along his skin, igniting a sense of admiration and curiosity. He found himself captivated by this facet of your personality, one that defied the quiet, unassuming image you were rumored to project.

Perhaps the wallflower has a brazen side to her, he mused.

The hounds had picked up a scent, their excited barks echoing through the forest. The riders spurred their horses forward, the thrill of the chase driving them on. You urged your horse to keep pace, the wind whipping through your hair as you navigated the dense underbrush.

Suddenly, a fallen branch blocked your path. You guided your horse to leap over it, the powerful muscles of the animal bunching beneath you as it soared through the air. You landed smoothly on the other side, the impact barely jarring as your horse’s hooves met the ground with practiced precision. 

A triumphant smile spread across your face, the exhilaration of the jump coursing through your veins. As you regained your stride, you noticed San riding alongside you, his eyes alight with admiration.

“Impressive,” he called out, his tone genuinely warm and filled with respect.

You gave him a small nod, acknowledging the compliment with a modest smile. The thrill of the moment spurred you on, and you surged forward with your horse, the wind whipping through your hair as you raced ahead. 

San matched your pace effortlessly, but confusion crossed his face once again. He had expected a verbal response, perhaps a playful retort or a shared laugh. Instead, your silence left him puzzled, wondering if he had misread the situation.

Eventually, the hunt drew to a close. The hounds had cornered their quarry, and the riders began to gather, their faces flushed with excitement. You dismounted, your legs slightly unsteady from the exertion. San was at your side in an instant, offering his arm for support.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, his voice soft and sincere. “Perhaps we could ride together again sometime,” San suggested, his tone hopeful.

You chuckled softly, trying to steady your racing heart. “That would be improper without a chaperone, Mr. Choi,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes as you pulled your hand away and turned to make your way back to your brother and mother.

San watched you go, a thoughtful smile lingering on his lips, knowing full well that he had caught a glimpse of something rare and untamed—a side of you that he would very much like to see again.

⊹

The day after the hunt dawned quietly, the morning light filtering through your window in soft, golden rays. You were beginning to settle into the rhythm of the day when a knock sounded at the door. One of the housemaids appeared in the doorway, looking slightly flustered.

“Miss, a delivery has arrived for you,” she announced, her eyes bright with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

“A delivery?” you repeated, setting down the book you were pretending to read. “For me?”

She nodded eagerly and stepped aside, revealing a young footman holding a large, exquisite bouquet of flowers—pink roses, rhododendrons, and geraniums, artfully arranged with sprigs of greenery and delicate baby’s breath.

You took the flowers gingerly, surprised by their weight and the intoxicating scent that enveloped you. For a moment, you were at a loss, glancing down at the arrangement with a mixture of confusion and wonder. Who could have sent these?

Your eyes caught sight of a small card nestled among the blooms. Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled it free, turning it over to read the neat, elegant script written on it:

“For the lady whose grace and spirit during the hunt were truly a sight to behold. –S.”

You could almost hear his voice in the words—the familiar teasing lilt, that infuriating hint of amusement that seemed to color everything he said. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, but you quickly suppressed it, unsure of how you truly felt. Flattered? Irritated? Amused? Perhaps a confusing mix of all three.

“What is this?” your mother asked, appearing in the doorway.

“A gift,” you replied, “from Mr. Choi.”

Your mother’s eyes widened slightly, and she stepped forward, her hands clasping together in front of her. 

“Mr. Choi?” she repeated, her tone colored with intrigue. She paused, a contemplative look crossing her face, and you could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “That is… unexpected.”

“Indeed,” you murmured, glancing back at the flowers. 

“Well,” she asked, her tone almost teasing, “will you respond?”

You sighed, feeling a familiar mix of exasperation and affection for the woman who always seemed to know how to unsettle you. You flopped back onto your bed, the springs creaking under your weight. 

“I suppose I should thank him,” you admitted, your voice carrying a hint of reluctance.

Your mother’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, a mischievous smile plastered across her face. “He has made quite a gesture, after all. It would be rude not to acknowledge it.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” you said, sitting up again. 

Moving to your writing desk, you dipped your quill into the inkwell. As the nib touched the paper, you paused, considering your words carefully. You knew you would have to strike a balance—a note that was gracious, but not too encouraging; polite, but with just enough edge to keep him guessing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should add something more, some playful remark that would remind him that you weren’t so easily won. But then, deciding that less was more, you signed your name with a flourish and sealed the letter with a small, satisfied smile.

“Mr. Choi–I must thank you for your most unexpected gift. Your thoughtfulness is noted. I trust you enjoyed the hunt as much as I did. Until we meet again.”

The Cromer Fair was a lively affair, bursting with color and sound. Brightly painted stalls lined the village green, offering everything from delicate ribbons and bolts of fabric to candied apples and steaming pies. The fair for all its charm, had become another stage for the intricate theater of high society.

Your family’s arrival, marked by the gleaming carriage, did not go unnoticed. Heads turned as you stepped down from the coach, drawing more attention to the elusive Wallflower. For weeks, whispers had circulated throughout the ton, their interest piqued not by scandal or intrigue, but by your notable absence from social gatherings. Your avoidance of the spotlight had, ironically, made you the subject of intense curiosity.

“Ms. Kang!” 

The sound caught your attention instantly, and there he was—San, standing just a few paces away, his expression alight with something close to joy. His smile was so easy and genuine that you felt the corners of your own mouth tugging upward, almost involuntarily.

He bowed slightly, though the gesture carried more charm than propriety. “I feared the fair would pass without the honor of seeing you.”

“Lady Kang,” he greeted your mother, his voice polite and measured.

“Choi,” Yeosang acknowledged curtly, his tone cool and formal. He inclined his head slightly, though there was no warmth in the gesture.

“Kang,” San replied, his eyes briefly meeting Yeosang’s before returning to you. There was a subtle challenge in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that hung in the air. Perceptive bastard, Yeosang thought as he rolled his eyes. 

“How lovely it is to see you here, Mr. Choi!” your mother exclaimed with a lilting laugh, the kind she reserved for smoothing over the awkwardness of situations she had orchestrated.

“Perhaps, a stroll might be in order? The fair has so much to offer, and it would be a shame to miss it.” 

Before you could respond, she continued, “Yeosang, dear, you’ll accompany your sister and Mr. Choi, won’t you? As her brother, it’s only proper.”

You and Yeosang exchanged a glance, dread mirrored in both your eyes. It wasn’t the usual look of sibling camaraderie but a shared expression of silent protest aimed squarely at your mother. You had no desire to go promenading with San, and Yeosang had even less interest in being dragged along as a chaperone.

“Of course,” he replied stiffly, his tone making it painfully clear this was not his preference.

“Wonderful!” your mother declared with a clap of her hands. “Make the most of it, dear. I’m certain Mr. Choi will make an excellent companion.”

“Mother!”

“Oh look, if it isn’t Duchess Jeong!” your mother interrupted without missing a beat, waving gracefully at Duke Jeong’s mother across the grounds. Before either of you could argue further, she glided away, leaving you and Yeosang standing frozen in her wake.

San looked to you, his dark eyes alight with curiosity and amusement, but your thoughts were already elsewhere, drawn by the promise of the fair’s treasures. As the three of you set off, he fell into step beside you.

“Is there anything in particular you’re hoping to see, Ms. Kang?”

You hesitated, glancing at your brother, whose expression seemed to silently dare you to say something frivolous. Deciding honesty wouldn’t hurt, you allowed a hint of excitement to creep into your tone. 

“I heard there’s a merchant with books from overseas,” you admitted. “With illustrations from distant lands.”

“Is that what excites you?” San’s lips curved into an easy smile, though his gaze lingered on you with a mix of curiosity and something else. Something more…thoughtful. 

“Absolutely,” you replied, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Books are reliable and make their intentions clear. They don’t waste your time and if they bore you, you can close them and move on.”

There was a deliberate pause as your gaze lingered on his face, a silent question dancing in your eyes. Was he testing you, or simply trying to gauge how far he could go?

He leaned in slightly, as if daring to close the distance between you. “So, you prefer something that can’t surprise you? That can’t push you to think or feel beyond the words on the page?”

“Books surprise me all the time. They’re just more considerate about it. They don’t linger when they’re no longer wanted.”

His laughter came, soft and deep, but his gaze remained fixed on yours.

“And yet, you still let me linger.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected retort, a telltale heat spreading that you struggled to suppress. You turned your head slightly, pretending to take an interest in a nearby stall, but the way your fingers fidgeted together betrayed your composure.

Just ahead, the foreign book merchant’s stall came into view, and you felt relief. Seizing the opportunity, you quickened your pace, using the excuse to put some distance between you and the weight of his attention.

“Here we are,” you announced, your tone just a bit too bright as you gestured to the vendor’s display. Books of every size and color were arranged in carefully balanced stacks, their worn spines hinting at untold stories and distant lands.

You stepped closer to the shelves, your fingers brushing over the embossed titles, pausing occasionally to pull a volume free and examine it. Your expression softened as you opened a leather-bound book, your eyes skimming the faded ink with quiet reverence.

San watched as you picked up another volume. The quiet focus in your movements seemed to draw him in, as if the bustling fair around you had melted into stillness. There was something captivating about the way you moved as though nothing else existed but the books in front of you.

Despite your best efforts to regain control of your thoughts, you could feel his presence just behind you. It made your steps falter slightly, and you cursed inwardly at your inability to maintain your cool. 

“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked. Your gaze flitted to his, your heart betraying you with a slight quickening. 

“I wasn’t aware silence was such a novelty,” you replied, attempting to mask your unease with a touch of humor.

“It is, coming from someone who usually has such pointed opinions.” 

You rolled your eyes, handing him the book you’d just examined. “Hold this,” you said, your tone brisk but not unkind.

San blinked in surprise but complied, taking the book from your hands. His fingers brushed against the worn leather cover as he glanced down at it. Before he could comment, you had already moved on, scanning the shelves with a discerning eye.

“It seems books hold the secrets of the universe?” he teased lightly, approaching your side.

“They do, in a way,” you replied without looking at him, your attention fixed on the spines in front of you. Your fingers danced over the titles until you selected another volume, pulling it free and flipping through the pages.

“Every book is a door to somewhere new. You never know what you’ll find until you open it.”

“I see,” he murmured, though whatever witty retort he had in mind dissolved the moment you placed a second book atop the first in his arms. He chuckled softly, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he watched you move with determination. 

“Isn’t that Mr. Choi?” a whisper came, the words carrying despite the attempt at discretion. 

“Is he courting Ms. Kang?”

San stiffened, his shoulders tightening as if bracing for impact. The muscles in his jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to relax. With a subtle shift, he angled his body to shield you from view, though his eyes flicked instinctively towards you.

You remained blissfully unaware, lost in the pages of your chosen book, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Whether the murmurs reached you or not, you gave no indication of noticing.

“They make for such an unusual…pair,” the other woman chimed in, her voice quieter but no less pointed. 

The first woman hummed in agreement. “Quite a step down from Dami, wouldn’t you say?”

“Dami was the diamond of her season,” the second woman added, a faint laugh in her voice, “but this…” She let the words hang, heavy with judgment.

“Perhaps she’s just…a distraction,” the first concluded with a theatrical sigh.

San’s grip on the books tightened slightly, the sharp edges pressing into his palms as their words sank in. He should have brushed them off, reminded himself of the role he was playing and the purpose behind it all. Yet their voices grated against him; not because of their dismissal of him, but because of the way they belittled you.

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be anything more than a convenient prop, proof of what Dami had walked away from. 

But as you turned to show him the book, your eyes lit up with excitement. In that moment, he wasn’t thinking about Dami or the wager with Wooyoung.

All he could think about was you, standing before him, and how fond he was growing of you.

San leaned back in his chair, the rich scent of smoke curling around him like a veil. He held his cards in one hand, his other hand bringing the cigar to his mouth for a slow, deliberate puff. The ember at the tip glowed brighter as he inhaled, a flicker of fire against the dark backdrop of the room.

“How goes the wallflower?” Lord Park Seonghwa asked. The question was casual, almost offhand, but the sharp glint in his eye suggested he was more interested in the answer than he let on.

San studied his cards, his fingers tapping lightly against the worn edges. After a moment of silence, he flicked his gaze up to meet Lord Park’s.

“She’s…intriguing,” San replied at last, his voice carrying a hint of something more than mere curiosity. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching as it swirled and dissipated into the room. 

“Not as shy as others say she is. I’d say she has more thorns than petals.”

“Thorns can be dangerous, my friend,” Wooyoung mused, his gaze sharp as he considered San’s words. 

“Especially when they’re hidden beneath such a delicate facade.”

San’s smile didn’t waver, though a shadow passed over his features, too fleeting for most to catch. “Delicate things also have a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”

Wooyoung raised a brow. “Is that so?” 

“Might I remind you gentlemen that you’re playing with fire?” Duke Jeong Yunho interjected smoothly, his eyes never leaving the cards in his hand. 

“Kang Yeosang doesn’t take kindly to anyone who crosses his family.”

The room fell into a tense silence, save for the fire crackling softly, its light flickering in Yunho’s eyes as he finally looked up. The warning was unmistakable in his expression, a quiet but undeniable threat hanging in the air.

San’s gaze remained fixed on his cards, his mind clearly elsewhere as he processed Yunho’s warning. The Duke studied him for a moment longer than necessary, the silence thick challenge. It was a standoff of sorts, where neither words nor gestures were needed to communicate the rivalry between them.

Finally, with a slight nod, Yunho returned to his cards, signaling the end of the conversation. But the tension lingered, palpable and unresolved, hanging over the room.

As the days turned into weeks, San found himself increasingly torn between the thrill of the dare and the reality of his growing affection for you. He hadn’t expected you to be so different from what he imagined. 

“Mr. Choi–do you believe that ducks have the ability to ponder their existence?”

He stared at the words for a long moment, both amused and intrigued by the sheer randomness of the question, before dipping his pen into ink.

“Miss Kang—I assure you, if ducks ever stopped to ponder their existence, they would undoubtedly seize control of us all. That is, of course, assuming they’re capable of getting their ducks in a row.”

When this began, it was easy. You were charming in your own way, but he hadn’t been looking for depth. He hadn’t anticipated someone passionate, whose sharp wit and quiet strength captivated him.

San adjusted his cravat in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, his reflection offering no solace for the turmoil within. He knew he was treading dangerous waters. The more he allowed himself to feel, the harder it became to maintain the facade. 

He feared what would happen when the truth inevitably came to light; that his intentions had been born not from affection, but from a petty wager and desire to vindicate his pride. That he had approached you not as the woman you were, but as a means to an end. 

The thought haunted him. You deserved better than the lies he’d told, better than the man he had been when this all began. And yet, as much as he wanted to walk away and spare you the eventual heartbreak, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting more. 

More of your company. More of your attention. More of you. 

The familiar strains of the musicians tuning their instruments floated through the ballroom. From the gilded mirrors that lined the walls to the chandeliers dripping with crystal, every detail of the Kang ballroom was a testament to opulence and sophistication. 

San, ever the charming gentleman, was acutely aware of the eyes that followed his every move. His colleagues and other potential admirers watched with barely concealed interest, some with jealousy, others with curiosity. They knew he was playing a game, but none knew the rules, least of all you.

As his gaze swept across the crowded room, searching for any sign of you, the lively chatter and watchful eyes faded into the background. Uncertainty crept in as he wondered where you had disappeared to.

Determined to find you, he stepped forward, his eyes darting toward the balcony doors and the faint glow of the gardens beyond. Perhaps you had retreated to steal a moment of solitude. The thought of you standing alone beneath the stars sent an inexplicable urgency coursing through him.

Just as he started toward the edge of the room, a hand brushed against his arm, halting him mid-step.

“San.”

The familiar voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned, startled to find Dami standing before him. Her expression was poised but not unreadable.

"May I have a word?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over her shoulder in a final, searching sweep of the ballroom. A part of him wanted to dismiss her, to follow the thread of instinct that urged him to find you instead. But Dami’s presence demanded his attention, her tone leaving little room for refusal.

“Of course.”

⊹

The evening had been a whirlwind of forced smiles and polite exchanges, each interaction more draining than the last. The laughter and chatter of the crowded ballroom felt like a cacophony, grating on your nerves, and you had long since grown tired of the superficial conversations.

Seeking a moment of solitude, you slipped through a side door and into the garden, a quiet sanctuary away from the prying eyes of high society. You wandered along the gravel paths, the scent of night blooms filling the air. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a world where you weren’t bound by the rigid rules of propriety, where you could be free to live and love as you wished.

But that fleeting peace was abruptly interrupted when you heard voices nearby, muffled but unmistakably familiar.

“Was it worth it? Putting on this little act, dragging her along?” Dami’s voice was soft, almost sweet, as she glanced up at San with a tilt of her head.

“Don’t tell me you actually started to feel something for her.”

The silence that followed was excruciating, heavy and suffocating, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. You leaned closer, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to make sense of what you were hearing, your breath hitching at the implications.

San froze, his body stiffening as if the question had struck him physically. His chest tightened, the weight of her words twisting in him like a blade. The confident smirk he had worn earlier faltered, dropping his gaze to the dim glow of the lanterns flickering around them.

“No.”

The single word cut through the air, sharp and final, and it shattered something inside you.

Dami’s lips curved into a triumphant smile, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. 

“We both know you don’t want her. You never did. You wanted to forget me. That’s all this was.”

Her gloved hand slid down his arm in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate. “What’s stopping us from trying again?”

“No more pathetic little wallflower,” she murmured, her voice dripping with disdain. 

“Terribly awkward and unsociable. The type doomed to spinsterhood.”

San let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and hollow as he shook his head. But he didn’t pull away from her touch.

“What did Wooyoung bet you?” Dami pressed, her curiosity sharp and pointed.

“That’s between us,” he teased, amused.

Your heart sank as you listened, your world crumbling around you. The man who sent you flowers, who had seemed to share a connection, had been playing a game all along.

How could you have been so foolish? How could you have let yourself believe that someone like him could genuinely care for someone like you? 

You could feel the tears stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here, not now. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. But as you stood there, the anger began to build, simmering beneath the surface until it was impossible to contain. 

You couldn’t let San believe that his betrayal would go unnoticed, that his actions would have no consequences. With a surge of resolve, you stepped out from the shadows, making yourself known.

“Is this true?” you demanded, your voice quivering and strained.

You locked eyes with San, the man who had been at the center of it all, the one who had so effortlessly made you believe in the possibility of something more. But there was no explanation that could undo what he had done. 

“Y/N. I–” he stammered, his voice faltering as he grappled with the gravity of the situation.

“How dare you toy with my feelings because of your bruised ego? How dare you lead me to lay bare my vulnerabilities only to use them as fodder for your amusement?”

San flinched at the venom in your words, his face paling as the full impact of what he had done became impossible to ignore. 

“Y/N, please—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. “Don’t try to justify this. Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t what it seemed. Because I heard you. I heard everything.”

For a moment, you stood there, breathing heavily, your chest heaving with the force of your emotions.

“You’ve shown me exactly who you are.” 

With one final look at San, you turned on your heel and walked away. You would not run, you would not flee into the night like some wounded animal. You would survive this. You would rise above it.

And you would show them all that you were not a wallflower to be trifled with.

“The Choi estate was partially burned last night,” Yeosang announced, stepping into the drawing room. His voice was tinged with urgency as he approached, the unopened letter a silent plea for attention. 

You ignored your brother and instead flipped the page of your book with deliberate nonchalance. “Send them my regards,” you bristled, your tone biting even as you maintained the pretense of calm. 

Yeosang sighed, clearly grappling with how best to navigate this unexpected development. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognized as one of his tells when he was deeply troubled. 

“They’re seeking refuge with extended friends and relatives while the estate is restored,” he explained softly. His eyes lingered on you, gauging your reaction as he placed the envelope on the table before you. The Choi family’s wax seal, a delicate emblem of the mountains and skies, seemed a fragile echo of their former prestige.

“Y/N,” Yeosang’s voice softened, almost pleading. 

“Brother,” you replied, finally looking up from your book. The skepticism in your voice was as much a defense mechanism as the sarcasm you’d laced it with. 

“They’re desperate,” Yeosang admitted. “The accident has left them with little choice.”

“How unfortunate,” you replied flatly. “Perhaps the Viscount should have ensured his household wasn’t a tinderbox waiting for disaster. Foolishness, it seems, runs in their blood.”

The words were more cutting than you had intended, but you didn’t regret them. The Choi’s predicament, though dire, was of their own making, and the idea that they would try to drag your family into their mess infuriated you. 

“The Viscount is invoking a favor as a friend to father.”

“Our late father’s generosity does not extend to negligence or recklessness,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And it certainly does not extend to housing strays.”

The tree branch creaked under your weight as you settled higher up, your legs dangling lazily over the edge. The letter from the Choi family had been too much to bear, its contents so suffocating that you bolted, preferring to become a sister of St. Hala to sharing a roof with Choi San.

How convenient it must be for them, you mused bitterly, to seek sanctuary now, when it was their own schemes that had caused this debacle. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of horses' hooves, faint at first, then growing louder as they drew closer. You peered through the branches and spotted Yeosang and Yunho riding toward the estate. 

You swung your legs back over the branch, debating the best way to descend without completely embarrassing yourself. Grabbing your sack, you decided to toss it to the ground first but miscalculated when it veered too far to the right and smacked Yeosang in the head.

“Y/N!” your brother barked. 

Ignoring his swears, you began shimmying down the tree, carefully testing each branch to balance your weight. But as usual, fate had other plans. Your foot slipped, and you let out a startled gasp, flailing for the nearest branch. Gravity claimed you, sending you tumbling through the air until a pair of strong arms caught you mid fall.

“Careful there, Lucifer,” Yunho laughed, steadying you in his arms. 

You blinked up at him, momentarily dazed. His arms were firm around you, and the absurdity of the situation hit you all at once. You, tangled in Yunho’s arms, looking thoroughly disheveled from your grand escape attempt.

“Foiling my plans to destroy the heavens, as always,” you groaned, your face flushing with embarrassment as you pulled yourself away from him. 

“If this is your idea of a divine rebellion, might I suggest conquering climbing first,” he chuckled. 

Yeosang dismounted his horse with quiet fury, stalking towards you. He held your sack, his knuckles white against the worn fabric, as if it were the root of all his troubles.

“Running away?” 

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin defiantly despite the fact that your hair was likely a mess and your clothes bore the evidence of your failed escape. 

“Yes,” you replied coolly, “but I thought it only polite to bid you and Yunho farewell before committing myself to St. Hala.”

His grip on the sack tightened, his knuckles standing out starkly as he muttered under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, “Why am I related to this lunatic?” He exhaled sharply, as if forcing himself to rein in his frustration.

“Do you ever stop to think, or is recklessness a natural talent of yours?”

You glared at him, refusing to back down. “I could say the same about you, brother, for not understanding the brilliance of letting vipers into the nest.” 

“I’m doing what’s necessary to fulfill a promise between father and the viscount! Do you know what it meant to father to keep his word? A bond of trust that defined him and our family!”

“And yet here you are, jeopardizing all of it by letting them crawl closer! A promise to the viscount doesn’t mean we have to blindly—”

“There she is!”

Both of you froze as your mother swept onto the scene, flanked by Anna, and her husband Jason, the head groundskeeper. Jason’s expression left no doubt he was prepared to intervene if necessary, unlike poor Joe. 

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, darting behind Yunho in a desperate attempt to escape. But Jason, faster and far stronger than Joe, easily caught up to you. His firm grip closed around your arm, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Not another word,” your mother hissed, her voice icy enough to freeze the air around her.

Yeosang, who had momentarily been forgotten in the chaos, muttered something unintelligible, as your mother grabbed your free arm with an iron grip.

“I’m not going back there!” you shouted, your voice echoing across the grounds as Jason and your mother began dragging you toward the estate. 

Behind you, Yunho chuckled softly, falling into step with the chaotic procession. His easy going demeanor only added to your frustration. 

“Yunho, don’t just stand there!” you snapped, trying to twist out of Jason’s hold. “Help me!”

From the drawing room, San watched the commotion unfold, his arms crossed, though the faint smirk that once might have graced his lips was absent. Instead, his expression was tense, his brows drawing together as his dark eyes followed your every move.

There had been a time when he might have chuckled at the sight, teasing you later about your theatrics or making some sly remark about your temperament. But now, the thought of doing so felt hollow, wrong even. 

He told himself you hated him, and maybe you did. Maybe you always would. And yet, as much as he tried to accept that as his punishment, the thought of it gutted him.

All he could think about was ways to reach out to you, ways to fix what he’d broken. But how could he even begin? What could he possibly say to undo the harm he’d caused?

He found himself hoping desperately that fate might grant him a second chance. A chance to make amends, to prove that he was more than his mistakes.

Because if it wasn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself.

II >>

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[morinuu]

Hello!!!!

I’m so happy to see your requests are open I absolutely love your writing!!

Kyoya x fem reader where they have an arranged marriage because it will help both there parents companies, and Kyoya and reader start to actually have feelings for one another, even though they weren’t sure about marrying the other at first?? Just thought it would be super cute!!

Hope your day/night is going well!!

hiii im so glad u like my work! :3 added a wee bit of angst turnt fluff cus why not. its not exactly what u asked for but i hope u like it anyway!

❄｜kyouya x reader where you're both forced to marry under your families' order. 1.7k words. this doesn't follow the canon for the events after the ouran graduation.

the noiret paced around his room in uneasiness. he knew one day his freedom would be cut short, he'd been waiting for that day, but he also had learnt to have the slightest, stupidest hope that his father's newfound respect for him had changed things.

he wonders, however, how he of all people could have been so naïve.

outside, the fairies of the winter had been drawing pretty little drawings of ice on the edges of his windows, as if to try and distract his racing mind from the events that would unfold the second he got out of his room. he was used to the noise of social events, the people chatter and the pressure of socialising, so this should be nothing for him, right?

right.

he didn't understand this feeling. it wasn't that he necessarily hated an arrangement for marriage, life would go on whether or not it would happen.

looking at the fairies' drawings of comfort one last time, he took a deep breath and exited his room to leave for the wedding venue without a word.

the car ride was uncomfortable. his family had already arrived so they weren't there to talk his ear off and the bride would come some time after than he did as the tradition goes. he had time left to think and contemplate again and again.

he looked down at his tuxedo. the bride requested that if she wasn't able to marry of her own free will, that she at least get to have her dream wedding. not a bad deal, kyouya thought. their outfits had been in matching colours, and both were over-the-top decorated. he felt slightly embarrassed at the outfit, but it wasn't anything too extreme in comparison to what he wore in highschool. the only concern was that his whole family and many important people would be there, though he swallowed that as well, as he'd been doing the entire year of the wedding preparation.

he'd met his fiancée plenty of times in that year. the first time they met was at his university graduation. she was smiling brightly standing next to his sister who rushed to hug him and congratulate him. he remembers her bowing politely and introducing herself, before his father stepped in to explain the situation. he remembers the slight surprise on her face at the lack of comments about his sons' achievements.

the next time they met was at a museum. his sister had advised him to ask her on a date so they could get to know each other. she was intelligent, charismatic, and he couldn't deny her face was pleasant to look at. her interest in history was a plus - at least she had an interesting characteristic.

their second date was a dinner at a restaurant, only the best to serve the ootoris. she'd picked steak and juice - quickly explaining she doesn't drink at the slight raise of his eyebrow. he nodded and changed his own wine order to juice as well. 'you don't have to do that!' she rushed but he assured her he's just being considerate of his fiancée. he never forgot how to be a gentleman.

the fifth date she asked to meet at a commoners' shopping mall to show him around. kyouya wasn't surprised by this. he'd learnt early on from his investigation on potential wife that she'd been adopted into the l/n family due to some sort of an affair. despite it being well-known, the gossip around the situation wasn't very clear, so he decided to wait until she talked about it instead.

at some point down the road, the two had become something akin to friends, and although not very close, y/n claimed she was satisfied with the bond they'd created regardless of its strength.

nine months later, he now is at the altar, bouquet in hand, a performative smile for all the guests to admire - until a beautiful woman comes through with her arm linked to her father's.

the ceremony didn't last long, the after-party however? most guests had already left but the couples' friends continued to act like it was the last day of their lives. the bridesmaids' laughter and his friends' drunk dance moves tired kyouya, but he was having fun, so what's another night sleepless?

a tap in his shoulder by his wife.

"you okay? you seem tired. we can call it a night." she exclaimed into his ear through the music. he'd read enough women's blogs to understand what that meant.

even if he wasn't tired, she was, and that was a roundabout way of telling him. what sort of husband disobeys his wife?

the second they got to their new house, y/n rushed to the bed and flopped on it like a sack. she had no energy to get changed or move, instead asking kyouya 'if they could complete their duties the next day, nobody was rushing them anyway'. kyouya he helped her out of her dress and comatosed with her in peace.

the next morning, nobody bothered to wake the couple. soon they'd leave for their honeymoon anyway. everything happened way too quickly and kyouya didn't know how to handle it. the weeks passed, and he refused to communicate any issues to his wife that weren't work or family related. he felt conflicted, but he didn't know about what. the woman lying next to him was kind, beautiful, clever. what right did he have to complain?

i mean, what did it matter if he didn't feel any connection in bed? why would it matter if she had a disappointed look on her face whenever he had to cut their time short? would it make any difference if he had an heir later and ignored his parents' whines about it? it was a tough thing to do, but each time he failed to satisfy his wife, it felt like a stab in the chest wounding his male ego. so did it really matter that he was away for long periods of time? it was a marriage of convenience, after all, and she wasn't missing out on anything.

she claimed that whatever friendship they had felt like it was dissolving because he 'didn't make an effort'? him? when he's the one working hard to make sure his dad's company doesn't make the wrong decisions? what does she know when she sits at home all day getting princess treatment despite being illegitimate?

"you chose this, kyouya." what?

"you refuse to leave your father's shadow." that's not it.

"maybe if you stood up for yourself, half the issues you're complaining about would be gone!" you're wrong.

he doesn't have free will, he never did. since he was a kid his life had been dictated by those around him, and surely you under-

"you're nearing thirty, kyoya! i'm tired of your self-pity! do something! i'm sick of this!"

it felt like yesterday when he saw his wife in her wedding dress for the first time. back then, he didn't really understand the concept of forever.

yet it had already been seven years.

seven years of obedience. seven years of keeping his head down. seven years of neglecting his wife to dedicate his time to his work. seven years for him to realise he was serving the ootoris. he was never on an equal level.

the issue wasn't his father, it was him. and on his twenty-ninth birthday, a snowy day just like his wedding day, with the winter fairies for comfort, he announced to his old man his retirement from the company.

"i'm sorry, y/n. i'm sorry for everything. let's try again."

you took his hand and embraced him. you knew your husband was broken somewhere inside him. you'd known for years. you'd seen how his family treated him, how they took him for granted. but no matter what you did, how much you pressured him, he only let you see specific parts of himself, and you couldn't help but blame yourself.

you refused to leave his side, no matter how exhausting your marriage felt. you rarely went on dates anymore, he never made the move to touch you, it wasn't marriage, it felt like... a business transaction.

deep down, you knew that that's what it was. you'd considered divorce plenty of times but at the end of the day, even if not your lover, kyouya was your friend. the man whom you ate breakfast with and lied on the same bed with. the man you'd seen you at your worst and gave you strength, and you knew you had to support even if he refused to let go of what was familiar to him. even if he refused his own happiness.

the sobbing man in your arms reminded you of a younger version of him. years ago, on your third anniversary when he'd planned a trip to chongqing because he remembered you saying you always wanted to go. during your two week stay, he got wine tipsy at dinner and eventually drunk by nighttime, spilling feelings he'd kept to himself for years.

he'd kneeled in front of you, furiously crying in your lap as he held your legs tightly, begging you not to leave because he could feel himself changing and neglecting his personal life.

you'd carried him to bed and admired his face as he fell asleep, naïvely thinking that this was just a rough patch and he'd go back to putting effort in just like he did in chongqing.

but the years passed and he proved to you his fears were legitimate.

"sure, let's try again kyouya." you patted his back when he held you in even tighter. "but this time we're trying counselling, okay?" you giggled, trying to light up the mood.

he pulled back and gave a tiny smile when you wiped his cheek.

"whatever my wife says." he caressed your hair. "let's stay married, okay? i don't want to lose you."

he didn't say the three words, but that was okay. it didn't matter much. romance could wait, because you knew you loved him more than a woman in a cheesy romcom would. you loved his soul, and you wanted nothing more than to see him bloom.

"let's stay married, kyouya. happy birthday."

it was a new beginning for the both of you and you had nothing but time on the horizon.

[fanboyswhore9]

The Proposal (Pt. 1)~ Sherlock Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill’s version) x Fem! reader

Contains: Henry Cavil, marriage of convenience, childhood lovers, long lost love, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Summary: Childhood friends Sherlock Holmes and the reader were inseparable until she left for boarding school, leaving unresolved feelings between them. Nearly two decades later, she returns to 221B Baker Street with an urgent proposition: to secure her inheritance, she must marry, and she asks Sherlock for help. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock has harbored feelings for her all along. They confess their love for each other and agree to marry, not just for convenience but out of genuine love.

A/N: THIS IS POSSIBLY THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN ON TUMBLR! This is my first Sherlock fic that I’ve done. I hope I do him justice!❤️❤️❤️❤️

The rain was steady that evening, casting a mist over the streets of London. Inside 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, eyes half-lidded, mind lost in a myriad of thoughts as the fire crackled. He hadn’t had a proper case in days, which left him restless, pacing between fleeting memories and idle deductions.

A knock on the door cut through his haze. Sherlock frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for most visitors, but not impossible. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson was entertaining guests again. He rose, heading to the door, when he heard the knock again—more insistent this time.

When he opened the door, the last person he ever expected to see stood before him, soaked from the rain, her hair damp around her face. “Sherlock,” she breathed, her voice a familiar melody he hadn’t heard in almost two decades.

His breath caught. It was her. The girl from his youth, his best friend, his confidant—until she was whisked away to boarding school, leaving him behind in a cold and silent void that he rarely acknowledged but always felt. She had grown into the woman he imagined she would be: poised, beautiful, but with that same spark in her eyes that always challenged him, intrigued him.

He stepped back to let her in, not trusting his voice just yet. She entered, glancing around at the familiar setting of 221B. “Some things never change,” she said, her lips pulling into a soft smile, though there was an edge of uncertainty there. Wanting to be polite, he asked her, “I know it’s past time, but would you like a cup of tea?” She looked at him nodding gently, “Yes, please. I’d love a cup of tea.” He nods as he starts to brew tea in the kettle.

Sherlock cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so cold, but they came out that way regardless.She looked at him, her expression guarded, then stepped closer. “I need your help, Sherlock.”

“Help?” His curiosity piqued, but there was something else in her eyes. Something more personal. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her coat as she gathered her courage. “I… I’ve come back to London because of my grandmother. She’s ill, Sherlock. She’s… dying.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for once, it wasn’t merely out of politeness. “She’s left me her fortune, her estate, but there’s a catch.” She glanced away, as if embarrassed to continue. “I have to be married to inherit.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Married?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice tightening. “My parents are pressuring me. They’ve paraded potential suitors in front of me for months, but none of them… none of them understand me.” She took a deep breath, her eyes finally meeting his. “And I really don’t want to marry any of them.” The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Sherlock’s mind was already racing, calculating her reasons for coming to him, searching for the logical thread.

“And you’ve come to me because…?” he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.“Because,” she said softly, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face, “I don’t want to marry just anyone. I want to marry someone I trust. Someone I care about. Someone I…” She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. “Someone I love.” Sherlock froze.

The words he never expected to hear from her—yet had longed to hear—hung in the air. For a moment, he was sixteen again, watching her pack her things as she left for boarding school, a thousand words unsaid between them. He had always assumed she moved on, that she forgot about him. But now, here she was, standing before him, offering him not just her trust, but her heart.

“You—” He started, but his voice faltered. His mind, usually so sharp, struggled to find the right words. “I know this is sudden,” she rushed on, her hands trembling slightly, “and maybe it’s foolish. Maybe you’ve moved on, maybe you never thought about me that way. But I had to tell you, otherwise I might regret it for the rest of my life. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Sherlock. And if there’s even the smallest chance that you feel the same…” She trailed off, hope and fear mingling in her eyes.

Sherlock, for once, was at a loss. His emotions, something he kept carefully locked away, threatened to overwhelm him. He had thought of her often over the years, wondered where she was, what she was doing. He had buried his feelings for her, convinced they were pointless, that she was a part of his past he could never reclaim.

But now…

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “I—” He paused, the words foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. I assumed… I thought you were happy. That you had your life, your suitors.”She smiled sadly. “I never wanted anyone else.”

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibilities, with unspoken promises. Sherlock, ever logical, ever calculating, found himself making a decision not based on reason but on something far more human.

“Then marry me,” he said simply, his eyes locked on hers. Her breath caught, her eyes widening in surprise. “Sherlock, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, stepping closer until they were mere inches apart. “Marry me. Not for your inheritance, not for your grandmother, but because I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Yes, Sherlock. Yes.” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped her face. And for the first time in years, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, let himself feel.

His eyes, usually so calculating and detached, softened as they locked onto hers. The distance between them seemed to disappear, years of unspoken emotions finally surfacing. His thumb gently traced the line of her cheek, his touch both tender and reverent.

“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, “for not realizing sooner.”

Before she could respond, Sherlock leaned in, closing the final space between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate, as if he was discovering something new but also something long overdue. The kiss was soft at first, slow and searching, but then it deepened, filled with all the feelings they had kept hidden for so long.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, holding him close as she melted into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in this quiet, intimate moment. His kiss, though unsure at first, soon became sure and steady, filled with the depth of emotion he had kept buried beneath layers of logic and restraint.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the silence. Sherlock’s eyes remained closed for a brief moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally opened them to look at her. “For you,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion, “I’ll always make an exception.” A soft smile tugged at her lips, her heart swelling at his words. “Then I’ll always be your exception.”

~SHORT TIME SKIP~

A few days had passed since she had shown up at Sherlock’s doorstep with her proposition. The weight of their confession and the whirlwind engagement still felt surreal, but there was no time for hesitation. Arrangements had to be made, and there were still people she needed to see.

That afternoon, she found herself in the grand, stately sitting room of the Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes’ preferred sanctuary. He greeted her with his usual aloofness, but there was a subtle curiosity in his eyes as they exchanged pleasantries.

“My brother is not one for sentiment,” Mycroft said, swirling a glass of brandy as he studied her, “but you seem to have managed what few others could.” His words were clipped but not unkind. “It’s rather remarkable.” She smiled, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I didn’t come here expecting him to say yes. But I know Sherlock, and I believe this is right for both of us.”

Mycroft gave her a small, approving nod. “You’ve always had a peculiar influence on him. I suppose if anyone can make sense of this arrangement, it’s you.” Before she could respond, the door opened, and a young woman with wild curls and a sharp, curious look in her eyes entered the room. Enola Holmes, Sherlock and Mycroft’s little sister, stepped in with an air of confidence. It was the first time they’d met, though she had heard much about Enola’s independent and rebellious nature.

Enola glanced between her and Mycroft, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. “So, you’re the one who’s finally going to tie Sherlock down,” she said, half-teasing, half-curious. She let out a soft giggle and smiled, amused by the younger woman’s boldness. “It seems so.” Enola stepped forward, her curiosity obvious. “I must say, I’m impressed. Sherlock’s never shown much interest in anything besides his cases. You must be quite extraordinary.”

“Not as extraordinary as you, Enola. Sherlock speaks highly of you,” she replied warmly, and that seemed to catch Enola off guard. Enola smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, you’ve certainly earned my respect. Anyone who can handle Sherlock is worthy of admiration.”

As the girls exchanged more pleasantries, she felt a sense of warmth from Enola, a feeling of acceptance, even if it came with a bit of Holmes skepticism. It felt like the final piece of her integration into Sherlock’s life, meeting both Mycroft and Enola, and earning a place in the family dynamic that was uniquely theirs.

Later that evening, in the quiet of Sherlock’s flat at 221B Baker Street, she sat at his desk and wrote a letter to her family. Her parents, grandmother, and sister needed to be informed, though she was sure the news would spread quickly once the engagement was made official.

Dearest Mother, Father, Grandmother, & my dear Sister,

I write to you with news I never expected to share. After years of distance & time apart, I have returned to London & reunited with Sherlock Holmes. Our connection, though it was once left in the past, has rekindled, & I am pleased to inform you that I am now engaged to be married to him.

I know this news may come as a surprise, but please understand that this decision was made with great care and certainty. Sherlock has always held a special place in my heart, & I believe that this union will be one of love, companionship, & understanding.

Sister, I especially want you to know how much I look forward to you being by my side through this, & I can’t wait to tell you everything in person.

I will return home soon to speak with you all in person & explain further. In the meantime, know that I am happy and excited for what lies ahead.

With all my love,

Your daughter and sister

She sealed the letter, her heart feeling lighter as she prepared to send it. The wheels were in motion now. Everything was becoming real. Soon, her family would know, and the life she was about to build with Sherlock was just beginning.

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter thirteen

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, furina ⌗ warnings : BLOOD. lots of it. inflicted trauma (both mentally and physically I fear...) ⌗ word count: 5.8K

Neuvillette watches you disappear around the bend to your residence, your stride as unmoving as ever. Were it within his power, he would’ve accompanied you to your very doorstep for no more of the lurking dangers that had come to bite your blind spot: a robber, perhaps, or perhaps your door had rendered itself faulty. Yet, in truth, despite his pitiful ignorance in denying that it was merely an excuse, every fibre of his being itched with the desire to see you — even if it meant for only a second longer.

Lady Furina once teased that without you in his presence, he resembled a lost, weeping dog without its master; and at the time, such a bold claim seemed borderline preposterous when made against The Most Impartial Man to Grace Teyvat. Yet, now, with no one but you running circles in his lawyering mind, he thinks Furina wasn’t so wrong.

What had you done that had the conservative faction onto your every bone? He dwelled upon the thought amidst the expected strain of your silence in the coach; and when you left, his chest swelled inexplicably of something he could scarcely articulate — something that evoked fear and a second thing; something the fine workings of his brain and the candid nature of his tongue are much too afraid to admit. Because he had spent the greater part of this year saying that he loved, and loved, and loved you — yet always with a measure of restraint. 

Because no person in the world can fathom, let alone bear, the burden of calling the woman who hates them their lover — and yet, there Neuvillette is, with his heart laid bare on his sleeve, yet hopelessly unable to lift the cloth off it — because God forbid he breaks his word; and the Iudex never breaks his word. Not unless it’s for you.

 Cut to his blood. Let it spill. And only then will they see how every cell of his body spells your name, into every corner, every crevice the reddish wine of life wishes to touch.

He never questioned why you hated him so much. Many people despise him, wish to have him burnt at the stake. But he had come to accept this bitter truth long — but that was before; before he caught the glint in your eye whenever you smiled — however fake or real. And that was when his heart caved in on itself, to make room for one extra person, despite how difficult you were, and still are.

A pit settles in his stomach, and he cannot help but wonder if whatever it is that is ailing him derives itself from himself, or from you — because if it were from you —

“Uhm, Monsieur? Where to?” The coachman has his elbow resting against his own headrest by the sheer effort of him attempting to grab Neuvillette’s attention — and that he does — just, with a little bit of difficulty involved. 

Neuvillette’s blinks, slightly shaking his head to stir him back to reality. 

If anything was to take his mind off things, it would be work. So, with a resolute sigh, he gathers himself and straightens his tie along with his posture.

“Ah, right. The Palais Mermonia, please.” He says this with a sort of modest dip of the head, possibly in shame, but more likely because he almost feels as if caught, subpoenaed into telling the world what he had just thought about.

He settles back against the cushioned seat, the moonlight making the blue accents of both cloth and body only fade into a natural monochrome. As the coach rumbles along, he thinks of you.

Archons save you, because whatever it is, you aren’t making a safe trip to your doorstep. 

You try to disregard the echo of the footsteps mirroring your own— but from what happened earlier today, you can’t say you aren’t at least a little on your toes. A brief scrape of the wheels of the coach against the tarmac makes its final note within your vicinity before fading into the void of silence, and you mutter a prayer, however severed your belief is with the Heavens above, for someone to come save you.

Trepidation rumbles through your veins like the bass of a drum, and it rings through your already pounding head, making you a puppet to fear’s instrument. A mild shake to your head only presses the incorporeal needle deeper into your head. In an attempt to divert the discomfort, you rub your temples profusely. But, your efforts are relayed out to you in vain as you falter in your steps.

You hear a split second delay of the mimicker; and this time the step resounds a metre closer than a minute ago. Panic drives you through the streets. Reaching for the dagger up the garter wrapped around your torso, the polished sheen of the blade gleaming in the light. You hold it aloft, meeting the tight knit of your eyes in its reflection, every feature bending into every curve of the metal; but you also catch the ominous smirk of a hooded man from behind you.

Your blood runs cold. The sole of your heels rest in discomfort against the merciless cold of cement below your feet. You come to an unideal outcome: this is a do or die situation, and dignity be damned if you don’t at least leave with claw marks. You inhale sharply, the stinging tang of the winter air cool against the violent heat of your skin. 

“If you’re here just ‘cause you were sent by Monsieur Moreau, I’d suggest you return to your quarters,” you start, steeling your heels into the cement of Fontainian soil. “and tell him to kill me himself.”

A rustle of cloth ripples through the wall of dull citylife, and you almost instinctively make a turn to confirm your statement — but you realise with horror that this isn’t some assassin sent by your father. 

The man ruptures into hysterical, maniacal laughter. “You won’t have to do all that work, Birdie.” 

His mania only ticks at your stuttered stride. You stumble to make up for the blunder, working your pace (your beauty sleep is forgotten, and you’ve long gone walked past your apartment complex). “After twenty-five years, this is how you ask for forgiveness?”

“I am not here to ask for forgiveness. I’m here to take you out myself.” 

You whirl, making a move to slash at the arm blanketed by the veil of black he wears. “Couldn’t do that the first time?”

He groans, clutching at his forearm before feeling at the warmth of the liquid between his fingers. The heart encased behind your ribs threatens to break, and your fear only spikes when that look you’ve grown to know washes over his dead, dry eyes. “Still afraid to hurt me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m far from afraid.”

He reaches for his own blade, and though you had gone years without seeing him, you cannot help but feel a pitiful tug of hurt in your chest. The chill of steel grazes that very spot, and you instinctively wrap your fingers around it to give yourself space between yourself and your possible cause of murder. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

You respond with you slicing his side, and he hisses — the sound of it honey to your ears. A trance washes over you in your indulgence of watching the man who terrorised you suffer, and as he stumbles backwards, the blade leaves with it. 

A grunt of effort sounds from him and he reaches to slice your neck. A slight tilt of the head mitigates the blow to your right cheek, blooming in a clean line of crimson. In your haze, you are blinded with bloodlust, mindlessly throwing blows before your wrist is caught in his stronger, firmer hold — and this is where your dread festers.

Your mind flashes in a frenzy of this specific scenario, where your father throws you on the ground and places a prop sword to your abdomen — but the weapon curled around his hand is not a prop sword, and you aren’t five anymore.

The only lifeline you had slips from your hold, clinking against the floor. There’s no time, and there’s certainly no room to dwell on your weapon; because you are about to get stabbed, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Rebellious hands meet malicious ones, and you are doing everything in your power to pry the blade away from meeting your stomach. 

And this is where you make your mistake.

Your diversion from left to right gives your father the perfect leeway to slam down with no force upwards — and you only realise this when your grip loosens and metal digs into your skin. 

A guttural scream escapes from the very depths of your throat. When you feel the meticulous handiwork of dissolved thread rip from either side, a panicked sob threatens to leave your lips before a hand slams onto your mouth, muffling your every sound. 

I keep getting distracted, you think, the wound Clorinde inflicted on you spilling open in memories and sputtering crimson.

Perfectly slicing the scar he dealt you in your teen years, you’re certain he’s out for more than just blood. He’s out to annihilate you — to silence you; for what can be uttered by a corpse?

It isn’t a lethal spot to stab, but, in some way — it is. Why would he stab through the crevice of your right rib, the one that your mother sacrificed in all the superiority of man? Some part of you hoped with a childlike wonder, that your relationship as father and daughter would bring him to relent, to feel remorse for murdering your mother. 

But you realise he had done the same to you as he had done to her. He was just as cruel, and just as unfeeling.

Your mind flickers to Neuvillette, your accusation of his lack of emotion a droplet of water in the ocean compared to this absolute villain of a man standing over you, 

Your eyes meet your father’s, and you feel like a rabid dog: helpless, violent, and a loser all the same. 

Despite it all, he smiles, the corners of his lips dripping with malice and apathy, the look you’d come to face in all your worst dreams. “You really are like your mother. Weak, a pushover, unable to stop when the possibility presents itself.”

Your eye twitches, and you wrench his hand away from his hold on your face. Blood spills from your busted lips, and it sputters at your attempts to speak. You let out a desperate grunt of effort, finally getting out what you think might be your final words. “S—sounds a lot like you’re talking about yourself.”

He flinches at your words, the leer once etched onto his face a faulty circuit. “How dare you,” he snarls, tightening his grip on the blade. Blame it on your delirium, but it is almost as it wrings the blood on the steel, causing it to seep further into the fabric of your blouse (despite how desperately the cloth of your shirt clings to your skin, it seems to drink in the pour of blood as if parched). “You ungrateful, stubborn girl — you know nothing of power.”

Bravado. One would view your father to be a composed, successful man; but you are his daughter, no matter how much it pains you to admit it — and so you can see the cracks (bravado) in his facade just as easily as you can put up yours. One would see a broken man. You just see evil brimming in flames through the cracks of his skin.

“I know… I know enough,” you manage, voice barely clawing above a whisper. “And I know power just as much as you know selfishness.”

He winces, pulling the blade back as if to strike once more, but for once, you are quicker. With a surge of adrenaline, you ball your left hand to reduce the strain on your right, and relish in the momentary satisfaction the crack of bone brings as your fist meets his chin.

Your father staggers back as if drunk, and you squint at the notice of him diverting the direction of his heels, almost admitting defeat, admitting his plan of escape. Foolish; he had never changed his ways — mostly because you never told him that his cowardice always stayed with him. Because he always left.

Your blade is but a few steps away from you, and so you wriggle your arm with a sort of hastiness you never thought you had. It almost seems to increase in distance the more you reach for it, the sheen of the curved dagger dulling in tandem with your effort. With your eyelids shut in an attempt to regain some semblance of strength, your fingers finally brush against metal, and you grasp it with a disregard for your grip around the sharp edge. 

You look up, and panic. Managing another blow to his ankle, a shard of ice manifests from your hand. Aimed at his Achilles heel, you shut your left eye. The shard veers off course, slicing just shy of its mark. Shit. His scream of agony resounds like an orchestra in your ears.

Taking advantage of his disorientation, you clutch at the wound, chewing on your lip to muffle the screams that threaten to burst uncontrollably from the very depths of your throat. Pain ripples through every ounce of your being, but you force yourself to stand, weighing on your left heel. 

The chill of more unforgiving ice shoots from the tips of your fingers, wrapping snuggly around the ankles of the man who shoots you an indiscernible stare. Sometimes I forget I can do that, you think, loitering around the cool glow of blue around your waist. He’s backed against a wall, legs frozen into the ground, and there’s no where he can run to.

“You underestimate me, Father,” you grit, bringing your blade to his neck, the anxious pounding of his heart made obvious by a tense vein acting as a metronome of his unadmitted fear. “I am not my mother. And I certainly am not you.I’ve worked my way up the ranks fair and square.” 

The unbothered facade doesn’t hold up as well as you’d like, and a quiver leaves your lips. 

His glare reflects back into your own, and instead of a witty remark, he only scoffs. “Fair and square? Watch your mouth,” he tuts, shaking his head in disbelief. “Madame Lavigne. Willingly giving up the House of Moreau for nobodies like the Lavignes. And the Neuvillette name!”

“At least my mother died a death of honour,” you mumble, seething with blinding rage, that, under the blanket of irrationality, tells you her death was not of honour. It was of humiliation. 

To be cursed wealth and to raise a child birthed out of wedlock — that is a legacy of no worth. 

To claw at the decadent marble floors stained by a person in which carries himself with the arrogance of man, the sinful coin of those left bloodied under the heel of his boots, is degrading in its whole entirety.

A cruel, spiteful quirk of his lip morphs the wrinkles of his skin into a wicked mocking of his age, and he shivers with rage. “And you think you will?”

The blade at his neck falters, and so does your will. Blood trickles down your face, and even more down your legs, burgundy reveries tracing their course down to the very pads of your heel. “If that’s the question you choose to ask, I don’t think you know me at all.” 

He tips his head back (as if he could go any further, given the distance between his skull and the wall), letting the blood drip in the absence of a dagger. “I think I do.” “P — prove it.” Your vision falters for a sudden, lurching moment, and you find yourself digging your feet deeper into the grooves of the city tarmac. 

“Kill me then,” he commands, the authority of conman and a father blurred in the dim light of night. 

“You’re making me prove I know you well enough,” Your voice lilts. “That is not what I asked.”

He persists, voice now a constant demand echoing amongst the other phantoms of the same voice, except this time, his tangible voice. “Stupid girl. Kill me.”

You should know that your father is the last person to do what you ask — but can you blame yourself? That’s all you’ve ever wished for. All you’ve ever prayed for.

(but could you call it a prayer? another, more foolish version of you sounds. it says: a prayer is whatever you say on your knees.)

With all the strength you have left, you press deeper into his skin, until you feel it give way with a pool of blood. Another push, and he’d be dead. Perhaps you’d be, too. Killing him won’t stop your own bleeding.

The teeth that anchor your tortured gasps give way to an unbidden dam of tears, each sob a betrayal of your own will. It flows — the pain — in salty rivulets, ebbing in silent streams down your bloodied cheeks. Why do you show sadness in the face of a man that just so happened to be the cause behind your own assassination? To this, you have no answer.

His expression sours into that of a grimace. “You’re weak,” is what he chokes out, gulping for air to spit out more words you think will haunt you for all the days you are blessed (cursed) to live.

“You disappoint me.”

It’s childish — how you awaited the next words with the manner of your old habit: rehearsing his lines in your head. You always find that they’re not quite what you expected.

And in that moment, your realisation comes in grim, gnawing waves. The two of you have come to an agreement; and for this you are somewhat bitterly grateful.

You would never kill your father.

This does not mean you aren’t entitled to feel rage. Rage for what he had just done to you. Rage for what he did. 

Archons, you’re struggling to stand because he just drove a blade through your stomach.

And so you give him one last warning by wrenching the dagger out of your abdomen and mirroring the action to his kidney.

His scream is no longer an indulgence, but an overdose. Your mouth parts to shoot another jab, but you find you have nothing else to say. This does not stop you from searching his eyes for an answer, and within their depths, you find everything you need.

Your knees threaten to buckle, but you make yourself a promise not to show yourself weaker than you already are. Sliding with the tips of your toes, your mind springs to make a choice. You aren’t bothered enough to turn and have your father watch you return to your house. Clorinde lives too far off the city walls.

There is only one person you can think of. And with a thawing, yet stiff heart, you pick the kindest of the three evils.

It is safe to conclude that the Iudex of Fontaine has found himself mired in more distress than revelation on Lucien Moreau.

Moreau’s reputation in society is nothing short of a good, upstanding citizen — a man shooting his way up the ranks through very legitimate means. According to accounts, his dealings in business are only transacted through honest income — his wealth easily to link — traced back from esteemed family fortunes and heirlooms. The house of Moreau has always been in favour of the public.

Every document on Moreau’s particulars state the same thing: businessman; trader on occasion; wealthy by inheritance. Businessman, trader on occasion, wealthy by inheritance. All sixteen syllables of those words recur in an agonising mantra as he pores further into the records — because how can Neuvillette ever hope to protect you if there’s nothing incriminating on him?

He’s simply a man who specialises in exports.

The Iudex’s frustration can only mount as his fingers rake in a dance through his already mussed hair. Searching relentlessly for inconsistencies, he finds nothing but a man poised to perfection. But Neuvillette, the Ordainer of Justice, should know full well that no man is perfect. Not even him.

From trade logs to financial statements, connections, he finds his search fruitless. 

So Neuvillette comes to a conclusion: he is not to achieve anything driven in such a state of lassitude. He draws in a sharp breath, slips the documents into a file, places it to the top of the stack of cases, and leaves.

He adjusts his hair at the foot of the office door, and realises that he is the only source of sound in the whole of the Palais. The tips of his ears suggest a sharper edge to his hearing, and though it’s somewhat true, he wonders if this is where his age comes to attack his senses. A little birdie would suggest the eerie quiet of the night is a much more unsettling endeavour than one of crickets. Although Neuvillette is not one for superstition, he still takes this thought into consideration as he tugs his glove further up his sleeve, briefly recalling your anthology of fallacy perched on one of your shelves.

A creak sounds from one of the hinges, and his eyes draw into slits, as if to hear better. How awfully peculiar, he thinks; his hands aren’t anywhere near the knob.

Another creak comes to manifest in the door’s screws, and another, and another, until it gives way under the weak weight of whatever’s on the other end. He fully expects a bull to come barreling through, but he sees… you?

What a sight. You’ve come to crawl to sit against the doorframe for support, clutching tightly around the small of your waist. The blazer you’d worn earlier today is nowhere to be found, leaving you in nothing but a soaked dress shirt clinging onto every morsel of your skin — and pants, of course. Bloodied and bruised, your lips twitch into a dazed smile. 

“Hey.”

“Mon — [Name], who did this to you?” His first instinct is to pull you up and bring you to the couch, but judging from your state, it would be far more agonising than if you were to just lay where you are. 

With the back of your palm, you wipe the crimson staining the corners of your mouth. “What does it matter? I would still bleed if you knew.” 

Neuvillette squats down to level his gaze to yours, before his attention dips to the blood seeping from a gash from your side. Against his accord, he winces. 

A breathless chuckle escapes through the gaps in your teeth. “That bad?”

“No, no, not at all. Let me help you,” he says, watching the way your head tips, almost submitting to the loss of blood. In a frenzy, he reaches out to cup your face, tapping your cheek to stir your eyes open. “Whatever you do, do not close your eyes, not now.”

Your forehead crinkles in distaste, but you force yourself awake anyway. He reaches underneath you, touch feathering lightly around your figure. “No — I’ll — I’ll stain your robes,” you deny, muttering helplessly, clenching your fingers around his arm. 

Does she not recall I’ve had another robe made after I gifted her my own? he frowns, a pinch amused at the thought.

“Then let it stain my robes,” he assures, throat bobbing in boyish anticipation. Your head struggles under the effort of you nodding, and so he wastes no time in scooping you up, the warmth of your beading blood soaking through his clothes.

(He thinks he’s just been cleansed with the ichor of a goddess, but surely the impartial Judge Neuvillette mustn't say such things, lest the Archons realise where his heart truly lies. Blasphemy! he thinks they shout.)

Your lids threaten to fall under the weight of exasperation, and so, with a light poke to your temple, you are disturbed by Neuvillette’s act of keeping you awake. The groan that grows to morph into a whimper brings the Iudex to stutter in his tracks; what should he do? Should he cool you down?

He comes to a drawing conclusion that it would be best to set you down on the leather couch before choosing his next course of action. With all softness, he cups the back of your head, slowly laying you down. His soaked hands abandon their hold on you, and given your lapse in judgement, you shudder at the loss of warmth. 

Neuvillette pretends to not notice it.

He turns his back to you, rummaging through his drawer, his hands coming away with a cluster of gauze. Multiple things slip from his shaking grip, and it takes an idiot to realise why: he is panicking, afraid (and for the first time in his life, a solid verdict cannot dictate how to heal his injured wife).Reaching for more, the cadence of an angel commands him to stop.

“Neuv… Neuvillette,” you sigh, eyes clenched tight in light of your bleeding. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve turned as fast as the words leaving your lips. 

Orpheus had fallen victim to it with Eurydice, and Neuvillette had once doubted his integrity. In all renditions, Orpheus turns because her silence has driven him mad; he turns because he thinks they have triumphed; he turns on instinct at the sound of her stumble.

For if all it would’ve taken was for him to resist that backward glance, why did he falter? 

But now he knows why. And he hates that he does.

“I know, [Name]. It will be alright.” 

You let out another noise, and this time it’s an agonising scream that tears the very bases of your diaphragm. 

You certainly are no Eurydice, and he certainly isn’t Orpheus. 

And regardless, he turns.

He rushes, but he feels that his pace is sluggish, comically slow. Your hand is in his before you can even blink, but nothing beats the feeling of your father's blade embedded in you like some sort of morbid heirloom. This is one battle scar you wish not to put on display.

Neuvillette makes space for himself on the couch, his focus trailing down the streams of blood that begin to crack as they dry. He resorts to another solution, but for whatever reason, he thinks you wouldn’t be partial to it.

“I can meld this wound shut, but I must ask you to steel yourself of the pain. Do you believe you could endure it?” He searches your pained, constricted look for a response, and believes he finds one.

With desperate eyes, you nod. However hard you try to avoid his look, it still bores into you, almost relentlessly.

“Just — hold onto me should the pain become too much to bear.” He still has a layer of cloth to get through, and he fears you wouldn’t like it. So he asks. “May I — ahem — undo your…”

“Archons, just do whatever you have to do.” Noted. Extreme cases of duress do not appear to shut your brattish tongue.

He works gently at the buttons of your dress shirt, prying the cloth apart to reveal an absolutely gnarly sight of grime. Looking past the blooming bruise around the perimeter, he places one hand around the curve of your waist to steady his other hand, which glows, almost neon in the light.

Pinching the fingers of his right hand together, he mimics the thread of a stitch through your skin; and as he diverts his eyes, he still sees you, brimming with something more than hurt. Lady Furina once corrected him — said that hurt was not anguish. 

Anguish. What a strange word for such a strange feeling.

He strains his hand that hovers over your abdomen, and you bite into your palm to muffle your cries. Neuvillette’s eyes flit to you just in time to catch your act of fruitless respite — and without his usual calculations, he offers his hand, beginning to trip over his own words as if he’s never spoken before.

“Uhm. Here, you can squeeze here.” 

If things were any different, he would’ve smiled the moment you registered the lack of sophistication in his diction (well, he thinks you do; but that’s enough for him). However, things are the same, and instead, he’s drowning in the tenderness of your agony. A playfulness buried under the need for survival.

To his surprise, you reach for his wrist — causing him to almost lose his focus, and it’s already showing! The blue glow emanating from his right dims immediately ever so slightly at the little distraction: you.

Just before the skin’s fully stretched taut and the wound is melded closed, you let another grunt of pain. 

“Did I do something?” Neuvillette asks, a little too frantic — even to his liking.

You squeeze harder on his wrist. “I think my fa— assailant poisoned the blade.”

“Do not worry. I may not be Sigewinne, but I know how to work my way around poison.”

Your chest rises in a short-lived sweetness of a laugh before you shrink back again, grimacing in pain. “I sure would hope you do.”

“Alright, I hereby suspend any further laughing for the foreseeable future,” he chastises, albeit a little playfully. He does not recognise the twist in his chest that begins unravelling at the sight of you loosened up under some sort of anaesthetic of induced delirium.

You are sound asleep, and as far as he knows, this is the most peaceful he has seen you; other than when you were passed out in your office. Similar circumstances, different couch. You sure do love your couches.

He hadn’t moved one bit, subjecting himself to a most unpleasant position on the leather seat. Given the limited legroom, he’d considered bringing you to one of the guest rooms, but he didn’t intend on disturbing your slumber, either.

Given the way you’re frozen stiff, he assumes you haven’t had rest like this in weeks. He takes meticulous steps in cleaning the blood from your cheek, and even more scrupulous effort at the tear of your lip, curved in a perpetual frown. He worries if he hurts you, even in slumber.

God, even leaving his office to search for antiseptic ailed him to the point where he constantly looked to see if you were fine. He worried to wake you even when the cotton pads reached to clean the blood underneath your fingernails, the dried tears that never fell from the cliff of your eyebags.

He lets the wads of cotton pile in the corner of the couch, scooting closer to get a clearer view of your face. Even dirtied, your skin glows like porcelain in the dim light — and he doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until you shift your sleep.

Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine, does not know the truth of power ballads and poems. He does not know how to reenact what mortals love to speak of. Somehow, he manages to find all his answers in you.

He just doesn’t know if you find the answers in him.

Rain stirs from the outside, pattering violent drums against the windows, before eventually reaching into the confines of Neuvillette’s heart and ripping them open. To the naked eye, he is just tending to a wound. To the trained eye, he hopes they see a man tending to a wound.

Leaning closer to wipe the fresh blood that begins to bloom once again, he moves to the slope of your nose, then to your brow, and further, and further upwards. His lips threaten to meet the temple of your face, exigent, brimming with want. Neuvillette has never learnt how to want.

Before he can draw any closer, your eyes flutter open, and he frantically acts as though he’s in the midst of cleaning your face (he briefly argues that kissing is an act of sanitisation, though he knows full well he’s conning himself).

Your glassy gaze peeks through your lashes, meeting Neuvillette’s stare in a solemn greeting. 

What does one say to someone who has awoken in the early hours, just shy of midnight? Good morning? Good night? Whatever the dilemma is, it washes away at the sound of your voice breaking the wall of silence. “It’s okay. Go on, do what you were going to do.”

“I was merely tending to your injuries.”

“You know what I mean.”

Is there anything in the Fontainian Legal Codex that states anything of a divorce prompted by terrible romantic advancements? Because if there isn’t, he might be the sole inspiration for a new addition to a five-century-old book of law.

Your lips thin in drowsy impatience before bringing a hand to delicately trace his chin, guiding him to you with the touch of what one might mistake for a divine atlas. It’s soft beneath your calloused palm, almost reverent, the act of navigating the map etched in the fine lines of your skin a fervent current.

It is sweet, almost. Doing what is encouraged, but what is also prohibited — your own rules broken by a sick hand. Your sick hand. You are supposed to be strong, firm. But firm be damned if this is the only time you can indulge in regretful desires before your father kills you — properly this time.

Neuvillette’s lips against yours is a gentle war, the first touch of dawn, strings of sun prodding you awake.

He feels you lean forward for more, but he presses you down, afraid of hurting you any further. Desire is an odd, odd thing. Why the tug at heart? Some part of him tells him it’s simply guilt. But emotions aren’t simple.

You are the first to pull away, but not enough to rid yourself of him. 

“I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry if I confuse you. I am confused myself.” What you really think of is the begrudging mercy of your blade, the one set to slit the throat of your own blood. But you are weak, you tell yourself, succumbing to the horror of your father’s prophecy. For you truly are frail, and that front you put up won’t hold forever. 

He, however torturous, manages to make space between the two of you. However far he searches, he finds no semblance of culpability. That’s what makes it wrong. Impartial as he may be, he has just erred in judgement, but he thinks it’s okay. That it’s justifiable.

But is love justifiable in the face of court?

a/n: aaa KISS KISS KISS ive been dying to write this chapter for a while!! I thought it would be best to write the majority of the chapter in neuvillette's pov to really build it… I thought it'd be nice to explicitly talk about reader's impulsiveness and fluctuating moods. and I think we know where she gets it from ermmm mm m please lmk what u think of this chapter n and feel free to write your predictions hehe

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun, @11111112222222sblog @floffytofu

[im-a-wonderling]

White Moves First, Part 8 ~ Edmund Pevensie

In another life, y'all, I get to stay at home and drink tea and nibble on snacks while I furiously type my stories like there's no tomorrow. In this life, sadly, I am a student who must spend her time writing chemistry lab reports, giving immunology presentations, and settling the occasional choir drama. Sorry for the three-month-long wait, I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: none, other than Mr. Rabbitdash being his creepy prince self

Word count: 5.8k

White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist

Who knew wedding feasts were so overwhelming?

Moments after Edmund and I entered the candlelit hall, my father grabbed my arm, tugging me away from Edmund before I realized what was happening. “There is Lord Dalor, you must greet him and thank him for his attendance.” 

And so it began. 

Everywhere I turned, there was another courtier I’d never seen before congratulating me. I politely listened, trying to keep my eyes on the speaking courtiers instead of Queen Susan’s decorations. She’d done a wonderful job, placing the lavender arrangements I’d chosen in beautiful places, along with pale green and purple ribbons flowing in every direction like a spiderweb. 

I thanked everyone until I was blue in the face. Pretending to be an elated bride got steadily more difficult, and the buzzing of the nobles talking all around me was slowly driving me mad. 

Lord Bote held his goblet aloft, allowing him to place his other hand on his chest in genuine gladness.  “Truly, I was so honored by your invitation to your nuptials.”

Forcing a smile, I nodded. “My father insisted on it personally.” A good reply. Flattering, succinct, and upholding of the impression that I’d been the one to invite any of these people to my wedding. 

Lord Bote beamed. “I do suppose that your–” The rest of his words were drowned out as my father—all the way at the end of the hall, standing at the king’s seat of honor—stood up and called for everyone’s attention. 

My heart sank. What could the king possibly have in mind now?

“Friends, we are so honored by your presence here!” King Loon’s voice boomed. A large cheer rang through the room as goblets were lifted in the air. The king beamed at all his guests, basking in all the attention. “Today is the day of love’s celebration!” A second cheer rose, louder than the first.

“He means his celebration,” muttered a familiar voice beside me, and I slid an arm around Edmund’s back, grateful to have something to hold onto. Edmund wrapped his arm around me in kind, and I squashed the urge to lean into the comfort which was rare on this day. 

“But now is a time of great honor for the couple, an auspicious moment that Archenland has the privilege of witnessing.” My father held out his hand to us. “King Edmund, take your bride onto the dance floor.”

I looked up into Edmund’s face, my high strung heart loosening a bit at the sight I knew so well. 

Edmund’s lips hovered beside my ear. “Shall we?”

I nodded, taking the hand he offered to me as he led me into the center of the dance floor. The music began, sending Edmund into a low bow. I curtsied.

Edmund’s hand slid across my side, centering on my low back to push me closer to him than I’d ever been during a dance. My first impulse was to pull away, as a lifetime of instruction on deportment had instilled in me. But Edmund and I weren’t merely friends anymore. Marriage changed the little courtesies forming the perimeter of our friendship. I tipped my head back to look at Edmund’s face, trying not to blush at how close it was to my own. 

“Finally,” I said quietly as we began the slow steps of a waltz. “I can take a breath.”

I could see the exhaustion tugging at Edmund’s eyes. “Won’t be long now,” he said softly. “Once they’ve all had their fill of ogling the new couple, we can leave.” 

Oh, how I couldn’t wait to do so. All the staring, the comments, the festivity that filled the room. All these courtiers were celebrating because their princess wed, none of whom knew Edmund well and none of whom knew of the narrow escape Edmund was for me. I knew no one in this room would be celebrating as grandly if it were a Calormen prince currently dancing with me for the first time as my husband, just as I knew none of them would’ve outright protested the arrangement. 

I shook my head.

Thirty minutes. For the rest of my life, I would never underestimate the importance of a half-hour.

The cause of my marriage predicament caught my eye, the Calormen prince lingering at the entrance to the hall, watching us with the posture of indifference, but the eyes of a hunter. 

I gulped. “Rabadash is by the door.”

When we were younger, Edmund pursed his lips whenever he held back words he wanted to say. As he got older, he outgrew the habit, but occasionally, I could see the slightest twitch in the muscles of his cheek. If one didn’t know him, they might think he was fighting a smile instead of the urge to speak. Edmund spun us, his eyes lifting for a moment as he confirmed what I’d just told him, and his cheek muscles twitched.

I longed to know what it was he wasn’t saying. 

Edmund spun us again so that he was once more in between the Calormen prince and I, as if to shield me from any possible harm from that predatory stare. 

“Will he never leave us alone?” I said in despair. 

Edmund’s eyes were fixated on me, his freckles standing out even in the low candlelight of the hall. “When the song ends,” he whispered, “I’m going to dip you.”

I glanced at the prince again, trying to ignore the fear worming in my gut. “And kiss me.”

Edmund grinned, and for a moment, I believed it was the idea of kissing me that made him look so eager and lively. “Adding to my strategies again?” he asked, with fondness that was even better than the eagerness. 

“I can hardly help it,” I replied. “If there’s room for improvement, I should speak up, should I not?”

“You should indeed.” Edmund twirled me and then brought me back to him, even closer than before, making me crane my neck to keep eye contact. “Since you’re the expert, what kind of kiss would you recommend?”

My heart stuttered as I lowered my gaze to the ruffles of Edmund’s doublet, suddenly bashful. “I’m hardly an expert,” I hedged. “After all, my first was only a few hours ago.”

Did I imagine the tremble in the hand at my back? “But you are the lady,” Edmund replied. “Ladies should dictate what kisses they want…so they’re expecting them.”

“But a wife expects any and all kisses from her husband, does she not?”

Edmund’s lips parted for a moment, his chest rising and falling in a quick breath. “I don’t know, I’d have to ask mine.”

I maintained eye contact, trying to uncover the unspoken words. What was he trying to say? Was he asking permission? Or was there something deeper?

Eyes never leaving mine, Edmund gently braced his hands on my hips before lifting me into the air. With his hands holding me up and my feet apart from the floor, my lungs couldn’t quite draw breath. Even once he set me down to stand on my own merit, the breathlessness didn’t subside. 

Edmund’s Adam’s apple bobbed, clueing me into the nerves he felt. My friend and husband was someone who sought out knowledge, who liked to know what to expect, who preferred a foundation of things he could understand. Perhaps, in asking my opinion on what kiss he should give, the man was looking for that same foundation. 

I didn’t know what kind of kiss was most likely to discourage Rabadash. I had a sinking feeling that if Rabadash wanted to be encouraged, anything could fuel his fire. But how did I want Edmund to kiss me? Well, I wanted him to kiss me the way he had earlier. Like he meant it. Like there was no one else in the world he’d rather kiss, even if a roomful of people watched. 

“I want you–” My voice was hoarse, so I cleared it, trying not to lose my nerve. “I want you to kiss me slowly.” Edmund met my gaze, and my heart jumped in my throat. His gaze had no right being that intense, it scrambled the words in my brain. “If…if you really wanted to kiss me,” I stammered, “i-if we really want Rabadash to think we’re in love, then you should take your time. Like there’s nowhere else you want to be.”

The only answer I got at first was a slow nod. Had I overdone it? Was he uncomfortable? 

But when Edmund finally spoke, it wasn’t a change of the subject or a rejection. “What else?”

I squeezed the steady, calloused hand in mine. “Put your hand on the back of my head as you dip me…like I’m precious to you.”

“You are,” Edmund said immediately, then blinked as if surprised by his own words. He seemed to waver on taking it back before quietly repeating himself, sounding more sure now. “You are.”

I smiled warmly, to ease the striking caution I saw on his face. I knew what he meant. Edmund was precious to me too, especially when I could tell that his mind was attempting to untangle his uncertainty in this unfamiliar situation. “Don’t open your eyes right away afterwards, no matter how everyone reacts. Just…stay in the moment with me.” I waited for Edmund’s response, too terrified to keep talking. 

The corners of his mouth turned up, and underneath my hand, his shoulder relaxed. “It’s easy to stay in this moment. With you.”

Suddenly, looking up at Edmund's almost-smiling face, I wanted the song to end. 

In the way my father was basking in attention, I’d been basking in the proximity with Edmund, dreading the moment the song would end and separate us again to face the sycophantic crowd. And now I wanted the music to trail off, to lean backwards and know that Edmund’s arms would be there to catch me and his lips to greet me.

By Aslan, what was happening to me?

Now I was more nervous than before. This wedding was confusing, in every possible way, and also not anything close to what I expected. 

As a princess, as a spare for the throne, I’d never held the power of choice, but even if that luxury had been mine, I never would’ve dared to presume my groom would be a king, and King Edmund at that.

I also never expected a wedding to happen so quickly. Royals were sometimes engaged as children, having almost a decade to get used to the idea of marriage. Even if engagements were sudden, royal weddings didn’t come together almost overnight as this one had. 

And my mother wasn’t here.

She’d been gone for years, taken from me so long ago that the idea of an alive mother seemed more foreign than having a dead one. This was an event where she would’ve been hosting. She would’ve been the one picking the decorations, ensuring the food was prepared, standing at my father’s side as they celebrated their daughter’s good fortune. Perhaps that was why my father kept moving amongst the crowd, never staying in one place for too long lest the grief could catch up with him. Perhaps he was right by having me try on my mother’s dress. All he wanted was for her to be here tonight. 

Or was that too generous an assessment? 

“What’s wrong?”

Shaken from my reverie, I came back to the present moment, blushing a bit when I realized I’d just done the opposite of what I told Edmund to do. “I was just thinking about my mom.” I poked my tongue against the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out whether or not to continue.

“Thinking what?”

“Thinking…about how my dad must feel.” I gave a half-hearted smile. “If your daughter is getting married…it’d make sense that you’d miss your wife, right?”

Edmund didn’t answer, looking characteristically thoughtful. But when he replied, it wasn’t an affirmation or denial. “Do you think she would’ve liked me?” 

“I…” My cheeks flushed. I didn’t remember her well enough to know. “I hope so.”

The responding expression wasn’t confused or pitying. It was discerning. All my life, I’d been a transparent princess—I existed. Ignored as easily as I was made a show of. Unreachable by rank. Mysterious by design. 

But when Edmund was in the room, I did more than exist.

I was corporeal. I had feelings. I carried importance. 

The music grew softer. Edmund let go of my hand to brace his at the base of my neck, guiding me backwards. Resting my hands on his shoulders, I allowed him to hold my weight. 

He kissed me, not moving from the dip position. 

At first, my mind raced. Were my lips too tense? Did I need to relax? Or was I supposed to move my lips? Edmund was moving his lips a little. I tried to match the movement, but it was peculiar. My hands tightened on his neck, my body starting to panic a bit at still being held above the floor. Would Edmund’s arms get tired? Would he drop me? 

And then Edmund’s tongue brushed my bottom lip, and I stopped thinking. My body loosened, like I was silver softening in a smith’s flame, and, by Aslan, Edmund held me like I was something precious. 

Slowly, without breaking the kiss, Edmund lifted me up again, setting me on my feet just as the warmth of his face disappeared from mine. I opened my eyes, too curious to help myself.

Edmund’s eyes stayed closed, just as I’d instructed, and his brow was furrowed as though he were in pain. I gazed at his pale complexion, drinking in the noble bridge of his nose and the dark locks of hair resting on his forehead. Then I noticed his lips looked pinker than normal. Was that from our kiss? 

Applause broke my trance, and Edmund’s eyes opened, a warm smile crossing his face. 

“We survived,” I said lightly, biting my lip to keep from grinning in too undignified a way for a princess. 

Someone in the crowd let out a particularly loud cheer, and Edmund’s cheek muscles twitched again. “Twenty more minutes,” he said quietly, “and I’m tying the tablecloths together to get us out of here through the window.”

I laughed, marveling at Edmund’s ability to put me at ease. “I happen to be an excellent knotter.”

“One of the many perks of marrying you,” Edmund said before stepping away to hold out his hand. I took it, allowing him to guide me off the dance floor. We were not among the courtiers for a moment before my father came and whisked Edmund away, leaving me behind. 

I frowned at my father’s rush to separate us but quickly had to rearrange my face into a gracious smile as Lord Mor appeared out of nowhere. With no polite way to extricate myself from the situation, I had no choice but to listen to his inane chatter while searching the crowd to see where my husband had gone. 

“Excuse me, Lord Mor,” Cor said politely, appearing at my side. “May I speak with my sister for a moment?”

Lord Mor bowed cheerfully and left. 

“Thanks for the save,” I mumbled, turning to face my oldest brother. 

“What are brothers for?” Cor smiled. 

An arm slung around my waist in a casual move only the other twin would do. “Next time you dance with your husband,” Corin said, lifting his goblet, “tell him to save the kiss for later.” 

I blushed furiously. Funny, I’d only been thinking of Rabadash seeing our kiss, not the hall full of others and certainly not my brothers. What would a happily married woman say to her brothers after comments like that? When the women of court were married, they seemed to laud their status and knowledge as married women over all the unmarried ones. “When the two of you fall in love, you’ll understand.” I tried to say it as loftily as the other women did, but my brothers just gave me strange looks. 

“Gross,” Cor said, his face pinched. 

“Heads up,” Corin said, his tone more serious than I knew to expect from him. He gestured with his goblet, and the three of us looked over to see Edmund deep in discussion with my father. King Loon looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him, and I momentarily wondered how many goblets of wine he’d drunk. Or perhaps it was the court’s undivided attention he was drunk on. 

Edmund, on the other hand, stood rigidly; the only part of him moving was his fist at his side, which clenched and unclenched repeatedly. 

Immediately, the three of us whisked across the room to join the kings. “Father, you haven’t spoken to Lord Mor,” Cor quickly said as I slid my hand across Edmund’s middle, trying to comfort my friend. 

The king grinned, clapped Edmund on the shoulder, and loudly said, “we’ll discuss it tomorrow, my boy!” And with that, my father allowed Cor to lead him away with Corin on the other side. 

“What was that about?” I asked Edmund, twisting around so that I stood in front of him.

Edmund worked his jaw, staring the way my father had gone. “I’ll tell you later.” The tense set of his face made my chest ache a little. He’d given so much to me and my father and my people. All day, he’d done what was expected of him, with no complaint. 

All of it was too much, and more than enough for tonight. 

Winding my hand through his, I tugged him gently into a walk beside me. 

“Where are we going?” Edmund asked. 

“Bed,” was all I answered. 

-

It was customary for a husband to bring his wife to his own bedchamber, but Edmund was glad when Y/N instead brought him to a different guest chamber. It was almost identical to his, but minus the possessions strewn about the furniture and carpet. He’d have to pack those in the morning before they left for Narnia. 

“I have never been so tired in my life,” Edmund groaned, falling onto the bed. “Are weddings always like this?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Y/N fell onto the bed beside him. “Ours is the first I’ve ever been to.”

“I would be satisfied if it was the only one I’d ever have to go to.”

Y/N huffed in agreement. 

Oh, it was a relief to lay down. It was as if Edmund’s body exhaled out the tension of the day, finally allowing him to relax. Before dancing together, King Loon had directed Edmund through an endless stream of sycophantic men and women. It wouldn’t have been so terrible, if only King Loon had allowed Edmund and Y/N to discourse with the guests together, but it almost seemed as if the king were trying to keep Edmund away from his daughter.

Edmund shook his head. No, it was far more likely that King Loon intended to take advantage of having Y/N and Edmund around while he still could.

Then the dancing.

Dancing with Y/N was much more pleasant than talking with people he didn’t know, but then again, doing anything with Y/N was much more pleasant than most anything else. 

Including foiling a certain prince.

Yes, that was very pleasant. 

It’s too bad there were no teams in chess. Edmund had no doubt that he and Y/N would decimate any opponents. He sat up, looking at his wife. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, for what felt like the tenth time that day. He could hardly help it if their wedding warranted constant check-ins with his friend’s wellbeing. If the wedding had truly been an event born of ‘love’s celebration’, he’d be able to read into Y/N’s smiles and expressions of excitement. But with the pretenses they were holding up, Edmund couldn’t assume anything. 

But when Y/N smiled at him just now, it wasn’t like the smiles of the day. Her lips spread into a soft smile, setting Edmund at ease in the way only Y/N could. “I’m good. Are you?”

“Better now,” Edmund answered honestly. Here, in the privacy of their temporary chamber, they didn’t have to force anything. They could just be who they were. 

Too soon, the happy moment ended as Y/N squeezed Edmund’s shoulder and got to her feet. “Time to get ready for bed.” Edmund groaned, too comfortable to move. Astonishing, really, how exhaustion reordered one’s priorities. 

Y/N stood, unclasping her necklace and pulling out her earrings before placing the jewelry on the bedside table. Edmund watched her slide his old signet ring off her ring finger and back onto her pointer finger. Perhaps he should’ve felt slighted by the action, but really, she was right, it looked much better on that finger. 

“Um…” Y/N shifted, fiddling with the laces on the back of her dress. “Do you mind?” 

Edmund stared at her reddening cheeks, confused at first by what she meant. Then realization dawned, and his own flared. “Ah, of course.” He quickly jumped off the bed, walking around to meet her. 

Y/N turned around, presenting the laces to him. Edmund nervously wiped his hands on his pants, staring at the neat knot at the bottom of the bodice, right where his hand had been while dancing. Funny, he hadn’t remembered feeling the knot there. 

Taking a quick breath, he started on the knot. The little cords were tinier than Edmund was accustomed to working with. On a ship, the knots of a rope were much thicker and easier to undo, even if they did cause ropeburn. His fingers felt awkwardly large as he tried to undo it, but the knot held firm. “You’re too good a knotter,” he grumbled. 

Y/N’s delicate shoulders shook, from shivers or laughter, Edmund couldn’t tell until she spoke with great mirth. “Having a spot of trouble?”

“Blast,” Edmund muttered, and her shoulders shook a little again. “How secure does a dress need to be?” he groused, suddenly thankful that men’s fashion didn’t require a helper to get in and out of. No wonder Y/N had a designated lady’s maid, she had to do this every day, sometimes multiple times.

He tried to use his thumbnail to get some leverage on the knot, but it continued to make him look inadequate in front of his wife. Another minute, and he’d rip the damn dress apart out of pure frustration.

As soon as he thought the thought, his fingers slipped on the laces. Calm down, he told himself sternly. You’re a king, for crying out loud. Act like it. 

“You never told me what the problem with your dress was,” Edmund said. 

With his hands fidgeting with the knot at her back, he felt her spine stiffen. “It was nothing.”

“Y/N. Honesty.”

The princess let out a heavy sigh. Edmund could imagine her face, slightly irritated and anxious, weighing her words as he knew her to do. He wanted to know if he was right, if his mind could predict what she looked like, but he had a hunch this conversation would be easier for her without being face-to-face.

 “My father…wanted me to wear my mother’s dress.” Edmund’s fingers froze, the stubborn knot still in his grasp, as he waited for her to go on and attempted to control his anger with more integrity than King Loon attempted to control Y/N. Y/N shifted her weight. “He said I was always meant to wear it.”

“Did you like it?” Edmund asked with extreme care. “The dress?”

“It was pretty,” was her only answer.

“So you didn’t like it.”

Y/N’s hands slid down her skirt, her fingers sweeping across the fabric. “Not the way I like this one.”

Edmund nodded, satisfied. Finally, the knot gave, and he made quick work of the loops, freeing his wife at last. He turned away from her to face the wall, silently allowing her the privacy to step out of the dress. Then he looked down at his own clothes. Normally he slept in only a pair of sleep breeches, but doing that tonight felt indecent. So he simply took off his boots and fancy doublet, leaving his trousers and undershirt. Anything more could wait until they had a space of their own to solidify their nightly routine. 

He could still hear Y/N rustling about, so he stayed where he was, stifling a large yawn with his hand. The rustling continued. 

“I’m done,” Y/N finally announced, and Edmund turned to see her already sliding in between the covers of the bed. She fought a large yawn as she ran her fingers through her unbound hair.

Had her hair always been that long? It tumbled over halfway down her back, a few short pieces in the front to softly frame her face. Suddenly, the Archenland hairstyles peeved Edmund. Y/N should’ve always been wearing her hair this way. 

He reprimanded himself again. Not appropriate thoughts to have about his friend. 

He got into bed beside her, feeling glad he’d sent a note ahead to Cair Paravel to Peter to prepare the bedchamber where they would sleep. He couldn’t imagine bringing Y/N into the chamber he’d had for years in Cair Paravel. Literally. His mind couldn’t conjure the image of her walking in and staring at the organized chaos of Edmund’s things. 

The maids at Cair Paravel long ago learned not to disturb Edmund’s chambers for something as disruptive as cleaning. Once, they’d rearranged all of Edmund’s books from his ordered yet overflowing stacks onto his bookshelves, and Edmund nearly had an aneurysm. Sure, it looked messy to the outsider, but really it was an intricate system of information in the forms of books, parchment, and broken quills. An outsider would never be able to appreciate all the little marks on Edmund’s bedpost from Edmund’s attempts to master knife throwing just for the sake of knowing how to do it. 

The idea of bringing some mysterious wife into that space troubled Edmund, but he had a feeling that Y/N, his friend, would gladly stand next to him and learn knife-throwing. 

And grow more accomplished at it than he.

Nonetheless, Edmund requested Peter move all his parchment and books to a new study while having the furniture replaced and the chambers thoroughly cleaned. The only thing that Edmund had asked to remain was his solid gold chess set, a gift from a foreign dignitary whose name Edmund had forgotten. Y/N had never seen his chess set. Considering she always teased him for choosing to play black, he could already imagine the two of them chuckling over the black pieces being gold instead. 

“I can’t wait to see Narnia,” Y/N said suddenly, as if she’d been thinking similar thoughts. 

Edmund grinned up at the ceiling. “I can’t wait to show it to you.” What fun the two of them could have. He could show her the library and point out the best armchair by the window with just enough light in the evenings to read by. Oh, and she’d adore the sweet pastries he sometimes nicked from the kitchens while all the staff pretended not to see. And the best place to go in the castle to see the stars at night. The constellations would be the same as Y/N had grown up with. Maybe it’d make her a little less homesick on nights when she missed her homeland. 

They laid side-by-side in silence, and Edmund felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier. 

“What were you and my father talking about?” Y/N asked, as quiet and light as a flame. 

A flash of anger doused Edmund’s insides, waking him up immediately. He rolled to his side, propping his head up on his fist so that he could look down into her face. “Your father was asking when your coronation will be. He wanted to plan it for the day after tomorrow.” In Archenland. King Loon wanted to crown a Narnian monarch in Archenland’s hall. On a day’s notice. Nevermind the concern of crowning a queen in what wasn’t to be her new country, Y/N deserved more than a rushed and disorganized coronation. 

Y/N seemed to shrink into the comfort of her pillow, as if she wanted to be swallowed up by the soft down and feathers. “Oh.”

“Y/N?” He waited until Y/N looked at him with curious eyes. “Do you want to be a queen?”

Y/N’s expression was marble smooth, giving him no clues as to her thoughts. Finally, she said, “Narnia already has two queens.”

Edmund narrowed his eyes, trying to analyze her tone. “If you wished it, a coronation could easily be arranged. But…should you not wish it…remaining a princess would be…satisfactory.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, bestowing Edmund with her sudden humorous twinkle. “Satisfactory?”

“You know what I mean,” Edmund grunted, falling flat on his back, preferring the sight of the ceiling for his sanity.

But instead of leaving him to privately stave off embarrassment, Y/N turned onto her side, her thankfully serious face appearing in his view. “Shouldn’t this be a conversation between you and your siblings?”

“It will be. But I want to know what you want before I talk with them.” 

The princess seemed to digest this, her eyes drifting off to the side as she thought. She had this habit of puckering up her lips when she was deep in thought, Edmund saw it often when they played chess. Her mind was the most appealing part of her, so it was unfair that whenever she was lost in it, her lips furrowed together as if begging to be kissed. 

Edmund shook his head. Really? Was he coming down with a fever or something? 

“Is it even wise to have a foreign queen if there are already two?” Y/N asked. 

Edmund shrugged. “Susan and Lucy weren’t born in Narnia any more than you were.” Y/N glanced down at the bedding, her hair falling into her face. Without missing a beat, Edmund reached up to tuck the traitorous locks behind her ear. 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered as his fingers brushed the shell of her ear. “Do my duties change based on my title?” she asked. 

“Officially? Perhaps.” Edmund withdrew his hand. “Practically? Likely not.”

Y/N nodded once, meeting his eyes again. “Then I think I would like to remain a princess. Coronations sound scary.” 

Edmund sat up, and Y/N leaned back so they didn’t collide. He intended to ask her if she was sure, but the sight of her contented expression in front of her unbound hair across the pillow told him all he needed to know. Maybe later she would change her mind, and they would organize a coronation then, but for now? She didn’t want that, and Edmund wasn’t about to give her something she didn’t want. “Okay,” he said softly.

She smirked. “Though I still hope the Narnians might grant me a nickname like they have you and your siblings.”

“Oh, certainly,” Edmund replied. “Especially if they see your fear of coronations.” He gestured grandly. “Princess Y/N the cowardly.”

His friend snorted, running her hands through her unbound hair. “More like Princess Y/N the prudent.”

“Y/N the theatrical.”

“Y/N the eloquent.”

“Y/N the laughable.”

Y/N held up a finger. “Y/N the modest.”

“Y/N the loquacious.”

She burst into giggles at that one, a sound that was impossible not to love. Edmund chuckled, unable to help himself. 

Their laughter quieted as both settled into their pillows. “Blow the candles out?” Edmund asked. 

Y/N hummed, and both of them blew out the candles on their bedside tables. 

They didn’t talk anymore. The only sound in the darkness was the occasional rustle as Edmund or Y/N changed position. 

Edmund had never shared a bed before. Was Y/N a light sleeper? Would adjusting his position wake her up? Edmund’d never been able to fall asleep quickly; his mind was too active. What if Y/N didn’t feel comfortable falling asleep until he was asleep?

Oh, Aslan, what if Edmund snored? He didn’t think he could ever live it down if he snored and she couldn’t sleep because of it. If he did snore, they’d have to sleep in different bedrooms. Maybe they needed to do that anyways. Would Y/N prefer her own room at Cair Paravel? Would she tell him if she did, or would she simply follow his lead? Maybe Edmund needed to just assume she would prefer a different room. But what if she found it insulting? In the morning, he could ask her, she had promised him honesty if he asked for it. 

There, it was settled. He’d ask in the morning.

Oh, he was an unthinking moron. He should’ve asked her before they settled in to sleep tonight. But then again, he didn’t doubt that the Archenland court and staff would gossip wildly if they knew Y/N and Edmund slept in different rooms on their wedding night. The staff at Cair Paravel would be much more understanding, so maybe they needed to wait at least until they were in Narnia. 

“Edmund?” Y/N said tentatively into the darkness. 

“Yes?” 

“Remember when you promised to do whatever I requested?”

“Yes.” Oh no, was she about to ask for a different room? Edmund decided he would be the one to leave. He didn’t want her walking around the halls on her wedding night, people were much more likely to question her than him. 

“Will you…will you hug me?” 

Edmund blinked. “Of course.” He shuffled over to her, and Y/N shuffled into his arms before he could decide on the logistics of hugging while horizontal. 

His right arm acted as a pillow for Y/N’s head while his left curled around her back, holding her close. His fingers unintentionally tangled up in her hair, and it felt exactly as he’d expected. Y/N tucked her head just underneath his chin, the tip of her nose brushing the hollow of his throat. He rubbed her back gently, wanting to reassure her. 

This was…surprisingly nice. Sure, maybe Edmund’s arm would fall asleep with Y/N laying on it, but until it fell asleep, it was very comforting. Y/N seemed to agree. He felt rather than heard the long exhale from Y/N’s body as she nestled into his embrace.

When he sleepily laid back a little so he wasn’t directly on his side, somehow Y/N’s head ended up in the crook of his neck. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Y/N’s hand slowly coming to rest on his chest.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

@thesecretlifeofpenguins @read-just-cant @chesh-ire-cat @emotionallyattachedteen @cassini-among-the-stars @uncontainedsmiles @mastermasterlist1p1 @goldfishinpainttubes @silverowl102 @daisyslife

[jessread-s]

Thanks to @penguinrandomhouse for providing me with a finished copy in exchange for an honest review

✩🐺🪢Review:

Hazelwood’s paranormal debut is addictive and all-consuming!

Bride follows Misery Lark, the only daughter of the most powerful Vampyre councilman, who agrees to uphold a Vampyre-Werewolf alliance by marrying Alpha Lowe Moreland after discovering that her future husband may be linked to her missing friend.

It was really fun to see Hazelwood branch out into the paranormal romance genre! I enjoyed her world-building and thought the history surrounding Vampyres, Werewolf, and human relations was very digestible.

I love how Hazelwood incorporated the mystery of Serena’s disappearance into the storyline. The breadcrumbs sprinkled throughout paired with the novel’s paranormal elements kept me fully engaged and on my toes.

While “Bride” is quintessential Ali Hazelwood with women in STEM, a big male love interest, galaxy apparel, and palpable love for cats, I think that Misery as a female protagonist ultimately sets this book apart from her contemporary romance novels. I found myself laughing out loud at Misery’s sense of humor and really admired her strength and perseverance. Despite all she goes through having been cast out from Vampyre society, she still remains inherently kind and is fiercely protective of her found family.

Lowe and Misery’s development as a couple is well-paced and her slowest burning romance yet! It takes a while for the characters to give into their attraction to each other given that they are supposed to be mortal enemies, but once they do, Hazelwood delivers on the spice! I couldn’t get enough of the caretaking while injured and “that’s my wife” moments as well as the snippets of Lowe’s internal thoughts at the beginning of each chapter!

This book ends with the potential for a sequel and I hope she’ll move forward with it full steam ahead!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[esther-dot]

Pride & Prejudice AUs

You Look Like A Movie, You Sound Like A Song 2k @jonsastan

She had met Jon Targaryen there. It was a complete accident and at first, Sansa thought, a complete misfortune. He was drenched from an impromptu swim in his pond, and she was flustered, not wanting him to think she was vying for his attention. But as she had attempted to make her hurried escape, he had found her and invited her parents to stroll with him around the gardens. He had offered her kindness, and thoughtfulness, he had talked with her parents, discussed the present state of politics with her father and chatted knowledgeably about gardens with her mother.

A Certain Step Toward Falling in Love 2k by @comma-splice

Jon Snow returns North after departing abruptly one year ago.

The Bennet Sisters - a P&P AU comic by @melinaillustrations

P&P Gifset by @sardoniyx, P&P Gifset by @dcbicki, P&P Gifset by deactivated

Persuasion AUs

Who Loves Longest, Who loves Best 1k by @ladysaruka

After refusing him years ago, Sansa sees her cousin once again.

Persuasion edits one, two , three by @glueck

Mansfield Park AUs

Half Agony, Half Hope 10k, incomplete by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

After the death of his disgraced mother, Jon Snow is taken in by his uncle's family, the Starks of Winterfell. He grows up alongside his cousins, including the beautiful and kind-hearted Sansa, but knowing he can never truly be their equal, he fears he has little choice but to leave the place he's come to call home. corresponding moodboard

Catch Me If You Can 34k (P&P and Emma inspired too) by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

Set in the countryside of Regency England, Jon Snow has been in love with Sansa Stark for as long as he can remember. He wants her as his wife, but Sansa is not sure she wants to be a wife at all, and she knows she doesn’t want to marry the pragmatic and boring Jon. She’d rather help Theon Greyjoy come out of his shell and play matchmaker. But then Jaime Lannister comes to town and Jon finds he has some serious competition for Sansa…

Moments Like This (So Few and Far Between) 3k by @lydiamartenism

Mama and Papa left the house to go pick up Jon, the son of her father’s oldest friend. Three weeks ago, the phone rang and their parent’s announced that Jon would be coming to live with them since his mother passed away and had no one else to take care of him.

Northanger Abbey AUs

The Lady in White 7k by @kissed-by-circe

Dragonstone Manor had looked like it had woken only a few days earlier, after a slumber of several years, if not decades, and Sansa had felt like the heroine of a gothic novel, a mysterious, naive girl with a dark past or a dark secret, arriving at the opening scene of the most dramatic story of all times. Or Sansa as Katherine Morland in a Jane Eyre Setting.

Sense & Sensibility AUs

In Such Jocund Company 2k @maybetwice

It would be no matter at all for Captain Snow to return to the north after seven months’ absence, had Sansa’s heart not changed entirely in that time. A remix of Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility.

Emma & Clueless AUs

if i loved you less 2k by @ladystarks

Her father has, often and fondly, told Sansa that she and Mr. Snow bite at each other like wolves, but he hardly understood that their verbal sparring was as exhilarating as a sport well done, or a match coming together under Sansa’s skilled hands. corresponding artwork

Sansa: A NOVEL in Five Parts 15k by @imagineagreatadventure

Sansa Stark, handsome, clever, rich, hopes to establish herself as her town's foremost matchmaker. After seeing her governess Miss Shae married to the rich and clever Mr. Tyrion Lannister, she feels as though she deserves that title. Her dear friend and cousin, Jon Targaryen, heartily disagrees and is quite proven right when Sansa sets her sights on marrying off her newest and dearest friend Jeyne Poole to the vicar Mr. Baelish.

A Baldwin and a Betty 2k

Jon drives to the Valley to give Sansa a ride home.

Emma AU art by @dcvahkiin and Clueless art by wolvesofspring

Emma Gifset by @dcbicki

General Regency AUs

No Notion of Loving by Halves 2k @darkmagyk

The Stark cousin, Jon, goes home to discuss matters concerning the entail on Winterfell. In which Jon is a really good guy, and I flagrantly disregard how entails actually work.

Manners and Misunderstandings 114k, WIP by @x-winging-it

The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls. Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage. When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.

You Could Draw Me to the Gallows 2k by @azulaahai

After having eloped from home with and subsequently been abandoned by wealthy heir Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa Stark refuses to come home. Having caused a scandal that is sure to prevent her from ever marrying, she is adamant not to bring further shame to the family name by returning to Winterfell. Until, that is, a visitor comes to her - Jon Snow, an old family friend, determined to bring Sansa with him back north. He has a solution to offer her - a proposal with the potential to change both of their lives.

A Perilous Dance Indeed & fiercely, tenderly and eternally 27k by @amymel86

He should either look away or interrupt this improper little meeting, he knows. For some unfathomable reason, he does neither. The two look far too intimate for Jon’s liking, although he feels he should have come to expect it to be so. A romantic like Sansa – however proper she is – would simply adore overt flirtations and a secret tête-à-tête. Even from where he stands, Jon can see the way in which she has stars set in her eyes like precious cut stones. He only hopes the man for whom they shine is deserving of it. *** Cousin Jon is to inherit Winterfell Manor and its estate after the untimely death of his uncle leaves a widow and two daughters. Sansa is expectant of an imminent proposal from her dear beau, Harrold Hardyng and everything will be absolutely, stunningly, utterly fine.

Waiting for Your Slippered Feet 49k by @wintry-ritu

Lady Sansa Stark has always looked forward to her come-out season in London, the balls, the rides in Hyde Park, evenings at Vauxhall, the romance and wonder of it all. Never had she imagined that it would happen like this, with her parents gone and her younger siblings underfoot. Now, all Sansa wants is for it all to be over quickly so she can get back to Winterfell. She needs a kind, amiable man who will be brave enough to take on his wife's siblings. That should not be so hard to find in London, should it? And while she is most grateful for Jon Targaryen's help, why must her cousin be so distracting?

To Make You Love Me 16k incomplete and orphaned

When Ned Stark dies, he leaves behind his wife, two daughters, and his family’s estate at Winterfell. What follows is a series of unwanted marriage proposals, houseguests who far outstay their welcome, and Arya parading around in a comically large hat and an oil-paint mustache as she declares herself the new ‘Lord of Winterfell,’ in an attempt to dissuade her sister’s suitors. However, when Mr. Jon Snow — their distant cousin and Ned’s appointed heir to the estate — comes to call, an oil-paint mustache is hardly enough to deter him from courting Miss Sansa Stark. And she thinks, perhaps, that a man could marry her for love more than her claim, after all.

Mine for a Season 101k by @vivilove-jonsa

Colonel Jon Targaryen is a single man in possession of a good fortune who claims no interest in finding himself a wife. With his war wounds, he thinks no young lady would want him anyway for anything beyond the allure of his pocketbook. Fortunately and unbeknownst to him, Fate has chosen to find a wife for him and will even deliver her right to his doorstep. Taking on the responsibility of shepherding a young lady about for a Season in London is not at all what Jon had wished to do but he had accepted out of a sense of familial duty. However, once he meets Sansa again after only having met her years ago as a child, he may not consider it a duty so much as a torment.

a lady of winterfell 185k, WIP by @wandering-scavenger

She bit her lip and exhaled shakily, “If you are so sickened by the prospect of marrying me, we should be able to obtain an annulment easily enough with your father’s connections.” “I will do no such thing.” he snapped, refusing to look at her. Sansa had never felt more rejected than she did at that moment. Her past experiences of being humiliated at the hand of Joffrey did not feel as painful as this. Even so, she could not allow him to see the weakness in her, not now. “I will not be left out, Jon.” she said, tilting her chin up to look down at him. He grimaced. They were silent for longer than she cared to count, but each second that he did not speak chipped away at her resolve and her ability to withhold her tears. Jon did not want her, and she could not blame him. Who could ever want her? It should not have distressed her as much as it did. She was never his favourite sister, she who treated him as a stranger since she was old enough to understand what a bastard was. A tear slipped down to her face until she tasted the salt of it on her lips. “If we marry, we will remain so.” corresponding gifset

moth's wings 47k by @cellsshapedlikestars

Sansa was determined to convince her aunt to let Arya debut, which is how she finds herself in her current predicament. “Who is this secret gentleman who has asked for your hand?” Aunt Lysa asks, and Sansa knows from her tone that she does not believe. (She has every right not to believe, for it is not true.) And then Sansa does something very, very foolish. She says a name. “The Duke of Dragonstone!” Or, Sansa fakes an engagement so that Arya can debut and marry the man she loves. The only problem? Her fake fiance just so happens to be in the city when he was not supposed to be.

An Understanding 2k, WIP by @thewolvescalledmehome

At the start of Sansa Stark's third London Season, she decides it will be her last. She will secure a husband by the end of the final ball. Jon Snow is new to the London Season and high society. He never expected to inherit money or property from an unknown uncle. When they meet at a ball, Sansa gets an idea.

you're in my blood like holy wine 72k

Sansa finds it difficult to look at Jon’s face, with its weathered lines and cragginess. It is the face of the North and a face that northerners trust; the face of Sansa’s brothers and her father, who had been loved and respected by their tenants as their forefathers had been when they were kings. How can Sansa feel anything but resentment, looking into that face and knowing that all of her years of hard work will never earn her the respect that that profile engenders within seconds? But she does. It is a small, burning coal of something that must be smothered.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

[admrlthundrbolt]

Love From The Other Side (Bowser x Chubby Reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your kingdom had recently come on dire time. With the Koopa Kingdom having a vast army. Well who was Bowser to deny your family's pleads. Especially when you were being offered to him on a tempting platter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys, I'm back at it again. Don't think that I wasn't writing, I just found out I had an allergy. So I had to deal with that. But I'm back and with a cute Bowser story. I've wanted to write for him since the new Mario Bros movie. It wasn't until recently that I thought of a decent plot though. Any who I hope you enjoy.

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He was surprised at receiving a request for an audience with your kingdom. A trading kingdom from a far off port. He had seen your parents from time to time at galas or Royal conferences. They seemed to be respectable if not private people. What was most peculiar though, was your name in the letter. He had heard mentions of you of course. But outside of your own kingdom, no one had seemed to see you.

It may have been your presence that made his decision. Who was to say, either way, your family would be at his castle within a fortnight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your hands fidget together as the carriage made its way down the rocky road. Glancing around you notice your mother frowning out the window. While you father was staring at you. Looking down quickly, you braced for a lecture.

“You know this is a last resort, don't you?” His gaze seemed to bore through you to your very soul.

Nodding you hoped that would be answer enough. As he didn't turn away, you said. “I do.” Though the whole situation only made you feel as if you were only an object.

A ghost of a smile fell on his face. Though it was as hollow as his next words. “I'm glad.”

Your mother's eyes narrowed as they surveyed the passing scenery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your families arrival rang throughout the castle. The Goombas were rushing around to do last second tidying. While Kamek ordered Koopas to finish the dinner preparations.

Bowser's eyes swept over the grounds until they landed on the colorful carriage. It had wonderful murals of coastal scenery. As well as being drawn by creatures that weren't quite fish or horse. He was eagar to see what other oddities your kingdom may have. Hearing a scuffle next to him, he looked down to see Bowser Jr. shuffling in excitement. It wasn't everyday someone visited the castle under pleasant circumstances. Smiling down at his son, he ruffled his hair affectionately.

The carriage parked in front of the king and the driver opened the door. As regal as ever, your father and mother stepped through the door. He was a moment from greeting them, when you appeared. Beautiful as anyone he had ever seen and full as an overripe fruit. You were the visage of a deity.

Your father cleared his throat causing Bowser to reluctantly look away from you. The man had a knowing yet somber expression on his face. While your mother was out right scowling. A sheepish look crossed your face as you joined your parents.

Putting on a more professional air, he waved his arm towards the castle. “Welcome, please come inside and rest in your rooms a while. Dinner will be ready soon.” With that he rushed inside, Jr. trailing behind him. All the while berating himself. Coming up with a plan to not make so much of a fool of himself at dinner. Not noticing how Jr. couldn't stop looking back at you admiringly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Charles are you sure this is the right decision? I mean did you see the way he was gaping at her.” You could hear your mother's complaints ringing through the room you had been shown to.

“Evie please, this was a descion that had to be made.” There was a tense silence that followed. “It's not as if we've forced her. You know better than anyone that no one can will her to do anything.”

This caused an uncomfortable pressure to build behind your eyes. Not wanting to hear about your parents thoughts on you. You swiftly entered the room. “Have they called us for dinner?” You had already heard the Koopa tell your parents it was ready. But it was easier to change the subject quickly and avoid their gaze this way.

Your father smiled and gave you a endearing smile that you weren't sure you deserved. “Yes, should we start making our way then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He sat at the head of the table. Desperately hoping that he didn't seem to eagar as your family approached. Jr. bounced in his seat to the right. To his shock you took the seat on his left. It was in this moment that he was glad that Kamek had suggested a smaller table. Something about it being a less intimidated and cozy gestured.

The first dish came out and only the sound of silverware filled the room. It wasn't until the main course came that the tension was broken by your father.

“I'm sure your curious as to why we've called for this audience.” His gaze felt piercing to the turtle tyrant.

His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment, before focusing on him. “I was surprised why such a distant kingdom would reach out.” Without knowing the reason for your visit, it felt like he had to walk on egg shells. Why were you here?

Rubbing a hand across his aged features, he said. “It is not under happy circumstances. We are receiving threats from a nearby kingdom. Are you familiar with the Eezla domain?”

He had to hold back a flinch. Even he had a hard time dealing with the war hungry dictator of a leader from there. It was no wonder your family had seeked out an audience with another kingdom. The only question was why his.

“He has come to us with a demand. Our daughter's hand in marriage or a battle for our ports.” His tone was weary.

Your gaze dropped to the table with dread. You wouldn't mind sacrificing your morals to save your people. But as the only heir for your family. It was an obvious ploy to take over the kingdom. You wouldn't have been surprised if your parent's death would have followed the potential ceremony.

“So instead we talked together on the matter and came to a new conclusion. It would be far more difficult if our daughter was wed to a more tolerable kingdom. Though they would need to have a formidable army.” He would have continued his eloquent explanation. If not for your mother's bitter interuption.

“She choose you. Can you believe that.” Her glare burned through him. “Out of all the options she had. You were her first pick.” Folding her arms over her chest, she resembled more closely a toddler than a queen.

Standing up quickly, you gave a hard stare to your mother. “It was the logical choice.” Looking away from her, your timid demeanor returned. “If the other party accepts that is.”

He could help but think that your gaze was as piercing as your father's. Though there was a graceful openness to you. He thought of Peach for a moment and had to keep a grimace off of his face. It had been a blow to his heart when she married Mario. Looking at you, it was like a golden opportunity had been dropped in his lap. “I do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an odd feeling to bid fairwell to your parents. But with your mother's distaste for the arrangement and time running out. It was better that they go start the ceremony preparations now. It was a relief to only have to make final decisions. Also that Bowser agreed to a wedding in your home lands.

Placing your ear against the door. No large footfalls could be heard and your shoulders sagged in relief. You shouldn't be avoiding your betrothed. On the other hand, if he asked about what your mother said. You just may die of embarrassment.

Just how was a sheltered princess supposed to explain to her newly betrothed about her powers. That the only reason the ruler of Eezla had found out you are a seerer. After that it wasn't long before he demanded for your hand. By choice or force. This had prompted you to shut yourself away and look for the best path. It hadn't taken long. The moment Boswer entered your visions, it was all but decided. The sight of his heart break was surprising. Followed by the tenderness he held for his son. He provided for his citizens, raising a fierce army.

A blush took over your face as you remembered your possible future together. Growing to care for one another. Parenting Bowser Jr. together, even visions of your own children. It was almost to much to handle, your face felt as if it was on fire.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered yourself. Stepping out the door, you bumped into a small figure. It was a shock to run into someone shorter than you. But a gasp escaped your mouth as you saw Jr. on the floor in front of you.

Scooping him up on your arms, you fussed. “Oh darling, I'm so sorry. I didn't notice you there. Are you ok?”

He beamed up at you and nodded quickly. He couldn't believe how lucky he was. He got a new mama, she was super nice and pretty! “Are you coming to breakfast?”

Looking down at the sweet boy you hesitated. “Is your father there?”

Shaking his head, he said. “No, he had to go with Kamek. So I told him I would take you to breakfast.” He was bouncing in your arms. It made him a bit hard to keep a hold of.

So placing him down gently, you nodded. “Yes some food sounds good.” You felt guilty for avoiding him. But you thought some time apart may bury the comments your mother made.

Feeling a tug at your hand, you allowed the excited child to lead you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He couldn't keep his mind off of it. You had chosen him. Of all people why him? He could hardly pay attention to the map sprawled out before him. No matter how many times he told himself that knowing the enemy territory was important. His thought just couldn't stop straying to you.

Your sweet temperament and melodious voice. How well your plush form filled out your clothes. How you looked at him without any fear or animosity. You had chosen him.

Shifting his mind onto a task to aid you. Yes that's how he could keep himself on point. This was for you. The more he knew of his new enemies. The better he could protect you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't see each other again until dinner that evening. You having spent the day with Jr., avoiding any thought of the large turtle. While he made battle strategy and his mind wouldn't stop returning to you.

It would have been a quiet meal, if not for the youngest participant. He animatedly talked about what you both had done that day. His father couldn't help his admiration for you growing. You obviously had already taken a special place in his son's life.

“Then I slipped off the stair.” Waving his arms around wildly, the pint size turtle almost tipped out of his chair. You both leaned forward, until he settled back down. Your face flushed as your eyes met. “But Ms. (Y/N) caught me with sparkles.”

Bowser's eyes widened, he hadn't been informed of you having magical ability. He wondered if it was anything like Kamek's spells. “I wasn't aware of you being a caster.”

Your face darkened as his attention was solely on you. “Not many people are. That's one reason my parents kept me from the public eye. With how rare magic users are and all.” He wanted to questioned you a bit more. But the subject seemed to make you more timid than usual. So instead he turned back to Jr. and listened to his day with you. Hopefully with time you would feel comfortable enough to open yourself up to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldnt stand it any longer. You had to tell him the truth. It felt deceitful to keep your ability from him. The day you were meant to be bound was fast approaching. You didn't want to start your married life together on such a sour note.

You steeled your nerves as you came upon the door to his private chambers. It was well past Jr.’s bedtime, so you knew interuptions were unlikely. Raising a fist you knock lightly, when no immediate answer came you were torn. A part of you was relieved to not have to deal with this quite yet. Still there was a throb of anxiety about waiting any longer. You battled with yourself to knock again or leave. Until the door swung open.

Bowser toweled off his firey hair as he looked down at you. It was an unlikely yet pleasant surprise to see you outside his chambers. Grinning down at you he invited you in. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As he left through another door, you glanced around the room. It was about as grand as you had imagined it. Lavish paintings and banners decorating the walls. Though an area was sectioned off for Jr.'s art. It was adorable and heartwarming to see how much he had saved. A flush coated your cheeks as you noticed the only place to sit was the large bed. It was a lavish setting, dark stained wood with deep red bedding. You felt a shy yet scandalous heat travel through you. It wouldnt be long before this would be your chambers as well. The very bed that you would share together.

You almost jumped out of your skin as he reentered the room.

“Sorry about that, you caught me after a shower.” His hair drooped in a freshly washed fashion. It was a look you hadn't had a chance to see yet. It was an odd, but endearingly boyish style. “What was it you wanted to discuss?”

“Oh I was um.” The blush spread deepening to your neck. It was one thing to come up with the resolve. But another to go through with the difficult task. Still you needed to do this, for both of your sakes. “I need to let you know the truth. Why I chose you that is.”

He watched you carefully. It was something that had been on his mind for a while. Who was he kidding, since it was mentioned. But as he watched you fidget in place, he couldn’t take the usual pleasure he got from others squirming. So instead, he sat next to you patiently and waited for you to continue.

Gathering all your courage, you spat it out. “I can see the future.” A stagnant silence filled the air. Each of you waiting for the other to break it.

He awkwardly shifted to get a better look at you. Was that why you had chosen him? Was he the best pick or did you settle. Gazing down at you, he took you in. Your flush full cheeks and eyes looking everywhere but him. Your soft body, if only you knew how much your plush form filled his dreams. Taking your warm hands into his own, he smiled genuinely. “So you saw us together?” You nodded. “Were we….” He paused not knowing how to put the next question.

You noticed his hesitation, it made you want to sigh in relief. It was nice to know that you weren't the only one having a difficult time navigating this. Tightening your hold on his hands you explained. How the leader of Eezla had found out about you being a mage. But the only thing he was interested in was your proficient seer abilities. His demand for your hand was met with refusal. He then threatened the lives of your people. This led you to searching for a solution, which turned out to be him.

Eyes wide he wanted to deny it all. “But I'm just as bad as he is. Why choose me over him?” He hated himself for bringing it up. But a part of him would feel worse if he didn't.

Shaking your head you glared at him. “You are nothing like that monster. I know you have a sorted past with the Mushroom Kingdom. But the moment Peach married you left well enough alone. Not to mention the way you care for Jr. and your citizens. And when we have our daughter, your eyes light up the first time you hold her.”

He stared at you with astonishment. “We have a daughter?” You cover your face mortified. Only to shriek in the next moment as he scoops you up and spins you around the room. Your screams turn into elated giggles as you relax in his arms. Pulling you closer he gazes into your lovely eyes and leans forward. You meet his lips in a tender kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things went well, pleasant conversation and sweet looks were exchanged. It seemed that things were going to work out. Until the Mushroom Kingdom caught wind of a damsel ‘trapped’ in Bowser's castle.

Mario suits up as his brother looks at him skeptically. “Are you sure you should go charging in there?”

The shorter man glared at him. It wasn't like he had a choice. The minute Peach heard some woman was there she threw a fit. Complaining about her time there and what she had to deal with. If it was her he wouldn't hesitate to rush over. Even if she was right, he just wanted to relax every once and a while. If it wasn't his new royal duties, it was his family back in Brooklyn. It felt like he hadn't had a day off in years.

Waving a hand at the other man, he said. “I'm just going to check things out. Not start a war or anything.”

With a weary nod he followed after his older brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As time was drawing closer for the wedding, you were pouring over the final details with Bowser. He had originally insisted that you make all the decisions. But after convincing him this was a ceremony to join you both, he relented. You were elated at the combination of opinions and styles. It was going to be a magical event.

Jr. had tried not to get bored while you went over the seemingly endless papers. He really did, but what was a young boy to do. Although when he heard the words flower arrangements. He knew there was something he could do to help. Calling out that he was headed to the gardens, he darted away.

As he gathered flowers, weeds, and grass. He failed to notice the two plumbers approaching the castle. He jumped and whirled around as they called out to him.

“Hey kid, have you seen a new lady around the place?” Mario thought it would be easier to ask than sneak around.

Eyes narrowing at the brothers, he frowned. “What’s it to you?” There was no way he was letting these guys near Mama. When they didn't answer, he turned back to a patch of red flowers.

Getting frustrated with the whole situation, the shorter man put a hand on the boy. Only hoping to get his attention again. He was shocked when the child ran from them.

“Mama!” He stumbled in his hurry to escape from the brothers. Tumbling end over end, he landed on his knee. Scrapping the skin, blood seeped from the wound. Tears sprang from his eyes as he sat on the ground. Luigi started to make his way over, until the wind began to pick up and the ground shook.

The entrance burst open as a red eyed Bowser and a whirlwind sprinted towards the group. The wind calmed down a bit. The brothers were faced with a woman that looked as of she wanted to bite their heads off. They had never seen a more fierce expression on a person before.

Your hair whipped around your face wildly. The only thing that brought you back was Jr. wrapping his arms around your leg. Dropping the magic immediately, you scooped him into your arm. Cuddling him close to your chest, you wiped the tears from his cheeks.

Allowing himself to take a moment to gaze at the two of you tenderly. He enjoyed the sight of the woman he was growing to love caring for his child. It was a veiw that he could get used to. A glare slid on his face as he turned towards the brothers. “Is there any reason your harassing my son. Make it quick, you interupted something important.” One wrong move and he would tear into these idiots. He would risk peace with the Mushroom Kingdom for his families’ safety.

“We came to make sure she wasn't here against her will.” Mario was done with this entire situation. He was obviously sent on a dead end trip. You were treating Bowser Jr. like your own child. Not to mention Bowser putting himself between you and the brothers. It was obvious you were here by choice.

This made you finally take your attention off Jr. These men come here and accuse your betrothed of forcing you here. You know he had a sorted pass. Though your ability showed that he was passed that phase. It was one thing to make baseless claims. But it was a whole other to harm a child in the process. “I am here of my own accord. In a months time I will be marrying Boswer and taking my place in this kingdom. If that is enough evidence for you, I will now be leaving to heal my son. If not then I won't hesitate to make sure this is your last trip to the Koopa Kingdom.” The wind picked back up at your threat.

“No, we'll be on our way.” Mario just wanted to go home and soak away this entire experience. Pulling Luigi along, he shushed his protest with a wave of his hands.

Bowser followed after you, pupils practically shaped like hearts. He wasn't sure what he had done to be so lucky to meet you. But he would be sure to keep his plush queen by his side.

[punkpoemprose]

Public apology to everyone who would have wanted me to start off the 10 days with a new chapter of Convenient Arrangement: I'm working on it, it's coming, there will be feelings, the ring is not a red herring, it will be so soft.

[seongwars]

𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency Rating: T/NC-17 Summary: After falling prey to one of Choi San’s cruel games, you vowed yourself to a life of eternal spinsterhood. But when a fire leaves the Choi estate in ruins, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life.

a/n: the fic formerly known as Ardently 🤭 also signups for Ardently will be moved over to Wallflower

Taglist Signup

"I’m joining a convent!" you declared dramatically, clutching a small sack packed with nothing but a pair of sensible shoes, and a shawl for your new monastic life.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your mother snapped, reaching for your arm as you darted past her with surprising agility, fueled by equal parts adrenaline and spite.

“I will not be trapped under the same roof as him!” you shouted, narrowly avoiding Anna, the head maid, who was attempting to form a human barricade by the parlor door. 

“The sisters of Saint Hala will understand my plight! They’ve taken in women for less!”

Joe, the head butler, the sweet old man, intercepted you near the staircase, as he tried to sidestep your wild trajectory, but you sidestepped him with an impressive spin. He groaned, pressing a hand to his lower back as you scurried past him, Anna and your mother hot on your trail. 

You burst out the front door and onto the gravel path. Anna was close behind, huffing as she struggled to keep her bonnet in place, while Joe followed at a more measured pace, muttering about the indignities of old age. Your mother, however, stalked after you like a woman possessed, her voice rising above the commotion.

“Kang Y/N, stop this nonsense! “You are not becoming a nun just because the Choi family is staying with us!”

You whipped around briefly, clutching your sack like a shield. “You’re asking me to endure the unspeakable horror of living under the same roof as Choi San!”

“I’m asking you to behave like an adult!” your mother shot back.

“I am an adult!” you retorted, darting further down the path. “One who is capable of making her own decisions!”

“My lady!” Anna squeaked, her voice strained.

“My lady, stop!”

Behind you, the haphazard mob of your mother, Anna, and Joe screeched to a halt, their gasps of exertion mingling with the crunch of gravel underfoot.

“What now?” you barked, spinning around to glare at your entourage, your chest heaving from the effort of your “escape.”

The answer came in the form of an unfamiliar silence. Slowly, you realized the mob wasn’t staring at you—they were looking just beyond you.

Confused, you turned toward the gates, and there he was.

Choi San was standing just a few feet away, halfway down the steps of his family’s carriage. He stared at you, his head tilted slightly, dark eyes wide with confusion as he took in the spectacle: you, breathless and disheveled, holding your pitiful sack like a runaway, while your mother, Anna, and Joe formed a panting, disorganized trio behind you.

For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of the breeze through the estate’s trees.

San blinked, clearly at a loss for words. His hand lingered on the edge of the carriage door as if he were debating whether stepping back inside would be the more sensible option.

“M-Ms. Kang?” he asked hesitantly, his voice soft and cautious, entirely devoid of the insufferable smugness you had expected.

Your face flushed a furious red, caught somewhere between humiliation and indignation. You had not run halfway down the estate path, your mother, Anna, and Joe in hot pursuit, just to be confronted by him of all people.

“You!” you spluttered, pointing a shaky finger in his direction, the sack swinging precariously at your side.

“Me?”

“Mr. Choi!” your mother shrieked suddenly, pushing past Anna, her skirts swishing dramatically.

“Mr. Choi, stop her!”

“She’s running away!” Anna exclaimed, clutching her chest as though this scandal was enough to make her faint.

“Block the path, tackle her if you must, anything to stop this madness!” Joe groaned, rubbing his aching knee.

Without giving anyone a chance to act, you spun on your heel and bolted. Your pitiful little sack was clutched tightly in your arms, its contents jingling faintly as your feet crunched against the gravel. 

Behind you, the chaos reached its peak—San calling your name in confusion, Anna’s faint protests, Joe muttering curses about his knees, and your mother’s furious shrieks of indignation. 

But none of it mattered. You had escaped. For now.

[himeryu]

Novels 02 (Kamisato Ayato x Reader)

CH NOTES: arranged marriage, emotional cheating, neglect, unhealthy relationship, sad ending, hurt no comfort, heavy angst, slight ooc

PAIRING: Ayato x GN!Reader (Fem terms might be used accidentally)

SUMMARY: Ayato x Fiance! Reader but you’re a hopeless romantic to your fiance who is in love with another.

A/N: inspired by Movies by Conan Gray

... navigation masterlist previous next

I. “Why do you keep avoiding Yuki?” Ayato says with contempt, making you flinch at the tone of his voice. Kamisato Ayato is angry, all because of her. Your heart drops at the thought, yet you can’t help but feel a surge of negative emotions. Recently there have been rumors circulating about Kamisato Ayato and Kaedahara Yuki: rumors of Infidelity. 

You heard of the rumors accidentally during a social party. Before the mask came crashing down, Kamisato Ayato would clarify every rumor regarding the commission. However, despite hearing the distasteful rumor in-person, he stayed still, deciding to stay ignorant. 

You stood still as you stared at him in disbelief. Thoughts of questions about his purpose and why he is feigning ignorance circulate in your head. You felt ill, those rumors would damage his and your reputation, something that you both hold dear. But, he stood still, almost like he was enjoying the rumors. 

Why? why? WHY?

That was until everything came into place. You snapped your head away from his figure, painfully smiling to yourself as you finally understood why he was feigning ignorance. The gossipers would continue till Lady Kaedahara Yuki would personally tell them that it isn’t true. Curiously, you glanced at the commissioner, and oh how you would regret doing that. 

His smile was forced, and his gaze held a bit of disappointment. You stare at him in disbelief, your heart shattering even more. God, Kamisato Ayato broke your heart once more, what did you do to deserve this? 

But, you can’t help but laugh at the irony.

You and Kamisato Ayato have one thing in common: you both enjoy your delusions of being loved by the person you wish they hold you dear. 

Kamisato Ayato’s love for Kaedahara Yuki is unrequited. 

“[Name], I asked you a question,” says Ayato, snapping you back to reality. 

“Ah. I’m sorry, I was just lost in thought,” you continue, putting on a small smile to hide your thoughts, “What did you say?”

“Why do you keep avoiding Yuki?”

God, he says her name with so much endearment it’s making you want to cry. 

“Oh? I have never avoided Lady Yuki,” you reply with a smile. 

It’s a lie, of course. You have been avoiding the former Kaedahara heir ever since her return to Inazuma. Though, it isn’t exactly avoiding, it is more like not meeting her unless needed. Furthermore, you and Kaedahara Yuki have not been acquainted before, so there was no reason to greet her. 

However, the truth is, you can’t face her— your fiance's one-sided crush. She’s beautiful, charismatic and a person blessed by God, everything that you are not. 

You fear that one day, jealousy would taint your mind and only her highness, the shogun, would know what you would do. After all, jealousy is a deadly disease that taints both the mind and heart, a disease that could only be cured by love. But, you don’t have that luxury, do you?

Ayato sighs with frustration as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Whatever you say,” he dismisses your defense, “Don’t make her feel bad ever again.”

And so, he leaves, leaving you once more once again.

II. As a child, you have always dreamed of a grand wedding. You, standing side by side with your lover as they look at you with a loving expression as you swear your love in front of all your friends and family; And the wedding garment of your dreams adorning your body, making you radiate like you bathed in fairy dust. 

The grand wedding of your dreams should be the day you would only feel happiness, and nothing else. 

So, you await for the day that someone would give you the wedding of your dreams, someone who would give you the world just because you asked for it. And the day you met your fiance, you believed that he would be the one to do so.

Yet impressions are different from their true human nature. The impressions you perceive from people are nothing but ideas you created in your head to fill in the lack of information you have regarding that person. The impressions you formed would then form a mask that would cunningly cover your judgment towards that person, staying ignorant to his ‘true’ nature. 

Kamisato Ayato’s ‘mask’ was never there, your perception of people was just too naive and immature to handle a cunning man like the commissioner; it could not perceive Kamisato Ayato’s ‘true’ nature. But, who are you to blame? That man is cunning like a snake, crawling onto your skin as it makes you succumb to naivety. Therefore, you got yourself fooled and your hopes went up all because of your naivety and ignorance; Your impression on that man ruined your life.

Your dream wedding shattered in an instance, and your dreams for a happy future disappeared. Life has never been a rosy path with Archons smiling down at you as you obtain your happiness– so your experience is only natural, right? 

‘This is reality,’ you would say to yourself, trying to cope with your indescribable distress, ‘Life should be nothing like the novels I’ve read.’ 

Your love for reading starts to dissipate, replaced with a sense of hatred. You hate reading, it was the reason why you were so naive, so caught up with the illusions that you ruined your perception towards people.

You can’t do this anymore, you can’t star in a play you didn’t want to be in. 

You have to leave, you need to. 

You would rather die than spend the rest of your life chained towards someone who sees you as a nuisance in his unrequited love. 

But, How?

How can you, a sheltered child who only knows how to drown themselves in fantasies, run away from your family, friends…

Ayato?

You pitifully laugh at yourself, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

You’re pathetic.  

You need to change. 

III. “I’m worried about Master [Surname],” Ayaka confesses with her head down. Ever since the Irodori festival, she has seen less and less of her future in-law which makes her worried. Kamisato Ayaka adores you, much to her brother’s surprise. The two would usually converse over tea about the latest release from Yae’s Publishing House, laughing and joking around about how the latest chapter was out of your expectations. 

Kaedahara Yuki listens to the younger Kamisato intently. Truth be told, she is curious about Kamisato Ayato’s, her childhood friend, Fiance, after all, she has never conversed with the aristocrat. Furthermore, you would be wed into a family that she considers her own, so who could blame her? Though, she has heard of you from a distance: the high-ranking aristocrat from the prestigious [Surname] family who is known to be collected and benevolent, delicate like a flower on top of a lake. 

Every time she asks Kamisato Ayato about his fiance, he would brush it off and discuss their childhood memories, dismissing her curiosity. She would press Kamisato Ayato for details about his fiance, even begging him to introduce her to her. But as usual, Kamisato Ayato would dismiss her attempts, making her feel down. 

But, if the oldest Kamisato can’t give her any information, shouldn't she ask from the youngest?

“I haven’t seen Master [Surname] since the Irodori Festival and it is making me worried,” Ayaka sighs, her expression down. 

“Have you tried contacting them?”

“I did try to request an audience with them, but the servants said that they wish to be alone,” Ayaka pouts. “Have you ever seen them, Lady Yuki?”

Kaedahara Yuki blushes in embarrassment, “Oh Ayaka. Please don’t use ‘Lady’ to me anymore. I am no longer part of nobility.”

Ayaka giggles. 

And so, Kamisato Ayaka stops talking about you.

Kaedahara Yuki isn’t cunning, so she does not press the youngest Kamisato anymore answers despite her curiosity; Though, if it was Ayato, she would continue to demand answers till her throat sores. 

However, if an opportunity ever occurs where she could meet you, she would grasp that opportunity immediately, paying no mind to the effects it has on others.

IV. “Aren’t you Master [Surname]?” ask Kaedahara Kazuha as you nervously avoid his gaze.

Oh fuck.

You messed up. 

For the first time, you decided to take a stroll on the streets of Inazuma late at night alone. You know this is a stupid decision, especially for someone as high as yourself. However, you needed a breather, and your family estate started to feel suffocating, so your only plan is to take a stroll alone. You knew your parents wouldn’t allow you to walk around the streets of Inazuma at night, especially without an escort, so sneaking out was only the option.

So, you hatched your plan. Though it was your first time sneaking out, you’ve read countless novels of the heroine running away to enjoy themselves in festivals. Hence, you have an idea of how to sneak out. 

It was 10:30 PM, nearing midnight. You disguise yourself using old clothes you stole from your servant, stripping all your jewelry in your possession, and only keeping a few silver coins. Sneakily, you slid past your servants and guards, climbing out of your estate’s wall. It took you a few tries due to your lack of physical strength; however, after some attempts, you succeeded. You quickly run away from your estate; The cool night breeze brushes your face as the song of the trees accompanies you on your journey. You smile to yourself-- for the first time in your life-- you felt free. 

However, your adrenaline rush was caught short as you spotted a man with silver hair in the distance. 

You tried your best to avoid him, but the man has the wind by his side. And so, here you are.

 

You awkwardly laugh, “Kaedahara Kazuha, it is a pleasure to meet you.” 

Kaedahara Kazuha stays quiet; his eyes are wide in shock as he notices your tattered clothing and unkempt appearance. You are a person of high regard, never in your life have you worn poor-quality garments and presented yourself unsightly. Even as a young child, Kaedahara Kazuha could only observe you from a distance due to the immense status gap, despite being a former aristocrat. Therefore, he can’t help but be shocked at your appearance. 

..

...

'Ah. I am doomed.' You thought. Today is your first time sneaking out of your estate, and you got caught. Sweat rolls down your cheek as you wait for the younger Kaedahara to reply. Numerous thoughts fill your mind as you wait, countless of which was fueled by anxiety. 

'What if he tells on me?' 'If he ever tells this to Ayato, would I be disposed of for being improper?' 'If my family finds out, I would never be allowed to step foot outside of my family estate.'

Your expression darkens as you fall into despair, realizing the gravity of the situation. For the first time, you felt free, no longer trapped in a well-decorated cage like an ornament for display. However, you got caught. 

Suddenly, Kaedahara Kazuha speaks. 

"Don't worry," he says as you slowly look up at him, "I won't tell anyone." Your mouth was slightly ajar, confused. "Huh?" You mutter. 

Kazuha smiles, "Everyone has their reasons for running away." 

"But I'm not running away," you refute. Kazuha looks at you confused, "Huh?" 

"I'm just here for a stroll," you state. 

"Ah." Kazuha rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed, "I apologize for the assumption."

"It's alright," you smile. 

An awkward silence fills the air as you two refrain from talking. Truth be told, this is Kaedahara Kazuha's first time conversing with you; moreover, he is not one to chat with children from other aristocratic families-- that was his sister's job. Due to this, he does not know what to say. 

Regardless, this does not stop him from worrying. Why? Probably because you are his former superior's fiance? Who knows. Furthermore, Kazuha knows better than to leave you alone at night. Though you are wearing old and poor-quality clothes, your aura screams "rich noble", which can make you a target for petty thieves. 

So, Kaedahara Kazuha makes a decision. 

"I won't tell anyone," He repeats. "However, please allow me to accompany you, master [Name]." 

a/n: crazy how this took me like a year to update lol sorry

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[catreginae]

This Ring is a Shield

As far as the others knew, Warriors' ring was just something he wore to make sure other people didn't flirt with him to much. What they don't know is that Warriors technically married and that the platonic nature of his marriage actually works great for both him and his wife. It should have been easy to explain the nature of his marriage but in truth, he's just tired. He's tired of the comments, tired of the advice he didn't asked for, and tired of the pity. AKA the "Warriors and his wife are both aroace but Warriors takes his sweet time telling the chain" fic. I wrote a one-shot! A long one but it's a one shot and I finished it just in time for the aro and ace prompts for the @queering-the-chain event. You can also find this fic on AO3!

When Warriors saw the collection of buildings ahead of them signifying civilization, he pulled his ring out of one of his many pouches and slipped it onto his ring finger. The ring was slightly too big when he didn’t have his gloves on but seeing as he only really wore it in uniform, he didn’t have any reason to complain about it. Getting it sized down a notch wouldn’t be difficult but the thought only ever crossed his mind when he happened to be somewhere he couldn’t get it done.

“Why do you only put the ring on when we’re around other people?” Wind asked as he sped up to keep up with Warriors.

“Because he wants people to think he’s married,” Legend answered with a shrug. “It lets people know that they don’t have a chance with him. It helps when you’re in an era that isn’t your own and you don’t want to complicate whatever this is even further. The timeline is fragile enough without becoming your own great-grandfather or something stupid like that.”

Warriors hummed, wondering if it was wise to correct Legend. The veteran was definitely correct about one thing – he didn’t want people to be interested in him. However, he was technically married. He didn’t blame the others for thinking he was single, seeing as he called Time’s wedding ring a shackle and he didn’t treat his own ring as a symbol of love and devotion. Warriors didn’t think that the others would give him a hard time if he told him that he was married and why but in his experience, trying to explain his feelings on romance and intimacy was an exercise in frustration.

“You’re on the right track,” he said after a moment of hesitation. He didn’t have to explain it all now. Warriors could just give them something to think about and leave it at that.

“Right track?” Legend huffed. “Where am I wrong?”

Warriors chuckled and ruffled Legend’s hair, dislodging his hat from where he usually kept it on his head. Legend responded with a growl as he swatted the captain’s hands away and readjusted his hat.

Thankfully, they went the rest of the day without anybody asking about the ring on his finger.

-

“Thanks for coming, Link,” Zelda greeted as Link dropped the salute and she motioned for him to sit in the chair across from hers. “I have a big favour to ask of you and you’re going to hate it.”

Link didn’t say anything, electing to let Zelda continue speaking.

“I’ve been negotiating with the Arlet family for more support in the court,” she started. Link nodded along. From what he knew of the court, a lot of the nobles were giving her some trouble regarding how she was getting and allocating funds for the ongoing reconstruction effort, which was further behind than Zelda wanted. Getting the support of any of the noble families for this issue, and any future concerns, would be a massive relief for her. The less people she had to argue with, the better. “They are willing to support me and fund some of the reconstruction themselves... in exchange for your hand in marriage with one of their daughters.”

He gulped. Oh, she was definitely right when she said he was going to hate it. Zelda knew he wasn’t interested in marriage but he supposed that when he pledged allegiance to Zelda and Hyrule, that was out of his hands. She said it would be a favour but Link knew there wasn’t actually a choice in the matter. After all, she didn’t actually ask him.

“Do I at least get to meet her?”

“That can be arranged. Link... look, I know you don’t want to be married but...”

“It’s politics. I know.”

-

“Gah! Where is it?” No matter how many times Warriors looked through all of his bags and pouches, he couldn’t find his ring. It wouldn’t be missed or hard to replace thanks to the fact that he married into nobility but he didn’t want to have to admit to his in-laws that ever lost it in the first place. His wife wouldn’t care because she wasn’t all attached to the rings whatsoever and she only wore hers when she had to leave the villa. He couldn’t afford to be an embarrassment to Athena though.

Maybe it was on the ground? He swore he had it before they set up camp, so it couldn’t have gone too far away.

“What are you looking for?” Four asked. Warriors was so engrossed in his search that he jumped slightly when he heard Four.

“My ring. I can’t find it in any of my bags.”

Without question, Four got down on his hands and knees and started patting the ground for it. As far as the rest of them knew, it was a cheap ring he used to prevent people from flirting with him too much, but it was kind of Four to help him find it regardless of what he might have thought it was.

“Oh, here it is!” Four announced as he held up the ring. “Huh, this is good quality gold and I think I see engraving... Are you sure that this is just-”

“Thanks for finding it!” Warriors said as he plucked the ring out of Four’s fingers and put it back in his satchel where it usually stayed when he wasn’t wearing it on his finger. He really ought to find a better place for it. Maybe he should use it for its intended purpose more often and just wear it on his finger, even if he didn’t care for the symbolism behind it.

“Maybe you should have a small pocket for it in your satchel. Maybe with some sort of button. It would suck if you lost it in another era.”

“That’s not a bad idea...” It wouldn’t be hard to make a pocket inside of this satchel. He just needed some more material for it. Why didn’t he think of that before?

-

Link sat in one of Zelda’s meeting rooms with his heart drumming in the pit of stomach. He was sitting at a small, rounded table with a pot of tea and some biscuits in the middle. He already poured himself a cup and ate one of the biscuits in an effort to calm his nerves a bit. It didn’t help. He found himself wishing he was outside fighting something big – at least he was confident in his swordsmanship.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Link shifted so that his back was straight. A guard in full uniform opened the door and walked in, followed by a tall yet slim woman with chestnut coloured hair pinned into a bun. Her dress was plain, yet well-made from what Link could see, and the green and brown colour scheme matched her green eyes. When she approached the table, Link realized she would be taller than he was if he stood up. She took the seat opposite of his.

“I take it you’re Captain Link?”

“Yes. Just Link is fine.”

“You can call me Vivienne,” she said as she held her hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

Link took it. “Likewise...” he said as the guard walked out. Once the door was closed, Link let her hand go. “Before we start talking, I just wanted to say that I’m not actually... interested in couple things. I don’t really like romance and I never had the desire for intimacy and no offense, but I don’t think that will change any time soon. If I had a choice, I would probably never get married or hook up with anybody.”

He was the man who stared death in the face several times in his life so far but telling a stranger who was going to be his wife how he actually felt about being married was one of the most nerve-wracking things he had ever done. He was less nervous when the fate of Hyrule was resting on his shoulders.

“I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up...” he added slowly when she didn’t respond at first.

“Link, it’s... it’s fine. In fact... I was trying to figure out how I would say the same thing to you. I’m glad you said it first,” she said with an awkward chuckle but she also had an easy smile that actually made Link relax a little.

“So... we want the same thing. Am I hearing that right?”

“Yes. It seems as though we make a good match, though not for the typical reasons noble families arrange marriages for their children. We can make this work, I’m sure. After all, I doubt either one of us would get this opportunity to marry like minded people again.” She relaxed her shoulders as reached for one of the biscuits. That was when it finally sunk in for Link – he had nothing to fear. Zelda wouldn’t know it but her favour was actually a blessing.

“No kidding. Just to think I was so scared,” he said with a deep sigh, putting a hand on his chest. “If nothing else, I know how to put on a show.”

-

Spending time at the ranch was sometimes a bit of an odd affair for Warriors. It wasn’t that he hated doing hard work that often involved him getting dirty somehow, as much as the others like to make assumptions about his current life that happened to be close to the city. He didn’t mind any of the work Time gave them just to keep them busy and tire them out because collectively, they needed to burn some energy. None of them were really good at just sitting still.

He just felt awkward around Malon and Time sometimes. It wasn’t anything they did together or even separately – he loved them both. He was happy for both of them because they truly seemed to fit well together. Time deserved to be happy after everything he went through.

The problem was that he couldn’t get his brain to shut up. Sometimes, it was hard to watch Time and Malon enjoy their marriage without all the ‘life advice’ and the persistent questioning about his nonexistent dating life racing through his head and weighing him down. He could imagine all of those people pointing at Time and Malon, setting them up as the prime example of everything he was supposedly missing out on.

Aren’t you lonely without a partner? You just have to find the right person, then you’ll fall in love. You’ll settle down later in life, you’re just busy right now. Won’t you regret it if you don’t have any kids?

Those weren’t even the worst. The worst was the pity, the way they looked like they were sorry for him.

Like he was broken.

“Warriors?”

“Hm?” It took him a second to realize that somebody was trying to talk to him. It also took him a second to realize that his wrist was sore from holding his head up as he lounged against the horse fence. How long did he zone out for? His brain, his current worst enemy, helpfully reminded him that getting distracted like that in the battlefield would have gotten him or somebody else killed. Thanks, brain, he really needed that.

“Wow, you really are distracted,” Legend mumbled. “What’s going on? You look upset.”

Legend was good at teasing and poking fun but he was also good at knowing when it wasn’t welcomed. He must have zoned out for longer than he thought if Legend was frowning at him like that.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You’re all tense. I know the ranch will never be completely safe but you can relax a little bit.”

“I... yeah.” Legend was right, though not for the reason he might have thought. He shouldn’t let a bunch of people he could barely remember ruin his time at the ranch. How often do people get to travel through time and visit their now giant little brother’s home? Time and Malon did absolutely nothing but be welcoming and kind to him. It wasn’t them who tried to give him advice he never asked for. “I think I’ll just head inside.”

He heard Legend huff as pushed himself off the fence and walked inside the house.

-

Link woke up with the sun as he always did but it still took him a moment to remember just where he was waking up. He wasn’t used to the soft bed sheets, he wasn’t used to sleeping with more pillows than anybody actually needed to sleep, and he wasn’t used to being vaguely aware of another body in the same bed he was in. Luckily, his bed and sheets were so large that he had yet to really feel Vivienne moving around, but that didn’t stop him from being aware that she was there.

This morning though, she wasn’t there and if his head didn’t pound so much, he would have gotten up to go look for her. He always woke up before she did.

No, he should get up anyway. He had to go to the training grounds. The army had a lot of new recruits and he was one of the captains responsible for training the recruits who started to show some promise with a sword or at least seemed interested in learning how to use one. He sat up and a wave of dizziness struck him, forcing him to settle his head into his hands with his elbows digging into his thighs. His head was still pounding. His stomach felt like it was going to betray him.

Suddenly, the door opened. Link didn’t lift his head up to see who it was but only Vivienne would be around at the moment. The only other person who spent a lot of time in the villa, a women they hired named Clarissa who helped them maintain the villa, didn’t come in until much later in the morning. Usually, Link only saw her when he returned home and she was just getting ready to leave.

“Go back to sleep, Link,” Vivienne said as she guided him back down to the mattress. “I’ve already pulled a couple of strings to make sure that anybody who was expecting you knows you’re not available for the foreseeable future. You have quite the fever there.”

Oh, yeah, that would explain things.

However, it was also putting it mildly.

He was barely able to keep anything down except for some plain toast and water and even then, sometimes the toast was too much. His head never stopped aching or spinning so he had a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep. Vivienne was concerned enough to call for a doctor, who was constantly trying new medicine or new dosages. Sometimes he could keep the medicine down, sometimes he couldn’t. The doctor came daily to check for any signs for change for better or for worse. He supposed that was a perk to being married into a noble family – they had the extra rupees to pay for a doctor’s full attention.

No matter how bad it got though, Vivienne and Proxi, who dropped into their home at some point and declared that she was staying until he felt better, were always around for him. Proxi helped with encouraging words or translating his mumbled speech to Vivienne or the doctor. Vivienne was always there to help him feel more comfortable, like washing his face and back, changing the sheets, or holding his hair back when something upset his stomach too much. Sometimes, she even rubbed small circles into his back until he drifted off to sleep for as long as his body would allow.

All in all, it took nearly three weeks before Link was well enough to return to the barracks. They weren’t married for that long and once he was well, Link found himself a little embarrassed that one of her first impressions of him was him being violently ill.

Vivienne simply smiled when he said as much. “Link, we might be stuck together but I consider you to be a friend nonetheless and when one of my friends is suffering, I try my best to make it better. I’m glad you’re alright now and I’m glad I didn’t catch whatever that was.”

“You should be. It was awful.”

-

“I didn’t know you liked cats,” Twilight said with a grin as squatted down to scratch one of them behind the ears while Warriors was busy petting one down the length of its back. It was a creamy-white colour with long, fluffy fur that seemed pretty well taken care of if it was truly a stray. All the cats he saw had soft and shiny coats, seemed to be of a healthy weight, and he didn’t see any signs of illness. Maybe somebody did take care of them all. There were a few people in his own Castletown who took it upon themselves to make sure the strays were doing well.

He felt like he ought to be doing more, since they were in a large city and not every era had a big city to explore. Twilight’s Castletown felt much like his own, busy and bursting with life, including the very many cats he found in one of the residential side streets. However, he was busy petting cats and he didn’t think the cats weren’t going to let him go anytime soon even if he did want to leave. The cats were the perfect distraction for his very busy mind and they seemed to sense that he needed a distraction because they surrounded him in an instant. He was petting one or two at a time but the rest were doing their own thing, simply content to bless him with their presence. How could he possibly leave them to go do errands?

“Oh, I love them! I have one of my own, actually.”

Warriors always did enjoy cats but his parents never allowed one in their home, since it was attached to their store and well, his parents didn’t want fur all over the clothes they were trying to sell. He didn’t like it but his parents had a point. It wasn’t until he moved in with Vivienne that a pet was feasible – they had the room and she spent most of her time indoors, so Penelope was never alone for too long.

“Really? You have a pet? Aren’t you busy being a big shot in the army?” Twilight asked with the grin that always accompanied his playful jabs to Warriors’ career choice.

“Well, I don’t live alone. I have a roommate who takes care of her when I’m not around. That’s why we picked her out together from a neighbour’s litter. She looks kind of like this one,” Warriors said, gesturing to the cat he was petting, “but she’s all white and her name is Penelope.”

“Penelope!” Twilight was practically squealing. “Fucking adorable.”

Thankfully, Twilight didn’t ask about his roommate. He didn’t feel like explaining that his roommate was actually his wife and Penelope was regarded as their child and she was even introduced to his in-laws as such. Link inquired about putting Penelope in their will to inherit their estate should they both die suddenly and tragically young but her parents only begrudgingly called Penelope ‘the furry grandchild’, so they wouldn’t find it as funny as they did. Unless they adopted a Hylian child or brought more cats into the house, Penelope was the only ‘grandchild’ her parents were getting from them. Maybe they won’t care – Vivienne wasn’t their only child to get grandchildren from and she wasn’t inheriting the main estate anyway.

“I hope you know that if we’re ever in your neck of the woods, we’re going to see her. You’re not allowed to hide a cat from me.”

Warriors found himself laughing. “Twilight, I know better than to get between you and an animal.”

-

Link was grateful that his in-laws didn’t try to parade them around or throw extravagant parties on their behalf that often. Their wedding was mostly just friends and family from both sides and it took place in the Arlet estate garden, so it was out of the view of the public. Vivienne said something about how they were glad she got married at all, so maybe they were afraid to rock the boat too much. Maybe that’s why they didn’t argue when Penelope was introduced as their child.

For their first anniversary, her parents decided once again to forgo something fancy and just gifted the two a bunch of wine that they definitely drank too much of that night because he couldn’t really remember what they did besides drink a lot. He did remember waking up on the bedroom floor with Penelope sleeping on his back. Her parents didn’t leave Penelope out of the celebration either, giving her a bed that she went on to use a lot.

But Link knew that one day, his in-laws would drag him to some sort of function where they would show him off. He was the hero and a noble now.

He couldn’t say he was surprised when his father-in-law showed up at his door unannounced, thankfully when he was actually home, and told him and Vivienne that he was hosting a party and he expected the two of them to be there. Luckily, he already had clothes for the occasion that Vivienne said were nice enough – a gift from his tailoring family when he got married – and he went to fancy dinner parties before as a bodyguard, so at least he wasn’t going in blind.

“Vivienne and Link!” They spent maybe all of five seconds at her father’s before he found them near the entrance. Link wouldn’t have been surprised if he was waiting for them. His father-in-law gestured towards the rest of his estate with a grin on his face. “Link, let me show you around. This is your first time inside the main estate, yes?”

Link looked back at Vivienne. She simply shook her head. They were stuck following his father-in-law around his estate. Link couldn’t tell if it was because he was proud of his estate and actually liked showing it off to people or if it was some clever way to show off Link himself to the guests that were already there. He was certainly recognized as the hero even though his scarf was missing. At least he was used to getting looks from strangers all the time.

But it was made tolerable with Vivienne being close by, offering some sort of comment about what trouble she got into as a kid when her father introduced them to a new wing of the estate. Apparently, she was quite the fan of climbing when she was a child and he could see it in her father’s face that he wasn’t sure if he should have been amused or exasperated by the memories. When her father let them go to hang out and eat in the dining room, the two of them stuck together in a lonely corner of the room, watching and making quiet comments about the other guests. Vivienne knew most of them and had some juicy details to share.

If Link had to summarize the party, he would call it two friends suffering together. He had a decent time but it wasn’t because of anything that was offered at the party – it was spending time with a friend and engaging in gossip.

It made him think of all the people he could have been stuck with, all the people who would want more than he was comfortable with offering or just couldn’t offer at all. He couldn’t reciprocate romantic feelings as he didn’t feel them and the thought of being intimate made him deeply uncomfortable.

But being friends and sharing a space with Vivienne was easy. They were two friends who had to pretend to be more sometimes, but the important part was that they both knew that it was a game.

-

Warriors frequented taverns and pubs, not just to have a drink or two with those he was close to but because drunk people were a fountain of information. It was less helpful in his own era since people knew who he was and were more guarded around him, but in other eras where people had no idea who he was? They saw no reason to filter their words and they told him all sorts of things. Sometimes it was useful but sometimes he just got sucked into whatever gossip there was and he didn’t learn anything that would help them.

Today, he was at a pub with Sky and Twilight. He didn’t drink with them often, just once or twice in Time’s era when Time dragged them to Castletown. Time was his usual drinking buddy but he seemed pretty tired so he declined his invitation. It was times like those where he truly lived up to his ‘old man’ nickname.

Alcohol didn’t change Twilight that much. His accent was definitely coming out more and he was a bit louder but otherwise, Twilight was acting mostly the same. Sky was quieter after a couple of drinks, like he was contemplating matters of existence. The chosen hero wasn’t the chattiest to begin with but after a few drinks, he didn’t start conversations anymore. He needed to be roped into it.

They were only a few drinks in when a woman slid into the seat beside him with a wide grin on her face. Great, he knew exactly where this was going. Before she could say anything, Warriors held up his hand with his ring on it. “Before you say anything, just know that I’m already taken.”

“Oh, are they here right now?” she asked, her eyes scanning the crowd before her gaze settled on him again. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“I’m not a cheater,” Warriors snapped back. “I’m happy with my wife.”

“Is she happy with you? You’ve got the look of a military man. When’s the last time you’ve gone home to see her? Are you sure she’s been as loyal to you as you are to her?”

Warriors wasn’t sure what her goal was. He never had anyone who wanted to sleep with him insult him and his wife in the span of a minute. Was she mad that he rejected her?

“You don’t know anything. If you’re trying to get me into bed with you, you’re failing miserably,” he said as he stood up. Sky and Twilight caught him and he spotted Twilight fishing out his wallet as Warriors found the shortest route to the exit. He didn’t look back as he headed to the one familiar spot in town and stepped into the room he was sharing with Four and Hyrule. He must have looked a mess because the two took one look at him and stayed away from him for the rest of the night. Just as well, he didn’t feel like talking.

He knew he couldn’t avoid it though. He wasn’t surprised that Sky found him in the morning as Warriors chugged down some water, hoping that the minor ache in his head would disappear if he had more water. At least, Warriors hoped that the minor headache came from alcohol and not because that woman at the bar made him so angry that he had a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep.

Though, if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t just the encounter at the bar. His mind raced constantly, dredging up experiences and memories that he wanted to bury and never look at again. Ever since he was asked about his ring, he couldn’t stop thinking about all of the unhelpful and unwarranted advice he got when he was single or all the pity he got when people thought he was stuck in a sad, loveless marriage. Warriors just couldn’t stop thinking about it even when he wanted to or needed to focus on something else.

He hoped they weren’t travelling. He was pretty sure he wasn’t fit for it.

“Why did you storm out of the bar last night? Was it the woman?”

“Of course it was the woman!”

Sky smiled awkwardly and rubbed at the back of his neck. Shit, he shouldn’t have answered his question like that. He wasn’t mad at Sky.

“What did she say that set you off? Twilight and I didn’t really hear it.”

“She wanted me to cheat on my wife and when I rejected her, she start insinuating that my wife was cheating on me and before you ask, I actually do have a wife.”

“Oh, that’s what you meant when you said Legend was on the right track,” he mumbled as he titled his head slightly. “You are actually married, huh?”

“It’s a political marriage. Athena needed extra support from a noble and she got it when I married the noble’s daughter. Through marriage with the hero, that family is now closer than ever to the royal family and in return, Athena has more weight to throw against other nobles.”

“So you didn’t marry for love?” Sky asked with a slight pout on his lips that often came with confusion. Warriors could feel his frustration bubble under his skin but he took a deep breath. It wasn’t Sky’s fault that Warriors had this conversation before with a bunch of other people who didn’t understand that not everybody wants to date or be in a marriage or be intimate.

“I’m actually happy this way. I don’t care if it’s a ‘loveless’ marriage. We both knew what we were getting into before the documents were drawn up and before we were actually married. I made it clear to her the first time we met that I wasn’t interested in sex or romance. It turns out she feels the same way. We’re just roommates who occasionally have to pretend that we are more than just roommates. We share a home, we share a bed that’s so big we barely know there’s somebody else in it, and we share custody of a cat named Penelope. I’m not interested in anything more than that.”

Sky hummed for a moment, then smiled. “Well, if that’s what you want, then that arrangement sounds perfect for both of you. As long as you’re both happy, nobody should get a say about what the two of you do or don’t do together.”

For a moment, Warriors was taken aback. In his experience, it generally took a lot more convincing before somebody backed off and switched topics. He didn’t know why it was so hard to convince people that was actually happy.

“Why didn’t you say this before, though? Everybody would have understood.”

“Because it’s tiring... before I got married, everyone and their grandma would tell me that I just had to meet the right person, then I would want to date and get married and have kids. If I met the right person, I would be ‘normal’. Now that they know this marriage is political more than anything else... they fucking pity me. They think the fact that I didn’t marry for love is something to pity. Some people even tell me I’ll learn to fall in love with my wife. They just can’t fathom that somebody just... doesn’t care about any of that. It’s so tiring. I’m tired of trying to explain it and people looking at me like I’m broken or something. No matter how many times I tell them I’m happy, they just don’t believe me.”

Sky frowned. “Has... this been on your mind for a while? We all noticed that you seemed distracted lately.”

He only nodded. The thoughts probably would have started bothering him at some point, even if nobody asked about his ring. They seem to come and go, more often when he was in town and people tried to talk to him. However, the current cyclical nature of his thoughts was because he was asked about his ring and he had to think about how to answer.

“Do you ever plan on telling the others that you’re married?”

“If we end up nearby, yes.” He did tell Twilight he could meet Penelope and even if he didn’t, the villa would be a nice break for them and their wallets. They were always maintaining guest rooms that didn’t get used so it would be nice if the villa was full of people for once. It was far too large for a family of three and their hired help. “For now, I just need to collect my thoughts.”

Though... it helped that Sky took it so well. Maybe he wouldn’t have to explain it to them more than once. They would probably believe him if he said he was actually happy with his arrangement.

“Okay. Just let me know if you need any help.”

“I will. Thanks, Sky.”

-

Warriors thought there would be more time between his conversation with Sky and the conversation he knew he needed to have with the others before they set up in the villa for a few days. It was only a couple of weeks after he talked to Sky that a portal took them to a battle and it was when he was wiping the black blood off his blade that he realized that he recognized the castle in the distance. His villa was only about a half an hour from the castle.

“To the castle?” Twilight asked.

“Actually, there’s a place we should go first. Athena can wait until tomorrow.”

“Oh, so this is your era,” Legend said with a nod. “What’s this stop you plan on taking?”

“My place. It’s big enough to fit all of us comfortably.”

Wind raised an eyebrow. “How big is your place?”

“It’s...” Was this how he was going to start explaining who Vivienne was? By explaining why he can comfortably host them all? His gaze met with Sky’s, who gave him an encouraging nod. “It’s a villa. I moved in when I got married.”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Legend glared him. “Is that what you meant when you said I was on the right track? You could have just said so! It was bugging me ever since you said it.”

Warriors rolled his eyes. “I didn’t feel like explaining it back then. Even now, it’s a little difficult...” He took a deep breath. “I got married because Athena asked me to. I didn’t pick my wife but it’s pretty convenient for both of us because we are both just happy being friends. If I had to get married to somebody else, I wouldn’t be able to return any romantic feelings and being intimate would be out of the question. We have to put on a show sometimes but that’s a small price to pay to able to say I’m married and not have to do anything I’m uncomfortable with.”

He had no doubt that there were questions but the others simply nodded, except for Sky who offered two thumbs up instead. Maybe they were just saving questions for later but he wasn’t going to complain about the break. They probably cared more about having a roof over their heads than about his odd but convenient marriage.

Wind hummed for a moment before putting a hand on his chin. “So your wife won’t mind if we stay at your place then?”

“I doubt she would care. In fact, she might even be happy that we’re using the guest rooms as guest rooms for once.”

“What are they being used for now?” Time asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Decoration.”

“Wait, this means we get to meet Penelope!”

“Who?”

“His cat!” Twilight answered with a wide grin. “C’mon, butts in gear! We have a cat to meet!”

There were some grumbles but the group started moving, following Warriors as he led them to the villa. It was nearly sunset by the time they got there so he wasted no time in opening the front gate and letting everybody in. He stopped them as soon as they got into the front doors and he couldn’t immediately see her nearby. He didn’t think she would get upset about the villa being used as an inn for a few days, he wanted to give her a little bit of warning.

He found Penelope first in one of their many hallways so he scooped her up and kept looking for Vivienne until he found her in her plant room, which was the room in the villa with the most windows. She was bent over one of the pots trimming the plant inside of it. He cleared his throat to let Vivienne know he was coming in so she didn’t startle and drop the trimmers.

“Oh, you’re home.” She straightened her back and turned around to face him.

“For a bit. If there’s another lead, I’ll have to go again. I have company though!”

“Oh, those heroes you mentioned in the single letter I got?” she asked with a smirk. Warriors winced internally – they were still friends and he should really let her know more often that he was still alive and her father didn’t have to find a new husband for her. “I’m not upset, by the way. I can only imagine that time travel complicates things, to say the least.”

“Yeah. I got busy. I didn’t realize I only sent one letter,” he mumbled as he ran a hand through Penelope’s fur. “But they’re in the lobby if you want to meet them. I told them they could stay here for a few days since we have the room.”

“It would be a shame not to use it. It might be the only time we’ll fill all four guest rooms at the same time. Let’s go show them their rooms, then. My parents didn’t raise me to be a bad host.”

Warriors’ heart pounded in his chest was they walked back to the lobby. He couldn’t understand why he was so nervous. The others would be nice to Vivienne and they knew she was his wife, so there wasn’t anything to hide. Vivienne was generally pretty nice and she got along with the people he was close with before. It should go well but his nerves were still getting the best of him.

Finally, he saw the other heroes, who were all studying Vivienne.

“Wow, she’s tall!” Wind gasped. Vivienne was a bit taller than Time, as it turned out and she wasn’t even wearing shoes. Her entire family was tall – taller than he was – so he wasn’t exactly surprised that she beat them all.

“We’re just kind of short,” Time chimed in, shaking his head.

“This is Vivienne,” Warriors started, gesturing with his free arm, “and this our daughter, Penelope. Vivenne, you already know their names but they’ll introduce themselves with their nicknames sooner or later.”

“Can I hold Penelope?” Twilight asked, arms outstretched.

“Just keep her belly down, she hates being on her back,” he warned as she gently passed her over.

It was a good thing that Penelope enjoyed a lot of attention. Once she was settled in Twilight’s arms, it wasn’t just Twilight who was petting her – half the group was reaching around and crowding Twilight to get a chance to pet her. Warriors could hear her purring over the excited cooing coming from the boys.

“I hope she doesn’t expect that much attention from now on,” Vivienne mumbled before she turned to the others. “I know Penelope is amazing but I should show you to your rooms. Penelope doesn’t leave the house, she’ll be around for more petting later. She may even pick one your rooms to spend the night in later.”

“We’ll be back,” Twilight said quietly as he pet her on the head one more time and set her down on the floor. Warriors watched as everybody followed her, looking around the villa as they did so. Penelope purred and rubbed her head on his leg so he picked her up once again.

“That went well,” he mumbled as he looked down at her giant green eyes. “Especially for you.”

She meowed.

“Yeah, you are spoiled. You deserve it, though.”

Instead of following everybody to the guest rooms, he headed towards the master bedroom to change into something more comfortable. He set Penelope down on their bed – neither he nor Vivienne cared if Penelope got her fur all over it – and slowly stripped off all of his equipment and gear, dropping everything on the floor by his side of the bed to deal with later.

One loose shirt and clean pair of trousers later, he left the master bedroom to find that everybody was gathered at the kitchen table that he and Vivienne usually used for their own dinners. The only person not at the table was Wild, who was poking around in the oven to warm it up. There was a more official dining room in the villa but they only used that one when Vivienne had family over and it had one of those long dining tables that made Warriors wonder if anybody actually wanted to eat together. The table in the kitchen was a little small for the size of the group but they were all used to butting into each other’s space all the time.

Warriors decided to stay on the periphery of the conversations, joining only when their conversations were directed at him. He wanted his brothers and his wife to get along, so he wasn’t going to intrude when it seemed like they were actually bonding. Vivienne was relaxed, talking to the group in the same way she spoke to him or the few times he saw she had a couple of the neighbours over for some tea. It was also the same way she spoke to Clarissa, as the two of them became friends pretty quickly. She spoke more formally with some of her family members than she did with the other heroes.

As for the heroes, they were behaving as he expected – they were asking Vivienne for embarrassing stories about him. Oh, well. If that was the price of peace, he would let it slide. It wasn’t like she had a lot on him in particular.

Once they all had dinner and tea, the group of heroes all headed to their rooms, except for Sky. He helped himself to the last of the tea in pot and started to headed to his assigned room but he made sure that he passed Warriors.

“You did a good job today,” he said quietly, adding a small but sincere smile before leaving.

Once he was gone, Vivienne tapped him on the shoulder. “He’s right, you did a good job. I know it’s not easy to tell people we’re married,” she started before gesturing toward their own bedroom, “but we should go to get some rest too if we’re hosting this many people.”

“They can be a handful,” Warriors mumbled. “I’m sure Penelope is waiting for us anyway. Let’s go.”

[gojoest]

lowkey had a very scandalous idea earlier this week, still very undeveloped though

[im-a-wonderling]

White Moves First, Part 6 ~ Edmund Pevensie

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: an unhealthy paternal relationship

Word count: 5k

White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist

Edmund had never seen a castle so busy as King Loon’s castle in the days leading up to the wedding, and the castle in Anvard wasn’t even as big as Cair Paravel. 

The servants—laden with baskets and flowers and food and clothes—never seemed to walk anywhere. They ran. In fact, all their movements were at the greatest possible speed, proven by the millisecond between Edmund laying his fork down on his plate after his last bite of breakfast and the plate being whisked away.

Edmund wiped his mouth with his napkin, watching as the maid placed the plate on a tray and left the room, likely bringing it down to the kitchens.

“King Edmund, my dear boy,” said King Loon on the other end of the table, not looking away from the papers in his hand. “Today, we must arrange the proceedings for the wedding ceremony.” Edmund felt his hands start sweating, and he reached for his water, hoping to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “After all, my daughter is getting her wedding dress fitted today.”

Edmund started coughing as he inhaled, sending water down the wrong tube.

King Loon didn’t seem to notice Edmund fighting for his life. “The hall is already being decorated, and of course, Queen Susan is making the preparations for the journey back to Cair Paravel.” Edmund let out one last cough, rubbing at his burning throat. The journey. Back to Cair Paravel. With his wife. “Now, I’ve already prepared what I will say as I officiate, but is there anything in particular you would like me to add?”

Ironic. King Loon hadn’t asked Edmund’s opinion about who should officiate. Apparently that was a given.

Edmund supposed it was an honor to have a king officiate one’s wedding, but if he’d had his choice of king, he would’ve chosen his brother. Unfortunately, while Lucy was on her way through the forests and over the mountains which separated Narnia and Archenland, Peter couldn’t attend the wedding, because to do so would be to leave Cair Paravel without monarchs. Never had Edmund thought he would get married, but he certainly never could’ve imagined he would get married without all his siblings present.

“No, I trust that whatever you have prepared will suffice,” Edmund replied.

“Capital,” King Loon replied, not looking up from his paper. “I will start the ceremony, Y/N will come down the aisle, I will say a few more words, you will pledge yourself to the princess, you will give her the ring, I will pronounce you married, and then the ceremony is over!”

“Half a moment,” Edmund interjected, “Y/N won’t make a pledge?”

King Loon finally looked at Edmund and arched a quizzical brow. Edmund dimly registered that he’d used just the princess’s name instead of her title, but it was too late now to take it back. “It is customary,” King Loon said, “for the groom to say the vows and the bride to receive the ring. After all, it is the husband who leads the wife, is it not?”

What a good thing it was that Edmund had enough practice in quietly organizing his thoughts to avoid blurting them out the minute they crossed his mind, otherwise he would’ve said much to the king just then.

He’d seen many subliminal demonstrations from the king as to how little Y/N was valued in this castle, but this was a new height. Was the king really content for Y/N to have simply a visual role in her own wedding? It seemed he was, for Y/N’s only part in the ceremony was to come down the aisle. 

And if Edmund’s ring and Edmund’s pledge was all the wedding involved, how was it any different from what Edmund and Y/N had already done? Y/N already wore Edmund’s ring, and he’d already pledged himself to her by proposing. The only difference then between their engagement and their marriage was simply some ceremonious prattle from the king?

Edmund tried to brush off the unflattering line of thinking about his future father-in-law, but he couldn’t.

Perhaps this was an opportunity to see if the king still valued Edmund’s counsel. 

“What if the princess wishes to say vows and give a ring as well?” Edmund asked, his voice flatter than a pond. 

King Loon flicked his hand, almost flinging the words far away from him. “Such a promising event should not be the first to deviate from tradition.”

Edmund sat back in his chair, looking upon the king with new eyes. “Your Majesty,” he began, “this wedding marks a new alliance for Narnia and Archenland. If my knowledge of history is as diligent as I believe it to be, such an alliance has never been done before between our countries. It stands to reason that we might then have a wedding that has never been done before.”

“Mmmm.” King Loon tapped the tip of his quill thoughtfully against the parchment, leaving behind little dots of ink. 

“And furthermore,” Edmund hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard, “if only one country is making vows, our alliance starts off on unequal footing.”

King Loon did not immediately reply, which is how Edmund knew the king was actually considering his words. “It would be…highly irregular for the bride to give vows,” the king finally said.

“Your Majesty, nothing about the princess is simply regular.” Edmund’s heart kicked up a notch as King Loon’s eyebrows rose. “And neither is Archenland,” he hurried to add. 

The king frowned, but before he could summon a reply, the doors to the dining room opened. Edmund leapt to his feet to bow to Y/N, who gave a small curtsy before gliding over to her father, who rose to his feet to kiss her cheek. “My darling girl, I thought you were busy with your dress.”

“The seamstresses asked for an extra hour,” Y/N replied, “so I thought I’d come join you for breakfast.” She glanced at Edmund, meaning she missed the displeased look on her father’s face. Why was the king so unhappy? Had King Loon intentionally tried to keep his daughter away from the planning of the ceremony?

“Your betrothed,” King Loon said before Edmund could decide, “has requested that you make vows as well in the ceremony. To ensure that the alliance is…equitable.”

Y/N’s surprise may not have been visible, but Edmund swore he could almost feel it. “Well, why not?” she said easily. “I have no objection.” Her casual words were undermined by the slight tugging at the sides of her mouth. She was excited by the prospect. 

“Very well.” The king’s words were slightly rushed, as if he wanted to talk about anything else. “Both shall exchange vows, and both shall receive rings. Now, King Edmund, is there anything more?”

Edmund gave a small nod. “No, Your Majesty.”

King Loon took his daughter’s hand, not waiting for Y/N to take it back before he started leading her out of the room. “Then we shall go and see about the dress.” Just before they walked through the doors, Y/N turned her face towards Edmund, her smile warm and bright. Then they were gone. 

Edmund ducked his head, a sudden flush appearing across his face. A flush of pride or something else, he couldn’t tell, but it warmed him either way. It wasn’t until Edmund watched a servant clear King Loon’s place that he realized Y/N hadn’t gotten to eat. 

-

I stood on the little platform in front of a large mirror in my room, watching the many seamstresses bustle about behind me in my reflection. I didn’t envy their position. As every princess did, I learned embroidery at a young age, so I had some idea of how hard it would be to create a whole wedding dress in under a week. 

Perhaps any other bride would spend their wedding dress fitting entirely preoccupied with making sure their dress was perfect. I, however, was more focused on Lord Trane standing beside my father. 

Why would a political adviser be present while the princess tried on her wedding dress? In fact, why was my father here? This was a decidedly feminine activity, and if my mother were still alive, she would be the one guiding me. My father had never been a very fashionable man nor a very sentimental one, so why was he overseeing this?

“Your highness,” said Rona, drawing my attention. My lady’s maid held what seemed to be enough white fabric to dress a mountain in a funeral gown and appeared reverent enough to mourn it. “Shall we step behind the changing screen and try it on?”

I stepped off the platform, looking down at the garment she held. “This isn’t taffeta,” I mused, brushing my hand over the fabric. “It’s–”

“Cendal.” My father stepped forward to rest his hand over mine, stopping my assessment. 

I watched him closely. “I thought the seamstresses were making my dress with taffeta as I do not need a fancy weave for my gown.” Or, rather, did not want one. 

“They did make it with taffeta,” my father gently took the fabric from Rona, “but I want you to try this one first.” When I did not move, he held it out to me. “I think the cendal will make you look beautiful.” 

He’s up to something, I decided as Rona took me behind the screen and started unlacing my dress. He wouldn’t be so charming if he didn’t. I didn’t have enough information yet to guess what. 

The rich silk was too smooth against my skin as Rona helped me into it and laced me up in record time. Then, she helped lift the back of the luxuriously, troublesomely long train and accompanied me back onto the platform.

I stared at my reflection, heart sinking the longer I looked at the old-fashioned garment. I hadn’t recognized it at first because I hadn’t been able to see the red and gold embroidery around the bodice, but the ornamentation in conjunction with the puffed sleeves and square neckline was now unmistakable. This was the dress from a portrait that once hung in the main hall, but had since been moved to my father’s suite. 

Rona fluffed out the train of my mother’s wedding dress. “You look beautiful, my lady,” she praised reservedly, the aura of reverence still present.

“Well? What do you think?” my father asked in a tone that told me exactly what he thought.

“It’s very…I mean, it’s so…it’s rather…” My words kept failing me. I’d never expected this, and as such, was unprepared.

My father’s face was alight with joy and nostalgia, and the seamstresses beamed. Even my father’s advisor nodded with approval. “It’s perfect,” my father said. “Rona, doesn’t it look perfect?”

“Yes, your majesty,” my lady’s maid quickly affirmed. “With a few alterations, it should suit nicely.”

“You were always meant to wear this,” my father told me, but his eyes were fixed upon the dress. 

My breathing kicked up as I experimentally shifted from side to side. This dress was far too heavy. Already I was starting to overheat to the point of sweating, and if this dress became wet, it’d be even heavier. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to swim in it. Swimming likely wouldn’t even work because this dress would drag me down to the depths quicker than I could 

My throat closed, as if my body were already losing air.

And all of the sudden, it was too much. 

“I need Edmund,” I blurted. 

My father blinked. “What?”

I grabbed my skirts, lifting them high enough to step off the pedestal and walk for the door, sending all the seamstresses into a flutter. “I need Edmund, I can’t decide on the dress without him.”

“But it’s bad luck!” Rona spluttered, quickly getting in between me and the door as if her traditionalist values would crumble completely if I even touched the doorknob.

“She’s quite right,” Lord Trane said, swiftly moving to stand beside her, “it won’t do.” I barely withheld my frown at the advisor’s interjection into private family business. 

“Really, Y/N, you know better than that.” Somehow, my father’s reproachful tone made the dress feel tighter. 

But constraint really was the mother of desperation. “I can’t wear this for the wedding.”

The king frowned. “Why ever not?”

“I-it wouldn’t be right, Father.”

“Nonsense. Why, nothing else could be more right.”

“But–”

“No!” The king held up his hand. “I won’t hear any objections!”

I stared at my father. Pressure built up in my chest, as if I had to scream, but I knew that if I opened my mouth, no sound would come out. Just as my father wanted. 

This was my wedding, the only wedding I would ever have, along with being the exact event I was raised for. The man I was marrying, the day I was marrying him, and where we would be on that day was all being controlled by circumstance or my father. Was I really not allowed to choose my dress either?

I folded my hands to stop them from shaking, and the smooth metal of Edmund’s old signet ring made my breathing slow. 

Think like Edmund, I told myself. What would he do?

A strange calm came over me, a sudden strength in remembering my friend. “Father, King Edmund’s colors are blue and silver, not red and gold.” My father’s nostrils flared, but I plowed forward. “If I wear this, we are in danger of insulting my future husband.”

“She’s right,” Lord Trane admitted, who paled slightly when my father rounded on him with an expression of wrath. “B-begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but we cannot risk anything before this alliance is set.”

My father looked about the room, as if waiting for one of the seamstresses to pipe in with a sage defense, but they only lowered their gazes to the floor and remained silent. The king’s eyes flashed and the boom of his thunderous voice quickly followed. “Fine! The princess shall wear her taffeta.” And with that, he stalked out of the room.

As I followed, I overheard one of the seamstresses say to another: “how are we ever supposed to finish the taffeta in time?” Ignoring her and nearly tripping on my skirts, I ran. “Father!”

Instead of slowing down, my father picked up his pace, and the weight of my gown outweighed the weight of his displeasure, forcing me to slow down. I watched him round the corner, standing helplessly. 

How was it possible that I felt more connected with my mother than my father when I could kiss his cheek but couldn’t even go see her grave? Perhaps, I thought grimly, it is better for a parent to be dead and unable to ruin one’s own memory than alive and doing an incredible job of ruining their memory all on their own.

“My, my.”

I whirled around to see Prince Rabadash. He leaned casually against the wall, his glittering eyes settling on my face.

“What are you still doing here?” I snapped, stretched too thin to be polite. 

His mouth spread wide in a smile. “Well, I’ve been invited to the wedding of course. I heard it’s to be a most beautiful event.” His eyes traveled down my body, his smile shrinking. “If that’s what you’re wearing, perhaps I heard wrong.”

The insult made my face heat. “I don’t want you at my wedding,” I snapped.

Rabadash lifted off the wall to come closer, and at that moment, I was glad of the big skirt, because he was forced to stop before he was within arm's reach of me or risk trodding on the cendal. “As Tashbaan’s representative, it’s very important that I attend this auspicious event.”

“What a load of–”

“Careful,” Rabadash purred. “We wouldn’t want your fiance to hear you sound undignified, would we?” The undercurrent of his words implied he most certainly would.  He lowered his eyes to my chest, and it took everything in me not to hit him. “Might make him rethink this whole engagement of yours.” He looked back up at my face, cocking his head to the side. “You know, I can’t help but find it interesting that the Just King suddenly realized the depth of his feelings for his lifelong friend just before she was betrothed to another.”

The snake was smarter than he let on. Rabadash had figured out what my family had been unable to—that Edmund wasn’t marrying me because he loved me—and he wanted the wedding to fail. If the wedding fell through, and I was a scorned, unmarried princess, it might make my father desperate enough to marry me off to the bespawler standing in front of me.

“My father–” I began.

“–had until sundown to accept my proposal,” Rabadash said, his smug expression darkening with wrath. “And he was going to accept it before Narnia once again interfered.”

I blinked, remembering when Edmund had left my drawing room after proposing to search for my father…it’d been maybe a half hour to sunset.

Thirty minutes. The difference between my father forcing me to marry Rabadash and allowing me to marry Edmund was thirty minutes. 

Rabadash ran a finger down the edge of the long sleeves. “Hopefully he’ll still marry you in such an antiquated dress.”

I glowered at him as I shoved his hand away. The time for honey was long gone. 

The fingers of my right hand found the signet ring on my left, drawing strength from the metal. Edmund dealt with conversations like these with the unfaltering capability of his mind, and I would take a leaf out of my fiance’s book. 

Strength. Intelligence. Confidence. 

“After I wed Prince Edmund,” I leaned closer, my voice more forceful with every word, “and begin the pulchritudinous, fruitful marriage that will bring me to Narnia, you will crawl back to the squalid desert hole you came from.” I could almost see the fire of my anger reflected in the prince’s eyes as I dealt the final blow. “And if you ever step foot in either of my countries again, I will ensure it is the last thing you do.”

Without waiting for a response, I flounced past him, more resolute than ever.

Even if I wore my mother’s dress, had no flowers, and had Rabadash as the only guest, it didn’t matter. 

I couldn’t allow anything to stop this wedding. 

-

The wedding was in the morning, and Edmund couldn’t eat a bite of his dinner.

Lucy had arrived that afternoon and now sat next to the twin princes, chatting away with an unmatchable enthusiasm. The twins had always been fond of the youngest Pevensie, and Lucy was fond of everyone. Susan and King Loon were discussing the procession, the final arrangement for the wedding. They all seemed merry as they ate and talked, not a clue as to the absolute waves of anxiety threatening to drown Edmund.

Y/N’s plate was relatively untouched as well, which only increased Edmund’s trepidation. He supposed it was normal for brides not to eat much the night before their wedding, and if Edmund wasn’t immune to the pressures of being her groom, Y/N wasn’t immune to the pressures of being his bride.

“I’m only thankful that the seamstresses managed to finish the dress this afternoon,” Susan was saying to King Loon.

The corners of King Loon’s mouth turned down in a hint of distaste, which was surprising enough on its own, but then Edmund noticed Y/N’s shoulders slump slightly.

Had something happened with the dress?

Whatever was going on, Y/N looked so desperately unhappy. The whole point of their marriage was for Y/N to avoid an unhappy marriage. If she was unhappy anyways…

“Princess Y/N,” Edmund said, loud enough to draw everyone’s eyes. “Would you care to take a walk with me through the gardens?”

Y/N nearly leapt up from her chair. “Yes, King Edmund, that would be lovely.” She curtsied to her father, and joined Edmund at the head of the table. The chatter in the room did not dim, but Edmund could feel King Loon’s eyes on him as he opened the door for Y/N.

He walked side-by-side with his friend as they wordlessly traipsed through the corridors and reached the gardens lit by the setting sun. A few gardeners were collecting flowers, presumably to decorate the chapel with the next day. 

Edmund had only had fleeting glimpses of Y/N since she’d accepted his ring in the king’s study, but he had a sinking fear that it wasn’t the wedding preparations keeping her away, but the wedding itself. Things were different now, and while Edmund missed their old dynamic, he couldn’t blame things for changing. He could hardly expect their friendship to stay the same as they prepared to wed. 

Tomorrow.

Edmund would have a wife tomorrow. 

He took a long breath, trying to calm the heavy and agitated anxieties in his gut. 

“How is your dress?” Edmund asked, the only thing he could think to ask. He knew he’d said the wrong thing when Y/N’s mouth flattened into a line. “Sorry,” he said quickly with a forced laugh that was supposed to alleviate the tension in the air. “I guess the groom isn’t supposed to hear about the dress before the wedding.”

“I don’t suppose that really matters much,” Y/N said. Was Edmund imagining the unhappiness in her voice?

“Is everything–” 

Y/N suddenly reached out for Edmund’s arm, clenching it with a grip tight enough to cause worry. 

“What’s wrong?!” Was she rethinking the wedding? Was she about to faint from the stress of the occasion? Would Edmund have to catch her? Edmund was no good at catching fainting ladies.

“Don’t look now,” Y/N said out of the corner of her mouth, “but Rabadash is watching us.”

It took all of Edmund’s might not to turn around, to keep looking at her face as if he didn’t have a care in the world beyond her. “Where?” he muttered. 

Y/N stepped around him, standing in-between him and the doors to the servant’s entrance. “Behind me,” she whispered. Edmund’s eyes flicked over her shoulder to see the slimy prince himself, standing on a balcony. 

“Thirty minutes,” Y/N said softly, shaking her head. 

Edmund tilted his head, unable to ignore the troubled look on her face. “What?” 

“Nothing.” She looked distractedly around. 

Edmund glanced up again with only his eyes to see Rabadash leaning his weight on the balcony railing, settling in to watch them.

To watch her. 

Edmund bristled. Y/N was betrothed to Edmund. It was inappropriate for Rabadash to be conversing with her, looking at her, or so much as thinking of her. If he could, he would climb into Rabadash’s mind himself and wipe away all traces of Y/N.

“Has he been bothering you?” Edmund meant for the question to be comforting, but it sounded harsh to his ears, causing him to wince. 

Y/N didn’t answer, but she averted her eyes as they took on the unhappiness from earlier. 

“Give me your hand,” Edmund said lowly, holding his out. He expected Y/N to protest, but her soft hand laid on his without a moment’s hesitation. “Step a little closer,” he said, resisting the urge to glance at Rabadash to see if the prince was still watching them, and instead holding her gaze. 

Y/N shuffled closer, peering up into his face. He saw the moment in which doubt started pricking her mind. “Don’t look away,” he murmured. “Keep looking right at me.”

Y/N’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, but she followed his direction. “I think he knows,” she said, and the hand in his gave a little tremor. “I think he knows about our plan.”

“I don’t care if he knows,” Edmund said roughly. “It doesn’t change the fact that he can’t have you.” Almost as soon as the words left him, a flush of shame shot through him at the sheer possession in them. “I’m-I’m not, I mean, I didn’t mean to–”

“I know what you meant,” Y/N assured. “But he might still try something to stop our wedding.”

“I can’t do anything to stop him from trying.” Edmund took a miniature step closer, his chin nearly resting on his chest to keep sight of Y/N’s face. “But we can stop him from succeeding. Once we’re married, nothing can break that.”

Unbreakable.

His anxieties soared, leaving him scrabbling for purchase on his sanity. He was tying himself to Y/N for the rest of their lives. He hadn’t thought it possible to grow more anxious over the promises they were about to make the next day, but this visit to Archenland was full of all kinds of surprises. 

Y/N squeezed his hand, as if she knew the fear that lingered underneath his words. Of course she did. She knew him better than anyone. He knew she only meant to be encouraging, but the action also served as a reminder: some things were more important than fear. She was more important than fear.

So Edmund stood tall and pulled her even closer. He knew he was pushing what was appropriate in public, but it was better for them to do this as an engaged couple then to risk Rabadash thinking there was a weakness that could be exploited. “Now laugh as though I’ve said something funny.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Well, why don’t you say something funny then?”

“Umm,” was all Edmund could think to say. Y/N waited, her lashes fluttering with every blink. Why was he suddenly so distracted by eyelashes? “What’s a raincould’s favorite battle maneuver?” he asked quickly. 

“What?”

“Storming the castle.”

Y/N’s face didn’t change as the silence drew on. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, was that it?”

Edmund felt himself flush. “Yes, that was it.”

“That was the famed wit of King Edmund the Just?”

“Oh, shush.”

She did laugh then, and suddenly Edmund’s thoughts shrank to just the crinkles by her eyes and the curve of her brilliant smile. He would not have thought orange to be such a becoming color on a lady, but the orange glow of the setting sun made her seem to fairly glow against the backdrop of the darkening blue of the sky behind her. 

Rabadash could’ve fallen headfirst from the great height, and still Edmund wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to look away.

As she laughed, Y/N tilted her head enough for his eyes to follow the smooth skin of her neck up from her collarbones to the same scar on her chin he’d noticed in her drawing room. The faint, thin line started just at the contour of her chin and extended towards where her head met her throat, in the perfect place to be hidden from everyone. 

Y/N ducked her chin, still smiling. Never had her smile been a disappointment to him, but Edmund found himself on the verge of distress as the scar was tucked away and out of sight. He flexed his fingers, fighting the urge to trace the almost perfectly straight mark. Was it possible that Edmund could be pained by not knowing where this scar’d come from? Was it caused by rock? By metal? By human?

Too late, Edmund realized the distraction that his thoughts caused as his hand lifted. Gently, he pushed her chin up again so her eyes were once again meeting his and that lovely line was in view. 

“Where did this come from?” he asked. He gave into his thoughts, brushing the knuckle of his index finger down the path. 

Y/N gave a small hiccuping sound of surprise. “Um…” She blinked a few times in quick succession. “Fencing accident. When I was five. Cor wanted to practice for real, so he tried to sharpen the end of his foil with a rock before practicing with me.” She smiled a bit. “Cor still isn’t very good at sharpening his swords.”

Edmund grinned. “Or fencing, if I remember correctly.”

She laughed again, her hand tightening its grip on his ever so slightly, as if she wanted to hold him closer in her mirth. “We can’t all be as good at fencing as you are.”

Edmund hummed at the compliment, dazedly looking at the scar still. How many people had caught a glimpse of it over the years? Against reason, Edmund hoped he was the only one that knew it was there. 

“Is, um…” Y/N licked her lips. “Is he still there?”

Edmund reluctantly lifted his eyes up to the balcony. As soon as the balcony was in view, he dropped his hand from her face. “See for yourself.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder, seeing the definite lack of Rabadash. A broad smile spread on her face. “Checkmate.” 

Edmund laughed. “Checkmate, indeed.” He couldn’t stop smiling. A shared checkmate, he mused. He quite liked the idea of the two of them banding together to defeat a common enemy. If Edmund and Y/N were on the same side, no one else stood a chance. Yes, partially because Edmund would go to World’s End to protect his friend, but also because Y/N’s charm, resolve, and intellect paired with Edmund’s own could be an unassailable combination if they wanted it to be. 

“May I accompany you back to your room?” Edmund asked. “You know…in case the marigolds launch an attack?” He’d hoped—nay, expected—his reference to their last conversation in the garden would make Y/N laugh. Instead of laughing, Y/N pursed her lips. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, though her troubled expression begged to differ. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Edmund.” 

She reached out, her soft hand squeezing his for a single moment before she walked back towards the castle.

Edmund watched her go. 

Their encounters were always so brief, and yet Edmund could feel the peaceful shield Y/N provided, because every step she took away from him, the more fear stabbed at his gut.

I’ll see you tomorrow, she’d said. 

At the altar, Edmund realized. 

-

Part 7

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