#Our Lady Queen of Snows | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 9 months ago

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as you like it (sequel to romeo ♱ juliet)

↳ gojo satoru/reader

bound by the dictates of the prophecy, the emperor contemplates whether retaining his wife or severing ties with her may be the sole path to fulfill his ambitions. yet, what he may fail to discern, is that the plague in his reign lies beyond what meets the eye

♱ genre. tragedy, revenge, period piece, renaissance au

♱ tags. 26k wc, extremely ooc, tyranny, emperor!gojo, empress!reader, (you will hate the reader!), unrequited love, religion (especially catholicism), blasphemy, mentions of infidelity, violence, war, rebellion, misogyny, impregnation, smut, disease, gore, death, arson, and written in early modern english/archaic english

♱ notes. heavily inspired by anne boleyn's real-life story, and manhwas sister, i am the queen in this life and ten ways to get dumped by a tyrant, as well as shakespeare’s king henry V. direct quotes also derived from the movie the king. has no correlation to the original as you like it play except for the title, as i wanted a title to my r+j sequel that's still shakespeare-inspired :) feedbacks are highly appreciated :')

masterlist. playlist. gallery. archaic grammar index.

EARLY MODERN ENGLISH -> MODERN ENGLISH VERSION

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐄.

SATORU, Emperor of Caelum.

YOU, of the same order.

SUGURU, knight commander of the Imperial Order of Knights.

TOJI, Emperor of Astheryn.

NAOYA, a duke, cousin to Toji.

GENEVA, nurse to the empress.

MAXIMILIAN, advisor to the Caelan Emperor.

NANAMI, a nobleman.

The Pope.

FRIAR MYCHAL, a Franciscan.

YUUTA, cousin to Satoru, exiled

A maid.

A physician.

The Oracle.

Citizens of Astheryn and Caelum; kinsfolk of both empires; the Imperial Court, Nobles, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

In a vast empire's might, an Emperor reigned,

Duty's veil his heart restrained.

Beside him, an Empress fair did stand,

Her love unmet, her heart unmanned.

Cold and still, his heart did lie;

Untouch’d by love's gentle sigh.

The Empress long’d for his affection true,

Yet his love remain’d a distant hue.

In shadows deep, her love did pine,

Bound by duty's rigid line.

As seasons passed, her love turned to ire,

A flower of vengeance, fuel’d by fire.

Now as our tale begins we see,

How love and duty bring us forth to tragedy.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

THE LATE 15TH CENTURY

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

Only slightly did you loosen up as the sequence of your steps were taken in slow but measured strides. Each footfall had a rhythm that was neither lacking in confidence nor hesitance, with your heels clicking on the marble floors and the sound of it echoing along the spacious hallway as if to remind every person within the vicinity that the Empress was arriving. You held your breath much to the tightness of your corset and tried to keep your emotions intact, taking a halt from walking knowing that your ladies-in-waiting were tailing you closely behind.

Two valiant knights stood by his door, offering a curtsy to their Empress the minute you had crossed their eyes. A knock on the door followed. Then, soon enough, you were granted a step forward inside your husband’s study.

There he was, ensconced behind his desk amid copious piles of paperwork, his attention undivided by the woman who graced his study with her presence. His locks, reminiscent of Arctic snow, were meticulously arranged, accentuated by the resplendent black doublet he donned, adorned with intricate silver patterns upon the brocade cloth. His eyes, as blue as the sky and oceans alike, declined to meet the gaze of his own wife.

“For what purpose art thou come?” he uttered.

Meanwhile, you made a swift curtsy and motioned for the attendants and knights to depart away, leaving the two of you alone. “I crave a word with thee, Your Majesty.”

His countenance appeared to congeal as he fixed his gaze upon you for several uncomfortable moments. "Of what matter?"

“Concerning the New Year's banquet, dear husband. It draweth nigh in a fortnight, and arrangements must be set in motion.” You stood squarely afore him, hands entwined afore you. A regal presence. A queenly figure, fashioned precisely to his desires. Such was the image the empire had embraced since your ascension to the throne. Before him stood the epitome of grace suited to that role. “Pray, what theme dost Your Majesty propose?”

He closed the ledger he had been inscribing on, scrutinizing your features intently. “I harbor little fondness for such gatherings, yet the banquet is a necessary evil.” His gaze shifted towards your gown, meticulously crafted to complement your form, adorned with the same elaborate embroidery as his own attire, accented by a sizable silver cross adorning your neck like the good Christian you were. “The citizens already begin to take note of our opulence; thus, I eschew an excessiveness that may draw undue attention. Let it be lavish enough to suit our status, yet not overly extravagant. As for the theme, it ought to be black and silver to match our regalia.”

The Caelum regalia, once bedecked in innocent hues of white and blue, underwent a somber transformation to black and silver upon his ascension to the throne. Behind this alteration lay a tragic tale. Satoru, the man whom you addressed as husband, had first borne the title of Crown Prince before ascending to the imperial seat. His younger sister, the infamous maiden who met her demise alongside her lover, was bound to an ill-fated romance that purportedly quelled an age-old enmity between two ancestral foes.

The forbidden romance betwixt a scion of a Zen'in and a scioness of a Gojou, both of princely lineage, ignited strife between the Astheryn and Caelum Empires. With half a century of animosity between these bloodlines, a lust for supremacy, and an unyielding clash between nations, the discord erupted into a civil strife, ceasing solely with the ratification of a peace accord signed by the sovereigns of both empires.

Yet before all these tumultuous events unfolded, Satoru's ascent to the highest throne owed much to you. Though you were not his intended betrothed, you were a lady deeply enamored with the prince; with whom he divulged myriad fervent nights with. As the daughter of a duke whose lineage boasted mastery in the craft of forging fine swords and weaponry, and so well-versed in the art of warfare, he saw you fit to stand as his empress, prepared to reciprocate your erstwhile unrequited love through means of marriage. Howbeit, this accord came at the cost of you aiding him in his quest to unseat both his father and mother from their thrones. He loathed his parents just as strongly as he did Astheryn. The rulers preceding him were despotic tyrants, showing scant regard for kinship ties, and they exhibited no sorrow for the passing of the princess, which was a loss deeply felt by Satoru.

Satoru carried ambitions of ascending to the august throne of Caelum from a tender age, unwilling to await the natural demise of his father for ascension and instead, do it by means of force. He was prepared to imbrue his hands with his own kindred’s blood to sit at the highest throne, yet such a feat was no trifling matter. The civil unrest presented the opportune moment to execute his plans, spurred on all the more by his sister's untimely demise. With your military affiliations and strategic acumen, you aided him in orchestrating a coup d'état against his own kin. Ending it all with him, severing his father’s head with a sword, and you, killing his mother with a dose of poison. His other oppositions followed, and those who did not support his cause were offered a swift journey to hell through mass execution. Throughout these macabre events, you stood steadfast by his side, currying favor with the surviving nobility to fortify his position as emperor. Identifying traitors, you presented them for his judgment. In due course, you became his most trusted confidante, the sole woman deemed worthy to stand beside him on the day of his coronation, heralding the dawn of a new era for the empire. Thus, a new nation, a new sovereignty, and a new regalia were born.

“As thou wish, my liege.” With careful steps, you navigated his study, casting an appraising gaze upon the books lining his shelves before pausing behind him. He ought to discern that the banquet did not solely occupy your intentions that day. “Prithee, burden not thyself with all this paperwork.” Your lips brushed his ear. “Instead, shall I expect thee in my bedchamber this eve?”

He tensed, drawing a deep breath to temper his emotions. You always seemed to know how to push his buttons—in good and bad ways. You played him like a fiddle as always. Indeed, he was well aware that your desires surpassed the scope of mere banquet arrangements. “Very well.”

The distant gaze he cast upon you pierced deeply. Eight long years of matrimony, and only now did he begin to exhibit such aloofness. Only now did such estrangement manifest. What sudden shift had befallen this marriage? You were not privy to the answer, yet you strived to deny it. Natheless, for the sake of your peace of mind, did you venture forth with your inquiry. “My liege, I wilt be so bold as to believe that thou dost not carry grudge against me.” Your eyes remained fixed upon his saintly face. “Do I speak true? For my failure to conceive the last time we—”

“‘Tis useless to harbor grudge over matters beyond control.” Displeasure thinned his lips. “What gain have I, to chastise thee merely because thou art barren?”

Pained by his words, you stepped away, quietly but firmly asserting, “...I am not barren.”

“Thou hast failed to conceive after eight years; to mine eyes, that qualifies as being barren.” He flipped back to the page he was perusing, resuming his writing.

Any trace of happiness that once adorned your mien now dissipated, and was replaced by the shadows of his cutting words. “Then, what plan shall thou construct if I fail to bear fruit?”

Satoru halted in his writing, his quill suspended in the air. He closed his eyes as he spoke, “Should thou not conceive in the foreseeable future, I am left with no alternative but to initiate a divorce. No matter the cost.”

Your eyes widened at his decision, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of his words settled upon you. His words seemed rehearsed, so well-thought of, as though he had expected this day to come and heretofore looked forward to informing you of this very plan. You failed to catch his reasoning, but succeeded at bearing the pain it had burdened you with. What had driven him to this conclusion? Certainly, a mere heir would not lead him to this ultimatum.

“A concubine, then, doth thou suggest so?” Firm and resolute in your stance was how you received his proposal.

The emperor averted his gaze, allowing silence to stand as your response for several minutes until he finally articulated a considerate reply. “Mine heir cannot be born a bastard, and so concubines shall only complicate matters. I have no plans in that department.” You sensed the direction of his thoughts, and you dreaded his continuation. “Rather, I beseech thee to abdicate thy throne, and I shall remarry another lady, be it of royal or imperial lineage, to bear the heir of this empire. It is the sole fitting course of action. That which, a divorce shall become necessary.”

“Step down from my throne?” Your voice quavered, laced with disbelief and anguish. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Thou would cast me aside, discard me like a worn-out garment in your mistemper’d fit, for the sake of an heir? After everything I have done for thee.” Your words echoed in the chamber, each syllable heavy with the betrayal you felt.

Your heart, once brimming with devotion, now lay shattered at your feet. All your life, you have loved him. All your happiness and tears, you have devoted to him. You had stood by his side through every trial, every conquest, only to be deemed unworthy of bearing his legacy. The sting of rejection seared your soul, igniting a fierce resolve within your wounded spirit. Yet nothing was his response. No words of comfort did he return for your wifely agony.

With a voice trembling through a mixture of sorrow and defiance, you met his gaze. “Fair enough,” you whispered, your tone laden with a sorrowful resignation. “If it is a concubine thou seek, then so be it. But a divorce, will I not honor. And know this, my lord,” you declared, your voice rising with a newfound strength, “I am the Empress. The only one. There is none within this empire akin to me, for a worthless, lowly concubine shalt not depose this Empress Y/N of Caleum thou wouldst so readily compromise.”

And in that solemn proclamation, you turned away, your stolid mien masking the shattered pieces of your fractured heart.

His countenance remained stoic as he observed your departure, sighing inwardly as you exited his study. Although no longer offering a response, he found himself unable to deny the truth of your words. Nor the power in which you presented them. Your presence lingered in his thoughts, holding sway over him in a manner he could not fathom.

As expected, you were epitome of a powerful empress just like what his mother once was and there ought to be a lot more convincing for you to step down from your post.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

“If the oracle speaks true, then I fear, my lord, that this empire is destined to fall.”

It was late in the night, though the castle still brimmed with light from the torches adorning the halls. Most servants had retired to bed by this hour, barring the guards stationed at key areas of the castle. Meanwhile, the emperor remained awake, engaged in discussions concerning the fate of his sovereign. A predestined fate that could only be avoided should he make the effort to fulfill the conditions of the prophecy.

Standing discreetly before him was Lord Maximillian, his advisor—a man who had witnessed his growth from juvenile years to the present moment. He had come to offer the emperor the much-needed counsel regarding the pressing matter at hand.

“Max, what say thee? Discuss unto me; dost thou deem me incapable?” The man of higher power questioned. “I have conversed with the Empress regarding the divorce. I have set forth the framework of my scheme should she falter in birthing my heir. I have articulated it in a manner that renders it just in her eyes. Yet, she reacts with such intensity. And loves so ardently. Ah! Women. Such vile, defiant women art the problem! A termagant—that, she is. For many years, I have afforded her the benefit of the doubt. Her mind is too ambitious for her own right. I know not how to proceed with her any longer. The prophecy dictates that I must have an heir.”

The old man returned him a soulless look. “If thou take the matter otherwise than is meant, then may I suggest that Your Majesty dispose of her.”

“Dispose?” he queried, as though he had misheard. “Her? My wife? Thou see it best to dispose of her?”

“Ay, I think it be. In the same fashion as your sire and dame,” Maximillian asserted, drawing a deep breath. “Prithee, do not misconstrue my intent as treason. My loyalty lies in thee, my liege. I stand by thee. I seek naught but the best for thee, for this empire hath not seen better days until thy sovereignty.”

Silence enveloped the air. Satoru took a moment to gaze at his elongating shadow, gradually shaping itself as he moved farther from the candlelight. In the darkness, his shadow morphed into a menacing silhouette, a specter lurking in the darkness was what had become of him. To become a tyrant was never his intention nor the promise he made to his departed sister, who yearned for Satoru to embody fairness and strength in rulership. And to be an emperor for the people. She had strived for peace among nations, yet here her brother stood, mirroring the oppressive parental figures he had overthrown. What allure did power hold over him? What such force could sway him now to forsake the very individual who had displayed unwavering marital devotion towards him?

“Hast thou been in correspondence with the King of Ellesmere?” inquired the Emperor. “Is it not so that his daughter, the princess, was to wed the late Prince of Astheryn? That prince was the very son of that wretch. That despot. That Emperor Toji II of Astheryn, my foremost enemy. What hath become of that princess, dost thou know?”

Maximillian stared at him intently. “Eight years and a vicennium ripe, yet still an unmarried maiden is the fair Princess Katarina. Is it her hand that Your Majesty seeks?”

“I shall speak my mind as the emperor, so I say this: ‘tis merely her status that makes of her the sole eligible woman to be my wife and empress of this empire.” His decision was wrought with hesitation yet born out of necessity. “Yet for the nonce, she cannot be seated until Y/N hath been dethroned. My decision shall hinge upon whether my wife shall be able to bear my heir anon. Elsewise, I shall dispose of her.”

His advisor sent him a look of approval. “‘Tis a decision that can only originate in thee, my lord. God be with ‘ye.”

“If that be all, then give leave awhile.” The emperor paused at the western part of the castle, a nigh away from the corridors leading to his wife’s bedchamber. “I do beseech thee to be my herald on the morrow. Write to the King of Ellesmere briefly and concisely. Ere thou falsely honor a new empress, the long hours of my night are to be spent with the woman presently seated upon the throne.”

Eventually, Satoru reached your chambers and noticed that a few candles had been lit, their warm light illuminating the room softly. In the solitude in which you found yourself, seated by the bed and bathed in moonlight, silent in such serenity he hoped not to disturb. The fabric of your nightgown, thin and delicate, revealed the contours of your womanly figure beneath. He, too, was clad in a thin robe that left little to the imagination.

As you turned to face him, you caught sight of the faint scars and marks from countless battles etched across his body, though his expression remained mostly neutral as it always had and you were unbeknownst to the profanity he had spoken of you a few minutes hence. Now, his electric blue eyes looked at you with careful scrutiny, pondering whether this sensual encounter would all be in vain or if you truly intended to fulfill your role and bear an heir this time.

“How stands the hour?” You spoke softly, approaching him with a sad glint in your eyes. “I have waited.”

“Pardon. Urgent matters call’d upon me.” Satoru could see the sadness in your eyes, but he tried his best to ignore it. You are barren, and there is little he can do to change that. He should begin his newfound task to detach from you. You brought him no good. You offered him no better fate. You were no longer instrumental for him to attain his long-standing ambition. Nevertheless, with your genuinely loving eyes he found himself conflicted, and that showed in his facial expressions. His brow knit, and he parted his lips as if to speak before hesitating and closing them again. You sensed his inclination to make you feel miserable, to render you desolate, yet he could not muster the resolve to articulate such words. Thus, he remained silent.

While you, you stood perfectly still. Like a porcelain doll displayed as a mere decoration. You wanted nothing but to give him his manly satisfaction that night, hoping that your marriage could still work and that he would not need the betrothal of another lady to carry him an heir. With delicate hands, you let the nightgown slip away, falling beneath your feet as the cold air caressed your naked form. This body. All of it belonged to him. “My lord.” You kept your eyes on him. And he, on your shapely bosom. “Please do with me as thou wish.”

Satoru’s eyes darkened as he stared at you, his voice taking a commanding tone to match his expression. “Turn around.”

You did as ordered. As obediently, as submissively. Like a servant serving her master. Yet, beneath this guise of obedience lay a deeper yearning—to vie for his love once more, and to affirm, if only for one last time, that his words this morn were but a fleeting outburst of heightened emotions.

“Thou art fair, indeed,” whispered he. ‘Tis a shame that you fall short in one aspect.

He walked behind you, enfolding you in his muscular arm, ensnaring you in his robust grasp as his fingers traced a path down your back. You could feel the contours of his toned abs pressed against your back, while he explored the dips and curves of your body with his touch, squeezing the soft mounds on your chest. He then leaned his forehead against your neck, trailing tender kisses along your spine.

The passionate night continued with the both of you taking turns in granting each other pleasure. The kisses around your neck, his tongue in between your folds, your hand wrapped around his well-endowed member. And before you know it, he was entering you from behind, penetrating the depths of your cavern in pursuit of reaching his high. His grasp on your hips tightened with each thrust, rendering your knees weak as you remained on all fours.

Your intimate session lasted for a while, as he was not satisfied enough at having only one release for the night. He jostled you from the back, to the side, and to the front. All of which left you with the warmth of his seed seeping out of your entrance, and subsequently down your thighs.

If only he did not let his mind speak, you could have deluded yourself that this night was his declaration of utmost love for you.

“I shall leave thee if an heir dost not soon grant me, do we share this understanding?” Satoru did not sleep as he looked at you, his thoughts running rampant as he questioned whether or not he was being too cruel. His heart skipped a beat as he saw a second of your tears, tears that you so rightfully held back, and he was at a loss of words for once. He knew that he needed to stay firm on his decision, but seeing you on the verge of breaking down... it struck guilt in him. Satoru’s face softened, his tone becoming more calm and less forceful. Subconsciously did he do his best to comfort you. “It disheartens me that it hath come to this. Though I speak it to thee, I have duties to fulfill as emperor.”

You could not answer immediately and tried to bear the sting it brought to your heart. “How now, didst so suddenly thou find it easy to cast me aside? Wherefore, is it another lady on thy mind?”

“That’s not so.” His guilt was knocking at the door, but he tried to pay it no mind. “This empire requires an heir and thou have failed me.”

“Blame the lack of children on thyself, perchance.” You bit back as your chest rose and fell from heavy breaths. “So infrequently did mine own husband warm my bed as though I am unwed. Blame it, then, on the distance thou have set upon us! A child cannot be born if not be made.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed at your words. “And dost thou suggest we consummate every minute and every second of the day?” A scoff left his lips. “Eight years, I have given thee.”

“And yet, for eight years, thou hast not learn’d to love me.”

Your gaze remained fixed, each word hanging heavily in the air, as the weight of your shared history and unresolved emotions loomed between the two of you. It was as though the very atmosphere crackled with tension, the silence pregnant with unspoken truths and unfulfilled desires. What was his true and most honest intent in forsaking you?

Satoru sat by the edge, ultimately deciding to leave you with yet another night devoid of slumber, lone upon your chamber. “Love? That very love is what killed my sister.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

A fair distance from the Gate of Saint Pellegrino, a homeless woman cradled a baby in her arms. Her other children darted about Saint Peter’s Square while she sang a hauntingly familiar lullaby to her infant—a melody too melancholic for a child, yet so fitting for the occasion. You recognized it as the song created by the Caelan citizens after the war ended. Her dulcet voice would rival the angels of the sky, and amidst the throng of people attempting to breach the ranks of the knights surrounding the Emperor and Empress, she stayed firm in her spot, her haunting hymn weaving through the atmosphere, while her storm-grey eyes bore into you with an eerie intensity to captivate you in a trance.

A rose will bloom, it then will fade

So does a youth, so does a fairest maid

Beneath the stars, they found their place,

In secret trysts, love's tender grace.

But lo, the fates their love did fray,

In bitter strife, they slipped away.

So hush, dear ones, and hear this lay,

Of love that wilted, night and day.

In whispered sighs, they bid goodbye,

Two souls in love, 'neath starry sky.

A decade had passed since the most scandalous demise of the Astheryn prince and the Caelum princess had occurred, where both lovers were discovered lifeless within the somber halls of the Sistine Chapel. Contrary to the common folk's belief, they were not wed, nor did they meet their tragic end at Saint Peter’s, forsooth, as their bodies were in fact found at the nearby Sistine Chapel, and their mortuary later held at Saint Peter’s basilica. The Catholic church acknowledged this romantic tragedy as a conclusion to the long-standing feud betwixt two noble empires, henceforth commemorating the young couple's demise each passing year with a holy mass.

This year rendered particular significance as it marked the solemn tenth anniversary of their untimely departure. Mayhap, it may be the reason why your husband had been on edge as of late. Every year, his sister’s demise served as a brutal reminiscence for him—a grim reminder of his perished sister and the origin of his tyrannical reign. He bore witness to his parents' handling of the conflict with Astheryn ten years ago, whereupon they callously demanded the common folk spill their blood in service to the imperial dynasty, igniting civil unrest in its wake. Such ruthless and cowardly deeds left an indelible mark upon him and brought him to the ultimatum of becoming a usurper. You vividly recalled the night he sought solace at your family's estate, clad in battered armor from countless battles waged. That eventide, he wept in your arms, confessing the death of his sister and his burning desire to exact vengeance upon those responsible for his loss. In exchange for marriage, you devised a scheme to orchestrate the coup that would once and for all elevate him to the imperial throne.

Despite the facade of peace ushered in by the treaty between him and the Astheryn Emperor, the truth remained stark: both empires were merely feigning reconciliation. They were only nominally “at peace”. A cold war, by all accounts, defined their true relationship.

The tension could be felt inside the basilica even from the moment you and your husband arrived at The Venera, a microstate on the borders of Astheryn and Caelum, in front of the men of both empires, as well as the members of the Holy Catholic Church. For many years, this sacred state remained a recognized territory of Caelum, despite its official designation as an independent ecclesiastical entity. The Gojou family were openly pious and deeply devout Catholics, while the Astherean citizens were predominantly Protestants. Not all members of the Zen’in clan practiced their empire’s predominant religion, and some suggested that Emperor Toji himself might be an atheist, albeit discreetly so. Rumors also circulated that the mother of the late Prince Megumi was herself a Catholic, which led to intense criticism regarding her marriage to a lineal heir of the imperial family.

Nevertheless, this stark religious divide lay at the heart of the perennial animosity between the two nations.

“Announcing Their Imperial Majesties, Emperor Satoru and Empress Y/N, the guiding stars of our empire, luminaries in the twilight of sovereignty.”

As you walked alongside Satoru, you noticed his usual bright blue eyes turning into a darker hue. His gaze fixated upon the altar, his countenance void of emotion, as you proceeded down the aisle by his side. Since that night, silence had permeated your interactions. And you still had no desire to engage him, especially if it meant enduring relentless pressure regarding an heir or the prospect of divorce.

Yet there, you carried yourself with an air of quiet strength and dignity—a gown of the deepest black with long sleeves ending in delicate cuffs, a silver cross hung by your chest with a gemstone made from blood red corundum, and a flowing black veil crafted from the finest lace, enveloping your head and cascading gently down your back, partially obscuring your features. The veil added an air of mystery and solemnity in your poise.

As for him, the Emperor was adorned in a doublet and hose ensemble, embellished with intricate brocade and tailored to fit his form exquisitely to accentuate his stature and regal bearing. Draped over his shoulders was a lavish cape of rich, dark velvet lined with ermine fur and fastened at the neck with a jeweled clasp bearing the insignia of his empire. Each fold billowed around him as he moved, creating a striking silhouette that commanded attention and respect.

No wonder the citizens of this empire were noticing your extravagance. And despised you for it.

Throughout the mass, Satoru remained stoic, seated alongside you at the forefront of the church, his demeanor suggesting that this day of remembrance was a torment to his very soul. Still, he listened, but you doubted he agreed while Pope Alexandre VI delivered a sermon on the importance of unity and peace among nations, condemning the advocates of warfare and citing the tragic fate of the late prince and princess as a poignant illustration of how the animosity between two empires exacts a toll through sacrifice. Prayers were also offered for the souls of the civilians and soldiers who perished during the war, drawing inspiration from the teachings of the Bible as the mass adhered to the customary order of the Liturgy of the Word and of the Eucharist.

“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti,” you recited under your breath, genuflecting before the altar and offering prayers for the soul of your husband's younger sister, beseeching that she find peace alongside her beloved under the guidance of the Holy Father. And as the mass drew to a close, you remained on your knees in prayer, the sound of approaching footsteps signaling the unwelcome arrival of an unexpected visitor—a presence that elicited a defensive reaction from your husband.

“Your Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Caelum.” It was none other than Duke Naoya of Astheryn, whose sarcastic presence seemed to have acted as a representative of their highest ruler. Emperor Toji's absence to this occasion already constituted an affront to Satoru, and the pompous mien exhibited by the duke only intensified the indignation. A decade had passed since the death of Prince Megumi, and the prideful Astheryn Emperor still refrained from setting foot on Caelum's soil to acknowledge the purported 'peace' between the empires. Even more, the subtle curve on Duke Naoya's lips added an infantile insult to the already festering wound. “Kindly accept my belated salutations. It took me but a moment to discern thy identity—they speak of the Calean Emperor’s presence as formidable, yet, alas, reality oft falls short of reputation.”

You rose from the ground, poised to defend Satoru, but he raised a hand to forestall your intervention, maintaining his unruffled composure as he addressed the noble man’s jest. “Ah, well the Duke's wit is sharp as ever,” Satoru replied, his tone laced with equal sarcasm and earning the laugh of the surrounding nobles. “It doth seem that overseeing a mere duchy grants the Duke his ample free time, unlike the responsibilities that accompany the rulership of an empire that he so covets.”

“Oh, certainly!” Duke Naoya spoke in Calean with a heavy Astherean accent, still unfazed as his eyes slowly drifted to you. “They doth pale in comparison to the burdens of ruling an empire. Yet, surely, it is not as burdensome with the absence of an heir.” He let his implication hang in the air, an obvious insinuation veiled in the guise of courtly banter.

Before the exchange could escalate into a diplomatic strain, Friar Mychal took it upon himself to intervene, exhaling a laugh of unease and positioning himself between the Emperor and the Duke. “Very well!” he exclaimed. “I have received tidings that the mass attendees shall offer tributes for the basilica in remembrance to the tenth year since the passing of the Prince and the Princess. As a matter of fact, there doth already lie a plethora of flowers adorning their statue that His Majesty Satoru hath offer’d to the museum.”

The museum was just a short walk from the chapel and the space itself was decorated with ornate ceilings, frescoes, and architectural details that added to the grandeur of the surroundings. An array of sculptures lined the hall; of cherubs, saints, warriors, and mythological figures. One of the newer sculptures were of the Prince and the Princess, portraying young lovers in a tender embrace with the princely lad staring at his lady’s face. The sculpture was from a renowned Calean artist which Satoru himself hired out of the pure intention of donating it to the Veneran Museum. The nobles, members of the imperial court, and members of the church were all in awe after the sculpture was revealed to the attendees as such meticulous carvings and lifelike detail could only be done by Giancarlo di Firenze.

“A remarkable piece, indeed!”

“The detail is breathtaking!”

“To capture such emotion in stone… ‘tis as if they are whispering their love story to us.”

Your husband could not have been prouder. Alongside him, other nobles also contributed their offerings. Some notable ones included stained glass art, precious jewels, a pair of lovebirds, and… a particularly intriguing tapestry gifted by the Astheryn Empire.

The tapestry depicts the Astherean prince and the Calean princess lying together in death with the symbolic addition of a bloodied dagger laid atop the princess’ chest, representing the same weapon that Prince Megumi had used to end his life. The imagery not only insinuated that Satoru's sister was responsible for the prince's demise, but also served as an insult to the prevailing belief in her innocence surrounding her own tragic death.

“This…” Your mouth fell agape. You need not look into your husband’s visage to perceive his growing ire. “This is preposterous!”

The joy was evident in Duke Naoya’s eyes, yet he endeavored to feign ignorance. “Ah, ere I forget, my noble cousin, the Emperor of the Astheryn Empire, did send an accompanying message addressed to His Majesty Satoru.”

In the threads of time, woven with the fabric of our shared tragedy, lies the essence of our 'peace'. As we gather to honor the memory of what once was, I send forth this tapestry, whereupon love and folly intertwine in an eternal dance. May it serve as a testament to the fragility of alliances forged in blood and ink, where shadows of deceit cloak the truth we dare not confront. Whilst thou sit'st upon thy borrowed throne, may thou find solace in the echoes of thy usurped legacy.

With insincere regards,

Emperor Toji II of Astheryn

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

ACT IV

“My liege, this is unacceptable! Astheryn doth taunt us.”

An urgent assembly convened at the council chamber, where courtiers gathered to seek counsel from the emperor who was now seated in a position of humiliation following Astheryn's brazen act of insult. You joined the court session in support of your husband, positioned at the throne beside him, while numerous men, each to their own titles and lordship, stood before you both. The courtiers' visages displayed incandescent umbrage as they protested and vehemently rejected the malignance from the rival empire in defense to the Emperor of Caelum. Yet the subject of the scrutiny himself remained staid and dignified.

“We cannot stand idle in the face of such an insult. If it be war they seek, then we shall grant it unto them!” exclaimed one of the members of the imperial court. A proponent of war he presented himself.

“Indeed, Your Majesty. To allow such an audacious act of disrespect wilt deem us cowards!” said another one of the men.

Satoru rested his arm on the armrest, a hand on his chin. He appeared to be lost in profound contemplation, yet you have grown long familiar with that expression of his to know that he was fueled with choler inside. “What say thee, Etienne? War is not a decision made lightly.”

Lord Etienne, as his name was called, spoke his opinion on the matter at hand and acted as an advocate for caution. “Aye and by, my lord. A rash decision could plunge our empire into chaos and suffering. Mayhap, we can explore diplomatic channels first. War should be our last resort, our first impulse not.”

“Your Imperial Majesty!” Lord Armand countered. “With all due respect, thy name hath been besmirched! This is blasphemous, is it not, to this empire and us, its men?”

“Our men are not prepared for war, Lord Armand,” the previous noble claimed. “An’ how can we wage war with our forces against those of Astheryn’s? Their military prowess is the mightiest throughout the central continent. They are barbaric folks, enemies to peace. We are naught but simple foes to them.”

The belittling of Caelum’s military strength ignited your ire since that the training of soldiers, weapon crafting, and the establishment of the formidable imperial order of knights were specialties of your family—a legacy that your noble ancestors had established in this empire. It was why your family’s ties to the imperial Gojou family remained strong throughout the years. Therefore, hearing such remarks was derogatory to you.

You held your position and participated in the discussion. “Lord Etienne, dost thou speak so ill of Caelum, which is thy country, and speak so well of Astheryn, which is thy enemy?” For a moment, the court was silenced. “God quit you in his mercy! Hear his sentence. Is Caelum a jest unto thee? We have established our military might since His Majesty’s ascent, and are potent enough to wage war against the entire world!”

“But Your Majesty—”

“Silence, all of thee!” Satoru rose from his throne, exhaling in exasperation, and shot you a displeased look. His next words were sharp and his anger misdirected. “Empress, I appreciate thy indignation, but this proves women shan’t meddle in court sessions. Emotions depart from thy mouth ere logic enters thy mind. Thou art dismissed from this session. At once.”

You could not fathom his sentences. For the longest time, never before had he dared to disrespect you in the presence of his subjects. Never had he dared to deny you of your rightful place as the empress of this nation, knowing full well the pivotal role you played in his ascension to the throne. Why, you could not speak! You were rendered speechless, too stunned to respond as you sank back into your seat, grappling with the sting of hurt and humiliation he had inflicted on you.

And somehow, Lord Maximillian’s eyes were uncharacteristically fixed on you as though they were in triumph at your situation. He did well enough to mask that with indifference withal. What was this hostility? Even the knights who approached you only had regard for the emperor, following his command of escorting you out of the council chamber despite your desire to stay seated. Yet to save face from this abomination, you did it upon yourself to stand up and leave at your own will.

“Nanami.” In your disappearance, Satoru spoke again, this time facing his subjects. “How dost thou propose we navigate this situation?”

Lord Nanami was more of the voice of reason, expressing his approach on the matter with neither bias towards engaging in or retreating from war. “My liege, I speak as a good man for thee. Let us convene with our allies, assess our military readiness, and explore all avenues for resolution. Only then shall we make an informed decision. It is most meet we arm ‘gainst the foe.”

Satoru already knew the answer before the man had spoken of it. Why so? Because it was the same route he would take. Only, it was his wounded pride and disdain towards his greatest adversary that landed him to a much more inhospitable decision. “Along with that blasphemous tapestry, written in his message, did that Emperor of Astheryn disparagingly refer to me as a usurper when I am the true born heir to the throne.” He ground out the words with clenched teeth as he stared at the portrait of his father. His hands balled into fists, his face hot and pinched with resentment. He detested being called a ‘usurper’ as he detested Astheryn and all of the Zen’ins. Regardless of the path he took to claim his throne, he was still a direct lineal heir to the Gojou bloodline. “I cannot let that pass. I cannot let his insult go unanswered. Hence, take down these words and address them to him, who is mine enemy.” Satoru stared straight ahead, his face blank and emotionless as he spoke his next words in flawless Astherean language. “Emperor of Astheryn, your words are as venomous as they are misguided. While thou dost revel in thy petty insults and thinly veiled threats, know this: the patience of Caelum wears thin. Thy tapestry of deceit and blasphemy shall find no place within the halls of our empire. Let it be known that the path thou treadest leads only to ruin and despair. Should thou persist in thy folly, Caelum shall meet thy challenge with unwavering resolve. Consider this thy final warning. The drums of war beat ever louder, and Caelum will not hesitate to answer the call, for this usurper thou deride may stay true to that label when I seize thy throne and make it mine.”

Following the court session, the emperor retreated to the training hall until late evening venting his wrath against the despot from the rival empire. He devoted hours in the hall, wielding his sword, sparring with the swordsmanship master, and decisively overpowering him to feel a sense of honor for himself. In his mind, each strike was a fierce expression of his imagination, envisioning what that battle would be like if it were Emperor Toji II in his stead. It would have been their second encounter in the battlefield as the first one ended in armistice for the sake of the prince and princess. This time, however, the execution of this battle would be markedly different.

Later that eve, he returned to his study, still in his armor as he met with his most loyal advisor. It was a private counsel to discuss matters unbeknownst to the rest of the empire—the prophecy and, notably, you.

“I fear this as I say this: the prophecy is upon thee, my lord.” Lord Maximillian’s voice hinted at unease. His warning, spoken with a mood of paranoia. “The oracle’s riddles are living their truth, and this predicament with Astheryn is a vivid illustration of that fact. War looms on the horizon, and it threatens to be thy undoing. Now, more than ever, we require the backing of another nation in the likes of Ellesmere.”

“I see that.” Satoru responded with a heavy exhale, tossing his metal helmet onto the carpeted floor. He made his way toward the expansive window and gazed out at the courtyard below. There, he spotted you, meandering the rose garden alone under the cover of night. You were brighter than the envious moon, coruscating like a fresh tulip amongst the field of wilted roses.

The lord cleared his throat and stood next to the emperor. “Thou must rid of her, Your Majesty. If it is what the prophecy hath taught us, then the Empress serves as a harbinger of thy downfall. The destruction of Caelum is the comeuppance of retaining her. Abandon all hope that she will bring thee child or luck. I do acknowledge the attachment that Your Majesty hath formed with her in thy lusty years together, but she is ill fate to all of us.”

You stopped at the fountain, seemingly lost in deep thought, and then began an expressive argument with yourself in your solemnity. The sight earned his smile. Satoru could not keep his eyes off you as if they were drawn by your beauty under the luminescence of the moon. How pitiful, truly, that your innocence left you no knowledge of the conversation he was having with his advisor.

“She shall be appointed as a concubine,” he declared, “Ridding of her is a waste; divorcing her offers a suitable solution. She may not have my heir, but she is a strong empress. A true villainess, yes. That, she may be, but she is devoted to me.”

“Which is precisely why thou must dispose of her!" Lord Maximillian pressed onto the matter with greater seriousness. “My liege, it is anticipated that thou wilt yearn for Empress Y/N’s loyalty even at the success of your marriage with the Princess of Ellesmere. An’ her ferocious devotion could only hinder thy plans and bring about thy downfall. Who's to say she will withstand the temptation from inflicting harm upon the fair Princess Katarina out of jealousy? This, as thou knowest, could turn Ellesmere against us!” His passionate speech then silenced him into a quiet plea. “Pray, Your Majesty, I implore thee to ponder it deeply. For the sake of this empire.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕

In the evening, at the hour of eleven did you find yourself wandering the garden. It had become more and more difficult to live each day, unable to grasp why your spouse had been hostile against you for reasons you could not justify. If it were matters concerning your apparent infertility, then he could easily get a concubine just as you had already permitted. All of Caelum's nobility were well aware of your possessiveness towards him, yet it was you who proposed the idea of a concubine to him. Why, then, does he still entertain the idea of remarriage? Is it to guarantee that his heir will not be deemed a bastard? He possessed the authority to prevent such a label from being attached to the child.

“O, cruel fate!” You stopped in front of the fountain, staring at your reflection on the glistening water. “A dispassionate husband you have given me! Am I not fair? Hath I lost charm and warm youthful blood? Hath Cupid launched his awful arrow onto some other where? O, for that he is mad!”

Tears welled up your eyes, blurring your vision as you looked into the mirrored reflection. You thought of Satoru’s hateful gaze when you closed your eyes and could feel the painful knots in your stomach. He had been naught but a distant spouse for eight years in your marital union, alas and alack, any improvements were farfetched. Every attempt at progress only fueled into a relationship filled with disagreements.

Your monologue resumed. “There could be another woman, could it? A maid, perchance? One that crawls his bed at night whilst I am sound in my slumber. Fie, insolent wench! Or must it be a noble lady he had seen at a ball, a coming-of-age ceremony, or anything of the sort? Vile, dishonorable harlot! I shall strip off thy noble status and exile thee hence from Caelum!”

A sigh ended your ranting, leaving you with more tears to shed as you fondly remembered your youthful days of infatuation with him. He was the man you had dreamed of, yet now all he would do was to quarrel, and quarrel, and quarrel. You had become an enemy in his eyes. He may have drowned you with extravagant gifts and the rarest jewels throughout your marriage, but the one you most coveted—his love—was one he could not give.

“My lady?”

You turned around at the sound of the gentleman’s voice, whereupon a knight presented himself to you. No, not merely any other knight, but the Knight Commander of the Imperial Order of Knights. Sir Suguru, Caelum’s most prized possession, a power and battle-fit warrior, who could defeat a hundred armed men by himself alone. A hero he was referred to by this empire’s people. His commitment to chivalry and service did not go unnoticed as your husband, the very emperor he served, had more than once awarded him for fostering high morale and esprit de corps among other knights.

“What brings thee hither, and wherefore?” you asked, watching him curtsy before you as he did the standard imperial greetings. His silver suit of armor gleamed, reflecting the stars in the sky, while the black cloak enveloping him mirrored the void of the night. Truly, an intimidating presence for those that knew none of him.

Howbeit, his face was a stark difference from the aura he exuded. His eyes curved into crescent moons as he smiled, offering what appeared to be a handkerchief. “I am about my nightly rounds in the palace, and in hearing Your Majesty’s woe did I come forth. Is everything alright, Empress?”

You sighed in lamentation and accepted the linen cloth from his hand. “To say ‘alright’ how I wish that would be so. The state of my marriage troubles me, yet hear none of it for these matters art private.”

Suguru acquiesced to your words and nodded in respect toward you, still remaining by your side in silence. Like a personal guard stationed to protect you as it seemed he had no intention of leaving you alone in the courtyard.

“How, now! Dost thou not care to leave a woman in her peace?” you questioned, displaying a moue on your face. The tears have long been dried from your cheeks as you spoke to him. “I crave not to be perceived!”

It was already a rare sight to cross the Knight Commander’s path around the palace, given that his duties did not include serving as a personal guard to the emperor. He was typically present only during official or diplomatic gatherings, and rather trained and oversaw the elite group of guards that would protect the emperor and empress. Nevertheless, with what little interactions you had with him, Suguru had always conducted himself as a respectful and dutiful subject towards you.

“Forgive me. It is quite perilous to be alone outside at night, Your Majesty, as thy vulnerability may pose a risk to thy safety.” He moved to unclasp his mantle, draping the large black cloak around your shoulders, a much smaller figure than himself. “And if thou permit, the night is cold and a lady must stay warm.”

There was a strange flutter in your heart as your wide eyes saw the gentility in his intentions. You could no longer question why dozens of noble women would line up to vie for his attention. His actions spoke better than his words ever could. How far, you wondered, would his kindness to you take him? “Art thou not a bound subject to my husband?”

“Forsooth, I am.” He stared ahead. “I have been his friend since our youth. However, it is with Your Majesty’s kin that I owe the honor of being a knight. It is with thy father’s support that I consider myself alive, standing here in this palace as the leader of all knights.”

Not once did you move your eyes away as you studied his sincerity. “Then, if I ask thee to commit treason against the Emperor of Caelum,” you spoke with such regal power, “Shall I assume thy commitment to me?”

For a while, Suguru did not speak. He appeared to be contemplating his answer as his stance had become defensive. Or hesitant, whichever fit. He did not meet your careful eyes, though he did look down and confess a knowledge that greatly devastated you. “The prophecy is what dictates His Majesty’s disposition toward thee. In the dungeon hides an oracle that he fortnightly seeks. I escorted him when he visited the oracle, who foretold him that he requires the birth of an heir in the near future, else a woman of no monarchical descent shalt be the cause of his downfall. To mine understanding, he read her riddles as having the need to execute thee and wed another woman of true royal lineage. That, that truth bears my commitment to thee, Empress.”

Upon hearing Suguru's words did your heart sink, and a wave of disbelief washed over you. It felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath your feet, leaving you suspended in a state of shock, desperately trying to grasp the magnitude of what had just been revealed to you.

“Faugh! By’r Lady, that is a grave accusation!” Anger simmered beneath the surface of your composed exterior. You were livid at Suguru for being the bearer of such devastating news, for being the messenger of your potential downfall, and felt betrayed by your own husband, the Emperor, for keeping such a crucial prophecy hidden from you. You wondered why he had never shared this information with you, why he allowed you to live in ignorance while he made plans for your potential demise. But one thing for certain, was that this was the reason for his growing detachment toward you.

The knight could only provide you with a comforting bow. “By the grace of God, these words art true. Lord Maximilian conspires with him. Hie to the dungeons and seek the oracle, my lady. She shall impart the truth unto thee.”

Beneath your anger lay a profound sadness, a heartache that cuts to the core of your being. The realization that your own husband, the man you loved and had pledged your life to, saw you as nothing more than a pawn in a game of power and succession. You felt a sense of profound loss, mourning not only the potential loss of your own life but also the loss of trust, of love, of the future you had envisioned.

Despite the tumult of emotions raging within you, you remained outwardly composed, your mask of regal poise firmly in place. You knew you must tread carefully, that showing weakness now would only play into the hands of those who seek your downfall.

And yet, the devil showed himself. You had been oblivious to your husband’s presence by the window of his study as he stood a great distance from you, watching you engage in an intimate conversation with his Knight Commander down below. He could not gauge where that sudden familiarity came from as he witnessed Suguru draping his cape around you—an action that crossed a territory he should not have sought. The emperor could no longer tolerate watching it, walking in haste along the halls of the palace until he eventually reached the courtyard. His gaze was burning into the back of Suguru’s head as he stopped behind you, waiting for you to notice your husband’s approach before he spoke.

“Empress.” His deep voice startled you.

Your eyes were clouded with resentment, hidden under the veil of a devoted wife. “My liege.”

Satoru stared at Suguru with a fierce look before turning to you. “It is dangerous to be abroad at this hour. I desire naught untoward to befall thee, hence I came hither to ensure thy safety.”

“I apologize, then, for causing thy worry.” A bitter smile painted your lips and the tone of your voice suggested of feigned concern. “As thou seest, I have a knight here who is trained to guard and protect me.”

The emperor narrowed his eyes at the aforementioned knight, who elected silence out of deference to the reigning monarchs afore him. This very knight was a childhood friend of his, but now Satoru regarded him as a rival, for all the peculiar reasons. “Go and depart now, Suguru,” he commanded, and yanked the cape from the empress’ body, then flung it toward the knight. “I shall escort my wife back.”

Satoru caught you sending an apologetic look toward the Knight Commander, which in return caused his ire to grow. What was the conversation you shared with him for you to act that way? In fact, he had never seen you pay another man that much attention. What a devious, little wench. A foxy, scheming jezebel. Satoru threw insults at you in his head as he took your arm in a tight grip, pulling you away from the courtyard. The silence between the two of you was thick with unspoken tension as he led you up the spiral staircase on the eastern side of the castle. His side of the castle.

“Darling.” Your endearment came out as a protest as you tried to pull your arm from his grip. “Unhand me.”

Still and all, he was silent as he dragged you along. It was only a short distance to his quarters, but he did not let go of you even once. You should see in his eyes that he was not amused by the friendly interaction between you and Suguru.

“I said release my hand, at this very instant!”

He remained like a taciturn man while ushering you into his quarters. Once he had locked the door behind him, he released his grip on your wrist and turned to confront you. His eyes grew dark and cold. A shade of blue that reminded you of lightning. “I would prefer it if he did not approach thee when I am not present.”

“Ah, see now he speaks!” Scoffing, you glared at him. “He simply tender’d his best to comfort me. Do not suspect it of aught else,” said you defensively, in a voice backed by your authority. Only now did he realize that the expression on your face had become austere.

“Even if that were true, I have no need for another man—especially a knight—to comfort my wife.”

“A wife? A wife thou ask’d for divorce?” you mocked as his statement erupted a laughter out of you. A loud, boisterous laughter that screamed an insult to his face. “Thou see me as nothing but a bearer of children. Not a wife nor a person thou treasure with thy heart.” As you ridiculed him with humor on your face, your eyes had also grown deranged. “A mere pawn to thy chessboard is what I am.”

Satoru was rigid in his stance. “I only offer’d to divorce thee if thou were unable to conceive. It is my duty as emperor to sire an heir. If the empress fails to fulfill that duty, I am compelled to find someone else who will—”

“An heir this, an heir that. Out upon it!” You expressed your frustration outwardly, throwing your hands into the air. “Go get thyself a concubine, then, and I shall get myself a lover to even the score.”

A lover? Satoru was seething, yet his expression remained unchanged. He knew that you were taunting him, and still chose not to give you the reaction you wanted. “Then, I may be certain thou wilt have greater success at producing heirs with thy lover than thou dost with me.”

“Certainly!” you bit back, anger rising in each syllable. “In place of my husband, mayhap my lover could beget me a child, proving to the entire empire that it is not I who is barren.”

Satoru's eyebrows shot up in response to the blatant insult to his fertility. His cold eyes narrowed, the rage within him intensifying. “If thou hast a child by thy lover, it will not discredit my fertility at all. It will instead bring into question my choice to have a child with a woman who is unable to be faithful to her husband.”

Your chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. “If thou seek thyself a concubine, then I shall seek mine own lover. That or naught at all.”

“Fie! I seek not a concubine,” he raised his voice, a spasm of irritation crossing his face. “Ill-tempered shrew! Many times have said it, and I say it once more. In thy failure to conceive, my will is to remarry another lady and make her the empress, not a concubine! The heir must be legitimate. Stick that to thine empty head!”

Satoru could feel the heat of your stare burning into him, but his mind had suddenly wandered back to the previous conversation, and he could not help but wonder whether you would actually have an affair with another man. The thought of it infuriated him, but he pushed it out of his mind as you stared at him in blazing fury.

“Need I remind thee that it is I who aided Your Majesty in ascending to the throne?” A cloud of warning settled over your features. “It is I who aided thee in staging a coup to overthrow thy tyrant parents. If the princess did not perish, would thou not be a madman. Now tell me, the only payment I require in return is thy love, yet hast thou paid thy dues?”

He scoffed at your words. You believe all you did in leading the rebellion was for the purpose of making him emperor? It was in your best interests to see yourself climb the ranks of an imperial power. And it was certainly not love you sought, but mere attention and validation. “My respect should be enough of a reward for thee. I took thee as my wife as a sign of my gratitude. Love was never a part of the deal.”

“Love is the very essence of that deal,” countered you. “Thou would be foolish not to think so.”

In his eyes, love and affection were something you should receive only when you deserve it, not when you demand it. In his mind, you had grown too familiar with him, too spoiled by his presence. It was time he corrected this. “Thou art mistaken in thinking that love is a condition of our relationship. Never have I made any promises of love or affection. I only promised thee of attention and the prestige of being an empress. Have I not fulfilled this promise and made thee into an empress in its entirety? Love is a mere illusion conjured in thy imagination.”

“A tyrant, he reveals himself!” You pushed him off you, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? Miserable villain! Usurping knave! Betrayer of blood, who masquerades himself an emperor under a false sovereign! I placed thee on that throne thou so wistfully enjoy. Thy power and authority have no hold on me.”

The emperor's jaw clenched tightly as the empress's words cut through the air like a dagger. His pride was wounded by the venom of her words—words she had not carefully chosen, or perhaps did carefully choose, as she knew what words he despised hearing the most. His eyes flashed with jaundice as he fought to contain the roiling emotions churning within him. He wanted to lash out, to defend his honor and assert his authority, but he knew that such displays of weakness would only fuel the flames of dissent and discord.

Instead, he yanked your wrist again. “Forget not thy place, wife.” And then he grabbed your face with a rough hand, slamming you against the wall. “I may have promised not to take myself a concubine, but that privilege is not extended to thy behavior.” The tightness of his grip caused your cheeks to ache slightly, and he showed no signs of letting go.

“And what wilt thou do?” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“What will I do? I will remind thee of thy position, wife,” he continued to speak in a menacing tone, “Test my patience as much as thou liketh. Go ahead and take a lover. Let us see how thy arrogance holds up when I force thee to bear his bastard child.”

You cussed him under your breath. “Is that jealousy?”

Yet, his countenance proved otherwise. “Not jealousy, as I am not possessive of thee. Bear whomever's child as thou wish. But once that child is born, I would never claim my title as the father. It would be deemed a bastard, its blood impure, and its existence an insult to my throne.”

“Press not the matters of infidelity to me when thou art the one in desperate need to put thy cock inside another lady.” You were bold enough to send him a look of disgust. “Thou art an emperor all due to me. Without me, thou art naught.”

In a fit of rage, Satoru exploded like a volcano spilling out its reservoir of hot, scorching lava. “You?! You think yourself the savior of this empire? Not by far!” There was a brief pause before he continued, eyes looking at you in unforgiving judgment. “I would have succeeded in leading the coup, even without thee.”

A snort escaped your lips. “Delude thyself that.”

“There are no guards nearby. No witnesses for thee.” The warning he had issued was laden with the implication of impending punishment, fueled by your defiance and vitriol, driving him to a boiling point. He seized your wrist once more, his grip tighter than before, as he leaned in close and spoke into your ear. “I could hurt thee right here and now if I wanted to, yet thou art at my mercy.”

“I need none of thy mercy,” you spat, taken aback as he pushed you against the wall. You could feel his breath fanning your neck as he leaned closer, inches before your face.

Satoru's laughter rang out as you persisted in your resistance, his eyes narrowing with a mix of intrigue and anger. Your defiance only served to stoke the flames of his wrath as he began to speak, “Darling,” and made a mocking of your endearment, “Mayhap I shall ravish thee until thou art insensible.”

“Vainglorious dastard,” you spitefully replied.

He spoke no words for several moments, his breathing gradually intensifying as he gazed down at you like a toy he wanted to destroy. And for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though he was weighing whether to persist or not, but eventually, he made his choice, his voice adopting a more ominous tone with each word. “Thou wilt be ravaged.”

“S-Satoru!”

He pushed you towards his bed, and himself against you, pressing his body heavily atop yours. His breath became uneven with his anger overtaking his mind. Your whimper of fear filled him with sadistic satisfaction. “Yes, me, as thou said. No one else is here with us, and no one would bat an eye if they heard a scream.”

Your decision to pull his hair proved to be a significant mistake, though it was evident from your expression that you derived pleasure from it. You longed for it. You desired this wanton affection. This carnal desire. Lust bathed in your eyes as you observed him hastily tear his clothing, eager to feel the velvety touch of your skin against his. He wasted no time in undressing you as well, ripping away whatever obstructed your bareness, leaving you both exposed under the moonlight, indulging in the passions shared between lovers.

“I despise thee,” you declared, a hot moaning mess under him as he rammed his hardened shaft in between your legs where he himself was grunting at the pleasure of your tight entrance. In and out he went, and buried his face on your neck to leave purple marks all over your skin. “I-I despise thee!”

“I share those sentiments,” he jested, squeezing your breast in labored breaths before he sucked the rounded mass in his mouth.

By the end of your long passionate exchange, he lay next to you, body soaked in sweat as he watched your sleeping face. The peace in those saintly features. Did you pass out? He could not be certain. Was he too rough? That, he was certain. It showed on the bruises that mapped parts of your body. He could feel a small tinge of guilt within him as he moved to pull the blanket over you, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Is this not love?” He opened his eyes when heard you laughing softly, eyes still shut but with a bitter smile spreading on your face. In a cold tone of voice, you whispered, “Thy love is tough, yet love natheless.”

He knew it was not love, yet even if it was, you would soon be taken care of anyway. You would be exiled or worse, executed, should you fail to heed his warnings. He had to put his ambitions first and foremost before any form of affection he had of you. And if you truly, unconditionally loved him, you would understand why.

That, that was how he defined love to be.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈

The castle’s dungeon was an… unsightly place. Aside from the centuries of brutal torture and grotesque deaths that occurred down under, it also housed the memory of Satoru shedding his hands on his kinsmen’s blood. That was the place where he had slain his father, his rotting head still mounted on the wall as though he was an animal that his son had hunted. A tyrant, undoubtedly. Satoru's penchant for brutality knew no bounds, but he certainly got it from his father. While you were responsible for the death of a little over a hundred people, his would account for more than thrice that number.

As you descended further into the depths of the dungeon, the air grew heavy with the miasma of damp stone, blood, and decay. A putrid, sickening odor greeted your nose the more you entered. If not for the torches that flickered dimly along the walls, you would not be able to see at all, yet those torches casted eerie shadows that danced and swayed with each step you took. It was a frightening sight and definitely not for the faint hearted.

“Help!” Your senses were assailed by the sights and sounds of the dungeon's grim inhabitants as you ventured deeper into the labyrinthine corridors. Gaunt specters lurked in the shadows, their hollow eyes gleaming with a sinister light as they whispered chilling secrets to one another in sotto voce. Some also cried of agony and despair, some had already fallen unhinged from being held in captivity for so long—it became a cacophony of anguished cries and tortured souls. “Help me, Empress! I plead mine innocence!”

“Step back, Your Majesty.” Suguru, who acted as your companion in this macabre trip, unsheathed his sword to protect you from being touched by the prisoners. He threatened to slash their hands with just a simple touch on your dress.

“Empress! Empress!”

You deemed it wise to pull the hood of the cloak over your face, especially as the prisoners were starting to recognize you within these cursed confines. It would be troublesome if Satoru were to arrive soon and they began to scream your name in his presence.

“Empress, this dungeon is meant for souls as tainted as thine!”

That statement proved itself to be spine-chilling and hair-raising, as such accusations could not be denied. Truthfully, your crimes far surpassed theirs. You belonged with the forsaken and the damned. You already accepted that all your sins and trespasses would bring you nowhere near heaven, yet you had blindly murdered people out of love for Satoru. That was how crazy you were at winning him over. And now, this is where it brought you.

But you pressed on and continued traipsing through the dungeon until you could feel the presence of the oracle drawing closer, a beacon of hope amidst the despair that gripped the dungeon like a vice.

Finally, you reached the chamber where the oracle awaited. It was a figure cloaked in shadow at the far end of the room. And upon adjusting your visions, you could see that the oracle was an old woman, her white hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight around her frail shoulders. Her skin, alabaster. Her eyes, ghoulish and devoid of color, and they seemed to pierce the veil of reality itself as she spoke in riddles and whispers that sent shivers down your spine. It was your first time to encounter such an unrealistic being. They said each word from the oracle dripped with the weight of centuries of wisdom and foreboding. She spoke of prophecies and portents, of trials and tribulations yet to come, her words weaving a tapestry of fate and destiny that hung heavy in the air like a shroud.

“Speak.” You stopped at her chamber, demanding to hear the prophecy she had said to your husband. “Tell me the Emperor’s prophecy.”

Much to your ire, she gave you no response, still staring at the empty wall.

“Speak!” Your patience was growing thin as each passing second would crumble any hope you had inside that Satoru was not a man who would forsake you, or even execute you, in exchange for his ambitions. But it had been twenty or so minutes and still there was no word from the oracle. “Have you no mouth? Art thou not a soothsayer?”

Suguru sucked in a deep breath. Should his accusations of the emperor prove to be a lie, you swore to yourself that you would be the one to put him inside one of the iron maidens in the dungeon. Or that daunting Judas cradle if he preferred. “Your Majesty, it takes time to make her speak.”

“I do not have that luxury of time! I cannot be seen hither.” You gave him a menacing stare. “On peril of thy life, Sir Knight, if this be naught but foolery, I will disembowel thee myself—”

“Beware! O Empress, keeper of fragile dreams!”

The sudden burst of the oracle’s voice startled you, as they were far from what you had expected from an old lady. It carried an otherworldly quality that seemed to transcend her physical form. They were melodic and haunting, a chilling quality that hinted at the supernatural origins of her prophetic abilities. It was as though you were paralyzed by the time she spoke, like all your senses stopped working and all you could ever do was be forced to listen to her prophecy.

“For the Emperor's gaze wanders far,

As he seeks a lady of royal blood,

Ambition cloaked in the guise of lineage,

And in his thirst for power, lies your peril.”

As you listened, your heart bled terribly, knowing that the answers you sought lay buried within the enigmatic riddles of the oracle's words. The haunting words of the prophecy echoed through the dim chamber where you stood frozen, in a state of despair and disbelief and every awful thing in the world combined. The truth, once a lurking suspicion, now materialized before you and it left your heart in shattered pieces because you actually hoped that none of the accusations were true. So, how could Satoru do this to you? How could he betray you after all your sacrifices just to be his wife, your efforts just to receive his love, and your crimes just to satisfy his desires? Through your hands, more than a hundred souls had perished. You had shed the blood of many Christian souls for him. You had offered him your chastity and turned back on your reverence by profaning the word of God. You had worshiped him like a divine being. Yet so easily would he cast you away. No, he could not even offer the slightest pleasure of loving you genuinely, without any inhibitions, without anything in exchange.

While your sacrifices were his definition of the “greater good”, his betrayal against you was his definition of a “lesser evil”. It was his “personal gain”, for your demise would have no profound repercussions on this empire.

Undoubtedly, that must be his truest and utmost feelings for you.

Suguru held you in his arms when you fell to the ground, your entire world crashing before you as the oracle revealed your husband’s plans. Your hands were shaking, trembling. You had trouble breathing. He was there to guide you out of the dungeon safely, even if you were to run and weep like a madwoman. But of course, you were not that insane yet. It was simply the ache in your heart that catapulted you into an abyss of pain.

Satoru must not succeed in his plans. He must not come out victorious. The greatest revenge you could think of was brimming in the back of your mind, ignited by the visible spite you felt for him and his web of deceit.

And back alone in your bedchambers, nausea overcame you and had you vomiting all over the floor. You retched the harrowing experience at the dungeons, disgusted by things you saw and heard, especially the treachery of your very husband. You were sick at the thought of him planning your assassination behind your back, like an ungrateful imbecile who only cared about himself and his vainglory.

“Nurse!” you called, coughing out the foul taste of bile expelled from your throat. “Come hither!”

“Anon, madam!” Geneva came to your aid as soon as you summoned her and tended to your needs immediately. At the time, you could not make out much of the clatter that was happening inside your chambers as you lay in bed with your eyes shut. It seemed that Geneva had ordered the other servants to clean out the mess you had created, while she took over in putting you to bed and making sure that you were warm and comfortable. She had no single idea about what was going through your mind, and had she had any hint about what it was, you could only imagine how bloody traumatized she would be.

If Satoru wanted to dethrone and destroy you, then you might as well help him with it. He should no longer be surprised to see what good of a show you could offer for everyone in this empire.

“Good madam,” Geneva called gently, after an hour or so, pulling you out of trance. “A physician is already—”

You lifted a hand, stopping her while you tried to get out of bed. “There is not a need for that.” Despite your queasiness, you had decided that there was no time to waste for this war of love and death against your husband. The sooner you planned things out, the greater your advantage would be. You had to have the upperhand in this. “Nurse, whither wander dost my husband?”

The nurse guided you up and draped a lightweight shawl around your shoulders. “I ween His Majesty is undertaking a military inspection. Escorted by a ten or so knights goes he.”

An inspection? It must be related to the discussion at the imperial court. Of course, if Satoru was planning to wage war against Astheryn, he had to review the troops stationed in different regions of the empire to assess readiness, morale, and preparedness for defense. He could deploy an initial 25,000 men in his heavy infantry should he find the need to go on an all-out war with the enemy, but those amount of soldiers would require the emperor himself to arduously test if they were ready for battle. Naturally, the inspection could last four or five days depending on his assessment. And in his absence in the palace, either the empress or the other trusted advisors would usually take on the duties that usually were his.

This was the perfect opportunity to devise your plan; to prune the branches, weaken the trunk, and uproot the tree entirely. The branches began with his loyal advisors, which have already been filtered out as those previously appointed by his parents became his enemies. Enemies that died by his hands and yours, because those enemies were advisors who did not support Satoru in his method of seizing the highest throne, so he could not risk having rebels in the empire who would later work together to topple him from his seat. When he first rose to the throne, he had several assassination attempts aimed at him, typically by means of poisoning his food with arsenic, or hiring highly skilled mercenaries to slay him behind his back—all of those attempts were intercepted by you. And at the elimination of those disloyal to him, Satoru assumed that the current members of the imperial court could hence be trusted since they had not shown any hints of falsity for the ten years they had served him.

The difference between you and Satoru was that he was easily beguiled because the noblemen treated him a lot differently than you. They were ass-lickers, trying to win him over for their own superficial benefits, while you knew who among them were simply supporting Satoru for the sake of not being executed. Out of fear, out of an inherent will to live, out of an obvious lack of choice—there was one noble who stood out among the rest.

And it was the one whose presence was not the loudest.

“Lord Nanami.” Upon mentioning his name, you entered the palace library—a grandeur chamber notable for its high ceilings, expansive oak shelves, and accoutrements—as he stood in front of a wood table, strangely interested in codices. “Well met.”

The blond nobleman curtsied. “Your Imperial Majesty, ‘tis an honor to be in thy presence.”

You gestured your hand into dismissing him, cutting to the chase because you were still unwell. And for all the necessary reasons, you had to have this conversation with him or else there would not be an easier opportunity with Satoru’s eyes and ears around the palace. Nanami was his most trusted advisor, not Maximilian as much as he fooled himself to think so. “What codex read thou?”

Nanami spoke cautiously, his eyes fixed on the codex. “Of some medical writings and scientific treatises. Rumors are circulating about a mysterious outbreak in a remote village in Constantia, a city within the grand duchy of Valoria. It seems to be an illness that is spreading rapidly with only a 10% chance of survival. I hear they are calling it the ‘Black Death’ due to the appearance of gangrene. Considering the trade routes, that city lies along the Veridian Sea, which is a path taken by the ship that trades metals and minerals with us. They engage in that route due to Constantia's involvement with the slave trade, boarding the ship bound for Caelum for the metals and minerals, while ferrying their slaves all the way to Astheryn, their largest buyer.”

As if the gods were with you!

The topic pulled your sudden interest, for it was proving to be exactly what you needed for your plan to be successful. “An illness, thou sayest? What records have we about its origin?”

“Valorians perceive it as divine punishment for their involvement in the slave trade. Another prevalent theory is the miasma it brings, attributing the disease to foul odors and noxious fumes in the air and in the environment in which they live. Personally, I suspect it originates from a bacterium resulting from interactions between humans and infected animals.” Despite lacking sufficient research to support his hypothesis, you acknowledged that Nanami's personal theory seemed more plausible. “The symptoms suggest to me that it is not airborne, contrary to what most people assume.”

You kept your eyes on him as he fixed his pince-nez. “What symptoms doth it have? And what conclusion have thee on what they are?”

“Your Majesty, a swarm of dead rats were found in Constantia a month ago,” he first informed, leading you to his suspicions. “Given the escalating tension with Astheryn and our increased need for metal to support our crafting and weaponry, I bade a dispatcher to send a message to Constantia due to their failure to supply us with the agreed-upon metal,” Nanami explained, showing a haze of regret behind in his eyes. “The dispatcher wrote back to me, stating that he is unable to return to Caelum promptly as he was experiencing chills, buboes, and gangrene. I presume he perished within days of arriving there.”

The moue you displayed on your face could not be stopped. “Doth His Majesty know? Of this and yon rumors in Valoria thou speakest of?”

“His Majesty, the Emperor, hath not been apprised of the matter yet.” The blond nobleman looked at you solemnly. “‘Tis my duty to inform him as soon as he returns from his—”

“No, thou wilt not,” you commanded sternly, earning his surprise in return. “Thou wilt not speak a word to Satoru about this. Obey my word and thou shall be rewarded.”

This was good. This was perfect for your plans! If it was true that such illness was spreading in Valoria, it would only be a matter of time until the plague reached Caelum and wiped half its population! You laughed heartily inside your head. It would be an utmost entertainment for you to watch Satoru’s downfall before your very eyes. If Astheryn was no threat to him, then a biolgical warfare would certainly destroy him. No one else had to know of your schemes but you.

Of course, the ever-so-noble Nanami was not easy to convince, especially if it was a clash between his duty and morality. “Empress, I fail to comprehend... Such matters couldst pose dangers to Caelum and its lands. His Majesty needeth be informed, as he possesses the authority to prevent the trade ship from reaching us. Astheryn had already long ceased their slave trading due to it. We must do the same.”

“And thou believe I lack the same power to issue commands as an empress?” As you raised an eyebrow at him, his stance became more apologetic. “Continue with the trade by hook or by crook. I will sign the permit and have the ship arrive us on Monday next as planned. Let us not allow rumors of an illness to hinder us from obtaining our required metal from the city of Constantia. As thou said, we need abundant supplies for our weaponry. We must seize this opportunity to bolster our arms. Do not mention this to His Majesty, and if thou dare, thou shalt face the punishment of getting thy tongue cut out.”

Nanami’s eyes widened. “But Your Majesty…”

You pressed your hand firmly against the table and asserted your authority over him. “I have ownership of a couple of remote islands near the outskirts of Caelum. Surely, thou art aware of them? I will instruct my father, the Grand Duke, to transfer one of the larger estates to thee. Additionally, I shall provide thee with a quarter of my jewels and 15000 celestas as a deposit. In exchange, I command thee to retire from thy position and never again engage in conversation with my husband.”

It was a fair bargain. The man was certainly considering that because not only would he secure his own land and riches, he would also be away from the dangers of the plague should it truly spread throughout Caelum and its nearby nations. He would be safe there in his own estate with enough money to retire early. “Empress… whatever it may be that thou art planning, this is treason.”

“This or punishment is thy only option,” you stated, eyes burning with fire. “Make wisely of thy choice.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐈

The preparation for the New Year’s ball was arduous, and you spared no effort to ensure that every detail lived up to Caelum’s prestige. Because you had a generous budget allocation for this year's banquet, you did not hold back on the display of wealth, power, and culinary sophistication. The menu alone boasted elaborate roast meats, poultry dishes, pies, pastries, desserts, and confections, accompanied by a variety of wines and spirits to enhance the indulgent dining experience. More so, the smell of luxurious dishes inside the grand hall would be enough to water the mouths of the guests.

Invitations were extended not only to the nobility within the capital but also throughout the empire, welcoming all to partake in the feast as long as they came from noble houses. The theme, as initially requested by your husband, was black and silver to match the regalia, although this theme did not extend to the guests. They were free to choose their attire as they pleased, with the only restriction being to avoid the loud colors that represented Astheryn.

It was well-known that Caelum’s nobility enjoyed flaunting their wealth and status among themselves, further highlighting the perception of the empire as superficial and governed by leaders who indulged in unethical opulence. While you may have denied such rumors, the truth remained: such ostentatious display of wealth was a century-long tradition upheld by the Gojou family to showcase the Caelum Empire as the wealthiest and most powerful across the central continent. If there was anyone Satoru should blame for this excessive extravagance, it should be his ancestors. Not you.

As the empress of this nation and the person who oversaw these types of celebrations, you saw it fit to wear an elegant gown befitting your status. You were dressed in a majestic gown of midnight black velvet, intricately embroidered with religious motifs and adorned with pearls and jewels that glimmered in the candlelight. A towering headpiece, resplendent with silver filigree and bedight with twisted crosses and angelic figures, rested upon your head as a symbol of your pretentious reverence for the church. You moved through the banquet hall with regal grace and elegance, a vision of piety and power, with your outward display of devotion masking the darkness of your thoughts inside.

Next to you was your tyrant husband, whose attire was an obsidian velvet of the finest kind. Around his waist was a thick belt of black leather cinching the robe, its buckle emblazoned with the imperial insignia. His chest was bedecked with a chainmail hauberk, a display to his martial prowess and readiness for battle, while a silver mantle was draped over his shoulders, adding to his imposing presence. Upon his head sat a crown of gleaming silver encrusted with onyx and obsidian stones.

“Long live the Emperor and the Empress! May Their Majesties reign be blessed!”

Upon your entrance down the staircase to the Grand Hall, the guests offered their curtsies and salutations to you and your husband to show their deference and recognition to the imperialty. The nobles had their chance at a brief greeting with the imperial family based on their ranking, although Satoru showed little to no care for those at the lower ranks. Nonetheless, those of lower statuses devotedly sought to curry his favor and prove their allegiance to him.

He is naught but a fool, you thought inwardly as you watched your husband dismiss a mere count. Satoru must not have realized that those he considered of lower ranking were often the most loyal to him. They were driven by their wish to climb the upper echelon of high society, therefore, they would go to great lengths to gain recognition from the emperor. Conversely, if push comes to shove, those of higher statuses would be the first ones to turn their backs on the imperial family, as they already possessed the wealth and status to sustain their own estates and exclude themselves from the rest of the empire.

“Lords and Ladies, esteemed guests, and subjects of my realm,” Satoru spoke with gracious authority as he stood by his throne, looking down on the nobility before him, “I stand before thee on this very occasion, the commencement of a new year, to address the empire that rests beneath mine unwavering rule. As thy Emperor, I look upon the vast land that stretches beneath me, and aim to build great cities, forge mighty alliances, and expand our dominion to the farthest reaches of the known world. This eve, we gather not merely to celebrate the turning of the calendar, but to reaffirm the absolute authority that guides our great empire. Let it be known, plainly and honorably, that the prosperity of this realm is intrinsically tied to the strength of its ruler. In my hands, I hold the reins of power, and I shall steer this ship through tumultuous waters with an unshakable resolve. Those who seek to challenge the stability of our empire will find themselves met with the full force of imperial might. Let this banquet serve as a reminder—a celebration of the empire's indomitable strength and an acknowledgment of the consequences that befall those who dare to defy it. Raise thy goblets high, my loyal subjects, for we embark upon another year under the banner of unassailable authority.”

Satoru might be a terrible spouse, but he certainly was not a terrible emperor. He asserted his authority when it demanded him the most, and he knew well enough how to make his subjects cower in terror at every word he spoke. His speech was a simple warning not only to the nobles, but perhaps also to you, as he believed the prophecy pictured you as a traitor to his reign.

Initially, you could say he was wrong and that never in a million years would you betray the same person you helped ascend the throne. But now that his resolve was to entirely eliminate you in order to succeed in his ambitions, you would not deny such grave accusations of treason on your part. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. It was only too bad for him that he had no knowledge of what you knew, and that was exactly why you were ten steps ahead of him.

The sound of classical music served as a backdrop for the banquet, with the dulcet sounds of flutes, harps, and viols creating an elegant ambiance through the hall. The nobles worked on their usual slobber and socialization, usually reserved for recently debuted ladies to mark their own impressions within high society. The males were often there to discuss lands and politics or to be in search of their bride who would become the next noble ladies of their respective houses. The scene reminded you of your happy days as a once noble lady, a daughter of a duke, who was also the most popular and most eligible bride for Crown Prince Satoru among all of the nobility within the Caelum Empire. Back then, your biggest rivals were Lady Anastasia de Florentine and Lady Serena de Visconti. Both ladies came from esteemed houses and had therefore become a threat to your desire to be Crown Princess. In terms of beauty, talent, and elegance; they were definitely strong contenders. What they lacked was the wit, the cunningness in which you pride yourself with, as you ended up becoming Satoru’s choice as his empress.

You were aware that Satoru spent his years as a prince dallying with other noble ladies, even courtesans, as he himself was fair in the face. And he was aware that the ill-fate that had befallen some of those ladies were due to your own cruel doing. You tormented any lady that vied for his attention. It was not until he gave in and got to know what you offered did he stop fooling around with random whores, deeming them unworthy to stand next to him as they served no purpose for him in the long run. You offered a better role to him than the rest of them, especially with your skill as a tactician and your family’s background in the military and weaponry department which all came in handy at the time of his usurpation to the throne.

In other words, he knew how evil you could be since day one. And benefited from you because of it.

“What plagues thy mind?” he asked, holding your waist and your hand as you both gracefully danced in pavane. His hair was neatly brushed away from his forehead tonight, with a few stubborn strands dangling on the side. “How awfully silent.”

You stared at his bright blue eyes coruscating under the chandeliers, noticing how his gaze wandered to a noble lady. “It matters not to thee.”

Satoru then narrowed his eyes at your coldness. “It matters much to me. What is this foolish act art thou playing at?”

“A foolish act of playing the role of thy wife,” you answered briefly and sternly. “Dost this banquet satisfy thee? I have invited the empire’s most beautiful and most eligible ladies to be thy concubine. All of age and of noble background so worry not. Thou may choose anyone to thy liking, so the best be with thee.”

The offense you caused was evident in his visage. As much as it entertained you, he was clearly enraged and on the verge of losing it. You already knew he would just remind you yet again that he wanted to remarry instead of getting a concubine, but it was too good of a reaction to pass up on. In fact, he stared at you blankly, speechless for a few moments as he processed the implications of your words. “This is the game you play?” he murmurs through gritted teeth, a hint of a scowl forming on his face. Conflicting emotions surged within him, a mixture of anger and hurt, yet ultimately he chose not to give you the reaction you seemed to seek. “I will humor thee. Where be these concubines thou dost speak of?”

You scoffed, and then laughed out loud to the point where it gained the curious stares of the nobles. “Wherefore, look everywhere and haply may thy eager eyes find them,” you answered in absolute joy. “That is all they shall be; mere concubines. If thou prefer a young and ripe virgin, that is also possible—”

“Do not get smart with me,” Satoru warned, grabbing a tight hold of your chin. The muscles along his jaw tensed. “Thou art but a petulant wench, a mere ornament next to my throne, lacking the wit and wisdom to comprehend the weight of imperial decree. The matters of remarriage are not simply to jest about. Know thy place, woman, and heed the consequences of thy impudence."

“Is that a threat?” You returned his glare, now feeling all eyes on the both of you. The thick air of tension permeated the hall like a cloud of incoming thunderstorm.

The emperor was not one to show weakness in front of public eyes, now displaying an authoritarian mien to his wife as he tightened his hold on your jaw. “Take it as thou may.”

In defense to your wounded pride, you shoved his hand away and maintained a rigid poise. “Keep thy filthy hands off me, you usurping tyrant.”

As tension crackled through the hall, a hushed unease descended upon the assembled guests. Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a gathering tornado, and uneasy glances were darted between the nobles and servants as they witnessed the brewing disagreements of their imperial rulers. Some averted their gaze, feigning disinterest, while others leaned in with rapt attention, hungry for the spectacle unfolding before them.

Meanwhile, Satoru was forcing a laugh at your chosen insult. Calling him a usurper really hit a nerve, as always. “Watch that foul-tongued mouth,” he warned once more, “Barren wretch!”

Approaching one of the palace sentinels halfway across the hall, you countered your husband’s heavy footsteps by drawing out a sword from a knight’s scabbard, thereupon making a swift turn to point the silver brand directly at his throat. You had not even realized that it was Suguru’s sword that you took. Deadly silence instantly spanned the hallway, and even the tick tock of the nearby clock had stopped because of the rising tension between Caleum’s reigning monarchs.

But with one sword raised at the emperor’s neck, twenty more were directed back at the empress. Satoru’s loyal knights were quick to trap you in full circle to protect their sovereign ruler, forcing you to submit and restrain yourself from moving the sword any closer to the emperor’s throat.

Unfortunately for him, being submissive was no longer in your repertoire.

“You dare commit treason in mine own palace?!” Your husband’s venomous blue eyes bore holes into your skull—his mouth thinning in displeasure as you stayed unwavered by his imperious tone. “Thou art too brave for an empress consort!”

“That is rich coming from a usurper himself!” you countered, satisfied by the spasm of irritation crossing his face. “Have as many concubines and courtesans as thou wish, but never disrespect me in front of my people. Treat me not as though I am lower than a mistress merely because I am childless to thee. Dare you not look down at me for I am an empress first ere I am thy wife.”

What kind of psychopath was that man, truly?

You left the hall as soon as you said those prideful words, no longer wishing to hear what more intelligible things he had to say to you and of the preposterous scene in which you engaged. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much you had come to despise every fiber of his being. He was an ungrateful imbecile who would slay his own kin at the price of his ambitions. You may have started the quarrel, but he did not need to escalate it and put his filthy blood-stained hands on you in front of the nobles. His goal might be to put you in your rightful place, but he chose the wrong person to be his empress. That choice alone was the start of his tragic flaw.

And with that disrespect would soon come his downfall.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

Satoru struggled to comprehend the shift in your demeanor toward him and the words you chose to speak to him. He found your behavior baffling, as if you had lost touch with reason to be acting such a lunatic. You were out of your bloody mind! What could have driven you to act so irrationally, becoming incensed at every little remark he made? Was it solely because he expressed a desire to remarry for the sake of an heir and requested you to step down from your throne? No, your anger seemed to stem from deeper roots than mere marital disagreements. The hostility in your eyes said so, and it was the kind that mirrored the animosity he had witnessed in his ancestors towards their rival empire. That was the level of rancor you had of him.

Or could this be the dreaded prophecy coming to life?

Maximilian had been warning him that the prophecy was becoming truer day-by-day, and that the only way to ultimately prevent it was to banish you. It should be easy, truly, since Satoru had no problems slaying his own kin and hundreds of men. Why should another soul like yours cause such an impact on him?

Yet, Satoru found himself unable to take that step. The reasons eluded him. What he despised, however, was your increasing defiance. You were no longer the submissive wife he had grown accustomed to. Albeit your inherently strong personality, you had never before lashed out at him, insulted him, raised your voice, or shown him any form of antagonism. You always let him win arguments and understood your place. Extravagant gifts like luxurious silk dresses, rare jewels, and exotic fragrances used to be enough to maintain your compliance. Were his gifts no longer sufficient to appease you? What more did you desire from him?

Love?

How preposterous. Love was no gift.

The emperor cussed under his breath as he slid the robe off his shoulder and stepped inside the tub, soaking his naked body under the warm fragrant water. He raked his fingers through his wet, white hair, leaning his head back as he stared at the ceiling. It never occurred to him that his eyebrows had furrowed as his thoughts of you had consumed him. A small part of him yearned to punish you for your recent behavior, while a larger part of him longed to pursue you. He desired to regain your trust and devotion, no matter how absurd it might seem to others. How else could he manipulate someone who harbored such animosity towards him? You had been easier to control when you saw him past his selfishness, turning a blind eye as long as he played the role of the loyal husband.

Fine, if it was disloyalty that enraged you so, then he would show you. In another way. That the loyalty you seek still possessed him somewhere.

The subject of his plan stood in his privy chamber, assisting him as he bathed that morning. He had long noticed this particular servant's subtle attempts at seducing him, but had always chosen to ignore her as he never felt tempted to indulge. Instead, he found it somewhat amusing that she would willingly display her body to him in private settings like this. Perhaps, he mused, it was a message to him, indicating her desire to ascend to high society by becoming his concubine. She likely sought to escape her life as a mere peasant and elevate herself to the status of a noble lady. She may have even heard of his sexual escapades back then as a wayward prince who entertained different ladies in his chamber before he married you. That was probably why she wanted to take advantage of the carnal weakness that she thought still lingered within him.

This strumpet. Satoru scoffed inwardly as he watched his personal maid pick up the bottle of lavender oil from the floor. She had purposely unbuttoned the top most part of her attire so that her voluptuous breasts would pop out like two balloons sitting on her chests. Appearance wise, it was clear that she had tried to put on cheap rouge from vermillion or beetroot juice, tinting her lips a brighter red than usual to complement her fiery, ginger hair. Her eyes were lined sharp from the soot, as though she was trying to resemble the empress’ seductive eyes.

“Your Majesty,” she spoke in a seductive voice, finding her seat at the edge of the tub as she poured the fragrant oil on the hot water. She raised her skirt higher as an obvious attempt to show off her legs, and offered a better view of her huge breasts as she leaned forward. Now that she was closer to him, he could see her taut nipples peeking behind her thin layer of clothing. “Wouldst thou desire for me to bathe thee?”

His lips may have curled upwards into a smirk, but his eyes were as terrifyingly sharp as ever. “Dost thou seek death?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, feigning her innocence as she received his warning. “Nay, Your Majesty! I do not seek such.”

“Why art thou so bold to think thy body is more desirable than the empress’?” He began to question her pride, and later put her stupidity into good use. She would be the perfect pawn for him to win his wife’s favor again. “My wife hath the most perfect figure I have seen in a woman, and thine is what? Thou boast of thy breasts that resemble a cow’s?”

“I…” The servant stammered, clearly offended as she got up from her seat and attempted to mask the embarrassment that appeared on her face. Satoru raised an eyebrow and waited for her response, while she gathered her courage to deny his claims. “Forgive me, my lord, if I have offended thee.”

Satoru shook his head in amusement. “What is thy aim, then, if not to inveigle me into bedding thee? I do not consort with trollops.”

Caught red-handed, she stumbled and bowed her head at the lowest possible level before him. “I beg thy pardon, Your Imperial Majesty! I merely sought to aid thee in the birthing of an heir. I am not barren unlike Her Majesty the Empress, and I can assure thee I will bear fruit even if thou only dost me once.”

“Get on thy knees,” he ordered, stepping out of the tub and wrapping his bare body with a robe. “Thy know that to be certain?”

Her eyes pleaded for desperation to become his mistress. “Certain, yes! I am certain, my lord! And I will be a loyal subject to thee unlike the empress—”

“Pardon?” As if her words intrigued his ears. In a swift motion, he turned to the servant and looked down at her with his cold, scrutinizing eyes. “Unlike the empress? Repeat thy words with caution. Thou art maligning the most noble woman of this empire.”

It did look like she found her way out of his criticism by directing his ill-temper towards his wife. “Your Majesty, I am not maligning thy wife. ‘Tis true that Her Majesty is having an affair with your commander of knights! Some days ago did I see the empress and Sir Suguru in an intimate embrace, running through the halls as though they wish not be seen!”

The emperor's expression hardened at the servant's accusation, his brows furrowing with disbelief and anger. His hand tightened into a fist as he processed the shocking revelation.

“Is this the truth thou speaketh?” His voice was low, carrying a dangerous edge that hinted at the storm brewing within him. The accusation struck at the very core of his trust and authority.

The servant's gaze faltered under the weight of the emperor's scrutiny, but she remained resolute. “Your Majesty, I speak only what I have witnessed with mine own eyes. By my troth and by God’s bones, I swear by all that is holy, it is no falsehood.”

Satoru’s mind raced with conflicting emotions, but he showed none of his inward thoughts outwardly. Instead, he delighted in this ideal opportunity for him to deal with gaining your devotion again.

“Undress thyself. I want thou bare and without any clothing," he said, his voice cold and measured, “and thou shalt remain in this chamber until my return.”

With that, the emperor swept out of the privy chamber at once, leaving behind a stunned and apprehensive servant. She believed it to be her sign of good luck. Of good fate. That she now found her place as a mistress to the highest ruler of this nation. She could not believe her destiny as she triumphantly unclothed herself, peeling every fabric off her body with excitement as she imagined the things the emperor would do to her upon his return. She would definitely have to deal with his wrath since he just found out that the empress betrayed her, but she was willing to have him use her body and let his anger out on his adulterous wife. An emperor with a distracted mind would be her ticket to being impregnated by his child. Soon, she would be his concubine, she would be the mother of a future emperor.

She would never again have to suffer as a servant!

Upon the sound of footsteps nearing the privy chamber, the servant provocatively sat at the edge of the tub, displaying all of her body to him and him alone. “Your Majesty, I am ready for thee.”

“Art thou?”

Horror washed over the servant’s face, her heartbeat increasing tenfold as she saw the empress sending an icy stare into her as she stood by the privy chamber’s entrance. Behind her were her ladies-in-waiting throwing their judgeful stares at the naked servant, surrounded by knights who seemed to have come under the emperor’s orders. The emperor! There he was, appearing behind the empress, kissing her cheek and encircling her waist, whispering to her that the servant had attempted to seduce him and had even accused his wife of infidelity. Satoru's actions struck the servant as reminiscent of a child tattling to his mother. He adopted an air of artificial innocence, as if his only intention were to win the empress' trust.

“Send this harlot to the throne room,” he commanded his knights, his voice loud and clear. “Let it be known that there will be consequences for those who dare to deceive their emperor.”

At the throne room, you found yourself seated at the elevated throne next to your husband. This was a place in the castle where the trials of the accused were often held, and now the accused kneeling before you on the lower part of the hall was a lowly maid which Satoru had claimed to have seduced him and besmirched your name.

Did he think you were stupid? You knew what his ulterior motives were. You were aware of his covert schemes, and that his sole attempt at orchestrating this entire spectacle was to use the maid to regain your trust and obedience out of gratitude. He was clearly at an unrest ever since you had been defiant to him and he was doing the best that he could to make you submit to him. He was desperate to show you that he was on your side and believed that by reporting the maid's advances, he could convince you of his loyalty. Satoru must truly underestimate your intelligence if he thought that such acts would restore his control over you. But for the sake of a good show, you decided to play along.

As customary, the emperor presided over the trial, while the accused maid stood before the imperialty, her eyes downcast, while whispers could be heard through the assembled courtiers.

Satoru announced her sin in a commanding yet measured voice. “Maiden, thou stand accused of attempting to seduce the sovereign and spreading slanderous falsehoods regarding Her Majesty's honor. These are grave charges that strike at the very foundation of our empire.”

The accused maid trembled slightly but remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ground. She seemed to be having a battle in her head, realizing that she was being used by the emperor’s cruel game. What did she expect of him? You rolled your eyes. Satoru was a known tyrant. She would never last a day being his mistress, much less a concubine. You were the only lady in this empire that could handle him.

The emperor then turned to you as he continued with his speech. “As for thee, my wife, thou hast been accused of a betrayal that, if true, would bring shame upon the imperial family.” He paused, his expression grave yet thoughtful. “Therefore, I shall entrust the judgment and punishment of this matter to thee. Thou alone knowest the truth of these accusations, and it is thy virtue and integrity that shall guide our course of justice.”

You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was. Now he was even entrusting the maid’s punishment to you? His tactic obviously consisted of two things: 1) giving you the authority to impose punishment on the accused would make you liable for the consequences tied to the matter 2) if proven not guilty, you would have to face the shame of your misguided punishment. Because Satoru was not certain that you were having an affair, he was putting you on the spot to decide the punishment you would give based on your conscience.

Either that or he may have simply intended to convey trust in your judgment by allowing you to administer punishment. This could be a gesture aimed at restoring your sense of authority and influence within the palace. However, given the complexities of your relationship and the context of the situation, it was likely that his motives were more layered and multifaceted.

“How dost it strike thee, Empress?” Satoru asked in a strangely calm mien. “Mayhap we can give her ten or twenty whips? Have her sent out to the dungeons or the west tower?”

Oh, did he assume you were not capable of being creative with punishments? You were not one to shy away from brutality like him. In fact, you had something better in store for this servant of his.

The courtiers listened intently, their eyes locked upon you as you spoke. “It is my judgment that the maid shall be subjected to the punishment befitting her transgressions.”

A hushed murmur erupted through the assembled crowd as they awaited the empress’ decree.

“Firstly, the maid shall be paraded through the streets of our capital, stripped of her garments and bearing the shame of her actions for all to see. Let her walk the path of humility, that she may reflect upon the consequences of her deeds.” Your cruel words carried a weight of overwhelming gravity as you announced the first part of the punishment and proceeded to the next. “Furthermore, the maid shall be delivered unto the custody of our executioners, who shall mete out the final aspect of her punishment. Let her be subjected to the pear of anguish, that she may atone for her sins and serve as a warning to all who would dare besmirch the name of their sovereign.”

The courtiers exchanged somber glances, trembling out of fear at the severity of your inhumane judgment. Even Satoru himself was shocked at the lengths you had chosen to take just to punish a lowly maid. Why was he surprised? He, himself, was entertained at the usage of the brazen bull, roasting his enemies alive as a punishment. The pear of anguish was not even as severe as his usual choices, as its purpose was to have a pear-shaped instrument be inserted in the maid’s vagina, and expand it to the point of internal injuries and mutilation.

“No! No! Your Majesty!” she cried, her words choked with emotion. She quivered in terror and fell to her knees. “I beg of thee, have mercy upon me! Spare me from such unspeakable agony! Forgive me for my transgressions and the harm I have caused. Pray, grant me the chance to repent and seek forgiveness. I shall never again show myself to thee. Prithee… Empress Y/N… Spare me from this horror, I beg of thee!”

Her voice echoed through the hall with her desperate plea for clemency amidst the shadow of her impending doom. In the silence that followed, your eyes caught the guilt spreading on Satoru’s face. His blue eyes were, for a second, wide and horrified. But he was quick to compose himself and keep yet again a rigid face.

“Very well.” Satoru gestured to his knights to take the maid away. “Do as my wife says.”

“My liege, this is preposterous!” In the midst of the tense atmosphere, one advisor, a voice of dissent, stepped forward, his expression grave and his tone measured. Lord Maximilian was only intending to address the emperor, completely ignoring your right as the empress. “Your Majesty, the Emperor,” the advisor spoke respectfully but with conviction, “I humbly beseech thee to reconsider this severe course of action. The pear of anguish, in particular, is a device of unparalleled cruelty. The punishment is more severe than the crime committed!” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I propose a more measured punishment, one that upholds the dignity of your sovereign without plunging us into the depths of brutality. Mayhap a period of confinement or hard labor could serve as a more merciful yet effective means of retribution. This way, Your Majesty, we demonstrate both strength and compassion that define thy sovereign rule.”

“Compassion?” you scoffed, humored by Lord Maximilian’s little speech. His pretentiousness was truly out of this world. He was obviously against it because he refused to see your authority over the court restored. He had not even a single idea that you were already aware that he had been conspiring with your husband to execute you. “Thou speak of compassion and mercy, Lord Maximilian, when this empire had seen the ruthless perish of a thousand Christian souls under your counsel to the emperor. Is that not irony? What about the body of his lordship, Count Stefano, that thou order’d to be skinned alive? Or what about the corpses of men speared on pikes by the Tiber River? Now, tell me about that compassion.”

Satoru, stuck in the situation, scanned the throne room and searched for his voice of reason. The man who always stood his ground between good and evil. Lord Nanami. Yet the man was nowhere to be found. “Is Lord Nanami hither? Call him forth to me.”

“I am afraid not, my liege,” spoke one of the courtiers, “He had left Your Majesty a letter advising of his immediate need to be on a sabbatical. Cited he no reasons as to why.”

“Is that so?” your husband’s face contorted into confusion, while you were exchanging glances with Suguru, who seemed slightly aware of your participation in Nanami’s sudden absence. Howbeit, he spoke no words about it.

And no one else also said another word, therefore, leaving Satoru to move forward with your decision on the punishment. If he was smart, he should see that your decision was not just a mere punishment to the maid but as a warning from you, that he was not the only person in this empire capable of being a tyrant. That you, as devoted as you used to be, could also be cruel if you wanted to be.

You ignored the maid’s screams of terror as the knights took her away. You kept a dignified appearance and walked out of the throne room, followed by your ladies-in-waiting as they engaged in gossip about the maid and how she had always spoken badly of the empress. You wished you cared, but truthfully, you were far too nauseated as you walked through the hallway heading towards the western wing of the castle, hearing your husband’s voice calling your name.

What did he need? Your gratitude? Your declaration of love? Your pledge of allegiance?

Frankly, you cared none, as your extreme nausea eventually had your visions blurred, and your body fainting on the marble floor.

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𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐗

Your head ached.

By the time you opened your eyes again, it was already past noontide. No, it was evening, was it? You were lying in Satoru’s bed while its owner was engrossed in a conversation with a physician. You briefly recounted the events before you were carried here, remembering the trial at the throne room, and you fainting while walking back to your side of the palace.

“Art thou certain?”

“I am certain Her Majesty is with child, yes.”

“How is that possible? Tried have we for eight long years.”

“We owe this blessing to God, my liege. Thy wish for an heir hath come to fruition.”

You were… with child?

You could not believe it. As the whispered revelation reached your ears, the news brought you a swirl of emotions, for the delicate life growing within your womb just challenged the very foundations of your plans. A child. A baby. A life was growing inside of you! It was not just any other life, but an heir to the throne! A byproduct of you and your husband!

But what about your revenge?

You had a moment of introspection as you imagined yourself at a crossroad of destiny. Should you persist with your plot to topple your husband's rule, or should you embrace the newfound responsibility and safeguard the legacy that had taken root within you? The precipice of your decision would depend on Satoru’s reaction to this matter. Your decision would fall upon his level of trust in you.

For eight years, you had always wanted to carry his child. You had always dreamed of bearing his heir. This was the very reason why the prophecy existed in the first place, and now that you were pregnant, should that mean that he would no longer find the need to remarry and execute you? Should that mean that the prophecy was false after all? The oracle was a heretic through and through and he never should have consulted with her to begin with!

“My wife.” The gentle caress of Satoru’s voice soothed your aching head. It only took you then to realize that the physician had already left you two alone, and now your husband was sitting on the edge of his bed, touching your cheek. “To think,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with wonder, “that our union has borne fruit at last. An heir to carry forth this legacy of mine.”

He was joyous. He was surging with happiness which was glowing within him, the kind of joy that you had never seen before as he embraced his beloved wife and shared the news. For a moment, your heart melted and you were ready to forsake the grudge you carried in your heart as he proved his reaction to be genuine. His eyes sparkled like jewels as he placed a soft kiss on your belly, then moving to press his lips onto yours.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to tear up as never in your life had you received this much level of affection from your own husband. He had never looked at you with such adoration and respect for the longest time since he had been with you. No, this was the very first time he had truly acknowledged you as his wife.

“Am I no longer useless unto thee?” you asked, carrying a hint of sadness on your tone despite smiling at him. “Shall I no longer be called a barren empress?”

Satoru solemnly shook his head and kissed your hand, your cheek, and your lips. “No. Each tongue that rises ‘gainst my wife shall fall.”

You were uncertain whether it was you or him who pulled each other for an embrace, but the gravity that brought you to two together was of mutual force. He held you in his arms tenderly just as you enveloped yourself in his warmth. So this is how it feels like to be loved? You were in complete bliss. You were free from the emotional torment that—

Knock, knock!

The abrupt knock on the door interrupted the intimate moment between you and your husband, diverting his attention to the intruder who dared disrupt the special moment. Satoru, no doubt, was already thinking of potential punishments in his mind as he summoned his attendant to enter. The attendant conveyed that a knight sought an urgent audience with him, but what could be so urgent at this dead of night?

The intruder, to your surprise, was none other than his knight commander Suguru.

“Suguru?” Satoru faced him with a more lenient countenance, “Speak briefly.”

The knight commander glanced at you before he knelt on one knee and looked at the carpeted floor, delivering a message that required urgent and utmost attention. “Your Imperial Majesty, we have discovered a group of knights clad in silver armor, mounted upon war horses lining the city’s border. My men have identified the potential invaders as the Aurorae Heavy Cavalry of the Astheryn Empire.”

“What?!” Just like Satoru’s explosive reaction, you were also surprised by the news. You knew Astheryn was ready for war, but you did not expect them to move so rashly. Satoru knew he was right to conduct a military inspection a week prior, because now, in spite of his growing temperament, he was also mentally prepared for an all-out war. “Those Astheryn bastards! How many are they?!”

“Estimated at about 6000 units, my liege.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Thousands of foreign soldiers stationed at the border of the Caelum Empire was undeniably an invasion. The audacity of this act, carried out without any prior communication to Satoru, no wonder fueled his anger like a volcano on the brink of eruption. It was a blatant disrespect to him as an emperor and to his lands as an empire.

“Double the numbers of our infantrymen and dispatch them to the border!” Satoru's voice carried a low growl, his hand instinctively reaching to massage his temples as he pondered a course of action. “They must comprise our most elite unit. I demand these men be vigilant and alert at all times. Anyone caught sleeping will have their eyes gouged,” he ordered, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation. His eyes held fury in them as he silently paced back and forth in his chamber. However, just as Suguru made to depart, Satoru's hand halted him mid-step. “Better yet, remain here and stand guard over my wife," he commanded, his voice taut with resolve. “I will issue the orders to the army personally and confer with my chief tactician.”

Your husband had already left before you could even stop him. His presence, in a mere blink of an eye, was gone as he stormed out of the chamber, yelling out, “That bastard Toji will die by my hands. How dare he!”

And now you were left with his commander of knights, Suguru, who looked at you in concern as you made an attempt to get out of bed. He was quick to catch you in his arms, guiding you to walk carefully. “Is it true?” you asked, face inches close to him. You could feel his hand on your waist, and the other guiding your arm. “Astheryn’s invasion?”

“Empress, it is imperative that thou remain within the safety of His Majesty’s chamber," Suguru advised, his fox-like eyes seemingly enamored by your face. “Thy well-being is paramount, especially now. I see now why thy radiance has been so pronounced of late.”

You smiled at his words. "And what might thou be implying by that?"

“That our beautiful empress bears the heir to the empire,” he spoke softly. “This is a direct contradiction to the prophecy. Art thou pleased, my lady?”

As you nodded, you felt Suguru placing a gentle kiss above your hand, still kneeling before you like a true, loyal knight. He looked at you with a gaze filled with the desire to protect. His chivalry was evident in his demeanor toward you, the most beautiful lady of the empire. Unbeknownst to you, Suguru had long been captivated by your beauty. From the moment he first came to your family’s estate to train as a knight, he harbored a wanton desire for you. Yet, he struggled with his feelings, torn between his admiration for you and his loyalty to Satoru, his friend and lord. How could he? He should punish himself for having a mere attraction to the emperor’s wife.

“Suguru, I expect thy loyalty to me until the very end,” you interrupted his reverie, bringing him back to the present. He held your hand tenderly, and your waist affectionately. “Can I count on that from thee?”

Before the knight could respond, a fit of unhinged laughter echoed through the chamber. There, your crazed husband walked in, his sardonically joyful eyes wide with paranoia. “Ha ha ha! Absurd! Utterly preposterous!” His loud voice reverberated through the walls, his mind now free of the on-going invasion and was instead evidently consumed by the scene before him. “My wife, thou jest, surely? Suguru, tell me this is some jest! Loyalty, indeed, I have full faith in thy loyalty, but this... the maid’s accusation. It is true after all?!”

Immediately, the knight commander moved away from you and scrambled to kneel down at the furious emperor. You yourself could not hide your growing anxiety, but it was best to keep calm and explain the situation to your husband properly.

“My liege, ‘tis not what it seems,” Suguru swore to your husband, who was now laughing manically.

“Ah, a conspiracy unfolds!” Satoru’s eyes darted between you and his friend. “I see it now, the hidden plots, the whispers in the shadows. My wife and my loyal knight, plotting against me! Speak, reveal the treachery!”

You shook your head, maintaining your composure. “He speaks true. There is no affair—”

“Fie, you wicked bitch!” By this time, Satoru was throwing a tantrum, kicking the nearby console table and throwing the first vase he saw.

Suguru rose, his voice pleading, "Your Majesty, I..."

“Get out or I will eviscerate thee in front of her!” Satoru's words cut through the tension, and Suguru, after a moment of hesitation, took a deep breath and left, casting a worried glance at you before exiting. It was clear that Satoru was in a state of manic denial, with his laughter echoing through the chamber like a haunting refrain.

Alone with him now, you observed his demeanor, noting the same scene of past trauma in his laughter. It was reminiscent of the night his sister perished for committing suicide—a portrait of a man on the brink of madness, masking his torment with deranged laughter. Each step he took towards you carried danger. “This... This child thou carry is a bastard, is it not? That child is not mine!”

You shot him a look of disbelief, refusing to entertain such absurd accusations. “Thou art speaking folly!”

Enraged, he seized another vase and hurled it across the room, the sound of shattering porcelain ringing through the chamber, though you maintained your composure despite the sudden chaos. You must not act weak in front of a tyrant. At this rate, he could kill out of impulse, but you were careful not to pull the trigger.

“My wife thinks I am lost in a mire of absurdity?” Satoru’s laugh rang in your ears again. “Conniving bitch! Tell me, this child thou carry, what do I do with that awful thing? Shall I cut thy stomach and pull the thing out myself?”

Slap! A resounding slap, sharp and clear, graced Satoru's cheek as his words drew tears from your eyes. Despite the welling tears, you mustered enough courage to respond. “If thou question the lineage of this child, then is that not a question to thine own fertility? Dost thou deem thyself barren, unable to sire thine own bloodline? If so, thou hast long scorned me for lacking an heir, yet now thou cast doubt upon the child that I carry. Useless, thou have call’d me. Now, useless, thou call thyself! A barren emperor, unable to secure his own legacy, is that what thou perceive thyself to be?”

“Hold that tongue, thou impudent wench!” With a rough hand, he grabbed your arm and tightened his hold so much so that it would leave bruises. “Lo, here stand I, grappling with a war that hath the power to shape or shatter mine own legacy, whilst mine own wife doth gad about like a wanton whore?”

A whore? You laughed, as equally maniacal as him. No, a lot worse than him. How foolish of you to think that your husband was someone you could trust your life with? You could not believe that you almost let your guard down in front of him after you learned that you were carrying his child. Yet here he was, spouting nonsense like an absolute fool. He only judged what he saw, not analyzed what he was yet to know. This was exactly why Emperor Toji would always be a smarter ruler than him.

“I am thy wife, and I have stood by thy side through thick and thin. I have shared thy lows and highs. I have seated thee at that very throne! Therefore, I will not dignify such insults with a response.” Each word left your mouth with gritted teeth. This was your future, peeled off for your eyes to see. No matter how much you cared for him, no matter how loyal you were to him, no matter how much love you offered to him; you were naught but a woman ready to be thrown at his disposal. It hurt. Truly, it hurt. And because you loved him, you tried holding onto the thin string of hope that he was true to you. That even if he could not love you, he still trusted you. That was the foundation of your relationship from the beginning. Trust. And that will be your ultimatum to him. So, with a shaky voice and tearful eyes, you asked, “I require nothing else from thee but this… dost thou trust me?”

His answer was a make or break.

His answer would determine whether you would carry your plans out or not.

Because if he said yes, then you would forsake everything and be loyal to him without his unconditional love.

But if he said no, then there was no point at being his wife when your role would always be easily replaced.

Satoru’s stolid mien was an answer in itself, because his blank gaze and unsympathetic expression sent your heart to the deepest layer of hell. “No,” he declared, “I never have and never will.”

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𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗

Four days.

Or perhaps five?

The days blurred into an indistinguishable haze since your husband's decree consigned you to the confines of the west tower. Unlike the dungeon, reserved for commoners and lower ranks, the western tower housed nobility and imperial captives. Though superior in amenities, it remained a prison in essence. There was only a solitary window within the cell that offered a small glimpse of the world beyond. The view was barely within your reach as it was too high up for you to be able to see outside.

You were treated no less than a rebel. Accused of treason. Accused of infidelity. Your reputation as an empress was tarnished, excluded from social circles, excommunicated by the church—at least, these were some of the things you have heard from the passerby, the attendants who do their nightly rounds in the west tower. The attendants and guards themselves no longer respected you, although you could still sense that they were cautious around you. Afraid that if the emperor were to change his mind and release you, that you would remember their faces and get back at them with brutal repercussions.

It was entertaining, truly. It was even more humorous to watch the attendant serve you with soup and bread day and night. Judging by the distinct odor, the soup was laced with arsenic. Someone was definitely trying to poison you, but you were certain that it was not orchestrated by Satoru. Not him. He was too stupid to conjure such a plan as it also contradicted his penchant for more direct and violent approaches. If he wanted to assassinate someone, he would rather crack their skulls or slash them in half. He was too bloodthirsty to kill someone by means of poison.

So that left you with one person: Lord Maximilian.

Your father, the Grand Duke, promptly sent you a letter after hearing that you were locked up in the west tower, assuring you of his efforts to persuade Satoru to release you and clear your name, demanding your innocence be proved to the empire. He also cautioned that it might be a considerable amount of time before your husband could address your case, given the pressing matter of the Astherean army's invasion on Caelum's borders. In your head, you knew Satoru was having a hard time dealing with the military conflict without your counsel. It was your mind that staged the coup, leading him to his succession 10 years ago. Now, without you, he was faced with difficulty. He did not even have Nanami by his side to guide him through the war.

You laughed. Good for him.

On the 7th day, your father wrote again. This time, he informed you that there was a ceasefire between Caelum and Astheryn. Apparently, Caelum was struck by the bubonic plague. Astheryn withdrew its cavalry out of fear of losing their soldiers from the Black Death, while Caleans were left to suffer from the spreading disease. The citizens were going mad, panic was ensuing, and there was food shortage everywhere. No one knew what the cause was nor how to cure it. He said those who had caught the disease would fall to their deaths in a matter of days.

You laughed again. That is my own doing, father.

Three days later, another missive arrived from the Grand Duke, informing you of his recent audience with Satoru. Your father let you know that the Emperor still held a lingering wrath towards you, but he confirmed that your trial would be scheduled shortly. The letter also conveyed unsettling rumors of your potential deposition, suggesting that Satoru entertained matrimonial negotiations with Princess Katarina from the Kingdom of Ellesmere.

You laughed even more. A remarriage, just as he wanted.

On the 14th day, your father did not write. He visited you on the western tower himself, somberly informing you of Suguru’s demise. He revealed that the knight commander had been thrown in the dungeon on the same day you were taken to the west tower, but he was treated more harshly. He was tortured, mentally and physically, until he met a gruesome death. Your father chose to spare you of the details of Suguru’s tragic fate.

At that, you could not laugh. No, in fact, you cried silently in your cell that night knowing that an innocent man died ruthlessly because of you.

What a hypocrite you were!

The burden of introducing the Great Plague to Caelum, resulting in the deaths of countless innocent citizens, rested on your shoulders. Yet, your moral boundary seemed to be drawn at Suguru's demise?

You found yourself engulfed in laughter once more, disregarding the puzzled stares from attendants and guards alike. They may have deemed you mad, yet perhaps, madness was the only sane response to the chaos of this world. Why? What was there to be ashamed of? Life was but a game of strategy, a grand chessboard where the king, though less agile than the queen, would always be the last man standing.

Seated in a corner that night, your laughter mingled with tears, a mix of raw emotions unleashed, as the echo of approaching footsteps reached your ears. The flickering torchlight casted a shadow upon the wall, revealing the silhouette of a tall man escorted by two knights.

“Y/N.”

When Satoru visited you on the eve of your trial, you never expected him to call your name so tenderly. What you were anticipating was his usual torrent of anger and scorn, and you found yourself bewildered by the odd shift in his demeanor. He then entered your cell and crouched before you, his blue eyes seemed almost softened by sympathy.

“Thy trial is scheduled for to-morrow,” he spoke deliberately, though you avoided meeting his gaze. “I have a proposal for thee.”

You remained silent.

“Even if thou have betrayed me, I will extend mercy unto thee, out of gratitude for aiding mine ascension to the throne.” The irony of his words were a slap to your face, hurting your ears as you listened. “I require thee to step down from thy throne with humility, dispose of the bastard thou carry, and live a modest, solitary life in the countryside. There, an estate awaits thee. I expect thee to live quietly, and await the time I will visit thee. Thou will remain as my mistress, though it will not be officially acknowledged.”

As the emperor's words were spoken, the empress's laughter erupted with a wild and bitter sound that echoed through the chamber. Your eyes blazed with defiance, lips curled into a scornful sneer.

“Ha ha ha!”

Satoru’s lips tightened a fraction, his body turning into solid ice as you let out an ear splitting horselaugh.

“Ha ha ha ha!”

His eyebrows furrowed in anger. “Empress!”

“Fool!” you spat, your voice laced with derision. “Thou think to offer me mercy while chaining me to a life of servitude? Thou speak of gratitude while stripping me of dignity and autonomy. Thy offer is but another prison for thee to keep me as a pawn!” Your laughter turned into manic fervor, fueled by rage and disillusionment. “I will not bend to thy will, nor will I accept thy false benevolence.”

In the end, Satoru was still a hubristic man. An ungrateful, hubristic man. An ungrateful, hubristic, foolish man.

“Art thou aware of thy current standing?!” He was livid. Oh, he certainly was.

Yet you? You smiled. You offered him a beautiful, sarcastic smile. “No soul in this empire shall love thee except for me! All are foes to thee, except for me! I alone have loved thee for thee. Ponder upon that, my misguided husband, for in thy quest for dominion, thou hast forsaken the one who loved thee sincerely.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗𝐈

“We gather today for a matter of great import: the trial of Her Majesty, the Empress, accused of treasonous infidelity.”

As the trial went on, your thoughts drifted back to the day of the maid's trial. Then, she knelt beneath the throne, facing the scrutiny of the court as she protested her innocence and pleaded for mercy. You, once seated upon the now-vacant throne, regarded her with detached interest. The irony of the reversal was not lost on you. It was true that you would pay the price of your wrongdoings, and be rewarded for your kind deeds. In this life, you let your greed get the best of you. You let your love for Satoru blind you. If you were ever to be reborn, you vowed to never again allow yourself to be ensnared by such folly for it led you to nowhere but misery.

How funny is that? These nobles were all here to watch your trial, while a war and plague were happening outside of the castle’s walls.

“—may our deliberations be guided by the righteous light of truth. Empress Y/N, you appear to be in jest. This trial is a serious matter to thee.”

You received the courtier’s look of disapproval, while the others were judging your sanity.

“Let her be,” ordered Satoru, who looked tired and resigned. You could hear his sigh even if he was a couple meters away, and his eyes glowed in sad blues as he stared at you, as if it would be the last time he would ever see your face.

Perhaps that truly was the case, and you made no effort to fight against it nor did you appeal to prove your innocence. There was no mercy begged for, no forgiveness sought for. It was because you saw no purpose to live this life. He must have sensed your true feelings inside as he watched you from afar, but Satoru still seemed like he was looking for a way to get you out of the situation. Instead of imposing a tyrannous punishment on you, he was clearly attempting to make you innocent. To give you a benefit of the doubt. All of the courtiers and advisors, however, were in complete disagreement. They knew that the emperor held a soft spot for you, but they did not know that his only purpose was to keep using you.

Honestly? Your mind was growing weary. The trial dragged on endlessly as Satoru struggled to mitigate your punishment. Not until…

“His Majesty, Emperor Satoru, is consulting with an oracle,” you declared, silencing the entire hall with your revelation, ending this ridiculous trial once and for all, “Deep in the dungeon, he hides the old lady. The emperor of this nation is a supporter of heresy, therefore, he is to be subjected to inquisition.”

Your accusations, indeed, were grave. An eerie and portentous air filled the throne room as Satoru himself was stunned and wide-eyed. Surprise contorted his features after he was exposed. His lips quivered and his jaw muscles tightened, and anger soon smoldered all semblance of composure on his saintly face.

Caelum was a deeply Catholic nation and the Catholic Church, as an institution, did not endorse or recognize oracles as legitimate sources of divine revelation. Practices associated with oracles, such as divination, fortune-telling, and consulting spirits, as forms of superstition were heretical. These practices were considered as attempts to circumvent the authority of the Church and seek guidance from sources outside of the orthodox Christian belief.

Individuals suspected of engaging in practices associated with oracles, particularly if those practices were perceived as challenging the Church authority or promoting beliefs contrary to Catholic doctrine, could be subject to investigation, trial, and punishment by ecclesiastical authorities, even if they were members of the imperial family.

Thus, in your revelation, Satoru was now subjected to a much more serious, unforgivable crime than you. Because he would be at war with the Church.

And not only would he be at war with the Church, but also with Astheryn, and the Great Plague all at once.

Of course, Satoru intensely denied it and tried to turn things around on you. He was going haywire as your ‘accusation’ caused a commotion amongst the courtiers who whispered and murmured in shock and disbelief. As the emperor, his voice held the greatest authority in that hall, and so he became furious at you, claiming to everyone that you were diverting the situation to seem innocent, denying the existence of an oracle in his castle, and that you were to be publicly executed for the crime of commiting lèse-majesté by slandering the emperor’s name.

Finally, the tyrant was back.

You were sick of his sympathetic gazes.

If your husband knew you by heart, then he would know that your sole intention at declaring his fortnightly consultations with the oracle was because you wanted to anger him, and in turn, get a punishment that would be enough to free yourself from his grasp. That was the perfect approach.

But of course, Satoru might be slow in that department. All he could see right now was a traitorous wife whose malicious intent was to undermine his authority and topple him from the throne. An enemy. That was what you had become to him.

On the day of your public execution, your father cried. And so did your ladies-in-waiting. The rest were eager to see you beheaded, all with keen eyes as you were ushered at the public square, drawing in a large crowd of nobles and commoners alike.

Who would have guessed that you held such notoriety?

The words, “witch!”, “traitor!”, and “evil!” were thrown your way as you were guided by two knights towards the center of the scaffold. With a rosary on one hand, and a bible on the other, you looked at your father. He should be safe. You had written him a letter, telling him to bring the family and the servants to a remote island away from Caelum. As for you, your end was near.

With your head pressed against the block, and the executioner raising his sword, your impending doom was imminent. The imperial sword he carried, you recognized, was Satoru’s personal and favorite sword.

“Your head will be severed swiftly,” said the headsman, “Any last words?”

Your eyes found the sky as your lips curled into a sinister smile. “Citizens of Caelum, I will soon meet thy Emperor in hell!”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈

A month has passed since your execution.

Instead of having your decapitated head impaled on spikes atop the city gates, Satoru ordered your corpse be buried at the tomb. The location was not revealed to anyone else. The citizens also did not question his choice.

The emperor was secretly grieving the loss of his wife.

Everyone knew. They were all aware that the emperor was mourning over the empress despite your betrayal of him, yet all of them turned a blind-eye on it. They were afraid that the emperor would punish anyone who would remind him of you.

Was this still not an act of love?

In fact, no, not everyone knew. Not everyone were aware that one of your lady-in-waiting swore to him in oath that you never had an affair with the knight and that the child you carried was not at all a bastard, but his. It was Satoru’s heir. It was his own child. It was the future Emperor of Caelum.

Because of his misjudgment and his paranoia, he lost the only woman who truly loved him.

Now the empire was in shambles. Satoru could not deny that your lack of presence in the castle had a much more devastating impact than the plague that wiped half of Caelum’s population. His advisors were of no use when it came to military tactics. Nanami, the most competent of them all, was nowhere to be found. The soldiers have been struck by the Black Death, lowering his total heavy infantry down to a quarter of its nominal full strength.

The plague had spread rapidly, causing widespread devastation and food shortage, and as the death toll rose and communities were decimated by the plague, desperation set in. There were villages that had more dead people to collect than living beings who survived. It was a state where all were affected no matter what their noble rankings were.

People tried various remedies and treatments, often turning to religious practices such as prayer and penance in hopes of appeasing divine wrath and stopping the spread of the disease. Plague doctors also swarmed the streets with their dark canvas robes and beaked masks, implementing quarantine and treating infected individuals.

Satoru secluded himself in his chamber, both day and night, observing the devastation of his empire from the castle's highest vantage point. Desperation ran rampant, driving citizens to seek sanctuary within the palace walls. Initially, the emperor permitted entry only to the highest-ranking nobles. However, as word spread of the palace offering refuge, lower-ranking nobles and commoners clamored for entry, prompting Satoru to order the complete fortification of the castle walls.

The stench of burning bodies permeated the air as the castle became besieged by the diseased, seeking entry but met with the fierce flames intended to ward off infection from the emperor and his staff.

“What say the Kingdom of Ellesmere?” Satoru, who had been suffering from high fever, muscle pain, and skin lesions, was accompanied by a state of paranoia as he spoke to Lord Maximilian. “The marriage negotiations with that… that princess. What says them?”

“My liege.” He bowed, apologetically. “They no longer wish to proceed. As we are struck by the plague, King Kalleon IV thought it would be of no benefit to be in alliance with a fallen empire. Furthermore, there is something that thou must be aware of, Your Majesty.”

The emperor looked at his advisor.

“The trade ship that caused the plague to spread throughout Caelum was…” the old man paused, wary of the ruler’s reaction, “It was approved entry by the late Empress Y/N.”

Ha ha ha ha!

How twisted of you, indeed. Where does he go from here? Satoru was sick, genuinely sick, as he heard the clamor of diseased individuals rioting outside the castle walls. Inside the palace, his own people were also engaged in their own chaos. He was at a point where he was too fatigued to react violently at his wife’s crimes. What did Maximilian want him to do, chastise you? You were already gone, and you have left him with the most profound revenge than any punishment he could ever fathom.

Satoru found himself consumed by a maelstrom of emotions. He was seeing red from his visions, and seeing black from his discolored skin. Gangrene. Buboes. Chills. All he could do now was laugh at his misery. He grappled with the haunting question of how he arrived at this wretched juncture. What deeds, what choices, led him down this harrowing path of suffering and despair?

Lord Maximilian did one last attempt at coaxing the emperor. “My liege, the prophecy…”

The mere mention of the prophecy, however, ignited a primal fury within him. His words filled Satoru with a seething rage and he entertained the notion of silencing Maximilian's voice forever, drawing his sword and executing a swift slash on his advisor’s neck.

That damned prophecy!

That, that was what led to all of this!

In the depths of his suffering, Satoru had experienced the last stretch of the disease entering his body. He was vomiting, crawling on the floor, reaching for the window in hopes of seeing his empire for the last time. But eventually, his weakened body had him submit to his forfeit.

In a matter of minutes, he would soon find death and earn his place at the ninth circle of hell.

In a matter of seconds, he would soon be named the most hated emperor in history, just as you like it.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

In the aftermath of the plague and the cessation of war, the once-mighty Caelum Empire lay in ruin, its rulers, named the most evil Emperor and Empress in history, overthrown. The remnants of the imperial lineage crumbled under the weight of their tyranny. Rising from the shadows of despair emerged the newly crowned Emperor Yuuta, the only remaining lineal heir of the Gojou lineage, who returned to Caelum from his exile with a fervent commitment to restore and rebuild. Known for his fairness and compassion, Yuuta pledged to rebuild the empire, to heal its wounds, and to usher in an era of lasting peace. With each brick laid and each decree issued, he sought to honor the memory of those who perished and to ensure that the horrors of the past would never be repeated. And so, under Yuuta's steadfast guidance, the Caelum Empire embarked on a journey of restoration, its future brightened by the promise of a new dawn.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

-> NEXT PART

#oneshot: as you like it #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo angst #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojou x reader #jjk angst

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Valyrian Bride (Continuation)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: Final Chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark walked with the dragon princess by his side, feeling the eyes of his men and household upon them. There was a sense of pride that welled up inside him as they entered Winterfell’s stone halls. Not pride in himself, but in the fact that this fierce, regal woman—this vision of Old Valyria—was now his betrothed. It was no small thing to command the presence of such a creature, both her and the dragon she rode. The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders, but rather than burden him, it gave him a sense of purpose.

As they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, the murmurs of those gathered inside came to a halt. Servants, bannermen, and even the most hardened of his household retainers stared openly. They weren’t accustomed to such grandeur, and even in a land where strength was admired, there was something otherworldly about the princess. Her silver-gold hair, the grace of her movements, and the quiet power that seemed to radiate from her drew their eyes like moths to flame.

The warmth of the hearthfire flickered against the cold stone walls, but in the presence of the dragon princess, it felt as though the heat came from her. She walked beside Cregan with an ease that belied her strength, her violet eyes scanning the hall as if she were already its lady, its queen.

Cregan couldn’t help but glance at her from the corner of his eye, watching as she moved like liquid fire, confident and unyielding. He could see the tension in the shoulders of his bannermen, the uncertainty in the eyes of the women who served the household. They were all taken aback, and Cregan couldn’t blame them. He had lived his whole life without seeing anyone like her, and he knew, without doubt, that no one here had ever stood before the true blood of Old Valyria until now.

She was a flame in the middle of a winter storm, a vivid contrast to the world of stone and snow that surrounded her.

“I trust the halls of Winterfell meet your expectations, my lady?” Cregan asked, his voice low but carrying in the stillness of the hall. He wanted to draw her into conversation, not only to ease his own nerves but to learn more of this woman who would soon be his wife.

She turned her gaze to him, a small smile curling on her lips, though it was hard to read the full depth of her thoughts. “It is as grand as the tales say, Lord Stark. A stronghold of honor and tradition.”

Her voice was steady, yet it held an edge to it, as if there was always something more behind her words. It was as though she was measuring everything, assessing him, the people around her, and the place she would soon call home.

“I trust it will serve as more than just a stronghold for you, my lady,” Cregan replied, his eyes meeting hers directly, a subtle challenge of his own. “Winterfell is now your home, and you are its future lady.”

The princess didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Winterfell will be my home, but I have a home in the sky as well. I belong to both land and air, Lord Stark. Do not forget that.” There was a softness to her words, but it was clear. She may belong to the North by marriage, but her heart would always be tied to the skies, to her dragon.

Cregan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I doubt anyone will forget, least of all after the sight of Vaetrix in our skies," he said, and then added, more softly, "She is a magnificent creature."

The princess's expression shifted slightly, pride mingled with affection as she spoke of her dragon. “Vaetrix is the daughter of Meleys, the Red Queen herself. Her lineage is one of fire and might. She carries the blood of dragons who have seen empires rise and fall, just as I do.”

Cregan’s brows raised slightly at the mention of Meleys. He had heard of the Red Queen, the swift and powerful dragon that had once belonged to Princess Rhaenys. Her reputation was legendary. To think that Vaetrix was her offspring made the connection between the princess and her dragon even more profound. "The Red Queen," Cregan murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "Your bond with her must be strong, then. I imagine not just any rider could command such a lineage."

Her eyes gleamed in response, as if the conversation about Vaetrix sparked something deeper within her. "A dragon and their rider are bound by more than blood, Lord Stark. We share a soul, a heart. Vaetrix and I have flown together since I was a girl. She is my closest companion, my fiercest ally."

There was a tenderness in her tone now, something almost protective. It made Cregan understand, even more clearly, the depth of the bond between her and the dragon. In a way, it reminded him of the wolves of his house—loyal, fierce, and bound by an unspoken connection. But this bond was greater, stronger, and far more dangerous. He respected it, even admired it.

“Then she will be an ally to the North as well,” Cregan said, his voice filled with conviction. "As you will be."

The princess turned her eyes back to him, her gaze sharp and knowing. "The North has been promised my fire, my lord. And I keep my promises."

Her words were more than just a vow—they were a reminder of the power she wielded, the power she had been born with. Cregan nodded in response, feeling a strange comfort in that certainty. He knew, without question, that she was someone who would fight with all her strength, for her family, her dragon, and soon, for the North.

They continued walking, Cregan leading her deeper into Winterfell’s great halls, where more of his household waited in silent anticipation. Every eye was upon them as they passed, but the princess seemed unbothered by the attention, as if she had long since grown used to the weight of expectation. Cregan noticed the way people parted in her presence, not out of fear, but out of reverence. She was the embodiment of fire, and all knew they were in the presence of something greater than themselves.

As they reached the heart of Winterfell, Cregan paused, turning to face her fully. “There will be a feast tonight in your honor. A celebration of our alliance.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “It will be modest compared to what you may be accustomed to, but we take pride in what the North can offer.”

The princess’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “The North has already offered me more than I expected. I look forward to seeing its hospitality, Lord Stark.”

There was no mockery in her voice, no hint of the condescension he might have expected from someone raised in the splendor of court life. Instead, there was a genuine respect, a willingness to embrace the new life she was entering. Cregan nodded, feeling that strange mix of pride and anticipation once more.

As the evening drew near, Cregan knew the feast would be only the beginning. He had secured an alliance, but in the dragon princess, he had gained something far more—a partner of equal strength, whose fire would one day burn alongside his own.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with the low hum of voices as the feast unfolded, the hearths were burning high to accommodate a dragon princess in it. Platters of roasted meats and winter greens filled the long tables, while horns of ale and wine passed freely from hand to hand. The air was thick with the scent of food and the crackle of the great fires, but despite the bustle of the hall, all eyes kept drifting toward the high table, where Lord Cregan Stark and his betrothed sat in full view of his bannermen, retainers, and household.

Cregan himself sat straighter than usual, though his posture seemed almost relaxed, as if he were entirely at ease in this moment. His eyes often flicked to the princess seated beside him, watching her as she navigated the curious gazes of the Northmen with the same grace she had displayed all day. There was something undeniably striking about her here, amidst the rustic grandeur of Winterfell’s Great Hall—her silver-gold hair gleaming in the firelight, her violet eyes calm yet ever watchful.

When the time came for toasts, the hall fell into a deep silence as Cregan stood, his horn of ale in hand. The attention of every man, woman, and servant shifted to him, their lord. His voice, strong and sure, carried through the hall.

“Tonight,” he began, “we honor more than just a union between two houses. We honor the blood of dragons and the fire that has joined with the winter.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on the princess beside him. “The daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, the only daughter of House Targaryen, has come to the North. She is now our guest, and soon, she will be my wife.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, but it was tempered by the awe that still hung in the air. Many had never seen a woman like her, let alone one of royal Valyrian descent. To them, she was more legend than flesh and blood.

Cregan raised his horn higher, his eyes never leaving hers. “To the Lady of Fire,” he said, his voice full of pride. “To the daughter of Rhaenyra!”

The hall erupted in cheers, the echo of voices bouncing off the ancient stone walls. Horns were raised, clashing together in raucous celebration as the Northmen embraced their lord’s words. And yet, even amidst the noise, Cregan saw the way his men stole glances at the princess, admiration clear in their eyes.

The princess raised her own horn in response, a subtle smile playing on her lips as she inclined her head toward Cregan. "To the North," she said, her voice soft but carrying through the hall with a clarity that commanded attention. "And to the strength of its people."

The words were simple, but they carried weight. The hall seemed to settle after that, the conversations resuming with renewed vigor as the feast carried on. Yet Cregan’s focus remained fixed on her.

As the noise of the hall filled the space around them, Cregan leaned slightly toward her, his voice low so that their conversation would remain private. “You’ve impressed them already,” he remarked, his eyes glinting with a rare hint of amusement. “It takes much to win the respect of Northmen, but I see it in their eyes.”

The princess turned to him, her violet gaze meeting his with a certain calm, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too. “I hadn’t expected to win their respect so soon,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “But I do not think it is me they respect so much as the idea of the alliance—of what we represent.”

Cregan considered her words, his brow furrowing slightly as he mulled them over. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but it’s more than just an alliance. They see you, a dragon’s daughter, and they understand the power that you carry. You’re no simple marriage prize.”

Her lips curved upward, just a fraction. “Is that how you see me, Cregan Stark? A symbol of power?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low in his throat. “I see you as many things, princess. Power is just one of them.”

Her smile grew more visible now, and there was something lighter in her expression, as if she were pleased by his words, even if she did not show it openly. “And what else do you see, my lord?”

Cregan leaned in just a fraction more, his voice dropping. “I see a woman with a mind as sharp as the blade she wears. I see a rider whose bond with her dragon makes her stronger than any queen. And,” his eyes softened, the faintest glimmer of admiration in them, “I see someone who will stand beside me, not behind me.”

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing the truth of his words, and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good,” she said, her tone firm but carrying an edge of warmth. “Because I have no intention of standing behind anyone.”

Cregan allowed himself a smile then, something rare and unguarded. It felt easy, natural in her presence, something he hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t just a symbol of fire and dragons—she was alive, filled with strength and grace in equal measure, and with each passing moment, Cregan found himself looking forward to what the future might bring with her at his side.

For the rest of the evening, Cregan’s mood remained light, his smiles more frequent than anyone could remember seeing before. The hall, filled with food, laughter, and music, felt brighter somehow, as if the fire she had brought with her from the skies had seeped into Winterfell itself. There was a warmth there that was new, a change carried on dragon’s wings.

Years later, when scholars and storytellers recalled that night, they would write about how Lord Cregan Stark, known for his stoic nature, had smiled more during that feast than any had seen before, save for two other occasions—on his wedding day, and when the first child of the Dragon Princess was born in the cold halls of Winterfell. But for now, the legend was only beginning.

As the feast wore on, Cregan turned to her again, unable to resist asking, “Do you think Vaetrix feels at ease here in the cold North? It’s far from the warmth of Dragonstone.”

She tilted her head, her silver-gold hair catching the firelight once more. “Vaetrix is not concerned with warmth or cold,” she replied. “She is her mother’s daughter, bred for strength and flight, and the North’s cold will not trouble her. Besides,” her smile grew, more playful this time, “she knows I will not be far from her.”

Cregan nodded. “She is a creature of legend, like her rider,” he said softly.

The princess turned her eyes to him, the faintest flush of warmth in her cheeks. For a moment, the fire of her Valyrian blood met the unyielding strength of the North in Cregan’s gaze, and in that shared moment, both knew their bond would be one of legend.

The fire had come to Winterfell, and it would burn for generations to come.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan

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shadowandlightt · 4 months ago

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Snow and Flame | Cregan Stark X Velaryon!reader|

Sent to treat with Lord Stark, the young Targaryen prince and princess receive devastating news and must return to Dragonstone, only the princess is sure she'll see the young Lord once more.

Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, wasn’t what you expected. He was warm, and kind, not stone cold and hardened by the cold of the north. You expected him to be hard, hadn’t expected the warm welcome that you received with your brother Jace. Your mother, the rightful queen, sent you here to treat with the young Lord of the North and remind him of the vow once made to her father, your grandsire.

“Seven Hells,” You shiver, “Is it always this cold here?” “Yes, my princess,” Cregan laughs, “This is only summer snow though, it is much worse in the winter.”

You shiver once more, wishing for the warmth provided on Dragonstone, in the south. Yet you were glad to be here with your brother and the young Lord of the North. You were dressed in enough furs to outfit many in the south. But here they were needed.

“I would hate to see winter snow then, my lord,” You sigh.

“Winter snows aren’t so bad, Princess,” Cregan replies, “We find ways to stay warm.”

“Enough, Lord Stark,” Jace chides, “Remember you are in the presence of a princess.”

“Of course, forgive me, my Prince.”

You glare at your brother, hating that he cut off the Lord. You were a lady of course, a Princess nonetheless. But you were not accustomed to hearing such things, given that you grew up with brothers. They forget that you are no delicate flower.

You feel a heat in your belly at the way Cregan looks at you, desire rising up in you. You’d never felt this way before, never having been around men your own age since leaving King’s Landing as a child.

“Perhaps you should show me those ways in which you stay warm,” You blurt out before being able to stop yourself. Though you quickly recover, “Forgive me My Lord, that was out of character for me. I blame the long journey.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here at Winterfell instead of making the journey to the Wall,” Jace warns.

“No, I shan't stay behind,” You shake your head, “I was sent here to help secure the alliance between our two houses and I’ll do just that, Jace.”

He smiled, throwing his arms up in defeat. He did not dare say you sounded very much like your Queen, and Mother. You looked very much like her, only with dark hair instead of the trademark silver Targaryan locks. You looked like your father, you assumed, as well. Lord Strong. You hadn’t voiced your own suspicions, not even to your brothers. But you knew in your heart that Harwin Strong was your father, and that he loved you very much.

“It’s an equally long journey to the Wall, are you sure you’re up for it Princess?” Cregan asks.

“Yes, my Lord Stark, I believe I can handle a two week’s ride north.”

You were readying to mount your horse when a young boy came running between your legs, latching onto you. A little laugh escaped your mouth as your arms came around the small boy to hold him. He couldn’t have been more than two or three, similar to the ages of your youngest brothers.

“Who might we have here,” You laughed, picking up the small boy and holding him in your arms, “Don’t fret little one, we’ll come back.”

The little boy nuzzled into your neck, seeking warmth you surmised. Lord Stark couldn’t help but notice the way you beamed holding his young son, and the way he went to you instead of his own father.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Cregan said, reaching for the boy, “Tis my son, from my late lady wife.”

“No apology needed, Lord Stark,” You hum, holding tighter to the boy, “He reminds me of mine own brothers. Tis no trouble, really.”

The little boy mumbled something into your neck, causing you to laugh aloud once more. Cregan finally pried the young boy from your arms, holding him just as close to his chest.

“We’ll only be gone a few weeks, Little Rickon,” Cregan tells the little one, “When you’re older, you’ll come to The Wall too. Now, great your Prince and Princess, little lad.”

“Oh, no need for that,” You say before Jace can get a word in, “He’s only little. There will be plenty of time for formalities as he grows.”

Jace smiles at the young boy, poking his red little cheek to earn a smile from the wee little one. Cregan smiles down at his young son before putting him down and instructing him to go back to his maid, who was to look after him whilst Cregan was away.

You weren’t sure how your dragon would deal with you being gone for so long, but you wouldn’t miss out on this. You’d always wanted to see the Wall. So you endured the long ride on horseback, which was almost enough to fell you.

By the time you reached the Wall you were unsure if you could walk. Jace had to help you off your horse. You were thankful for the layers that added some padding and acted as a way to hide your limp.

“I did warn you Princess,” Cregan sighs.

“I’m fine,” I groan out, “Just haven’t been on my feet in some time.”

He grins at you, but leads you and Jace towards the lift to the top of the Wall. You were warned that the men who take the Black are wild and vicious, but that you would be safe as long as you stayed with Lord Stark. They would not dare go against him.

You vaguely listen as your brother and Lord Stark talk about politics during the ride north. You laughed along with them as Jacaerys made crude jokes. Something you were used to, but Cregan did not know of you and your brother’s humor. He’s a Northerner, something different from you. You were a fair southerner, not used to the chill and cold. He’s born and bred for it.

“Too cold for you, Princess?”

You like the way he says your title. A hint of mischief in his voice. You wanted to know what he would do if you were a low born girl, with no honor to protect. Would he take you? Make you his own? You yearn for him to take you. More than you expected. But you were a lady, a Princess at that. It wasn’t for you to want such things. Your marriage would be arranged for political gain, you were second in line for the throne, not the heir. Luke was heir to Driftmark, being the second son. You were nothing but a pawn, and you knew it.

“Not at all, Lord Stark.”

“Please, Cregan, if you will.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, though you were lucky enough that the wind would hide it, cheeks already red enough. He held his hand out for you as you reached a platform. The sight took your breath away. The wide expanse beyond the wall was a sight to see, as was the wall that guards it. Your mouth is open slightly as the gasp leaves you.

“Tis a sight, I know,” Cregan says, standing between you and Jace.

“It’s beautiful.”

You weren’t sure how the words left your lips, or if they were even given permission to leave. You were not mad about it though, words often had a way of escaping when it came to you. You often got in trouble for it.

Jace and Cregan began negotiations once more whilst you took in the view of the wall. You heard Cregan promise some two thousand men, which made you smile even wider. The North would bend the knee to your mother, and serve their rightful queen.

“A raven, My Lord, with urgent news from Dragonstone.”

You turn, facing Cregan as he reads the missive, watching as his face falls, looking to Jace before handing him the message. Jace’s jaw tightens and his hands begin to shake. Your brows furrow, reaching beyond Cregan for Jace’s shoulder.

“What is it?” You question, brows knitting together even tighter.

“We must return home,” His voice is tight, “Luke-he’s gone.”

You felt as if the world was crashing around you. Surely there was a mistake, he was simply flying to Storm’s End. He was only meant to treat, and return. Luke knew how important this was to your mother’s claim, he wouldn’t have jeopardized it. He wouldn't have gotten himself killed over it.

“Surely the raven is mistaken,” You scoff, taking a step back. Your back collides with Cregan’s chest, “Lucerys is fine, I’m sure.”

Strong, somehow warm, hands grip your shoulders, holding you in place, “No, Aemond and Vhagar killed him.”

“No. No I refuse to believe that,” Your head shakes, “Aemond disliked Luke after what happened, but he wouldn’t kill him. He couldn’t.”

“Princess,” Cregan says softly, barely audible over the sound of the wind.

“No!” You yell, feeling your chest cave in, “No!”

Tears freeze against your cheeks as you begin to cry. Without thinking, you turn around and bury yourself in Cregan’s chest. He stands still for a moment, stunned by your actions before wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly.

It only takes moments for you to compose yourself. You were two weeks away from your dragon, a week and a half at best. Days away from Dragonstone and your mother. All you could think of was how scared little Luke had to have been. He was all alone, high in the clouds, no doubt in the middle of a fierce storm. You should have opted to go with him instead of Jace. Jace could have handled this without you.

“We should go back,” Jace instructs.

You sniff and nod, backing away from the Warden of the North. You instantly miss his warmth, internally scolding yourself for thinking such a thing at a time like this. You instead lean into Jace, accepting your brother as your rock until you could return home.

When you say goodbye to Cregan several days later, you can’t help but hope this isn’t the last time you see him. He promises his men once more, and watches as you and your brother climb onto your dragons.

The flight home is wildly fast, pushing your dragons to carry you faster than you thought they could. As if they could sense how quickly you wished to return home to Dragonstone, they allowed you to push.

By the time you return, even you are out of breath, emotions swirl wildly in your chest. You want nothing more than to go straight to your mother, but Jace tells you that he’ll give the report, seeing you were in no shape to do so.

You retreated to your rooms, saying nothing to Baela as you passed her. All there was, was your misery over the loss of your brother. You screamed and cried his name, mourning in the only way you knew how. You wanted to go to war, slay the devil Aemond and Vhagar. But you knew in your heart it would be a fool’s errand. You would be the one who was slain. Vhagar was much too big for any of the dragons with riders here on Dragonstone. Vermithor was the only one who could potentially stand against her, yet the Bronze Fury was riderless still.

You wail even when Jace finds you once more, holding you tightly in his arms. You both cry for your little brother, who was so full of life and love. He did not deserve to die, and you find yourself praying to the gods to take you instead. You fall asleep in your older brother’s arms, having cried everything you had to cry.

You expect to see Luke when you finally close your eyes. To dream of his horrific final moments. But instead you dream of white snow, an ice wall, and the stoic northerner who threatened to consume you. When you woke, tears still shining in your eyes, you vowed that it would not be the last time you saw Lord Cregan Stark. You would see him again, and find if he thinks about you as much as you seem to be thinking of him.

#cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #hotd cregan #hotd

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mordredsheart · 1 month ago

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disney villains ranked by how good they would be as a toxic romantasy love interest

10. gaston. make no mistake, he ranks highly in toxicity, and would no doubt excel in one of those romance novels about douchebros reenacting the most dangerous game with nondescript brunettes. but there’s simply no way he can hold his own against the faeries and monsters and sorcerers you’ll meet in chapter three.

09. hades. lord of the underworld is a fantastic gig, but i personally feel that his reliance upon comedy and snark somewhat undercuts the promising menace of him shouting that he owns you. he’d make a real charmer of a sidequest flirtation, though, if you survive it.

08. captain hook. manipulation is the bread and butter of your common or garden toxic romantasy love interest, and we all saw the way he played poor tinker bell. it ruled. do me next. extra credit for an underplayed tragic immortal angle (hey, he’s stuck in neverland, too!) and being figuratively and literally haunted by his own doom.

07. shan yu. for a villain with limited screentime he really has a way of setting the imagination aglow. what if your village was razed by a warlord and you ended up encountering him repeatedly in battle and for all the casually contemptuous evil he’s previously displayed he faced you with respect as an equal (and he *remembered* you) and oh no he’s hot. what then. he also gets bonus points because i think they made his hawk a beautiful lady shapeshifter in the live-action movie. two for the price of one.

06. the evil queen. she sets a high bar for unhealthy obsession, and “mad scientist” is an underrepresented flavor in this genre, plus the magic mirror has a lot of creepyhot stalking potential. she’s pretty high-maintenance, though, and her vanity simply wouldn’t allow your heroic quest and/or the other corner of the love triangle to share the spotlight with her. she might be better off as a supporting character in the deadly decadent court who calls you menacing endearments and strokes your face and gives you the feeling that you’re suddenly in way over your head.

05. frollo. oh, i hear you gnashing your teeth and wringing your hands. “not frollo!” yes frollo. if i was reading a romantasy novel and the villain told the protagonist that they were just imagining a rope around her beautiful neck, i would feel ripped off if they weren’t at *least* furiously making out in secret by the climax. your conscience may demur, but who hasn’t secretly yearned to have a city burned to the ground over them?

04. mor’du. who? you know mor’du. the big fuckoff bear from brave. the big fuckoff bear who once was a brooding, hulking celtic prince who massacred his whole family and underwent a devastating transformation-by-curse into a literal monster. it’s only his sheer bad luck that he ended up as a minor character in a heartwarming mother-daughter narrative and not the villain protagonist of a romantasy that’s half beauty and the beast and half texas chain saw massacre. but, with your help, we can change that.

03. jafar. he doesn’t rank more highly because it’s less fun when they’re only creepy to you and obsessed with you for, like, five minutes at the end, but still. he pulls it off *so* well, he’s got just the right kind of megalomaniac agenda, and he gets extra credit for style and the hypnosis thing. cue the agonizing yet erotic internal monologues from our protagonist about how he *compels* them.

02. TIE! between two gentlemen who operate on very similar levels of charming toxicity and would therefore thrive in this setting:

hans. it’s honestly a shame he’s in a disney children’s movie and not a five hundred page novel called a realm of ice and snow or whatever. he would not only be endgame but he would also have a small army of booktokers calling our protagonist names for doubting his love for them after one eensy little lying to them and leaving them to die incident. he’d be exactly as awful as he is canonically and he’d come out smelling like a rose.

dr. facilier. the *perfect* balance of tragic backstory versus inexcusable jackassery, and no one is immune to the charms of a roguish magician dabbling in that which he should not. he’ll sell you the prettiest vision of a future together that you ever did see, and then he’ll sell you out to evil forces to further his personal agenda, and he will not be sorry about it. he’ll call you doll while draining every drop of your blood for The Ritual and he won’t lose a wink of sleep. no romantic groveling apology from this one, either, i’m afraid. but he’d be so worth it.

01. maleficent. evil sexy faery who lives on something called the forbidden mountain, who devoted sixteen years of her life to tormenting a beautiful peasant with a secret royal lineage, up to and including kidnapping the “correct” love interest to prevent them from saving our protagonist from her own wicked plans? if there *isn’t* already a romantasy novel out in the world that is blatant aurora/maleficent fic, i will eat my hat.

honorable mentions:

rasputin. sure, he’s only a disney villain by technicality. but what romantasy protagonist worth their salt would kick the rotting lich-priest who murdered their whole family, and is trying to murder them, out of bed on a technicality?

bruno madrigal, who wasn’t a villain at all, but by gods he should have been. secret uncle who lives in the walls and is tragically haunted by your seemingly immutable shared fate *and* you’re his *favorite*? the gothic romantasy fans would devour him.

#all that said if you catch me letting dr. facilier use me for the ritual DO NOT save me #venus made good cases for gothel and tremaine but my specific brand of mommy issues render me incapable of finding them sexy unfortunately #i also had to limit myself to humanoid or at least once humanoid. if i added the furries i’d be here all day.#nixe has a word.

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painted-flag · 4 months ago

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Snow White and the Seven Bandits - Jacaerys Velaryon.

Story I of Between the Pages: a HOTD x fairytale series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist here. main blog masterlist here. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: depictions of violence and use of poison. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ word count: 11.4k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ note: this is a long one. the others in the series will be the same, perhaps even longer for a few, so would you be interested in me dividing them into parts for the future or just keep them as one text around 10k and release at once?

“It is imperative that you both exhibit the best of manners,” The voice of the kingdom's Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, carried throughout the carriage. The wheelhouse held her, Jacaerys, and Lucerys. The youngest, Joffrey, had stayed in Kings Landing with their father Harwin - as he is the prince regent and can act in Rhaenyra’s stead. The carriage rocked as it made its way down a country road.

“Mother, we are always on our best behaviour,” Jacaerys responded, though it seemed his attention was somewhere else in pure boredom. Lucerys, who had been sitting across from him, sent a look of doubt his way.

“Be that as it may, the Lady of Stonehill is… sensitive. The Lord of Stonehill lost his previous wife on the birthing bed. A few years after marrying a new wife, he passed. His daughter followed him in death a month afterwards. So please, do not bring up any subjects around Lady Alicent that may offend her. It may have happened years ago, but those scars do not fade.” Rhaenyra pressed the importance of their behaviour for their visit to Castle Stonehill.

“Yes, mother.” Lucerys gave her a wide smile, the candied lemons he was snacking on made his cheeks puff out.

Rhaenyra leaned to the side to enter Jace’s field of vision as he stared out of one of the wheelhouse windows. She raised her brow and waited for an answer.

Jace broke out of his trance and smiled at his mom, though it did not reach his eyes, “Yes, we will be on our best behaviour.”

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎 ༻⊰───⋅

The afternoon sun shone down on the walled-in garden of Castle Stonehill. The white quartzite with streaks of gray reflected the sunlight, casting glittered specks of light across the garden. Songbirds chirped as they flew from tree to tree. The abundance of foliage covered every open area in green. The types of flowers present filled all of the colours of a rainbow and butterflies flew from patch to patch to suck the nectar from the plants.

It was an area of peace and safety which you frequented often when not working. After the arduous hours of work throughout the morning, you relished the break of rest you got in the afternoon. They were spent in the garden, tending to the flowers that grew there. It was the only place in the castle that your stepmother, Alicent, never touched.

Your birth had caused your mother to pass, leaving you with your father. He was a kind and gentle man, who often spent more time with you than he should have given his lordly duties. He did all he could to raise you on his own. His gentle voice and demeanour rarely fit his appearance, for the man looked strong enough to snap a log over his thigh. Many years after the loss of his wife, he married again. The woman, Alicent, had presented herself as nothing but a dutiful and godfearing wife - a trick most wicked. While your father had lived, she treated you with kindness. It was a veiled sweetness that covered up the foul taste beneath; jealousy, want, and animosity.

Never was there a facade more barbarous than a woman who cut another woman down.

Upon the death of the Lord of Stonehill, Alicent’s cloaked contempt compounded. The inheritance of the castle would pass to you once you came of age, an outcome most ardently rejected by Alicent. She spared your life under the guise of benevolence, should you fake your death and take up a job as a scullery maid in the castle. It was merciful, in your stepmother’s words, to keep you alive. However, the pain of losing your father and your previous life stung the heart that lay in your chest. A torture disguised as mercy.

Through the years your resolution did not sway. There was a resilience in your kindness, both inwards and outwards, that you displayed to the world daily. What had angered you at first became nothing but a small sting. There are worse fates that people could meet.

The day had been ordinary, inexplicably so. You found yourself in your usual routine, picking flowers and singing in your few moments of daily rest. The knife in your hand cut the stems of some of the flowers and you placed them in a wicker basket on the ground next to you. Upon turning your gaze to one of the hedges, you saw that it appeared down, as though lacking water. You put down the knife and walked over to a well placed at the centre of the garden.

Your voice continued to carry a tune as you pulled on a rope to lower a bucket down. As you went about your way, your voice carried over the walls and into the courtyard next to the garden.

Now, Jacaerys had not wished to go for a walk, but quickly upon their arrival at the castle he and Luke were sent away. The adults were talking, and therefore the youth must let them be. A total disgrace, in Jace’s mind, as he was set to become king and therefore felt he should be included. Alas, the stern gaze of his mother had led to him walking aimlessly in a courtyard with his brother and hoping that the day could finish.

Jace was walking with Luke beside him and the younger brother had not stopped talking. He was explaining his thoughts on everything they had seen during their trip, waving his hands around to emphasize certain points. Jace nodded along to his observations. It was during a particular rant about the knights of the castle's armour that Jace heard a voice in the distance. The tune carried over the gentle wind, gracing his ear in sweet pleasantry.

“Do you hear that?” Jace interrupted Luke’s rant.

Luke halted, “What?”

“That voice… it sounds like singing.” Jace did not wait for any response before he picked up his pace, marching across the courtyard. He followed the wall to his right until the voice got louder.

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” Luke had been confused by his brother's actions. The whole trip he had been unusually bored, often unfocused and inattentive. Now, it seemed that life was breathed into him again.

“Don’t you hear that?” Jace looked at the thick growing vines on the wall, rapt by the singing.

“Someone is singing, does it matter?” Luke responded, “We should go back to mother.”

“In a moment,” Jace spoke. He stepped forward and grabbed onto one of the vines. His gaze swept across the wall as if he was unsure of his movements. Deciding not to question it, Jace tugged on the vine to test its strength. Upon finding the results he wanted, he began to climb.

When Jaceaerys reached the top, he took in the sight. It was a flower garden. Despite the countless different flowers all mixed around, it looked organized and well-maintained. The singing that he heard came from a woman by a well. She was fetching water and dressed like all the maids, in rags made of cloth. However, Jace was not a blind man and could clearly see how beautiful she was. He paused for a moment and debated on whether or not he should disturb her. His mother taught him better, that a proper man should have manners and not disturb a lady. However, there was an enchanting allure from her.

“Well,” Luke began, “What do you see?” At that point, Lucerys had become intrigued by his brother's actions.

“She’s beautiful,” Jace muttered. Luke was unable to hear his brother's response and watched as Jace moved to climb down the other side. He stood there, agape at his brother's impulsive nature - a trait he knew he would never get used to.

“What an idiot.” He muttered.

You were oblivious to the pitfalls of steps coming from the other side of the well; too lost in your song to care. You were pulling the bucket of water up and had it settle on the edge when an unknown voice broke you from your daydream.

“Hello.” It was not a very deep voice, but the timbre notes were warm, like the sun's rays on a hot day.

“Seven Hells!” You shout in fear, the pail of water falling back down the well when the rope in your hands is dropped. The man in front of you rushed to the well wall on the other side.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He assured.

You looked back and forth across the garden, scared that Alicent would be looking in. She did not like it when you talked to servants, and you had no idea how angry she would be if she found out you were talking to the prince.

“I am fine,” You did not wish to prolong this conversation any longer than it had to be, so you hoped a curt response would be a hint for him to leave.

“I’m Jacaerys Velaryon,” The man spoke, “Who are you?”

You froze at his words. He was the prince. Oh gods, you had just rudely tried to dismiss the prince. There was a moment of rushed thinking, wondering how you could get yourself out of this situation. There was no shame in running, perhaps. Maybe wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Nice to meet you, my prince,” You bowed lowly and kept your gaze lowered to the stone on the ground, “I am simply a maid.” Your hands smoothed over the scratchy fabric of your gown, inwardly cringing at how underdressed you were in front of him.

“Yes, but what is your name?” Jacaerys stepped around the well to be closer. He was dressed like a prince. Rich, finely woven fabric of dark blue matched the silver embroidered embellishments on the ends of his sleeves, around his collar, and down the front of his surcoat. The garments themselves were sure to be made by a multitude of servants, a look of divinity next to the one-colour floor-length dress you wore, which was accompanied by a light beige apron stained slightly from the dirt of cleaning and tending to the garden.

“I must go, my prince.” You grabbed the sides of your dress and held them out as you moved down in a short curtsey. He looked confused at your insistent need to be away from him, something you were sure he was not used to considering his status. You turned and began your way to a servant's entrance at the side of the castle.

“Wait! I’m sorry if I scared you, truly,” Jace spoke up and positioned himself in front of you, “Please, I just wish to talk.” He looked as though he wanted to reach out but refrained from doing so. There was a certain glint in his eyes that was unrecognizable. You were used to the way men would threaten you with their gaze, an unsaid selfish want, but Jace did not have that look. It was something kind, an emotion you had not been on the receiving end for many years.

“There is nothing a servant can say, my prince.” You curtseyed again - a signal of a final dismissal - and moved to the small oak door. The heavy metal of the hand felt cool under your grasp. You yanked it open and closed it behind you. The transition from the warm sun-soaked outside to the cold and damp servants' hallway gave a temporary shock to your body.

Back in the garden, Jace stood defeated. He felt horrible for scaring a woman - something his mother would sharply scold him on if she ever found out, of which Harwin would sure to join. That was not how you were raised… to corner a woman like that, what were you thinking?

At a window far up on the castle, Lady Alicent stood looking out, having watched their meeting transpire.

He retreated to the wall he had scaled and grasped the vines in his hand. Lugging himself up, he returned to the top of the wall to his brother standing on the other side. Lucerys was close to going for help because of how long his brother was gone.

“What in the seven hells was your reasoning for that? Mother told us to be on our best behaviour, yet here you are scaling the walls of Lady Alicent’s castle!” Lucerys scolded as Jace dropped down next to him.

Jace adjusted his clothing as he huffed to catch his breath from the drop, “You should have seen her, Luke.”

“Seen who?” Luke had his arms crossed and a look of vexation moved across his face.

“The lady in the garden.A servant. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone like that.” Jace looked sort of dazed.

“So… you saw some random servant?” Luke said.

“I’m telling you, there was something about her… she did not act like one.” Jace marched along the courtyard path and to the nearest entrance to the castle. Luke followed closely behind.

“All the servants here look the same. Rags and all.” Luke dismissed his brother's whims.

“Rags cannot hide her gentle face.” Jacaerys’ tone left little room for further resistance from his brother.

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

You sat in your room and skillfully embroidered a patch of fabric. The wooden loop was clutched between the fingers of your left hand as the right held the needle. It was a patch of vines being woven, like the ones the prince climbed to get into the garden. It had only been a day since your encounter with Jacaerys Velaryon, yet the memory clung to your mind and refused to let go. He was kind, uncharacteristically so compared to the people you have met in your life.

The sudden opening of the door to your small chambers had you rushing to get up. The sewing fell from your lap and to the floor. You were frustrated by the sudden disturbance but swallowed it once seeing who was at your door.

“Lady Alicent,” You bowed to your stepmother and watched as she stood in the doorframe of your room. Her judging eyes moved around the small space, cluttered with books and other belongings - the few you were allowed to keep. A look of disgust twinged at the corner of her mouth. She stepped into the room, her emerald gown glimmering in the small streak of light from the tiny window placed well above viewing height. Your room was ultimately like a cage but disguised as a servant's quarter.

“You have done well with your chores as of late,” Alicent began, “Good work should be met with rewards, I am generous that way.” Her words were short and snippy like it burdened her to even speak to you.

“Thank you, my lady.” You bit back the array of insults boiling within.

“Ser Erryk will escort you to the woods, where you can pick wildflowers. Perhaps there may be new ones you can add to your garden.” Despite the kindness of her words, the tone dripped with false sincerity.

“You are very kind, lady Alicent.” While there was an unsettling nature to her gaze, you were excited to go out in the woods beyond the castle. Since your father's death, you had been kept secluded in the castle walls, unable to even venture into some of the halls.

“Yes, well, you best get ready then,” Alicent muttered before vacating the room as quickly as she could. The door was open still and a guard stood where she once was.

“Good morrow, my lady,” Ser Erryk was perhaps the only guard in the castle who clued in on your identity. He was only a young man when your father died and his memory of your face stayed with him. When you were allowed to leave your room many years after your staged death to pose as a scullery maid, he instantly clocked into your true identity. He kept it a secret, for fear of what Alicent would do to him if she found out that he knew.

“Hello, Ser Erryk. Let me just get my basket.”

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

You hummed away as you tended to the wildflowers on a hill. You were taken on a carriage ride deep in the woods. It had been the most excitement you ever had, for the feeling of freedom rippled through your body. Ser Erryk stood by the carriage a few feet away, watching as you went about digging up dirt and roots of pretty colours you have yet to add to your collection.

A shadow loomed over where you sat, and your head turned to see Ser Erryk had gotten closer. He stood above you with his sword raised in the air. You did not have it in you to scream, for a wave of hopelessness crashed over your body. A sense of betrayal seeped into your bones. One of the only men who had yet to treat you with antagonism or lecherousness had hidden their evil deep below the surface.

Ser Erryk’s arms had stopped with the sword raised. They shook ever so slightly in his frozen position. His face was twisted, pain and uncertainty carved across the skin. He stumbled back and threw the sword to the ground, curses flung from his mouth. His breathing was laboured and his chest rose up and down.

“Run.” His gravelly voice hitched slightly.

You paused, unsure of his display of goodwill, “What?”

“I am sorry I ever tried, my lady. Alicent has my brother… she said she would kill him. Go, run far from here.” Ser Erryk spoke.

“And your brother?” You questioned.

“I will think of something,” He responded. He reached to his side and pulled out a long dagger, holding it out to her, “Take this and go, my lady.”

You got up on shaky legs and slowly grasped the hand of the dagger. It felt awkward in your hand. There was never a point in your life where you ever held something sharp besides a kitchen knife or sewing needle. It was heavy and unnatural.

“Thank you, Ser Erryk. I will never forget this.” You nodded to him. You turned to the woods, looking into the looming dark depths. The fear you had felt towards him had now moved to the woods. The dark trunks stood like knights on the ground, their looming presence instilling dread. Whatever nocturnal beasts lurked within the murky bowels of the forest suddenly seemed less frightful than the beast that would be waiting should you return to the castle.

Death in the woods felt more merciful than whatever Alicent would do to you.

Steeling your emotions, you surged forward. Your jogged movements quickly picked up to a steady pace. You leapt over each root and bush in your way. There was no path you followed, only faith to guide you from this terror. The trees surrounding you morphed into figures like monsters. The winding branches twisted around and appeared as hands reaching out to grab her.

Your feet carried you beyond the winding hills and scattered foliage. Tears stung at your cheeks as the cool wind dried the saltwater on your face. What felt like hours, but had only been a single one, passed as you stumbled over a branch and fell. The choked gasps of your sobbing echoed in the forest. You were hunched over and crying.

When you pulled back to sit on the ground, you looked up and spotted a decrepit cottage in the distance. You had happened across an open space in the forest. A stream cut through and there was a small shoddy built bridge over the water and a path leading to the cottage. It was a plaster and wood building with a thatched roof. A single chimney was seen going from the bottom of one of the sides to the top of the roof. It appeared to be two storeys high.

You approached cautiously, wondering who may be around.

“Hello?” You called out and then waited, but no reply came, “Is anyone there?” There was no response. You moved to one of the windows and saw it covered in dust, you tried to wipe it away, but it only smudged. The cottage had been left a long time ago. Your hand reached for the nob and turned. Surprisingly, the door opened.

You peered in to see the state of disarray inside. What little furniture could be seen was covered in a layer of dust. When you moved inside the cottage, the dust made you cough violently.

“Oh, this place is dreadful.” You mutter. There was a broom placed beside the fireplace, also covered in dust. You picked it up and shook the dust off, with only one thought in your mind. This is going to be a nightmare to clean.

You had spent the next few hours cleaning the cottage from top to bottom. Countless tasks were completed as time went on. While it was exhausting, it felt like a piece of freedom. Here, you were cleaning because you wished to and for yourself, not to the demands of Alicent and any of her friends.

Earlier, in the upstairs area of the cottage - which was more of a loft space - you found seven beds placed beside one another. It filled you with sadness. At one point in time, this cottage had been full of a loving family, something you had little experience with. You could not help but wonder what could have happened to them.

You finished the last of your tasks and sighed loudly. Your hands rested on your hips as you scanned around the open living space. It looked like an entirely new place as if you tore down the old cottage and built a new one. Your exhaustion was something never felt before. The events of the day finally came down on you; the early morning picking wildflowers, Ser Erryk sparing your life, the run through the woods, and lastly your cleaning of the cottage. The beds upstairs in the lofts seemed comfier than ever. You pranced up the stairs and plopped on one of them. The soup stewing over the fireplace could be left unattended for a good long while, so with that worry out of your mind, you drifted off to sleep.

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

It was in the deep stage of your sleep that the door downstairs opened up. A figure stood in the doorway with their sword raised high and scanned the room. Once they entered, six other figures followed behind.

“The whole place is… clean.” One of them spoke in a sleepy voice.

“I thank you for your astute observation, genius.” The one in front wielding the sword grumbled, his grumpy countenance exacerbated by his lack of patience. His free hand moved up to adjust the eyepatch on his face. The group moved as one. They surveyed the ground floor and found nothing except the almost extinguished fire and a cast iron pot strung over it.

One of the men reached forward and pulled the lid off, exposing the wonderful smell of stew. It simmered just barely. Before they could inspect it further, the man sneezed loudly and dropped the lid back on the pot. The clattering sound emanated around the room.

They all hunched slightly, ready to attack, but nothing came. The one who sneezed rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. They migrated to the wooden stairs and one by one made their way up the steps. Upon reaching the lofted area, a figure underneath the covers of one of the beds was spotted.

“What the fuck?” The grumpy one spoke in a hushed whisper. He separated himself from the group and approached the bed cautiously. He adjusted the sword in his grasp. Once he stood at the foot of the bed, he reached out with his sword and nudged the covers. The figure shifted.

Your state of unconsciousness began to wear off. The exhaustion you had felt earlier depleted. A yawn left your mouth as you moved to sit up in the bed. The covers fell to your waist and you stretched out your arms. After stretching your arms, your hands rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Blinking a couple of times to clear your bleary vision, you opened them to see a man at the foot of the bed with a sword pointing at you. Six men stood behind, all with varying faces of curiousness to skepticism.

There was only one reaction that seemed fitting, which was to scream. When you did, the six men standing at the top of the stairs screamed as well. The one with the sword, who had silver hair and an eyepatch over his left eye, groaned with frustration.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

Before you could answer, a man behind him spoke up, “Stop pointing your sword at a bloody woman!” The man had a bashful expression on his face.

“We don’t know her, Addam.” He responded to his friend and turned back to face you, “What are you doing in our house?”

“I… I thought it was abandoned.” You responded. Shock still froze your body. It seemed as though wherever you would run, men would always follow.

One of the men laughed at her words. He looked to be old, with silver hair and a beard. “Well, you’re not wrong about that assumption.” The man stepped forward and to the man with the eyepatch, grabbing the sword from his hands and placing it on the floor, “I apologize for scaring you. My name is Viserys, but most people call me Happy.”

“Happy?” You questioned.

“They are our cover names,” Happy answered, “My friend with the patch here is Aemond, but he goes by Grumpy.”

“Not willingly,” Aemond complained.

You mulled over their names in your head and thought on it for a moment. For some odd reason, the names felt familiar. They settled at the back of your mind, poking at your consciousness. A heartbeat passed before it struck you. The two names and the fact that there were seven of them in total.

“As… as in the seven bandits?” You gulped a bit of air after you spoke.

“You’re corre-” The man who spoke up sneezed abruptly, “Correct. I am Laenor, but my nickname is, well, Sneezy.”

“Let us just all reveal ourselves. Might as well just tell her all of our secrets while we are at it.” Aemond crossed his arms and stared her down. He looked at her as though she was a threat; some hidden weapon made to kill them.

“You suck the joy out of everything, Grumps.” Another man stepped forward and nodded to you, “I’m Aegon.”

“Dopey,” Aemond added on.

Aegon glared at him and crossed his arms, “At least I’m not a killjoy.” Aemond squared his shoulders and stood chest to chest with Aegon, domineering over his frame.

“Well maybe if you were smart for once-”

“That's enough.” Viserys spoke and placed himself between them, “Both of you can leave if you won’t get along. Stop crowding around the poor girl.” They backed off and joined the other men a few feet away.

“I’m sorry, truly. The place appeared empty and I thought that I could stay for a while. I will leave.” You push the covers from your body and maneuver off of the bed.

Viserys raised his hands in a peaceful motion, “Please, do not feel rushed. If I may ask, who are you and why are you here?”

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

Over the seven jewelled hills and beyond the seven falls, you happened upon a home of seven bandits a half year ago. Upon revealing your true identity, they had taken you in - much to the chagrin of Grumpy. However, you provided the skills learned as a maid to contribute to the house and were allowed to stay permanently. After a few weeks of asking, the men had begun to train you in the ways of the sword.

You were beyond skilled at it, having nicked yourself and a few of the others many times over. It was a learning curve you gradually got over, though you had a long way to go. Despite all your learning, you have yet to join them on their missions. Happy assured you that your talent with the sword was enough, but truly did not feel good to have a woman join them, for he was worried about your safety.

It was in this group of misfits that you found a family. While Grumpy was still not too keen on your presence, the others welcomed you relatively quickly. You got to know them all on a personal level and truly understand how fitting their cover names were. Aemond fit the Grumpy name. Viserys was always happy, Aegon consistently had a dopey look on his face, while Laenor sneezed near constantly. Addam had the nickname Bashful. He always blushed when you were around and got incredibly flustered when spoken to, but he was very loyal to his friends. Harrold, another one of the older men, was called Sleepy; something he proved nearly daily because if he was not training, he would be found anywhere around the cottage taking a nap. Corlys, or Doc, seemed to take up an almost leader-like role; even though they all worked together as a collective team.

Doc and Happy built you your own room in the cottage. There was a lot of open area on the downstairs level, so they picked a corner and set up walls for your privacy. That was a month after you agreed to stay permanently, and it felt like the final moment in truly becoming family.

It was the early hours of the morning. You were making breakfast with the help of Dopey. While he was not the brightest, he followed directions well and seemed just pleased to help. The two of you were working diligently. He went to set the table as the others started to wake. They made their way down like clockwork, each settling down in their designated seats.

When everyone sat and had a plate of food in front of them, Happy spoke, “We think it is time for you to join us on a mission.” His gaze was directed at you. You lowered your fork and tilted your head.

“Really? I can come?” You held back the excitement that brewed within.

“A short raid, you will stay back and only interfere if necessary. It is just so you can watch.” Happy reiterated, but you were already smiling widely.

“Thank you!” You shot out of your seat and walked to his, wrapping your arms around him in a hug and kissing his forehead. Happy turned a shade of bright red.

“Yes, well, don’t expect to do much,” Grumpy spoke up, “These rich folks always hire terrible guards. There won’t be a need for you to fight.” You walked back to your seat and rolled your eyes.

“Rich folk aren’t always bad.” You tried to defend.

“Like that prince you met?” Bashful asked. You groaned internally. A few months prior you let slip of your encounter with the prince and the kindness he showed, regardless of the rudeness you shoved his way. Since then, the men have teased you about him.

“Not that. I am rich… well… I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Once a rich girl, always a rich girl,” Grumpy mumbled.

The morning was spent preparing for some scout work on one of the main roads. The group would wait for a carriage to pass, one that was obviously belonging to a rich person, and they would rob them. Half of the earnings would be distributed to one of the nearby towns, while the other half would go to supporting themselves.

You now find yourself halfway up a tree that lined the main road through the forest. All of the other men were scattered among other trees, each within view of one another but not from any on the ground. Multiple people had passed, but all appeared to be townsfolk. It was after a few hours that a carriage began to pass. The wood had been carved delicately and embellished with gold. It was beyond a doubt that the person was rich. The only thing that threw her off was the amount of guards on horses surrounding it.

There had to be no less than twenty men and you were unsure how your friends would handle this. You had never seen them in action before. They all shared looks and communicated through bird calls. You were still learning the meanings of the calls, but one immediately got your attention. It was the call for an attack.

You watched as your friends descended from their hiding spots in the branches of the trees. They fell like lightning on the soldiers. Upon a closer look, you recognized the armour of the guards and almost gasped. They are royal guards.

A figure emerged from the carriage with a sword in hand and prepared to fight. You immediately recognized who it was. There was no way you could forget the face of Jacaerys Velaryon. His unruly dark curls fell to his sharp jawline. His stature revealed how strong his form was. The sword in his grasp caught the light.

You had to intervene. His soldiers were exceptionally trained and you could not leave your friends unaided. You swung from the rope that helped suspend you. Landing on the ground a few feet from Jace, you were intercepted by a guard. Your sword had only ever been used for practice combat, not a skilled soldier. You unsheathed it and blocked the guard's attack.

The two of you went back and forth. Each time you struck he blocked it, with the same happening to his strikes. He pulled you in and turned your back to his chest. Just as he brought his sword up to plunge into your neck, you elbowed his face and kicked his groin. Once the guard was on his knees and more on your level, you used the hilt of your sword and swung at his helmet, effectively knocking him out.

When his body fell to the ground, you looked up to see Jace standing there, having watched the whole thing.

“It’s you!” He spoke. The two of you stood still, each grasping your weapons and unsure how to proceed. You did not wait to respond and swung first. He stepped back and dodged.

“You’re that maid!” Jacaerys never swung at you but rather deflected your hits. The two of you were engaged in some kind of dance.

“I’m her,” You responded. Your strikes got harder and Jace pushed back a few times.

“I don’t want to fight you. Call off these men and we can go our separate ways.” Jace tried to reason.

You wanted to do that, but knew it was not possible with your friends, “No can do, my prince.”

The two of you were so focused on the fight, that you failed to notice one of the guards throw a dagger your way. It lodged itself into your shoulder and you cried out in pain, stumbling in your spot. It was then that Dopey called out your name. You watched as realization swept over Jace’s face. He quickly processed the words.

“Wait, Lady Stonehill? You’re supposed to be dead!” Jace recognized the name as the lady who was said to have passed a mere short months after her father years ago. The name was unique and he pierced it together with you also having been at Castle Stonehill.

Dopey came up on the back of a horse he stole from a guard. He leaned down to lift your injured self onto the horse. Your stomach lay on the saddle behind him. You and Jace had yet to stop looking at one another. There was an underlying force to look at him that would not yield. You wanted to stay, to make sure nothing would happen to him, but it seemed with your injury your group decided to retreat after seizing everything of value. The point was not to kill, that was something that had been emphasized in your training.

It was always reiterated that the jobs are a swift robbery of goods and nothing else. With that goal achieved, you repositioned yourself on the saddle and wrapped your arms around Dopeys waist. All of the others had clambered to other horses and swiftly fled down the road. The horse you were on followed. You looked back over your shoulder to see the other guards recovering and Jace staring you down. He did not look angry, but rather confused. You hoped he could forgive you.

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

“I humbly apologize for the raid while on your travel here, my prince.” The words of Lady Alicent rang out through the great hall of Castle Stonehill. “Those miscreants have targeted these parts for years, it is time my men put a stop to it.”

Jacaerys had arrived at Castle Stonehill for a momentary visit to discuss taxes for the Crown, but the interception on his travel seemed to be the only topic of focus. None of his men were gravely injured, but he had lost a few pouches of gold and jewels.

“Thank you for your kind words, Lady Alicent,” He paused for a moment, “May we speak in private?” Jace asked.

Alicent waved off her guards and the hall cleared, “What is it you wish to speak about, my prince?”

“I mean no offence, but there seems to be no other way to inform you of this. Lady Alicent, I believe your stepdaughter is alive.” Jace informed. Alicent’s face shifted from curiosity to something bordering on indignation and distaste. She blinked rapidly.

“What, um, what makes you say such a thing?” Alicent’s hands placed themselves on her stomach in an attempt to keep herself calm. Jace interpreted her actions as reminiscing of grief.

“The visit I made with my mother months ago, well I ran into this girl who I thought was a maid. When the raiders attacked my travel company, she was there as well. One of them called out her name and well, I believe it is your stepdaughter. She matches the description as well. Maybe-”

“I am sorry, Prince Jacaerys, but I cannot hear anymore. My stepdaughter is dead, that is final.” Alicent stood firm on her words.

Jace nods, “Yes, I understand. I am sorry for the distress I have caused.” He nodded to Alicent before making a hasty exit from the great hall. He kept thinking back to his encounter with the woman. He finally, after months of thinking about her after their encounter in the garden, had a name to match her face.

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

You shifted uncomfortably to try and grab a broom propped in the living space. The bandages on your shoulder moved and you hissed in pain at the sharp feeling hitting you. In the days following your injury in the raid, none of the men had let you lift a single finger. While months ago that would have been a horrible thing for the chores, you had whipped them into shape and they were able to clean properly. However, you still wished to contribute to the house.

The group marched down the stairs with weapons in their arms. They were going on another raid, as the last few days they opted out so they could watch over you. You stood by the door and opened it for them. One by one, you hugged them goodbye on their way out, giving each a kiss on the cheek for all the help they had given you. The last one, Grumpy, stood in front of you with his arms crossed.

“You don’t have to worry, I won’t hug you.” You joked.

Grumpy tilted his head to the side and hummed, “What I said about rich women that day… you’re one of us, not them.” It was the closest thing to an apology you would ever get from him, to be sure. Instead of acknowledging his apology, which would surely elicit a huff of annoyance from him, you chose another option.

You move forward and wrap him in a gentle hug. His body went stiff, unfamiliar with such kindness. One of his hands went up to put your shoulder awkwardly. After a moment he huffed as a signal to let go. You backed off and flashed him a smile.

“You secretly care for me, I know it.”

He moved out the door and began to walk away, “Whatever makes you feel better.”

You closed the door and looked back at the empty cottage. Making your way to the kitchen area, you decide that you should get started on making food for them when they get back. With your injury, it was bound to take longer than usual, so the sooner the better.

Hours passed of you prepping pies with one arm. The other would sting in pain each time you tried to use it, so it would be best to get used to your current predicament in hopes it would speed up the healing process. While rolling out the dough, a knock sounded on your door. You stopped your movements and backed from the table. When you walked to the door, you reached for a long knife placed beside it.

You opened the door while clutching the weapon behind your back. A man stood in a hooded cape. He carried a cane in one hand and a basket in the other. His leg appeared to be in some bandage, but something about it did not look like a temporary injury.

“Forgive me, sweet girl, but I seem to have lost my way.” The man smiled, “My name is Larys. Could you help me find the right path to the local market?”

“Oh, I can help you with that,” You notice the man looked bleary and most likely dehydrated, “Come inside and rest for a while, I can get you something to drink.” You ushered him into the cottage and to a seat while stealthily placing the weapon back in its hidden place. Once you served him a cup of water he thanked you immensely for the help.

“No need to thank me, sir. Kindness always goes a long way.” You sat across from him at the table.

“I have nothing to repay you.” The man muttered.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” You spoke.

He lifted the lid of his basket that was on the table, “Here, at least take one of these apples. I grow them back home.” He reached in and pulled out an apple. It was the most deep shade of red and covered in a shiny gleam. His hand held it out to you and you decided to pick it up. Holding it in your hand you inspected it.

“Well, I was starting to get hungry. Thank you, sir.” You took a bite of the apple and relished the taste. Some juice dribbled down your chin and you wiped it away. “Oh, you’re low on water. I’ll get you some more.”

Just as you get out of your seat, your body swayed oddly. Tingles made their way across your limbs and the edges of your vision dimmed. You stepped forward but stopped when your sight blacked out for a moment. It felt like you were losing control of your body. A sick feeling developed in your stomach. The apple fell from your hand. The sound it made when hitting the floor was muffled as if you were underwater. Your knees buckled under your weight and you felt yourself falling to the floor. Before you even made it there, your vision went black.

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

The band of men strolled merrily down the path to their home. It had been a successful day and they had just given half their share to one of the nearby villages. They joked with one another. Sneezy held Dopey in a headlock and began to mess up his hair, much to Dopey’s protest and Grumpy’s amused smile.

Doc went to open the door and noticed it was unlocked and slightly ajar. He raised his hand to signal the men to be quiet. They all hushed up and saw what Doc spotted. All of them pulled out their weapons. When Doc opened the door, they funnelled in. The cottage appeared empty. Grumpy took charge and moved in further, but dropped his sword in shock upon reaching the other side of the dining table.

The other men rushed to him and had similar reactions. Your body was on the floor, collapsed and unresponsive. Doc rushed forward and flipped you onto your back. He placed his hands below your nose but felt no air. He fell back from his crouched position as grief struck him.

“She… she’s not breathing.” His voice came out in a helpless whisper. While the words were light, their meaning felt like iron chains on the men. They all stood around her body, both shocked and driven to hopelessness. Grumpy moved first, his eye having caught something peculiar. He reached down under the table and came back with an apple in his hand. A single bite had been taken out of it.

After a moment, Grumpy spoke, “It was Alicent.”

“We don’t know that for sure-” Doc began but had been caught off.

“Seven hells, even I know it was her doing,” Dopey chimed in.

Grumpy placed the apple down and marched upstairs. They followed him to see him rummaging through one of their large chests. Second after second he pulled out varying types of weapons and placed them methodically on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Happy questioned.

At first, he did not respond, not until everything from the chest laid out on display, “We are going to Castle Stonehenge and we are killing her for this.”

“Grumpy, we don’t kill.” Bashful interjected. Some of them shifted in their stances.

“So Alicent gets away with it?” Grumpy raised his voice, “We stick up for our own, and she was one of us.”

Dopey crouched down and picked up a longsword, “I’m with you.”

Grumpy looked at all the others with the hope they would join in. One by one they assembled their own collection of weapons. She may be dead, but there was no way they would let her memory die with her. Now, more than ever, they would fight stronger than they have in the past. Only one mission was left in mind, to avenge her death and spread her story - so that she would never be forgotten.

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

It started as a warmth building in your stomach. It spread throughout your body further, and the more it did the more that heat increased. It clawed its way through your veins, burning the capillaries and tearing through your muscles to burn the bone beneath. Your lungs worked in opposition, for every breath you took seemed to only increase that cursed fever that took hold. It was in your ceaseless torture that dreams spread forth; wicked and wild.

Taunts of your lost childhood flickered on the backs of your eyelids. What-could-have-been’s propositioned like a devil's deal of a promised future, staked on the trade of your soul in exchange. Given the chance, you may have been persuaded to pray for such a deal. Your father's voice rang through your mind, but it was so faint and muffled you could not make out the words. Truthfully, to the regret and pain of every fibre of your being, you had forgotten his face and voice over time; even more so your mother.

It was cruel, beyond any punishment that could have been warranted for transgressions in your past lives. Surely, the gods could be cruel, but to be so minacious in their plan for you bordered them on the side of the cursed souls in the seven hells. Perspiration covered your body as it fought off the fever. No amount of ice in the world could aid your affliction. Your mind fought for control, or really for any semblance of consciousness beyond that of the haze plaguing your mind.

You could feel the thrashing of your body and the hands holding you down. They felt cold in comparison to the heat of your skin and you welcomed it. A voice, as foggy as the meadow outside your cottage and refreshing as the dew on grass in the morning, spoke through your haze. It was familiar, but you could not place its origins.

“Come back to us, my lady.”

The depths of the boiling ocean you were swimming in gave rise to creatures below. Faces of evil men in your past voyaged through those depths, like sharks surrounding prey. However, the most fear you felt was in the memories of your stepmother, Alicent. Her cruel sneer and wicked tongue that always seemed to be ready to fire a quip of the most vile of insults coated in a thin veil of sugar; sweetness afflicted with poison, her greatest weapon.

Time was an illusion. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, and weeks made no sense in your haze. For all you knew years could have passed suspended in this torture. It would not surprise you. But just as quickly as hopelessness seated itself in your soul, the heat was doused in water and you felt yourself clear again. Your muscles ached and your head pounded, but the relief of no longer being under such a curse took priority.

Your eyes blinked open and struggled to see through your blurry vision. When you managed to get a hold of your sight, the roof of a canopy bed was all you could see. The engraved wood was familiar. It took many minutes to get up, but once you were sat in the plush bed you recognized where you were.

Your childhood bedchamber appeared to have gone through no change at all since your father's death. You could not even remember the last time you were in this room, having been cast out and forbidden to go in. Perhaps you were dead and this was your afterlife. You had no idea if it was heaven or hell. The happiness of being in this room was undercut by the pain you felt for what could have been.

It was then that your memories came like an opened floodgate. The man you helped and the sudden feeling of blacking out. The apple… it had to have been the apple. You understood that it must be a plot construed by Alicent. Your placement in the room was not a gift, but one last taunt she made before killing you for good. You’d be damned if you went out without a fight now that you’ve learned well enough from your found family.

You scrambled out of bed and searched around the room, looking for anything that could be of service. In a drawer in a random dresser, you found a sewing collection with some shears. This will have to do.

You positioned yourself on the side of the door that would be covered when open and waited with bated breath. Shuffled footsteps sounded from outside and you prepared to strike. The door creaked open and the person walked in. You surged forward with your hand preparing to plunge the knife into them, but a hand caught your wrist with the shears.

“It would be regrettable to stab me, for killing the crown prince is the most heinous of crimes. I would hate for you to meet such a sudden end on your twice emergence from the dead.” The voice of Jacaerys Velaryon shook you from your adrenaline-filled mind. You dropped the shears.

“Prince Jacaerys?” He released your wrist from his grip and took a step back to give you space.

“It’s a relief to see you awake, my lady,” Jace spoke.

You swayed in your spot, the fear your body ran off of ebbed away, “What…” You stumbled forward and Jace moved quickly to catch you. One of his hands wrapped around your waist while the other supported your back.

“You should still be abed,” He uttered. Jace guided you back to the bed and helped you sit down. Your back rested against the headboard. The prince grabbed a nearby chair and moved it to the side of the bed you sat on and settled on it.

“I am sure you have… many questions.”

You huffed, “That may be the biggest understatement of the century.”

“You got me there,” Jace smiled gently, “Your, uh, friends stationed themselves outside the room and wouldn’t leave while you rested. There would never be more than two gone at a time. They’re staying in the room across from yours, I can wake them up so they can speak with you.”

He made a move to get out of his chair, but you interrupted, “Wait, no. Let them rest. How long have I been out?”

Jace hesitated before answering, “Two weeks.” You gaped at the answer, but he continued, “Honestly, no one was sure you would wake.”

You looked down at the blanket strew across your lap and traced your fingers over the delicately sewn design of vines. Two weeks of missed time, suspended in that state of burning pain. You blinked back the tears that pooled in your eyes and cleared your throat.

“Forgive me for my language, my prince, but what in the Seven Hell’s happened?”

Jace rested his hands on his thighs and leaned back, conveying his openness, “To be honest, my lady, I am not entirely sure. It was a shock. I was having dinner with Alicent when your… friends descended. I still have no clue how they got past both the castle and my own guards. They were a fury to be sure. Hurling such accusations at Alicent.”

You wanted to speak, but violent coughing raked through your throat and had you seize for a moment. Jace got out of his seat and reached for a cup that was placed on the bedside table. He poured the water into the glass and held it out for you. When you went to reach for the cup, Jace grabbed your hand and moved it back down to the covers. He brought it to your lips and tilted it so you could drink. Once you had a sip, he pulled back and waited if you wished for more. You shook your head, muttering a thank you, and he put it back on the table before settling in the chair again.

Jace continued, “They claimed Alicent faked your death to take your inheritance. That you had been ultimately killed by her with poison. I must admit, I did not believe them at first. But, a knight, Ser Erryk corroborated their story. Only then did Alicent fumble under the pressure, her story of innocence did not match up and began to crumble under scrutiny.”

You were in a state of shock. Never, in any dream or wish, could you have ever thought of Alicent being seen as the true person she was. That her crimes would be revealed.

“I had her arrested.” Jace’s words had rung in your head. The picture of Alicent in a cell came to mind, and the relief in that image could not be measured. Perhaps, finally, you may be out of reach from her conniving talons.

“I… How am I still alive?” You questioned.

Jace cleared his throat, “Well, I sharply questioned her for information regarding the poison. The castle healer knew of an antidote, but we were unsure if it would work, given how long it took to get to you. I am glad it did.” The corners of his lips turned up slightly.

“I need to see her.” You spoke.

“Absolutely not, I cannot allow that, my lady.” Jace shook his head.

“I have a right to see her. I am the lady of this castle, am I not?” You retorted. Your eyebrow rose in challenge and Jace nodded.

“You could barely stand for a few moments. When you are strong enough, I will personally take you to her. And yes, you are the lady of this castle so for you and your people, you must rest.” He emphasized the final three words, pausing after each.

The finality in his tone had you lean backwards and close your eyes. The pounding in your head had yet to cease, but it had eased. You pinched the bridge of your nose and began to breathe in and out.

“I sent word to my mother. She is coming to oversee Lady Alicent’s trial.” Jace lowered his voice, “Ser Erryk has physical evidence of a box meant for your heart. He was sent to carve it out of you… Um, another man was found, the one who gave you that apple. He is locked up and will be put on trial with Alicent.”

That day when Ser Erryk helped you felt like years ago. You were a different person then. Naive enough to believe Alicent would do something kind for you for once. While it had been the lowest point of your life, without it you would not be who you are now. A changed woman, with a true family and purpose.

“I wish to see my family now.” You whispered. Despite the conversation sucking all your strength, you wanted to see your friends. Jace stood up and nodded. He did not say anything further, in case he would stress you more than you were at that moment. His hand gripped the door handle and he opened it. Jace turned back around to you and looked as though he wanted to say something but refrained. His figure went through the door and closed it, leaving you to stew in the overwhelming amount of information you were fed.

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

The following week waiting for the arrival of Queen Rhaenyra was spent recovering. The shoulder wound you had sustained in the raid against Jace and his men had almost healed. Your body had fought off the last of the poison days ago, but everyone around you still treated you like glass. It had begun to grind down on your nerves.

Visiting Alicent had been a decision you turned against. There was nothing you wished to say to her and nothing she could ever say to you that would be worth your time. It would only ever throw you into more distress. Your new family settled into castle life surprisingly well, a fact you often teased them about. However, they still showed some form of distrust towards Jacaerys.

The prince had become a close friend in the short time spent together. He would visit you often in your chambers as you recovered. When you were cleared to walk, he would escort you around the caste. In his words, he accompanied you in the event that you collapsed, but you knew he did not have to as there were plenty of guards that could have done the job.

Despite the closeness between you two, some of your friends - mainly Grumpy - were still put off by him. Grumpy had approached you at one point to question Jace’s intentions, a conversation that made your cheeks flush and heart race. After clarifying that Jace was just being a gentleman, Grumpy acquiesced his hostility to the prince but still watched him with a piercing gaze when he went near you.

It was not just Grumpy that had become more protective over you. All of the men had heightened awareness of every little thing that happened in Castle Stonehill. There was rarely a moment when no less than two were by your side. They went so far as to have you dismiss your night guards and take shifts outside your door. When meals were made for you, Doc and Happy would watch over the cooks in the kitchen.

It was an unspoken fear they had; of the possibility of Alicent getting someone to come for you. You knew that so long as she was alive in a cell they would continue to act like this. Jace often joked about you having your own mini army, or legion of defenders that safeguarded your every waking moment. You would laugh if it was amusing. At first, their actions were endearing, but now they felt more stifling as of late.

When Queen Rhaenyra arrived, you were surprised by the soft warmth she brought to whatever room she occupied. She was strong-willed and an excellent conversationalist. Her kindness was refreshing, and you could see the resemblance in personality between her and Jace. Though, you were able to note he must carry more of King Harwin’s looks than his mother. A small piece of yourself was jealous whenever you would watch Jace and Rhaenyra spend time together. They were close, and you yearned for what kind of relationship you could have had with your mother.

A part of you wondered, had Alicent not been as vain, if you and her could have been close.

You were in your chemise and struggled to change the bandages on your shoulder. Regret for having dismissed the doctor washed over you. You were standing in your room, with your head tilted to look at the stitched wound. The door abruptly opened. You looked up to see Jace had walked in. Upon seeing your state of near undress, he let out a surprised yelp and turned his back to you. The sound of his startled voice made you laugh.

“I am so sorry, my lady. I do not know what I was thinking to not knock like that- oh, my mother will be furious. Again, I express my deepest condolences. This-” Jace began to frantically apologise.

You began to laugh harder, finding this situation amusing.. Had it happened to you months ago, you would have been mortified. Now, it does not bother you. Especially since it was him who happened to walk in.

“It is alright, Jacaerys. I know you meant nothing nefarious.” The two of you had common ground. When away from the listening ears of court, you could ignore propriety in referring to one another by your titles. It pleased a part of you to hear him address you by name rather than Lady Stonehill.

He still kept his back to you, “I will, um, come back later.”

“Could you…” You debated if you should ask, given that it was not entirely appropriate, “Could you help me?” Jace turned around to face you, but kept his gaze in line with your face. He coughed to clear his throat. A vibrant red flush spread from his cheeks to his neck.

“Yeah, uh, of course.” He moved forward hesitantly. The table next to you had a silver tray with some ointment and wraps. He cleaned off his hands in the bowl of water beside it and took some of the ointment. Standing next to you, the height difference was apparent. His chin when looking down only reached the top of your head. Jace’s breath was calm as he applied the ointment to the stitched area on your shoulder.

You had cursed yourself inwardly for asking him to do this. Your brain only seemed to focus on his calloused fingertips gently applying the cool ointment. Your mind ran wild and you closed your eyes in an attempt to calm your mind. He methodically wrapped up your shoulder. When he finished, his hands lingered on the skin around the wrap.

You coughed subtly to get his attention. Jace blinked and backed away, moving his gaze to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thank you, Jace.” You were unaware of the effect it had on him to use his nickname rather than his full name. You moved behind a room divider for some privacy and began to put on the other layers of your clothing.

“Are you… okay? With everything going on.” Jace spoked to you from the other side of the wood divider. Today was the day of Alient’s execution. You had ruminated on it for countless hours during the last few days.

“I thought that maybe I would feel bad about her death… I truly feel nothing but relief. I guess Sir Erryk never needed to cut out my heart, there seems to not be one.” You shuffled your dress over your head and adjusted the ties on your back, having perfected the routine by having to do it yourself for many years.

“You have every right to feel that way about her execution. Everything she has done to you… you have a heart, I hope you know that.” Jace reassured. You walked out from behind the divider to look straight at him.

“And you’ve suddenly become an expert in matters of the heart?” You raised a brow with challenge as you teased him. However, Jace did not seem as though he was joking.

His gaze held an intensity you could not decipher, “Yes, recently so.”

You ceased your jesting face and came to understand the gravity of his words. It was not a surprise, for this was something the two of you had been blatantly ignoring as of late. The two of you failed to evade one another. It was an invisible force that pulled you together. Jace took one step forward and there was only a few inches from you.

“Jace, I…” You sucked in a breath.

“You don’t have to say anything, I will not make you feel forced to. Nor do I wish for you to feel compelled to reciprocate what I feel. But, I know you have noticed it. I only ask for consideration.” Jace’s eyes held nothing but sincerity. He looked down at you and the closeness felt more intimate than anything you have experienced in your life.

“I feel insane even saying it,” Jace clarified, “It has happened so quickly, feeling this kind of love, but I would not have it any other way.”

You were finally able to respond, “I will be honest with you. I don’t know if I love you, Jace, I hardly know you. We have spent a lot of time together and I know there is something there, something I do wish to pursue. Why don’t we start by continuing to get to know one another?”

Jace nodded desperately at your words as if he clung to every syllable. You reached out to rest your hands on his chest because of how close he was. When you did not push him away, Jace took that as a positive sign and moved his arms to wrap loosely around you with his hands resting on your back. He moved his face closer but stopped just short of yours. He waited for a sign of approval from you. When you gestured with your head in approval, Jace leaned forward and connected your lips.

In that moment, everything around you ceased to be a reality. It was a promise of protection and devotion given by Jace. His lips were warm and soft, a reflection of his personality. His nose pressed into your cheek. The two of you moved in sync with one another. Normally, you are hyper-aware of all of your senses, but with him, they all seemed to fade away. All you could focus on was him; his arms around you, his lips on yours, and the feeling of desire coursing through you.

Jace pulled back enough to rest his forehead on yours. Both of you inhaled deeply to catch your breath. Upon opening your eyes, you saw that Jace was already staring at you. He held a dazzling smirk on his face.

“I hope I do not disappoint you.” He spoke.

You decided to tease him a little, “I don’t think it could be as disappointing as that kiss you gave me.”

Jace feigned a look of hurt, but it was tinged with a smile. “Oh, so that is how this will be?”

“Of course, my prince. I will always have the upper hand.” You giggled. Jace moved his hands from your back to wrap around your waist and pulled you flush against him. The feelings that action elicited from you were all too new and addicting. The closeness of your bodies set your veins alight. This was something you would have no shame in getting used to.

“Well then, my lady, I shall rise to the occasion.” Jace leaned back in to kiss you.

_____________

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ note: that was part 1 of Between the Pages! i am super excited to start off this series, as I had developed plans for this back in 2022. there were entire storyboards planned, but i never got to writing them. thank you for all the support <3

if you want to be added to any of my taglists, click here.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @dracaryxzs @beebeechaos @libdarkheart @whodis? @void21

#jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #hotd fanfiction #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfiction #fairy tale retelling #house velaryon #house targaryen #fire and blood

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thewriterwithnoplan · 10 months ago

Text

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

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