#and the first and ONLY queen to be officially accused of witchcraft

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.

[richmond-rex]

The words "Tudor Propaganda(tm)" usually used by Ricardians (It's almost always Ricardians) makes me laugh for a variety of reasons, but mainly because...imagine acting as though propaganda was limited to One Sole Dynasty across the entire history of a nation. As though every single king in english history has not used it for a variety of purposes, whether it's to glorify/romanticize themselves or establish their dynasty or deride and delegitimize their enemies. Nope. It's only the Tudors.

And Richard III's own propaganda? Against Henry VII, wrapped up in xenophobia? Against Edward IV, his own recently dead brother, including vehemently criticizing his character and his reign so thoroughly that it still affects the way people view both today? And (in my opinion, the one that was the most devastating, although its the most frustratingly overlooked) the campaign of misinformation, accusations and contempt leveled against Elizabeth Woodville and her family? Accusing her of manipulating the king, stealing the treasury, ruining the government with her family, plotting to kill him, a revived accusation of witchcraft? I won't ramble too much on the titulus regius for suffice to say - literally stripping her off her status as a queen and effectively labelled her as Edward IV's mistress/"whore"; till today, she's considered a "lesser" queen to the point of dismissal because of that, in a way that no queen before her ever is. And that's not even getting into the accusations levelled against other members of her family like her son Thomas. I will say that out of all the people Richard III targeted, the accusations leveled at Elizabeth and the Woodvilles should be emphasized the most, considering were overwhelmingly the most damaging imo (literally, considering Anthony and Richard were killed) and also the most extreme: not only had they made no gestures of hostility to him (quite the opposite, considering Anthony and Richard met him with trust), but at this point, they were in sanctuary and hardly in any position to challenge him. That in my opinion certainly takes it further than Henry VII trying to emphasize his own claim and reign after his victory, or early Yorkist propaganda, which was a result of steadily growing tensions with the Lancastrians on the throne and thus in a position of power, rather than the other way around.

But I guess Propoganda(tm) only matters when it's Richard who's being targeted :/

Yeah, the whole noise about TuDoR pRoPaGaNdA grinds my gears, especially considering they seem to claim there was never any propaganda before the Tudors (when it had been so fundamental to the establishment of the Yorkist regime [x][x][x] in the first place), that Richard never engaged in propaganda himself or in character assassination, or that royal propaganda had a particularly all-powerful brainwashing effect before mass communication. They also seem to resent Shakespeare for 'inventing' the Wars of the Roses as England's fall and redemption when not only was Shakespeare simply building on the work of previous writers, the idea of redemption against evil had been first put forward by the Yorkist regime.

Obviously like his predecessors, Henry VII did engage in propaganda. But it's remarkable how little Henry said about Richard at all. As pointed out by Horspool:

If we compare the official language that Richard used to describe not Edward V, but Edward IV, with Henry’s official descriptions of Richard, the former seem far more vituperative, after Richard had changed tack and decided to excoriate his brother. If anyone indulged in propaganda with a view to actively blackening a predecessor’s reputation, it was Richard, not Henry. Compare Henry’s bland proclamation shortly after Bosworth [...] with Richard’s damning references to Edward. Henry refers to ‘Richard duke of Gloucester, late called King Richard’, but gives us no further description, either of the king or his rule. Richard, by contrast, happily went into details about Edward IV in Parliament, with references to Edward’s ‘ungraciouse pretensed mariage’ and the result that ‘all poletique rule was perverted’.

And it truly is disingenuous only to point out Tudor propaganda and ignore how Yorkist propaganda (as it informed Tudor chroniclers in turn) informed our current perception of Margaret of Anjou, for example, or the collective imagination on Elizabeth Woodville and her family. Some notable scholars on queenship have said some things about Elizabeth Woodville that are so??

John Carmi Parsons [...] presented arguments about the relationship between queens and their husbands, remarking that the queenship of Elizabeth Wydeville was grounded ‘in her carnality’ and Edward IV’s passion for her.

Which is so?? Elizabeth Woodville was said to be particularly virtuous by her contemporaries. To say her queenship was grounded in her carnality because it depended on her relationship with her husband is so?? Because, yes the role of a queen consort was grounded in her relationship with the king, but that doesn't make Elizabeth Woodville any different from other consorts. Anyways, yes, it is frustrating.

[bforbetterthanyou]

Queen consorts of England and Britain | [31/50] | Elizabeth Woodville

Elizabeth was Queen consort of England from 1464 until 1470 and then again from 1471 until 1483 as the wife of Edward IV. She was born in 1437 as the daughter of Richard Woodville and Jacquetta of Luxembourg. She was the first Queen consort of England not born a royal or European noble—although her mother came from the European noble family of Luxembourg. In 1452, Elizabeth married John Grey. The couple had two sons named Thomas and Richard before John died in 1461 at the Second Battle of St. Albans fighting for the Lancastarians. In 1464, possibly on 1 May, Elizabeth secretly married King Edward IV with only her mother and two other ladies present at the ceremony. A year later, she was officially crowned Queen. The marriage was heavily criticized by the privy council and became a huge scandal. It was their marriage that caused Edward to fall out with Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick and, in turn, Warwick left England and began plotting to depose Edward and restore his rival, Henry VI. In 1470, Warwick was successful and Edward was deposed. During this period, Elizabeth who was heavily pregnant at the time, escaped to Westminster Abbey where she gave birth to her child, a son. Only six months later, Edward was restored as King. Edward unexpectedly died in 1483, after which Elizabeth prepared for her young son to become Edward V. Elizabeth’s family tried to take control of young Edward and, in response to this, Edward IV’s bother, Richard, seized power himself and had several members of the Woodville family (including Elizabeth’s son, Richard), arrested and executed. Elizabeth’s royal sons, Edward and Richard, were subsequently placed in the Tower. Elizabeth took her remaining children and sought sanctuary. After Richard, Duke of Gloucester became King Richard III, he claimed Elizabeth’s marriage to Edward was invalid and their children were illegitimate. Elizabeth was also accused of witchcraft but there seems to be no basis for these charges. Shortly after King Richard came to power and imprisoned Edward V and Prince Richard, the two boys were never seen or heard from again. Under Richard III, Elizabeth allied herself with her former Lancastarian enemy, Margaret Beaufort. The two hatched a plan to have Margaret’s son, Henry Tudor, seize the throne and have Henry marry Elizabeth’s daughter, Princess Elizabeth of York. In 1484, Elizabeth and her daughters came out of hiding after Richard swore an oath that her daughters would not be harmed. On 22 August 1485, Henry Tudor defeated Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth and subsequently became King Henry VII. A few months later, Henry married Elizabeth’s daughter and Elizabeth herself was given the honors of a Queen dowager. It’s unknown exactly why Elizabeth retired from court in 1487, however she continued to be granted the respect of a dowager Queen. She was present at the births of her grandchildren and her daughters would come visit her often. Apparently, at one point she was considered as a bride for James III of Scotland but nothing ever came of this. Elizabeth eventually died on 8 June 1492 and was buried near her second husband, Edward IV.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Historical References in What Are You Going to Do With Your Life - Chapters 10-12

Chapter 10

Boleyn mumbles something about a priest. W. S. Pakenham-Walsh (1868 - 1960), Vicar of Sulgrave, Northhamptonshire, had a strong interest in Anne Boleyn. He claimed to have a series of spiritual experiences after praying at Boleyn’s burial site, and contacted clairvoyants to channel her spirit in the hopes she might become his guardian angel. He also claimed in his diary that he had contact with Henry VIII and other notable members of the Tudor court.

While witchcraft was often punished via the death penalty, Henry VIII made the law explicit in 1542 (though it was later repealed no later than 1547, under Edward VI). Several witchcraft laws were made in the UK over the years, in 1563, 1604, 1649 and 1735. These were all repealed and replaced with more general consumer protection laws, and the last person to be indicted for witchcraft (under the 1735 act) was imprisoned in 1944.

Tarot was a regular set of cards for most of its history, used in various, but similar, trick-taking card card games. It became associated with ancient wisdom in 1781, when Antoine Court de Gébelin wrote an essay claiming (with no evidence) that ancient Egyptian priests had distilled the mystical Book of Thoth into the cards.

“Psychic is Greek, and clairvoyant is French. One is about thinking, and the other is about seeing.” Psychic comes from the Greek word psychikos (‘of the mind’) and clairvoyance is a combination of two French words (‘clear’ and ‘vision’). Catherine of Aragon was known to speak both French and Greek, as well as Latin, her native Spanish, and English.

Cunning man (or woman) was another word for folk healers.

In 1532, Catherine Parr’s brother-in-law from her second marriage, William Neville, was accused of treason for allegedly predicting the king’s death and his own ascension as Earl of Warwick (a title made extinct during the Wars of the Roses, but would be recreated in 1547 and twice after that). He went to at least three magicians to confirm this prediction, all of which agreed that it was meant to be true (it wasn’t). One of these magicians was Richard Jones of Oxford, who was imprisoned and questioned on the matter. He did his best to exonerate himself of responsibility. I have found five references confirming his existence – but many of them claim he had a sceptre he used to ‘summon the four king devils’, which he used for divination purposes.

Chapter 11

Jones of Oxford was taken in for questioning as part of the Neville affair, and he did his best in his confession to exonerate himself. Neville’s claims of a prophetic dream showing himself as Earl of Warwick were now a “fair castle” which Neville assumed must be the castle of Warwick, and a shield with “sundry arms I could not rehearse”. He did admit to writing “a foolish letter or two according to [Neville’s] foolish desire, to make pastime to laugh at”. No treason, just jokes, please don’t execute me Thomas Cromwell. Jones claimed to take his alchemy seriously, however, and wrote that “To make the philosopher’s stone I will jeopard my life, so to do it,” if the king so wished. He would require twelve months “upon silver” and twelve and a half “upon gold”, and was willing to be imprisoned while he worked. Jones made a similar offer to Cromwell, but there is no evidence either man accepted. Jones was released in exchange for revealing incriminating evidence against another figure of interest. The other magicians caught up in this incident, William Wade and a man known only as ‘Nashe’, had perfected their disappearing act and were not sent to the Tower.

There is a story that Elizabeth I attributed the destruction of the Spanish armada in 1588 to John Dee’s wizardry. Given that, as mentioned, Dee was out of favour with Elizabeth at the time, this is likely untrue.

Elizabeth I’s death was in March of 1603, after she became sick and remained in a “settled and unmovable melancholy”, sitting on a cushion and staring at nothing. The death of a close friend in February of that year came as a particular blow – that of her second cousin and First Lady of the Bedchamber, Catherine Howard.

James I (or James VI, depending on where you’re from)… James I of England was also James VI of Scotland. His mother was Mary Queen of Scots, who was executed by Elizabeth I, and his great-grandmother was Margaret Tudor, Henry VIII’s sister.

“Anna, born Duchess of Jülich, Cleves and Berg.” This was how Anna signed hers’ and Henry’s marriage treaty, known as the ‘Beer Pot Documents’, because someone drew a stein at the bottom.

Bowling, as a game, can trace its origins back to ancient Egypt, and has been quite popular the world over throughout history. Henry VIII was an avid bowler himself (when Hampton Court was remodelled, bowling alleys were included with tennis courts and tiltyards), but banned the sport for the lower classes. The law against workers bowling (unless it was Christmas and in their master’s presence) was repealed in 1845.

We return to the ground, because from it we were taken. Paraphrasing of Genesis 3:19.

The (possible) first appearance of the word ‘alligator’ in the English language is from Romeo and Juliet. The description of The Apothecary’s shop mentions “a tortoise hung, an alligator stuff’d, and other skins of ill-shaped fishes”. Traditionally, medieval apothecaries and astrologers kept skeletons, fossils, and/or taxidermied pieces on display to demonstrate their worldliness.

The anger over calling the alligator ‘William’ could come from Parr, or from Anna. Her brother’s name, Wilhelm, is often anglicised as William.

Midsomer county does not exist and never has. It’s the setting for the long-running mystery TV show Midsomer Murders. Incidentally, Catherine Parr’s native county of Westmorland existed at one point, but no longer does (the area is now in the county of Cumbria). She is not the only English-born queen who this applies to; Jane Seymour’s Wiltshire and Anne Boleyn’s Norfolk still exist (and have since antiquity), but Katherine Howard was most likely born in Lambeth, which would have been in the county of Middlesex at the time. The area is now under the ceremonial county of Greater London.

“Honestly? Margaret Pole’s was worse.” Margaret Pole, Countess of Sailsbury and the last of the House of York, was kept in the Tower of London for two and a half years for her supposed support of Catholicism’s attempts to overthrow the king, before being informed of her death ‘within the hour’ on the 27th of May, 1541. She answered that she did not know the crime of which she was accused (and had carved a poem into the wall of her cell to that effect), but went to the block anyway. It allegedly took eleven blows from the inexperienced axeman to separate her head from her body. There is another story that she tried to run from the executioner and was killed in the attempt, but this is likely a fabrication. Regardless, pretty much everyone thought this was not only a bad idea on Henry’s part (killing Margaret removed any leverage the king had on her rebellious son, Cardinal Reginald Pole), it was also pointlessly cruel and a painfully undignified end.

(She was also Catherine of Aragon’s lady-in-waiting, and governess to Mary at several points.)

That everyone around her, bar a few visitors, would actively benefit from her death… Yet another quote of Elizabeth Tyrwhitt’s testimony: Parr, on her deathbed, claimed she was “not well-handled” by those around her; “for those that be about me careth not for me, but standeth laughing at my grief, and the more good I will to them, the less good they will to me”.

Chapter 12

According to a lady-in-waiting, Anne Boleyn claimed she would rather see Catherine of Aragon hanged “than have to confess that she was her queen and mistress”. This incident is probably the origin of the lyric “somebody hang you!” from Don’t Lose Ur Head.

Catalina uses a few Spanish phrases in this chapter, which don’t get directly translated. The first, No se hizo la miel para la boca del asno, directly translates to ‘Honey is not made for the donkey’s mouth’, and essentially means ‘Good things shouldn’t be wasted on those who won’t appreciate them’. Lavar cerdos con jabón es perder tiempo y jabón is ‘Washing pigs with soap is a waste of time and soap’, and is meant to indicate some things aren’t worth the energy.

…like that dream she has where she is cut up by a servant… An autopsy was done on Catherine of Aragon as part of the embalming process, which revealed the growth on her heart. This was done by the castle chandler (a dealer or trader) as part of his official duties.

Jane Seymour got rid of most of the hallmarks of Anne Boleyn’s tenure during her own queenship. The extravagance and lavish entertainments were banned, along with the French fashions Boleyn had introduced – including French hoods, which Boleyn is wearing in the portrait we have of her. Jane, as mentioned, wore a gable hood in her portraits.

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised that people care about what I say.” In the words of nineteenth century proto-feminist Agnes Strickland, Jane “passed eighteen months of regal life without uttering a sentence significant enough to warrant preservation”, which is kind of a mean thing to say. Seymour certainly said things during this time, we know this from reports, but there aren’t any direct quotes from her during her time as queen.

Here’s the painting mentioned, from 1545, during Catherine Parr’s tenure. Jane is on Henry’s left.

It was only after her death that Henry ‘loved’ her, but she is certain that he mourned for only for his own loss. There are reports that, during Jane’s labour, doctors advised Henry he might lose either Jane or Edward. Henry is claimed to have replied, “If you cannot save both, at least let the child live, for other wives are easily found.”

Countdown is a British television game show that revolves around word and number puzzles. It has been going for almost forty years, and is one of the longest-running game shows in the world, with over 7000 episodes.

“I saw a ghost bear kill someone, once.” Anne isn’t making this up. Supposedly, the incident occurred in 1816, when a Yeoman Warder saw a ghostly bear somewhere in the Tower of London. Terrified, he tried to stab it with his bayonet, only for the weapon to go through the image and strike the door behind it. The guard died of shock later on. A similar event happened in 1864, where two guards witnessed “a whitish, female figure” gliding towards one of the soldiers. The soldier in question charged this figure, only to go straight through it, upon which he fainted.

Elizabeth was imprisoned in the Tower of London for a little over two months in 1554, as a result of Wyatt’s Rebellion against Queen Mary. The rebellion was also the likely reason for the execution of Lady Jane Grey – both she and Elizabeth were Protestants in line for the throne, and therefore ‘more suitable’ as ruler. Both Elizabeth and Jane Grey denied any involvement, but the latter’s father and brother (also executed) were direct contributors.

“… you did die, Elizabeth was really upset about it…” Elizabeth took the news of Parr’s death badly. She refused to leave her bed, and was unable to go a mile from her residence, for five months following Parr’s passing.

Not because she liked that bearded potato man, God no… I found this deeply cursed engraving (first produced in 1544) in one of my books on the six wives, and now I want you all to suffer with me.

Anne of Cleves reacted poorly to being told her marriage would be annulled – some accounts say she fainted, others says she cried and screamed. Both could be true. The reasons given were threefold – One, the marriage was unconsummated (From testimony given by two servants, Anne thought a kiss goodnight counted as consummation – likely untrue, but this is the only reason that actually has merit). Two, Anne was precontracted to Francis of Lorraine (Untrue – the betrothal would only take effect if Anne’s father paid the dowry, and he didn’t). Three, Anne was not a virgin as claimed, based on the description of her ‘breasts and belly’, a Tudor way of saying Anne had previously given birth (untrue, and conflicts with the testimony for reason one). The annulment went through without Anne’s involvement, but (probably looking at the examples of her three predecessors) she accepted the ruling and kept herself from being banished, beheaded or otherwise.

(Other fact that has no bearing on reality – while researching Anne of Cleves, one of the pages that came up was The Simpsons Wiki. Apparently she’s the only wife who can claim the honour of having been in two episodes. :/)

Dogs don’t need to answer for their sins, they don’t have any. Katherine Howard was reportedly fond of animals in general, but had a particular soft spot for dogs.

She did the right thing. She told the truth. She died for it. Katherine Howard insisted, to the end, that she had no pre-contract of marriage to Francis Dereham. Would she have survived if she said she did?

[queenfredegund]

MEROVINGIAN REGINAE | Audovera Regina († af. 580)

Probably the first chief wife of Chilperich I Rex, to whom she bore three sons, Theodebert Rex, Merovech Rex and Chlodovech Rex, and at least one daughter, Basina II Regina.

According to Gregorius of Tours, she was the most influential wife of Chilperich before the year 567, as the mother of three sons. 

“Habebat autem tunc Chilpericus tres filius de Audovera priore regina sua, id est Theudoberthum, cui supra meminimus, Merovechum atque Chlodovechum.

Chilperic had three sons by one of his earlier consorts, Audovera: these were Theudebert, about whom I have told you already, Merovech and Clovis.”

DLH, IV, 28. De uxoribus Chilperici

As the wife of Chilperich, she might have lived in Sexonas (Soissons), the capital city of his regnum. Even if stories have made her the archenemy of Fredegund Regina, Gregorius never said a word about a potential hatred between the two women: they must have had cordial relations as Audovera was already the mother of three sons, when Fredegund did not have any son yet. 

In 567, as Chilperich asked for the hand of the wisigothic princess Galswintha, a special request from King Athanagild of Toledo forced him to get separate of all his precedent wives in order to marry his daughter. Therefore, Audovera was officially dismissed alongside the others women of the harem and retired in an unknown place, perhaps with her daughter Basina.

“Quod videns Chilpericus rex, cum iam plures haberet uxores, sororem eius Galsuintham expetiit, promittens per legatus se alias relicturum, tantum condignam sibi regisque prolem mereretur accipere.

When he saw this, King Chilperic sent to ask for the hand of Galswinth, the sister of Brunhild, although he already had a number of wives. He told the messengers to say that he promised to dismiss all the others, if only he were considered worthy of marrying a King’s daughter of a rank equal to his own.”

DLH, IV, 28. De uxoribus Chilperici

Even if little is known about the rest of her life, we can assumed that she lived on her estates, probably near Rotomagus (Rouen) or perhaps Ecolisina (Angoulême). An apocryph tale said she retired herself in a nunnery of Ceromannos (Le Mans), but is based on a later legend and could perhaps be a confusion with Ingoberga Regina. She apparently kept contact with her sons, despite the fact that they grew up at their father’s court, and was especially involved in the career of her son Merovech after the death of her firstborn, Theodebert, on the battlefield.

“Ineuntes autem proelium, Theodoberthus evictus in campo prosternitur, et ab hostibus exanime corpus, quod dici dolor est, spoliatur. Tunc ab Aunulfo quodam collectus ablutusque ac dignis vestibus est indutus et ad Ecolisinensim civitatem sepultus.

Battle was joined; Theudebert was beaten and killed; his dead body was despoiled by his enemies, which is sad to have to relate. It was later picked up by a certain Aunulf, washed and wrapped in decent vestments. Theudebert was buried in the city of Angoulême.”

DLH, IV, 50. Quod Chilpericus cum Guntchramno foedus iniit

In 575, Audovera may have been a part of a conspiration with the help of Bishop Praetextatus of Rotomagus, the godfather of her second son, in order to promote the political status of Merovech: after the death of Sigebert I Rex, his widow Brunehilde had been exiled to Rotomagus under the supervision of Chilperich, and was thus a good opportunity for the young prince. Therefore, Audovera and Praetextatus managed to expedite a wedding between the two of them, perhaps in the hope that Merovech could then claim lands and power by himself.

“Ipsi vero simolans ad matrem suam ire velle, Rodomago petiit; et ibi Brunichilde reginae coniungitur, ea quoque sibi in matrimonio sociavit.

Under the pretext of visiting his mother Audovera, he next moved to Rouen. There he joined Queen Brunhild and made her his wife.”

DLH, V, 2. Quod Merovechus Brunechilde accepit

However, as this wedding was not only an act of treason, but also contrary to canon law, that decision infuriated Chilperich, who then captured Merovech and forced him to get separate of Brunehilde. After having sent her back to her son Childebert, the rex had his son tonsured and locked in a monastery for some months. It is unknown if Audovera was specifically threatened as well, or if she stayed in her retreat like before. 

Nevertheless, she continue to lose gradually her influence throughout the years: in 577, she indeed lost both her alleged ally, Bishop Praetextatus, against whom Chilperich brought charges before a council of bishops who finally sentence him into exile, and her son Merovech, who eventually killed himself in order to preserve his honor after having escape from his retirement but lost all his supporters. 

“Sed hic cum in hospitiolo quodam reteneretur, timens, ne ad vindictam inimicorum multas lueret poenas, vocatum ad se Gailenum familiarem suum, ait: 'Una nobis usque nunc et anima et consilium fuit; rogo, ne patiaris me in manibus inimicorum tradi, sed, accepto gladio, inruas in me’. Quod ille nec dubitans, eum cultro confodit. Advenientem autem regem, mortuos est repertus.

Merovech, who knew what they were up to and who was afraid that in their desire for vengeance his enemies would maltreat him in the most cruel way, called his servant Gailen to him. ‘Until this day’, said he, ‘we two have always shared the same intent and the same thoughts. I beg you not to allow me to fall into the hands of my enemies. Take my sword and kill me.’ Gailen did not hesitate for a moment. He killed Merovech with his own sword. When the King arrived Merovech was found dead.”

DLH, V, 18. De Praetextato episcopo et interitu Merovechi

After that, Audovera did not seem to be a part of politics anymore, even if she had still a living son, Chlodovech. That same Chlodovech however became more and more implicated in the reign of his father, especially since that 575 all the sons Chilperich had from Fredegund Regina kept dying from illness. Thereby, in 580, he was the only possible successor of his father and managed to threaten some of his enemies at court. 

This is probably due to this pretention that he was eventually accused of having collude with witches and used witchcraft on his step-brothers, in order to gain the whole regnum of his father. After a quick investigation led by the grieving Fredegund, the accusation was taking serious enough to requiring a real punishment: Chlodovech was stripped from his regalia, and jailed, where he was ultimately found stabbed in the heart; his concubine, accused of being a witch with her mother, was whipped and his household dispersed.

“Interea advenerunt nuntii ad regem, qui dicerent, quod ipse se ictu proprio perfodisset, et adhuc ipsum cultrum, de quo se perculit, in loco stare vulneris adfirmabant.

Messengers were sent off to the King to announce that Clovis had stabbed himself with his own hand; and they added the confirmatory detail that the knife with which he had struck the blow was still in the wound.”

DLH, V, 39. De interitu Chlodovechi

The execution of her last son, meant the last time we heard about Audovera. We also did not know if she was seriously implicated in the growth of his popularity, nor if she tried to having him spared from his father’s wrath. Even if a lots of scholars had concluded she was eventually murdered on Fredegund’s command, she simply disappeared from the sources. Moreover, a lot of translations actually spoke about her assassination based on a spelling error from a second manuscprit of the Decem Liber Historiae, which have made change the word “negata”, meaning “denying” in “necata”, meaning “being murdered”:

“Mater autem eius crudele morte negata [...].

His mother was murdered in the most cruel fashion.”

DLH, V, 39. De interitu Chlodovechi

Her real date of death is then unknown, as well as her burial.

[boundlesshart]

how royal succession works in Almyra + Other Things about almyra that’s been rattling in my head since that nintendo dream interview laid waste on my crops

hi, so after reading M’s @ladamedepique​ drabble about a concubine war kid getting kmarted, i realized that what i actually want to write is the Everything i’ve been thinking about since this nintendo dream interview came out back in march. so i did. it’s 2am and im hungry.

i realize that it’s been a while, so the summary of that interview’s impact on my claude headcanons is “my handcrafted claude backstory that i had to write myself bc intsys decided fuck claude is now irreversibly fucked by the introduction of a bunch of half-siblings he had to be rivals with.” if you ever catch yourself wondering why this is such a mess, well because that’s exactly what this is! this is all subject to change, it’s same kind of “haphazard and bizarrely long half-baked headcanon report” that my dlc thought train was. i’ve changed my mind at least 20 times during this process i will change it again

i’d like to thank zotero for holding all of my journal articles and pdfs on the ottomans and their succession system, and also magnificent century og and kosem, while not being totally historically accurate, for being a fun soap opera to give me some visuals to work with in my head. i now have a positive understanding of what claude’s shitty little beard could realistically look like, which is a gift that i never thought i would have.

Almyran Succession

All of the king’s children, regardless of if they were born in or out of wedlock, is considered a legitimate prince or princess. This is pretty much the only title that they can expect to have, as they and their mothers cannot inherit any lands, titles or wealth that would have been passed to them from their own families. Almyran property law aims to avoid partitioning property between multiple heirs for the sake of maintaining the family’s financial stability. The throne of Almyra works under the same principle, which had led to the introduction, legalization, and practice of open succession.

Open succession, despite its potential to be cruel, is viewed as a necessary step to ensure that the throne would only be held by strong leaders chosen by the people (”people” ending up being the higher-ranking officials that would benefit from a specific child’s ascension). If they proved to be lacking, they would simply be deposed of and replaced. 

What determines who becomes the next ruler of Almyra is not whether a child is the oldest of all the children, but if they and their allies have the political acumen to not only claim kingship but keep it, fighting off their rival brothers and sisters.

All sons and unmarried daughters are eligible to rule Almyra. By law is not only the next ruler’s right but duty to remove other potential heirs to secure their right to rule and the stability of their reign. Generally upon a ruler’s ascension to the throne, their brothers will be killed and their sisters married off or killed if they threaten their siblings’ rule. Exceptions have been made in the past, but they are few and far in between and have led to succession crises down the road. 

The previous ruler’s choice for an heir is usually accepted after their death, and ideal for minimizing the interregnum period. Even so, it doesn’t guarantee that the heir will be able to keep the throne.

Ok, but where do the kids come from?

Rulers of Almyra are allowed to have multiple spouses, but they usually only marry for political purposes.

The vast majority of children are mothered or fathered by concubines with no background of political power, which is preferred. Princes and princesses are allowed to have children once they leave the palace (to prove that they can have them), but if they have too many they may be considered a threat to the king and dealt with appropriately.

I think the one mother-one child rule would have been in place here, not necessarily as a law but as a rule enforced by other spouses and concubines, as well as the ruler’s mother or father.

Princes and princesses aren’t dropping like flies, and murdering them without having the law on your side is considered treason of the highest order. They’re still aware of their competition and fear being murdered when one of their siblings takes the thrones, so few end up becoming friends.

Children are ultimately their mother’s or father’s responsibility. They are expected to guide them through their education and follow them to their provincial post when they are old enough, setting them up for success and paving their path to the throne. King and Queen Dowagers have been incredibly influential in Almyran history and support their children by representing them politically and managing their spouses and concubines. 

Ok, whatever, just tell me what’s relevant to Claude:

Ibrahim, Claude’s father, became the king of Almyra only after 5 year civil war between himself and his two remaining brothers. He got to the throne first and is still feared for the ruthless execution of even his youngest brothers and sisters.

In all, Ibrahim has had 2 wives and 12 concubines, and he has fathered 10 sons and 6 daughters. A few died to childhood illnesses but most made it to at least 13 years old. He’s a doting father and cares for their well-being, though only when he happens to see them. Though he was a constant presence in Claude’s life, his half-siblings usually only saw him during holidays.

No one in Almyra knows that Tiana is the daughter of Duke Riegan, for all they know she’s a Fódlaner that King Ibrahim brought back with him after a short border strife with the Leicester Alliance. Obviously she goes by another name in Almyra, and here is where I think I’m going to bring back the first name I had for her, Desdemona. Suck it, intsys. She wasn’t liked when she first came due to being from Fódlan, and was accused of witchcraft when Ibrahim married her and devoted himself to her at the expense of his other wives as concubines. As the herd of children and concubines thinned, Tiana’s strong personality and battle prowess garnered her respect among the top officials of the Almyran court and even her enemies.

In Fódlan Year 1175, rebels infiltrate the palace walls and kill over a dozen people, from palace servants to princes and princesses. In the moment it was believed to be part of a revolt that was ongoing in the capital at the time and carried out by rebels storming the palace walls and stealing and killing whatever came in their way. After an investigation, it was discovered that that was just a cover up for.... a noble Almyran house trying to make a power grab through either an older son or with their own heir? I’ve been working out the details on this for months and I still don’t have them ironed out don’t look at me. It ends with a couple of older half-sibs dying but more importantly Claude’s older and younger brother dying and Claude nearly dying himself, only to survive with the Crest of Riegan. I imagine that there have been instances before hinted at him having the Crest of Riegan, but it was this incident that confirmed it for Tiana. 

These are the notable royal family members, or the ones I’ve spent at least one second thinking of:

King Ibrahim II of Almyra: Claude’s dad, born Fódlan year 1131 so 19 when he ascends the throne. He is feared but respected, brutal to his enemies, firm with his allies... but you’d be surprised by how easygoing he actually is with friends and family. He’s young at heart and energetic, even laughing at jokes made at his expense, but only in very close company. He loves writing poetry, especially to Tiana, and he frequently sends her love letters so that one can be read out to her every morning and evening when her mail is given to her. Relishes the thrill of battle. Nader introduced him to kumis back when they were boys and to this day Ibrahim regularly drinks a glass each night, claiming it makes him stronger.

There’s a tradition in the royal family that all princes and princesses must learn a trade in case that they fall into misfortune. Ibrahim enjoys goldsmithing when he is alone, a good distraction from his thoughts. Claude’s earring is part of a set given to his mother, crafted by his father as a gift.

Tiana von Riegan/Desdemona: Claude’s mom, born Fódlan year 1135. Claude calls her a warrior goddess and a demon queen that would laugh at his expense, I imagine that she’s in that “dead serious but good humored about it” boat like Claudedad, but less sappy about it. A tough but loving mother, she was very involved in her children’s upbringing and did her best to secure their place in the royal family. She doesn’t teach any of her kids the Fódlanguage because she was distancing herself from That, but Claude is able to convince her to help him learn (though she was reluctant about it and limited their lessons greatly, forcing him to teach himself mostly). She has firmly decided to never return to Fódlan, but a cup of Leicester Cortania is her guilty pleasure. These days Tiana spends her time at her husband’s side in Maragheh, keeping up with her training.

Two older half-brothers: So Claude’s endings have him as heir to the throne without a mention of rivals, but part of me feels like that’s too simple for Claude considering he just up and walked out of there 7 years ago so here we are, two rivals. They’re probably early to mid 30s at this point and have one or two small children of their own. I don’t know their names yet, but my initial ideas are a “nice” brother cool calculated pushing up glasses kind of dude that is actually a huge dick and a chad dudebro who’s just trying to distance himself from these bad vibes.

If I had to give them trades, nice brother likes to fish and sails for pleasure (he governs a coastal province) and chad brother carves wooden thumbrings. 

Orhan: Claude’s older brother, born Fódlan Year 1160. He was conceived months before Tiana went to Almyra (born 5 months after she arrived), so his parentage has been in doubt from day 1. I imagine him as having low self-esteem since he was believed to be a full-blooded Fódlaner, discriminated against in a similar way or worse than what the rest of his siblings went through. Historians would later debate whether or not he was actually Ibrahim’s son.... but we’re not historians, and Orhan was definitely his son. Died in the FY1175 uprising at the age of 15.

No idea what he looked like, he just happened to not look like his parents. His favorite food was salted cod, but he was rarely able to get it. Orhan enjoyed playing the violin.

Claude/Khalid: You know him, you love him, born Fódlan Year 1162 under another name. He’s the only kid that ended up getting the Crest of Riegan, and after one too many accidents where that crest ended up proccing, he’s been accused of practicing witchcraft like his mother. I think this would be a better like, concrete thing for the Almyrans to fixate on rather than a general “you’re half-Fódlan rahhh” and I think it would definitely go with Claude talking about how he was constantly fighting and explaining himself to get out of trouble.

If I’m going with the “kids can only inherit from the ruler of Almyra”, then I’m gonna have to figure out how Claude fits into this. His first move is to probably bullshit a loophole about how actually the Dukedom of Riegan doesn’t exist anymore and I may have destroyed Failnaught after the final battle so technically I didn’t really inherit anything that would give me an edge in Almyran politics. :). Ibrahim is pissed at Claude for going to Fódlan in the first place and getting caught up in a war and he definitely did not sign off on Nader bringing Almyran troops into a war that they have no business being involved in. The first thing Ibrahim does when Claude returns to Maragheh is shout at him and ground him to his apartment in the palace. And then proceed to assign Claude to a governmental post so that he’s out of his sight.

As an aside, I imagine that when Ibrahim dies and Claude rises to the throne, he deliberately delays his coronation so that it coincides with the Almyran New Year. It;s that kind of inconvenient dick move that he would delight in making bc symbolism.

You know what he looks like, in terms of food he strays away from sugary sweet stuff and towards meat and cheese. I’d like to think that he gains a genuine interest in gardening (like, beyond just cultivating poisonous plants as a cover for “gardening”) during his time in Fódlan and brings back different seedlings and scions for grafting back to Almyra. 

Mehmet and Rahimah: Twins, born Fódlan Year 1164. Ok so basically I kind of wanted a dead sibling that was around Cyril and Lysithea’s age for the Drama of it (bc I thought of Claude looking at Cyril and thinking of his brother and immediately went “That hurts. Let’s do it”). But I ALSO thought what if Claude had a little sister, and then I ALSO thought what if Claude has a new full-blooded sibling that got conceived during the five year war, like the shittiest surprise. I’ve combined all those ideas into the twins.

First of all, they have more function than personality. Mehmet only exists to die during the uprising, but I’m starting to like Rahimah bc like... she literally loses most of her brothers including her twin, and then Claude up and leaves her for Fódlan (a place she has little connection to, regardless of her mother). Her only remaining sibling is gone for years, misses seven birthdays, her wedding with an Almyran general, the birth of her first child and the announcement of her second... like, by the time Claude comes back to Almyra she hates his guts and you know what? She’s right! I imagine Rahimah angry, but also grasping for literally any kind of deep and long-lasting relationship at this point. She loves her kids fiercely, she loves her husband, and even though they have their struggles she's still very close to her mom. Fuck her no-show brother Khalid, and fuck Fódlan for taking him away from her.

No idea what Mehmet looks like, like I said he only exists to die. Rahimah is shorter than Claude at maybe 5′4, round-faced and carrying herself gracefully. She’s lactose intolerant but she bears the pain for the sake of eating ice cream, and her husband goes to great lengths to get the ice for her. Likes to sing and dance with her son Ömer.

[readyplayerhobi]

A Court Of Curses

; Vampire Prince!Hoseok x Witch Queen!Reader

; Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

; Warnings: Fingering, oral sex (receiving), choking kink, unprotected sex, biting (vampiric), blood play, creampie, dom!Hoseok, sub!reader, dirty talk, mentions and talk of miscarriage

; Word Count: 29.3k

; Synopsis: For millennia, the vampires and witches have hated one another and war has raged between the two. When tensions flare up once more and spill into neutral land, peace is forced upon the two by the faeries. The price of peace sees the Witch Queen married to the Vampire Prince. One hundred years later, how have things changed?

; A/N: So... I hope people like this. I know it’s super long but I’m hoping people will enjoy. Please let me know what you all think to our delightful vampire prince and please, if you enjoy then reblog and comment! It will help this story reach more people given the issues Tumblr is having!

-

The relations between vampires and witches have always been tense and strenuous. For thousands of years, your people and the vampires have fought in anger and other negative emotions with diplomacy almost non-existent. Retaliation after retaliation, until the original cause of the rift between both races has long been forgotten by the general population.

But you knew how it all began. Your father, the Witch King, had made sure the history of both races was taught to you as you’d grown up within the walls of the seat of power in Hekatalia. That included learning the horrifying knowledge that would fracture your society if they remembered, and would likely incite refusals to acknowledge what had happened. For your people were not the victims, no matter how much they tried to plead it after various vampire attacks.

Amongst your kind, there were various forms of magic that witches performed. Most remained firmly in the white category, with their magic innocent and pure. Some gravitated towards grey, with hexes being cast in anger or annoyance but never crossing an unseen line.

Dark witches though, revelled in the more sinister aspect of magic. Shunned by the normal population, dark magic was performed with especially negative emotions that thirsted for power, driven solely by desire. Sacrifice was common, and torture had been heard of. While deemed repellant by witch society at large, the wicked magic performed by dark witches was often considered required, for you could not have light without dark.

Long ago however, millennia ago in fact, dark witches had thirsted for power just as much as they did now. A certain sect of dark witches however, the Vampirius Sect, had become infamous for their experimentations with their magic beyond the usual sacrifices. These despicable witches had experimented with blood and death and a magic so dark that even the demons shied away from it.

The result had destroyed the sect itself, but it had left the survivors of their experiment forever changed in a way that rocked the world. These people had once been human in some form, simple peasants from the witch kingdom that had been kidnapped from their homes and farms as they worked and slept.

But afterwards, they were maddened creatures that had been ravaged by the dark magic that had crept into their bodies and changed themselves physically, their innate magic being twisted until it no longer resembled anything a witch would call magic. Their vision had been enhanced to that of a cat’s, able to see further and in the night, while their speed and strength had been increased astronomically also.

A farmer who had once struggled to load up his wagon now had the strength to throw said wagon.

And their hunger. Oh, they had hungered for something they did not understand. Food and drink could not sustain them for long, and their mouths watered for something they could not understand until one day, they had snapped. And attacked.

Fangs, sharp as knives, had elongated in their mouths and they had discovered something that satiated the desperate thirst they had. Blood.

Over time the vampire race, so named after the sect that had produced them, had gained their senses and intelligence again. Learning how to use their abilities to increase their standing in the world, they worked hard until they had gained enough land to create a kingdom of their own. They used a combination of slick diplomacy and hard fought battles until they commanded respect from the other races.

All, except the witches. Whom they loathed with a vile passion for what your race had done to theirs. And so war raged between the two. The witches assaulting vampiric lands with spells and magic, burning their crops and razing their lands with spells that left the ground barren.

The vampires responded by destroying witch villages, draining the inhabitants of blood and burning down whole buildings with people inside.

Both sides had committed crimes that were eye-opening and horrific, but you considered your side to have done the most wrong. After all, it was your people who had tortured and experimented on their own kind until the vampires were born.

Over the millennia, the original reasoning for your conflict had become forgotten. It had simply become expected for the witches and vampires to hate each other. And they had. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, had been slaughtered through witchcraft or exsanguination over the years.

Until the neighbouring kingdom’s of the faeries and werewolves had had enough of the war spilling over into their lands.

You had been but a princess when the Great Demonic War had happened. The war had originally begun when a break-away clan of vampires had attacked the witch town of Craysus. Every witch had been slaughtered, with blood soaking into the rich dirt while their houses burnt to ash.

Your own father had tried for diplomacy at first, reaching out to the vampire kingdom of Sanguinus and asking for them to try the murderers. It was futile, as diplomacy had never been officially maintained between the kingdoms.

They had refused however, claiming that the vampires had nothing to do with their kingdom as the accused had renounced their allegiance to the Kingdom of Sanguinus. And so the villages and towns on the border of your kingdom, Hekatalia, had waged their own war. It had been like dominoes falling one by one, until both sides were enraged and war had begun again.

Only this time, people on both sides had fought on land that was not their own. When a faerie prince was killed by accident, the grief-stricken Faerie Queen had united with the Wolf King to end the damned feud between their neighbours once and for all.

A demon bargain had been struck between them, and the Gates of Hell had been opened onto your lands and the vampiric lands. The demons had rained destruction and disaster on both sides, laughing in the face of pleas and scoffing at threats, until finally both beleaguered kingdoms were pleading for mercy.

Your own father had been killed in a battle with a demon to protect you once the fighting had reached the castle, leaving you the next Queen of the Witches. The Vampire King had grudgingly met with you to iron out details of a peace treaty, unheard of between witches and vampires. Unfortunately for both races though, the faeries were not forgiving creatures and the punishment was severe.

A union between vampire and witch was demanded, a marriage between the monarchies. As the Vampire King was already married, his only son had been chosen instead. You had agreed to marry him with bitterness, the knowledge that this would save your kingdom from ruin and death the sole thing that had made you acquiesce.

Your wedding day, a day that should have been bright and happy, had been quiet and subdued. A delegation of the vampires had taken their place in the Oak Grove, the traditional place for marriages in Hekatalia, while a small contingent of witches from your Court had stood on the other, both sides glaring at the other.

The Ancient Oak had stood above you, with its wide trunk wizened with age while grand branches arched overhead. A soft breeze had rustled the leaves gently, which were spelled to never die, and you had wondered for a moment how many marriages this tree had overlooked. How many declarations of love it had observed.

Your dress had been customary for the witches. An emerald green made of the richest silk that swooped and hung elegantly over your curves to represent the earth, while a navy blue sash had been tied to your waist, twined through tiny silver hoops, to symbolise water and rings with rich rubies to represent fire adorning your fingers. The white silk ribbon threaded through your hair represented the very air you breathe, and your feet were bare to connect you to nature and the source of magic.

It probably all seemed very primitive and bizarre to the vampires, with their elegance and love for fashion. Not that your people were not interested in fashion, but they also needed a connection to the very nature whom they relied on to provide their magic.

Tiny white flowers, symbolic of marriage and happiness, had been threaded through your hair along with the ribbon while an elegant diadem intertwined with diamonds and silver leaves rested on your forehead.

Your fiancée had worn a suit of darkness, from his black breeches that clung to toned legs to the ebony, fitted jacket with subtle gold trim that sat on his slim frame. A deep, sultry red shirt of the highest quality silk took its place underneath a black waistcoat, while knee high boots laced up along the front had completed his look.

Despite the animosity between your races, and the fact that you were being forced to marry him to end a war, you would have been a complete fool to deny the handsomeness of him. The vampires were known for their beauty, often breeding purposefully to engineer aesthetically pleasing offspring.

Jung Hoseok was the product of centuries of careful marriages, and it showed in the stiff manner in which he held himself, exuding a confidence and strength that would have made you shiver under normal circumstances. His body was trim and toned, yet there was enough muscle to let you know that he could likely more than hold his own in a fight. He’d been in the vampiric army apparently, serving as a captain during the war.

But his face, his face would never let anyone think he was anything other than royalty. A strong jawline caught the eye first, and anyone looking at his profile would get a perfect view of his arrestingly beautiful nose, sloping straight before turning up at the end ever so slightly.

Hoseok had, and still has, a face made for portraits. Paintings to be looked upon and admired for centuries to come. You had no doubt that artist’s hands twitched for a brush to try and do him justice on a canvas.

High cheekbones led to soft, plush lips with dimples that softened him when he let them appear. And yet it was his eyes that had made you swallow involuntarily at the time. Dark with loathing and hatred for not only you and your kind but the faeries who had brutally hammered an end to the war that had shattered both your lives.

But even then, the shape of them had betrayed his inner personality. Because despite how hard your future husband tried to show his distaste, he had kind eyes.

Still, neither of you had wanted this marriage. And yet you had to, for the only other option was the annihilation of your peoples.

The ceremony had been subdued, a blend of both witch and vampire customs. He’d taken your wrist to his mouth, biting down on the vulnerable flesh there with just enough pressure for his sharpened fangs to cut through the surface. One swallow and he’d let go, before biting at his own wrist and presenting it to you.

It had been distasteful, and you’d wanted to gag at the very thought. But it was required as per their custom. It was how vampires married, my blood to your blood. And so you had swallowed the bitter, metallic liquid with gritted teeth before the exchange of silver rings had occured.

The handfasting had occured next, both holding each others hand as little as possible as the priestess wrapped the rope around your wrists and hands tightly while speaking the marriage vows that you had both repeated.

And then had come the parts that was not traditional to either of you.

The Faerie Queen had stood by and watched as this all happened, before moving forth and placing a dainty hand on your entwined hands. With a slightly smirking smile, she had bestowed the Faerie Curse that had ended the damnable war, finally.

Jung Hoseok and you were wedded, and your kingdoms were at peace. The terms of the curse were simple. For six months of the year, you were required to be together otherwise suffer excruciating pain. If you were not together, then the curse would spread to your people slowly like a disease until both races eventually died out.

To provide some respite, the final six months of the year allowed you to separate. To prevent attempts to be cruel to each other, or try and kill each other when you weren’t required to be near, then any attempts to see each other would result in equal amounts of pain for yourself and your peoples.

If one of you were to die, then that race would die also.

Which meant that you were both bestowed with immortality, even beyond the long lived natures of both races. The perfect way to stop a war, and for one hundred years it has been a great success. The crown jewel in the history of diplomatic relations of your continent.

For the first time in millennia, the vampires and witches are at a full peace. Neither side plots against the other while fringe movements that seek to destabilise the tranquility are struck down quickly with an iron fist to keep the peace.

And all it required, was for the Witch Queen and the Vampire Prince to lose their own chance at happiness.

-

“The carriage has been seen, Your Majesty.” The words come from an attendant who takes your empty plate from you quickly, bowing low so as not to see your expression of distaste. Sighing deeply, you look down at your now barren table and take a deep drink of the rich red wine in your glass.

Six months of quiet is about to be interrupted by the arrival of your husband, and it only takes a lazy glance around the expansive dining room to see the quick movements of servants as they clean.

You’re not sure why they bother, as he has lived in this castle for fifty of the last one hundred years, but you presume it is just a force of habit. Any guest arriving saw the castle being cleaned from top to toe. At least he couldn’t complain about a dirty residence.

Standing, you smile graciously as another attendant takes your empty glass before they scurry off through a side door to the kitchen. You have no doubt that the kitchen staff are cleaning up for the evening, perhaps even making their own meals to either eat in the warm room or to take home to their families.

You had long ago decreed that the servants of the castle were free to eat in the kitchen and any leftover food should be eaten instead of thrown. It would truly be a travesty for your chef’s food to go to waste. Jin did not train his skills in three kingdom’s just to have that thrown away.

Walking out of the overly large dining room, you move slowly through the empty hallways and look them over with a critical eye. The stone walls are clean, with not even a cobweb in sight and your lips purse as you note the crystal clear glass of the windows. Even the paintings that hang along the walls are in the best condition possible, each one with their colours vibrant and vivid as they portray important moments in witch history or one of Hekatalia’s many monarchs.

Your own portrait is not in this hallway, but you never like looking at it anyway. The artist, Kim Taehyung, was phenomenal but you simply found it vain to stare at yourself. There was a second portrait of you with your husband in another hallway and you sometimes felt like you could feel his disdain coming from within the coloured oils.

Moving towards the main hallway, you take a pause to look up at the grand and cavernous room. The ornate chandelier, with its thousands of exquisitely cut diamonds, is shining brightly as the spelled candles burn forevermore within, casting dancing shadows around the room in the evening light while the glare of the crystals causes pretty patterns to appear.

The sweeping staircase on either side of the entranceway is made of the finest marble, and you ponder for a moment the many kings and queens who have used these stairs to retire for the evening. There are plenty of staircases in the castle of course, but as the main entryway this was designed to shock and awe visitors.

Which it did, but your husband did not arrive using the main entrance. Not after one hundred years anyway.

Instead, you continue on down one of the smaller corridors that is usually used by the servants of the castle. Years spent as a child in these halls mean that you know the castle like the back of your hand, and as such you know the quickest way to the servant’s entrance around the rear of the castle.

Nodding to the attendants who wait with blank faces, you head out of the door and stand with perfect poise. Your timing was ideal, as the aristocratic black and red carriage enters into the small courtyard as you place your hands togetehr. The four Sanguinus steeds breathe heavily, their dark sides heaving from the effort of pulling the carriage and you watch as servants from your own stables move forward to provide water and feed for the animals.

Vampire coachmen alight from the carriage and you recognise one of them as Kim Namjoon, a long serving attendant of your husband’s who has accompanied him on the extensive journey from his kingdom to yours over the many years. Luggage is pulled from the back of carriage and piled high before the door opens and you finally get a glimpse of the man you will spend the next six months with.

He’s tall and elegant as always, with a stiff and straight posture that belies his regal upbringing. Taking a moment to observe the tall, white walls of the castle, you hear him let out a little sigh before he rolls his head slowly, stretching his shoulders out. The journey is long from Sanguinus to Hekatalia, and you have no doubt that he is tired and in need of rest.

Finally, his gaze moves to you and you watch as those dark eyes turn onto you firmly. Even after one hundred years, it is still an awkward meeting of the two kingdoms. Perhaps one day, it will not feel like this.

“Wife.” Hoseok greets coldly, his expression barely moving except for the slightest twitch of his dark brow. Equally dark eyes remained focused on you, and you noted the tiniest pout to his lips.

Still immature, even after one hundred years of marriage.

“Husband.” You responded, making sure your tone matched his own. His attendants shuffled awkwardly around you both, the glacial attitude you both had to each other causing a strong tension in the room that you simply couldn't see.

“My prince, we will take our leave now and return in six months for you,” Namjoon next to him whispered, a hand on your husband’s arm that stood out from the black material while is own icy blonde hair swayed in the soft breeze. “We wish you well.”

Hoseok didn't even look at the man as he nodded his acknowledgement. Your husband was not rude to his attendants, but you had noticed over the years that the vampires were certainly a little more brusque when it came to ruling. They often thought the witches were soft in that area, but you just reasoned that it was natural to care more when you had such a strong link to nature.

Without any further words, you watched carefully as they alighted into the carriage before the horses pulled away at a frantic canter. Amusement tugged at your lips as you watched them speed off, still fascinated at how many of your races could still hate each other after one hundred long years of peace.

And one hundred years of your curse.

There's silence for a moment, the sound deafening between you both and you're sure it's louder for your husband. He has hearing beyond your comprehension, something that has been a source of annoyance over the years.

Without a word, he moves closer in a stride that gives away his confidence that you will not push him away. There are no attendants of your own here, for it has long become established that you greet your husband in private.

As he stands close enough that you can feel his warm breath brush the flyaway strands of your hair, you can't help the tiny smile that appears

Reaching forward, your hands slip under the black jacket he has on, sliding along his dark waistcoat before they rejoin around his back. Looking up at his elegant face, you note the darkness in his eyes has softened slightly, deep black strands of hair falling into his gaze.

He says nothing for a moment, before he cups your face in strong hands that are ever so slightly cooler than your own. Leaning close, you take in the magnificent sight of your husband as your noses touch gently.

“I have missed you wife.” Hoseok practically breathes out, the longing and want of six months that he has kept hidden threading through each soft word.

You can't help the smile, nor the warmth of satisfaction and the buzz of happiness that burrows its way into your body at his tender words, his hands tender in their touch on your face. “I have missed you too husband. Desperately.”

He smiles at that, statuesque face breaking into a heart stoppingly beautiful grin that lightens not only him but you. Not a word is said further as he presses his lips to yours in a soft, but much needed kiss, your lips naturally fitting to each other after years of experience.

Despite the chaste nature to the kiss, he doesn’t move away to shorten the kiss and neither do you. Instead, your hands move to grip at the firmness of his slim waist while his own slowly move down your body, causing a wave of sensation that has you burning from the inside. Each touch is electrifying, setting your skin ablaze and you curse the fact it has been six months since you have touched him like this.

Since he has touched you like this.

Pulling away from him slowly, you give him a smile that is far more shy than it should be for a queen. But how could you not? He fills you with a happiness that vanishes with him for six months of the year, stowed away with him in the carriage he takes back to his kingdom.

“Come, I will have a bath drawn for you. You no doubt want to clean yourself.” You whisper, the sounds barely heard as they breath against his lips but he smiles all the same. A slow nod sends the dark strands of his hair into his face as he acknowledges, before you are both separating and heading through the plain wooden door.

Inside are four of your attendants, and you direct two of them to pick up his luggage and place it inside his rooms while the final two are directed to run him a warming bath. They pause for a moment, eyeing the handsome visage of the vampire prince next you before bowing their heads and scurrying out of the room.

Over recent years, the reactions to your husband have thawed in your kingdom. No longer is he treated with outright resentment, but more of a bored annoyance that simply seems to stem from an inherited idea that he is something wrong. Perhaps it is because he is always courteous, polite and kind whilst here.

Either way, the servants of the castle no longer sneer in his presence. They are certainly not comfortable with him, but you have noted the younger servants seem to be more at ease in his company.

It is eye opening to think that there are witches who will grow up only ever knowing peace with the vampires, and it gives you hope that one day you will be able to love him openly.

The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, neither looking at the other given the eyes that could be staring. You wish, desperately, that you could love your husband like any other wife. That you could watch him with an expression that says he put the stars in the sky for you and give him sly, coded smiles to make him flush and go shy like he does in private.

But you can’t. Because your marriage is not a marriage of love and kindness. It is a marriage of curses and pain. And that is what everyone expects to see.

Despondency settles itself firmly in your chest, gripping your throat tightly with a grim hand and it feels hard to breathe suddenly. You just want to love your husband. That’s all.

You’re jerked out of your despairing thoughts by the softest brush against your hand. It’s so featherlight that you almost think it’s a insect of some kind, scuttering along your skin and you jerk until you look down and see his hand there, brushing yours in a motion that would go unnoticed by anyone watching. Lowering your hand back down, you let the back of his hand brush against yours as you lead him to his usual rooms, a smile hidden deep inside at his comforting touch.

The two of you had learnt well how to hide your feelings for each other over the years. Despite the thawing emotions in your kingdom, there were many who still looked at him with disgust. Particularly those who did not live or work in the castle. Disgust for what he is, and fear for what his people have historically done.

You wish that you could show them that your people had done terrible things too. It would be wise for your population to remember that it was because of witches that vampires had even been created.

Shaking your head slightly, you let out the tiniest sigh as you acknowledged how futile that would be. In all honesty, you were just thankful that your people had chosen to accept the treaty. Both the witches and vampires were proud races, and it had been a bitter pill of humiliation to swallow to accept the terms offered to them.

Though, in reality they had no choice. The royal lineage ended with you and you were the metaphorical lightning rod of all magic for witchkind. It was through you that nature pushed its magic into, and it filtered out from you to the rest of the population. Millennia of breeding may have made Hoseok beautiful, but it had made you the perfect receptacle for the sheer amount of power you hosted.

Without you, the magic would run rampant and wild, killing witches who simply could not cope with that level of magic. A simple spell to wash a bowl could erupt into the equivalent of a magical bomb.

It meant that your people had to accept the treaty. The choice had been a slow death of madness with magic overloading people’s senses, a slow death of the curse spreading out in a wave or their lives in tact while their Queen remained shackled to a vampire.

It was easy to see why they had acquiesced.

Only, no one could have predicted that in only one hundred years, you would see the Faerie Curse as a half blessing. Half because it had given you your beloved, but half because it took him away for part of the year.

The prying eyes of servants who had not been spelled to keep your secrecy meant that you left Hoseok at his door, a meaningful glance from him telling you more in only a few seconds than any words could have ever hoped to say.

Your husband and you had become masters of conversations with only a glance, words with a touch and emotions with simply a subtle gesture.

Bowing your head to him regally, you turn and force one foot in front of the other as you hear his door close quietly. Your own rooms are next to his, the traditional suite of the monarchy and as you enter them, you rue the silence of the large expanse.

It had been your parents room before their demise, and you had changed it subtly over the century. A four poster bed took up most of the space, elegant curtains of pale silver and ruby red ready to make a private area just for yourself to sleep in while fluffy pillows littered the upper half of the mattress.

You wondered sometimes if any of the servants who were not in your, very small, inner circle had figured out the subtle meaning of them. Silver was the traditional colour of witches, while red was the symbolic colour of the vampires. Combining them together was a subtle gesture you had made long ago to let people know that this was your marriage bed, despite his separate rooms.

Sitting down on the soft, downy covers, you run a hand along the silk slowly and let out a slow, shaking sigh. Movement to your left causes you to look up, spying your most trusted assistant as she bows her head in respect as she enters the room.

Soyeon is young, but her family have served yours now for three generations. She had discovered your secret feelings for your husband when she had accidentally intruded one morning years ago, finding the two of you in the throes of passion.

Both of you had been terrified, worried about what people would think when they discovered the intimate relations the two of you shared. They had accepted the peace treaty, and begrudgingly accepted the marriage of monarchies, but resentment and anger still lingered strongly. It was one thing to consider the vampire prince courteous, but you were not sure how people would feel about finding out he shared your bed.

Instead, she had shyly smiled at you and told you that she was happy that you had found happiness in your marriage. It had confused you at first, the fact that a witch was not afraid or angry of her queen being in love with a vampire but she had been supportive ever since. She even liked Hoseok. A lot.

Hoseok was always kind to her when he was here, and it reflected in how she had accepted the relationship you had. He liked to joke around with her and you were pretty positive he considered her a little sister.

It had been the first time someone had voluntarily undertaken the spell that would not allow her to insinuate anything that could give away your love for each other, and she had become closer to you than anyone you had known previously.

“The prince is looking handsome today.” She says, her tone soft yet with just a tiny hint of teasing. Your lips quirk slightly, happy that you have at least one person who will tease you like a friend would. It was hard to maintain true friendships when you were the leader of a country, particularly a leader with a spouse that was despised.

“He is always handsome Soyeon, whatever do you mean?” You joke back, standing when she gestures and turning around to give her access to the delicate ribbons holding your dress together. Breathing out with relief as the tight bodice slackens, you watch out of the window over the darkening skies.

“You’re right, Your Majesty. He is always handsome. Are you happy he is here?” Her voice is sweet, full of curiosity towards both him and you while her deft fingers work at the dress quickly and efficiently. Watching the sky that is painted in oranges, pinks and yellows, you let a smile brighten your face.

“So happy. I have six months of happiness with him. Even if it is beyond closed doors, in empty gardens or secluded areas.” A hint of wistfulness enters your voice, the pining you have to just be with him normally appearing without your consent and Soyeon lets out a soft sigh of her own as she helps you out of the dress.

As you slip on your white nightgown, so plain compared to the delicate finery you normally don in the day, you watch her closely in the mirror as she begins to tidy up your room. “I’m sorry Your Majesty. I can try to make it so that you have more time alone with him this year?”

You smile at her appreciatively, nodding your head in acknowledgement while she begins to wipe away the makeup she had applied so carefully to your face this morning. “I would appreciate that Soyeon. Still, I’m happy because he is here at least. I can see him and hear him. My loneliness has disappeared now my happiness has arrived.”

A beautiful smile spreads over her face, lighting up her tan skin and revealing the sweet face you often admired. Soyeon would make a wonderful wife one day if she so chose, with her kind and caring nature combined with the beauty she had been bestowed at birth.

“I’m glad. You’re finished for the night Your Majesty,” She pauses slightly as she reaches the door, hands clasped together tightly. “I will ensure that no servants are to bother you tonight, or tomorrow morning. Nor your husband.” A secretive look flits over her face and you nod in thanks.

Soyeon is truly a gift.

The young assistant leaves your rooms and you walk over to the door, locking it carefully before turning to the door that connects your room to your husbands. Long ago, it was common for monarch’s to sleep separately from their spouses. That had changed over the centuries, but the rooms were still designed like this and were still connected.

When you had first married, you had lived in fear and concern for your life at the fact Hoseok had been placed in the rooms next to yours. It was the only thing you could do as a sign of respect for his royal standing in Sanguinus, but the knowledge of him being there had been nerve wracking. You had been as prejudiced towards vampires as your fellow subjects.

Now, however, it was a benefit that you often thanked yourself for doing. Because it was the only time that you could be sure you would have time with him alone.

Heading over to the mahogany door, you tap lightly on the intricate engravings that portray an ancient forest. A quiet acknowledgement comes from the other side and you enter, closing the door almost silently behind you as you take in the sight before you.

Hoseok’s rooms are a mirror of yours, with his bed covered in blood-red silken sheets that look luscious and inviting. His luggage, the griffin symbol of the vampire monarchy engraved on the dark leather front, sits on the floor nearby, waiting to be stored away in the numerous dark wood wardrobes, drawers and chests that are situated around the room.

And the elegant, marble tub that had been brought into the centre of the room took pride of place amongst everything else. It was currently sat atop the intricate rug that Hoseok had bought four years ago, the red and silver strands weaving together in a beautiful and nonsensical design.

It feels delightfully soft and fluffy as you walk upon it, stopping next to the bath’s edge. Inside, is your husband. And he looks magnificent as he lays back, the water up to his chest and steaming from the heat while a layer of frothy bubbles hides anything else from your curious view.

His eyes are closed as his head tips back against the edge, the black strands of his hair sticking to his forehead in the sweat that glistens all over the skin you can see. The lit candles around the room make his golden skin almost glow and you have to physically bite your lip to keep the moan you want to let out in.

“Enjoying your bath, husband?” You ask quietly, kneeling down and placing an elbow on the cool marble. He doesn’t do anything for a moment, but you note the twitch of his lips as he tries to keep his lips firm.

Reaching forward, you let your fingers trail along the velvety skin of his lips and laugh softly with amusement as they open up immediately for you. Hoseok makes no comment as you push your index finger between those open buds until you feel the firm enamel of his fang. His reaction is immediate and you watch with a raised brow as his hands grip the sides of the bath firmly, toned muscles in his arms suddenly appearing at the movement.

Something you had discovered over the many years, was that vampires had a little bit of an oral fixation. And their teeth were a little more sensitive than yours.

His head jerks away from your prying fingers and he glares at you through narrowed eyes. “I was, until my wife decided to intrude upon my quiet relaxation. What does it take for a man to bathe in peace around here?”

His grumbling is light though, the tone of his voice almost airy and your stomach clenches at the sound. Anymore teasing that you might give him is gone suddenly as your hand moves along his face, thumb stroking at the silky skin of his cheek while your other hand traces along the prominent veins on the back of his hand.

“Well...it has been six months since your wife saw you. Maybe she just missed you?” You don’t mean for the words to sound so full of emotion, your throat constricting while a sheen of tears suddenly fills your eyes.

Almost immediately he’s frowning, sitting up in the water and causing it to slosh along the sides loudly. Some of it even falls over the edge, dropping into your lap and causing a damp spot to stick the thin fabric of your gown to your knees.

“Darling, I did not mean to upset you. I have missed you dreadfully too,” His own hand cups your cheek now, damp from the water and you lean into it desperately. The pressing of his forehead to your own causes you to open your eyes to him, noting those chocolate irises so close to yours. “I swear, it gets harder every year to pretend to hate coming here. One year, I will jump with joy when the carriage arrives for me.”

You huff out a laugh at that, knowing that it is likely going to be a long time before Hoseok does such a thing. Relations between your races are no longer fiery and hot, but have instead turned glacial and cold with both sides understanding that they have to grudgingly get along.

People are likely not ready to accept the fact that their queen and prince are in fact, in love.

One day though, you will both tell the world to go to hell and finally embrace your own happiness. And why shouldn’t you? You had been forced into this marriage one hundred years ago, why should they expect you to both remain unhappy in it forever?

Moving away, you take hold of his hands and thread your fingers through with his. For someone who was in the military during the war, and even now remained active when he was back there, his hands were long fingered and elegant. Pianist hands.

He could play the piano as well, and he often liked to for you when he was here. Songs filled with love and emotion that only you could decode and understand.

Taking the cleaning rag that had been left over the side, you dip it into the water and slowly begin to drag it over his skin. He watches you lazily, appreciation in his eyes as you clean along his chest and arms slowly.

“How have you been?” You ask quietly, stroking along the delicate yet firm flesh reverently while your eyes flicker across his face, taking in every bit of him to see if anything had changed. Vampires were long lived, even longer than witches and they healed faster too.

But still, sometimes things happened that could leave permanent scarring.

He smiles for a moment, the look making his eyes crease and look even kinder than they had the day you had married him. That is, until you note the sly look in them.

Before you can even say anything about that, his hands move to your waist where he grips firmly and the next thing you know, you’re landing in the tub on top of him in a supreme show of vampiric strength. Water immediately bursts over the side, the bubbles slipping over the edge and you let out a shriek of combined laughter and indignation as your nightgown clamps to your skin.

The water is almost scalding hot and there really is no room for two people in here, but you can’t find it in yourself to complain as he holds you closely to his chest while your legs dangle off the edge.

“I have been fine my darling. Bored even. There’s nothing interesting happening there. I’ve simply been leading military maneuvers and listening to my father as he holds meetings. I hear that we have finally managed to secure a trade deal with Hekatalia? Apparently the leader was a real witch to work with.” He muses, tilting his head back as he scans the ceiling in faux surprise while his hand rubs at him chin.

You poke at his chest lightly before leaning forward and nipping gently at his jawbone. “Hush you. Be glad you weren’t present for those meetings. That, is the epitome of boredom. You know what I really don’t care about? The tax ratings on cheese. Great goddess, I thought negotiating taxes on Sanguine steeds was bad enough.”

Hoseok watches you fondly as you continue to complain about taxes, noting that there’s a reason you hire advisors who specialise solely in tax work. The entire time he watches you, his fingers slowly trace along your exposed thigh in a decidedly non-sexual manner. Instead, it feels soothing and comforting.

“Well...our cheese truly is delicious though. Do you not remember when I brought you some ten years ago?” He states and the memory slowly filters its way back into your mind. Eyes widening as your cheeks flush, your head tilts down as you lick at your lips.

“I do. It was delicious, I will concede to you on that.” You say slowly, eyes flickering back up to look into his. He’s silent for a moment, and you’ve known him long enough to know that he is calculating behind those pretty eyes of his.

“I do like it when you concede to me.” He whispers and you can’t stop the shiver that runs through you at the slight darkness to his voice. Your husband has sexual preferences that are probably considered brow raising to many, and disgusting to many of your race in particular.

“Still, I’m glad I don’t have to do those kinds of meetings yet. Despite the years of training, I’m really not sure if I’m cut out for this king business. In fact, I’m hoping my father lives a lot longer or he just gives the throne to one of my sisters. Then I can just let my wife take all the prestige.” One of his hands move around to your waist, stroking along the wet fabric there slowly while a smile spreads on his face.

You snort out a decidedly un-ladylike laugh as you let your own hand rest against his damp shoulder. Hoseok is not your equal in your kingdom, nor will he ever be. In the world you live in at large, men rule most of it. But Hekatalia is a kingdom that run by the women more often than not, your father had been the first Witch King in over 1000 years.

As such, Hoseok will never be king here, in fact he will always be your Prince Consort. But in his kingdom, you will be his Queen Consort, of an equal ranking to him. He doesn’t care about this, and he’s made it clear on more than one occasion that he doesn’t care. You like that about him, that he isn’t interested in the power that will be bestowed to him.

“You will make a good king Hoseok, despite your concerns. You are kind and caring. Yet strong and not afraid to bring down justice when needed. I could not be prouder to call you husband.” You grin at him and watch as his already reddened cheeks from the heat flush even further.

His pink tongue flicks out to wetten his lips before a hand pushes at the wet strands of his hair, moving it backwards until his entire forehead is on show. You murmur approvingly before looking back into his eyes, noting the deep brown that has a slightly reddish tinge to it now.

Hoseok says nothing further, but instead leans forward until he captures your lips in a kiss between his own. The kiss earlier had been innocent and full of longing, but this has a decidedly different tone to it.

Hot and needy, with the passion of six months celibacy sparking between the two of you. Each movement of his lips is perfect, with just enough pressure to make you want more and you can’t stop the soft moan as your lips open up to his.

His response is immediate, with his tongue dipping into your mouth and dancing with your own in a sensual game that you had both begun decades before. The dance is familiar and yet tinged with anticipation and need, each stroke of the wet muscle against your sensitive mouth pulling a corresponding convulsion of your inner muscles between your thighs.

You respond to his movement, shifting your body until your legs slip under the hot water, moving so that your knees rest against the tight space on either side of his body while your arms wrap around his neck. His sharp incisors, elongated from his heightened emotions, accidentally nick your tongue. The pain is fleeting and an unfortunate price to pay for kissing a vampire but you can’t it in yourself to care.

Not when the growl he releases sounds like it has been ripped from the bottom of his chest, guttural and vibrating against your tongue as he sucks it into his mouth at the small taste of your blood. It may not be the prettiest kiss to witness, but it is pure attraction and desire between the two of you as you moan and pant, grinding your hips against his groin.

The wet nightgown sticks to you above the water, but below it floats aimlessly while your panties are almost tantalising in the friction they’re producing against your clit. Hoseok’s hardness is pressing firmly against you in the water and you can’t stop the way you press against him, hips moving forwards and backwards with desperation as your stomach tightens.

Pulling away from you with an almost audible noise, Hoseok breathes heavily as he looks up at you with ruby red eyes. “Wife...you taste so good.” He gasps out, his fangs lenghtened to their full length and you can’t help the shiver of fear that runs down your spine. Even after all these years, the instinct that has been bred into you tells you to run.

It just makes the sex better.

“Have you fed?” You whisper, pressing needy kisses to whatever skin you can reach on his face and he lets out a low groan that’s bordering on a whine as you grind your scalding heat against his thickness. His head shakes a negative and you bite your lip in response, reaching down to tug off your nightgown and throwing it over the side where it lands in a wet heap.

“Feed then husband. What kind of wife would I be if I did not make sure my husband was cared for?” You whisper into his ear, kissing along the exposed skin there and delighting in the salty taste of his sweat. He practically purrs in response, his hands moving up from your waist to cup your breasts while his thumbs play with your hardened nipples.

“I have missed this, wife.” Hoseok grins, looking up at you with eyes that should terrify. Instead, you lean down and press a quick kiss to his mouth before moving along his jawline, sucking open mouthed kisses there while pushing at his head.

He doesn’t bite though, and instead one hand drops below the water without you realising. Instead, you feel the sudden pressure of his fingers against the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs, the pads swirling around the bud in a pleasing manner that has your hips jerking and a cry leaving your mouth.

“Oh Hoseok, goddess yes.” You breathe out, head tilting back as he plays with your clit slowly. Hoseok doesn’t move fast, instead letting his fingertips press against you in firm and measured movements that makes sparks of pleasure zip through your body with each rotation.

Moving his head, Hoseok presses his lips to your collarbone and sucks hard at the skin, leaving rosettes of bruises that will have to be covered up tomorrow no doubt. You find it hard to care though when he slips a long finger inside of you, your inner muscles contracting greedily around him as he strokes along your insides in a slow and steady pace, exploring a place he knows well yet hasn’t been acquainted with in so long.

“More.” You whine, high pitched with need and he acquiesces with a dark chuckle, tongue laving attention to a particular spot on your neck. A second finger enters you, scissoring for a moment to stretch you in a way that you gasping and gripping his shoulders firmly before he’s twisting the long digits in a pleasing manner.

As he moves his hand, water slaps against the side of the tub from your insistent hips that angle and move to try and get the most pleasure you can, while his arm moving causes its own ripples corresponding ripples. Carding your fingers through his damp hair, you press his head further against you.

It’s as his fingers press firmly against the roughened bunch of nerves on your inner wall, the sensation causing fireworks of sparkling pleasure to erupt in your body as you clench around him, that he bites. The combination of his talented fingers, his thumb working insistently on your swollen clit and the pinch of pain from your throat sends you clean over the edge.

Body jerking wildly, you cry out in the throes of pleasure as you contract around his fingers with a vice like grip. With your hips gyrating wildly from the force of your pleasure, Hoseok has to work hard to stay in control as he continues to stroke you through your orgasm until you’re whining with tears from the over stimulation.

The whole time, he’s sucking at the twin marks he’s made in your neck as he feeds. Quiet groans of delight leave him as his throat works, swallowing your blood while he finally stills those talented fingers inside you.

Hoseok had to feed at least once a week, and you used to have a servant agree to do it. Over the last few decades however, you just claimed to have a servant do it when in fact, you fed him. No one had ever caught on, as no servant ever wanted to admit to being fed on by a vampire.

It was only with you that he used sex though, and he admitted that it wasn’t only for his own sexual needs. Pleasure, apparently, saturated the blood with a rich flavouring that made it even more delightful and pleasing than normal. He’d compared it to soaking a fine joint of meat in an aged wine.

Licking at the bite marks he’d caused, Hoseok remains with his mouth against your neck for a moment as you both breathe heavily, catching your breath. Running your fingers through his hair, you tug lightly until he looks at you with a lazy gaze, eyes glossed over with the satisfaction of a good feed.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask, moving against his thick length as you wince from the overwhelming sensation. He’s silent for a moment before shaking his head, giving you a smile that reveals normally white teeth stained red while his lips are cherry red.

“No. I’m okay. That was good enough for me.” Hoseok slurs, tongue licking along his teeth and removing some of the blood. You chuckle lightly, your own limbs feeling heavy from his feeding as you rest your cheek against his shoulder.

Feeding Hoseok often left you tired, a result of the loss of blood, and it often left Hoseok blood drunk. He said it was because of the pleasure, which was not only more flavourful but also acted in a similar fashion to alcohol and left him in a slightly inebriated mind.

His own cheek rests against your head lightly, the both of you too tired from your activities in the cooling water. “We should move.” Hoseok murmurs, the sound quiet and filled with sleepiness. Smiling, you heave yourself out of the water and encourage him out too.

He’s wobbly on his legs, but you both manage to get to the large bed where you slump under the covers, the thick comforters hiding you both from the world and making a small cocoon of warmth and love. Hoseok does nothing for a moment before he’s rolling onto his side, tugging you over to him and pressing your back to his front.

Smiling softly, you feel him press a firm kiss to your hair before you slip into a comfortable sleep in the arms of your husband.

-

The first week of reunion with Hoseok passes by quickly, and as usual it is a stressful yet pleasurable time. Six months of celibacy and longing often combine in explosive results in the bedroom, a spell to mute noise often necessary to hide the moans and groans of desire and need that seep into the walls.

It meant that it was often hard to focus on your work, particularly when you had the knowledge that your husband was right there. Meals were often strained and awkward, filled with a tension that your servants assumed to be irritation when in fact it was clenched thighs, whispered spells of touches and glares that promised retribution when you returned to your rooms.

But still, life would not stop with the arrival of your husband and you were forced to continue on with your daily activities. Tuesday’s were for meeting your advisors and discussing the general issues that were causing a problem amongst the citizens of your kingdom.

Wednesday’s were spent receiving updates about the neighbouring kingdoms and those further afield, learning the newest information that filtered through from both natural channels and those more secretive ones.

Thursday’s were the day that your subjects were allowed to seek an audience with you, proposing solutions to problems or presenting conflicts that they wanted you to resolve. It was often tedious, and some days you just wanted to stay in bed or go to your garden and be done with it all.

But that was not what a monarch did.

This was precisely the reason that Hoseok always had to make the journey to Hekatalia, for the vampire prince was not needed in his kingdom to the degree that you were. You, however, were most definitely needed to keep order. Not to mention that you couldn’t stray too far from the Ancient Oak for too long, which served not only as a site of marriage but also as a natural connection to the source of magic.

As such, the first week was filled with sex of all kinds until you had both gotten it out of your systems before you both settled into the comfortable, yet confined, life you had both adjusted to over the years.

Your time with Hoseok was often limited to behind the doors of your bedroom, and you so desperately wished for more with him. As a queen, you never expected to have a normal relationship. But you certainly expected to at least be able to touch him in public.

Your hope that your relationship would be accepted increased every year with the gradual acceptance of your husband. He wasn’t welcome in discussions with your advisors, but he had slowly begun to take on more a role expected of a Prince Consort and to your delight, he was not being pushed away.

But you were still unsure as to public displays of affection.

Which is why if you hadn’t favoured Soyeon before, then you most certainly did when she informed you that she had managed to secure you an entire afternoon and evening free of obligations after two months had passed. A whole half of a day that could be spent with Hoseok alone, which was more time in one go than you’d experienced in ten years.

Excitement had bubbled in your stomach as the both of you had mounted your horses. You had decided to take him on a ride to get him out of the castle, to go somewhere where you truly would not be bothered by prying eyes. As such, a black cloak was wrapped around your shoulders while the hood covered head and a dark green scarf was raised over your lower face.

Hoseok had frowned at the regalia as he’d donned his own cloak and scarlet red scarf, the colour making his beauty even more apparent even if you could only see his eyes, but you’d reassured him it was fine. This was the standard attire of travellers in Hekatalia, and no one would raise a brow at the sight of you both.

He’d bowed his head in acknowledgement, acquiescing to you and your knowledge before a click of his tongue and a tap of his heels encouraged his tall, steel grey steed into a brisk walk, hooves clopping loudly on the cobblestones. Nodding towards Soyeon, you reached out and clasped her hand tightly while you thanked her and promised that you would both be back by nightfall.

She smiled at you, bowing her head down and returning to the castle as you encouraged your own dark bay mare after your husband. You liked to ride when you had time, and the prospect of riding with your husband had an almost childish feeling bubbling your stomach. Trotting to catch up, you noted with pleasure the exquisite picture he drew as he rode with a confidence that told of years of riding experience.

Black breeches clung to his toned legs, muscles that had been gained from years upon years of exercise while his familiar knee high leather boots rested against the horse’s side. He sat straight as an arrow, his riding posture textbook perfect as the leather reins sat in his hands lightly.

Perhaps no one would give you a second glance given your attire, but they might give a second glance given his posture. There was no doubt that Hoseok was a man who had been trained extensively on how to ride a horse, his breeding showing despite the hood that covers him.

It was unbelievably sexy for some reason though, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip breathlessly as you finally caught up to him. Your husband often managed to turn you in ways that you hadn’t thought were even turn ons until he appeared in your life. Even before you’d confessed your feelings to each other fifty years ago.

He looks over with a dark brow raised in question at your expression and you stare at him for a moment, taking in the sight of his chocolate half-moon eyes that soften as he watches you in turn. Without a word, he reaches over and clasps a hand with one of yours, squeezing tightly before letting go.

Smiling to yourself beneath the scarf, your shoulders straighten as you feel a weight being lifted off them. Taking the lead, you keep on riding until you finally direct Hoseok to the Oak Grove that holds the Ancient Oak your race reveres so much.

Due to being a vampire, Hoseok was often confined to the castle even more than you were when he was here. Though he had no actual restrictions on him, it your people were not very likely to accept him walking around freely, and so he voluntarily chose to stay within the castle walls.

It surely had to drive him mad to not do the activities he was so used to,  but he simply shrugged and pointed out that he had no choice, so there was no point in whining. Though you had noted in recent years that he had slowly begun to venture further in the grounds, and he had even gone to the village at the foot of the castle last month.

There had been no screaming or fear from your subjects, and it had warmed you to hope that perhaps they may be accepting him finally. Stil, his lack of knowledge outside of the castle walls meant that he had no idea where anything was and so he willingly followed you with trust.

Turning, you watch as he catches sight of the giant tree that takes up most of the clearing, his eyes widening as he takes it in. The surrounding forest is even taller, forming a perfect circle of protection around the tree that provided your people with life sustaining magic.

The pillowy soft grass blew softly in the gentle breeze, bringing with it the scent of flowers and rain. It hadn’t rained in days, yet you knew the magic of the Oak Grove meant that strange things happened sometimes.

“Isn’t that…” He trails off, slowing his horse down with a gentle tug on the reins until his stallion stops, head shaking in annoyance and jangling the metal bit in his mouth. You watch for a moment before smiling, tugging down your scarf and nodding.

“It is. This is where we got married. It’s a sacred place to witches, and we shall find peace and quiet here tonight.” You grin at him, swinging a leg over your mares rump and landing in the grass with a soft thud. Bringing her over to a branch of a nearby tree that was often used to hitch horses, you watch as Hoseok does the same while looking around the grove in fascination.

“But...won’t people be coming here to get married?” Hoseok asks in confusion, brows creasing and his lips moving into a pout as he lowers his own scarf. Moving over to him, you slide your hands under his cloak and jacket until you’re hugging him tightly, resting your chin against his chest with a sweet smile.

“Nope. All marriages have to be approved by the Witch Court and overseen by a priestess, and there are none scheduled for today. Soyeon checked and double checked. The Ancient Oak is sacred to my people and is one of the major source points for our magic, so it is strictly prohibited to be here when there is no marriage taking place.”

He looks around for a moment, mahogany eyes taking in the impressive sight. You love to come here when he’s back in Sanguinus, the area quiet and peaceful. The magic here tingles on your skin, like tiny kisses of appreciation from nature and you look around, trying to see it how he does.

The tall forest that surrounds you cuts off a large portion of light, sunbeams drifting down lazily through the canopy. There’s enough light here to see easily though, but the Oak Grove needs no sun to look beautiful. The very magic that sustains your race causes the Ancient Oak to emit an ethereal glow, the wood almost tinged in a blue-white light while the leaves are dotted with tiny sparks of light that twinkle at all times of day.

A small smile tugs at Hoseok’s lips before he looks back down at you with a sardonic expression. “Except for the queen I’m guessing?”

You laugh lightly at his words, pulling away before taking his hand and twining your fingers together firmly. Hoseok immediately grips it tighter and you can’t help but feel happiness and contentment bubble in your veins at being able to do this out in the open.

What must it feel like? To love him freely?

“Of course. I am connected to this tree as the medium of magic for witchkind, so therefore I am allowed here whenever I so feel like,” Turning around, you walk backwards with a small hop of joy as you give him the brightest smile of glee that produces a responding expression from him almost involuntarily. “And I wanted to bring my husband here. I don’t get to give you anything in the castle...but I can bring you to one of the most important and sacred places to me here.”

Sitting down amongst the roots of the solid tree, dragging your fingers through the rich soil with reverance, you watch as he stands with hands on his hips and looks up at the arching branches with a soft smile.

“I hated this place when I first came here, perhaps unsurprisingly. This tree was the representation of everything I should despise as a vampire. The source of your magic and the source of my pain being wedded to you. Vampires for centuries have plotted how to destroy this you know.”

He’s quiet for a moment, reaching out and placing a hand on the wizened trunk, stroking along the bark slowly. Biting your lip, you look from his neutral face to his hand. “And now?”

He says nothing before letting out a quiet snort of laughter, kneeling down in the fragrant blades of grass to press a loving kiss to your forehead. “Now? I see its beauty; the strength in its age and the sensation of sheer power it gives. It’s truly a physical representation of you. And I love it, because you love it and I love you. And even though I was angry that day, this tree oversaw the most important day of my life.”

Hoseok sits next to you, resting his back against the old trunk and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him. For minutes, neither of you speak in the comfortable silence that falls between the two of you. You focus simply on the soothing sensation of his fingers as they trace invisible words against your arm while the forest sings a gentle song for you both.

“Show me some magic, wife.” He whispers into your ear, his cool nose pressing against your temple momentarily before warm lips replace it. You didn’t perform magic very often, which was probably a surprise to the other kingdoms. But you simply didn’t feel a need, and it was rude to use it unnecessarily. Which meant Hoseok hadn’t witnessed many spells from you over the years.

But you feel like pleasing him today, wanting to impress him with something pretty that wouldn’t pull too much energy. Whispering a quiet request to the Ancient Oak you’re pressed against, you breathe a simple spell under your breath.

Immediately, tiny balls of light drift down from the leaves above you to form the impression of two people, standing together in a handfasting ceremony. You don’t need to explain to him who it is a representation of, and instead you both watch quietly as the couple lean forward and kiss.

“I wish I had kissed you back then, though it would have seemed strange. I wish I could kiss you now, in public.” Hoseok sighs, sadness weaving its way in and you resolve to make him smile. Shifting around, you playfully bite at his neck with your blunt incisors, the sensation probably just a tickle to him compared to his sharp teeth.

Sure enough, he lets out a giggle that’s far too cute for a man as regal as him before wrapping his arms tightly around shoulders and chest, trapping you between his thighs as he shifts. His hands move down to your sides, insistent fingers tickling along the sensitive areas and causing you to almost shriek with laughter.

The sounds of glee and happiness echo around the quiet grove, and you feel a shift in the magic around you. It’s fond and filled with a sense of joy at the love between yourself and your husband. Your stomach twists with cheer at the knowledge that nature approves.

After a few minutes of laughter and play, you lean against him as you both take a breather. He presses a kiss to your neck softly before letting his fangs run over your skin, the sharpness almost a scratch over the delicate flesh.

“You’re adorable, with your little baby fangs. In fact, they’re not even baby fangs. Vampire children have sharper teeth than that.” He teases, letting his lips press against the soft skin there. You smile and click your fingers, causing him to yelp as a zing of magic zaps his ass.

“Mean,” He mutters before kissing your neck once more, his hands stroking along your stomach lowly. “I wonder what our children’s teeth would look like.” The words are quiet, almost as if he spoke them out loud without thinking.

The way you both freeze suddenly let you think that is likely exactly what happens before he’s squeezing tight, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

Children remained a sore point between the two of you. It was something neither of you had ever truly considered when you had first wedded, the thought of sleeping with him abhorrent. It had remained a non-thought for thirty years once you finally got together, until twenty years ago when you had both decided to try.

A pregnancy had occurred almost immediately, pleasing the both of you while simultaneously terrifying you. It was understood between you both that Hoseok would only see his child half of the year, but the two of you had wanted so badly to have a family. Upon learning of your pregnancy, the two of you had agreed to announce it, and your feelings, to both kingdoms at the halfway stage.

There was little chance of miscarriage at that point, and it had been an exciting prospect. A child would surely unify both races, or at least be a good starting point to true reconciliation.

And so at the three month mark, Hoseok had left back to Sanguinus in his carriage and you had watched from your window, a hand resting on your flat stomach. The knowledge that he would likely be back in time for the birth had been a consolation, even if he was sad to not experience the joys of watching you grow fat and heavy with his child.

And then the curse had kicked in.

It had been a heavy heart, and heavier tears, that you had written to your husband. The note had been simple, coded in case anyone read it due to the rarity of correspondence between you both.

‘Dear Husband,

The little bird did not make it. No spell could combat the curse that took it.

I am sorry.’

Neither of you had considered the curse in terms of children. Not until it was too late. Not until you were no longer pregnant.

The curse demanded that you spend six months apart, causing physical pain to ensure it was obeyed. As his child, the babe in your stomach was half him and the curse could not distinguish between this. The pain had not been as strong as it was with Hoseok himself, but it had been too much for the tiny life you’d carried.

You had mourned for six months, until he had arrived and then you had mourned with him in private. There had never been another attempt, and there likely never would be. Your dreams of a family had died that day.

Resting a hand on his arm, you cuddle further into him before taking a deep breath. You have not spoken of children in twenty years. “I think they would be heart wrenchingly adorable, with tiny fangs and little spells that would pop and crack.”

As you speak, the lights spin in a dizzying dance before forming two small children. The both of you watch in a despondent silence as they bound along the meadow sweet grass, a simple and sweet dream that cannot ever be.

Hoseok doesn't say anything for a few long minutes, only swallowing thickly. “You would have made a wonderful mother. I still regret asking you to do it, the pain you suffered while I was not there. It wasn't worth it.”

Shaking your head, you shift in his arms until you can see his arresting profile. His eyes are a low, dull red that glisten in the evening sun that peeks through the trunks of the forest.

“No, don't say that. It hurt, but we were happy in that moment. Let's not resent the young one we were forced to lose.” Resting a hand against his chest, you press your forehead to the warm skin of his neck and inhale the soothing scent.

You both simply rest there after that, neither feeling in the mood to interrupt the sad stillness in the air with another topic. The unfortunate fact, is that no matter how much you love each other, your story will always be one of sadness and heartache, tinged with loneliness.

“Would you like to dance?” Hoseok speaks suddenly, the question hovering in the air. Looking up, you note his gaze focused firmly on the light children while a sombre expression is painted on his beautiful face.

Biting your lip, your own gaze tracks around the quiet clearing. “Are you sure? I mean...if you are too upset...and we have no music.”

Your husband laughs darkly before nuzzling your hair affectionately. “This is supposed to be a place of happiness. Let's not sour your sacred tree with sad thoughts. And fear not my queen, we have never had anything but each other. We shall make our own music.”

He stands at that, hands dusting off his breeches before he reaches out one hand to you, pose elegant even when he doesn't intend it to. Looking into his eyes, softened by your mutual sad memories, you nod once before letting him pull you up.

The two of you move into a ballroom dance position with the ease of decades of training, but when you dance it's with the slow passion of lovers. He doesn’t swing you into a complicated waltz or anything, but simply rocks you in a slow circle, his hand running along the laces of your dress at the small of your back reassuringly while his cheek rests on your head.

“I love you. I don't feel that I tell you that often enough. I don't get the chance to tell you that often enough. But I do. I love you fiercely, and if I could find a way to end the curse I would.” Hoseok's voice is quiet, yet strained with emotion he can't possibly vocalise.

Emotion that resonates in your chest almost painfully nonetheless.

“I know. I know Hoseok. I love you just as strongly. It is so hard, to not ask how you are when dealing with your delegation. To find out if you are sad or happy. I wish we could end the curse too, but you know as well as I do that it would just result in more war.” The words are hushed and you cannot help the silent tears that track down your face.

Hoseok holds you even tighter as the light children skip by you, his gaze focused firmly on them and when he speaks, his voice cracks. “I want a life with you so badly. I want to raise a family with you. Neither of us started the war, so why must we be punished even though we have fallen in love? Isn't that the ultimate unification? I wish I could find the Faerie Queen and request an audience, plead our case to her and beg for her to let us love each other openly and permanently.”

You sniffle at his words, bringing your hand up to wipe at your tears pitifully before reaching up to pull his head down till he's resting on your shoulder. The dampness of your dress let's you know he's crying too and you curse anyone you can think of for causing him pain.

What good is being the Witch Queen if you can't even solve your husbands sadness?

“She would never do that Hoseok. It's a punishment, remember? She’d probably laugh with delight at our pain.” He says nothing, acknowledging your words with his silence.

Placing your hands on his slim waist, you begin to hum a witch children's nursery rhyme to him while rocking him in slow and steady motions. He doesn't move at first, but eventually gives in and let's you dance with him in the quiet clearing.

“Let’s not cry anymore husband. You said so yourself, this is a happy place. Dance with me freely, while we have the chance to just be ourselves.” You plead softly, kissing his temple and letting your lips remain there until he lifts himself up with a nod.

Hoseok doesn't say anything further, simply dances with you slowly in the shadow of the Ancient Oak while the tiny children of light dance around your legs playfully.

If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine it was perfect, and you vowed to find a way to dance with him in the way you both wanted.

-

Something that had been at the forefront of your mind for a while, had been been the fact that this year marked your 100th anniversary with Hoseok. Neither of you had celebrated a single anniversary in the past, mainly because the day Hoseok arrived was always the day the curse activated and so you both were more concerned with getting him rest.

But this year, you’d wanted to celebrate it in some way at least. It was an important milestone, not only in your relationship with each other but also in the relations between both kingdoms. Your anniversary had marked one hundred years of peace between the vampires and witches, and you had decided before he had even arrived to finally celebrate this.

Not only this, but his sadness in the Oak Grove had spurred you on to do something to make him happy, to bring a smile to his face and show him that you loved him and cared for him. It was hard to do that most of the time, with public displays of affection almost impossible.

The time there had inspired you though, and as such you had arranged for an event to occur in the final week of Hoseok’s time here. He had been made completely unaware of it through a lot of subtle subterfuge and instead you had worked behind the scenes with your advisors and event organisers.

The result had culminated in today. You were pleased beyond words that Hoseok hadn’t clicked onto what was happening, instead just presuming that your event meetings were something to do with governance. The peril of having a wife who was a ruler perhaps.

Still, he’d likely just been expecting another day of wandering the castle at his leisure or something. Apparently, he’d made friends with the Captain of the Guard, Jeon Jungkook, and was on the verge of being allowed to participate in military drills on the castle grounds.

It was almost sweet how excited he’d got when telling you, and your heart had overflowed with warmth for him at the fact he seemed to have finally made a friend of some sort here after so long. As your Captain, you were well acquainted with Jungkook, and knew him to be young but well trained and with a good soul and heart.

His father had been the Captain for your own, finally retiring ten years ago to spend more time with his aging family. Jungkook, already heavily involved in the Hekatalian Army, had simply slotted into place with ease. He’d practically been bred for it, with incredibly strong battle magic to boot.

As such, you had grown to know him well when discussing your military and regimental training for the soldiers who resided here in the castle. He was a sweet guy beneath the regalia, and you knew that he was exceptionally easy to get on with which made you feel comfortable in the knowledge that he’d taken Hoseok under his wing.

Hoseok had actually woken you up today though with soft kisses that brushed along your shoulder lightly, the sensation almost tickling. You’d thought for a moment that perhaps he was just feeling amorous, he often was in the morning, but instead he’d kept his touches innocent and sweet.

Once he’d been sure you’d fully woken, a content hum leaving your throat as you cuddled closer into his warmth, he’d laid his head back down on the pillow and ran his hand along your exposed stomach. “There’s a lot of activity in this castle this morning wife.”

You make a faux surprised sound, recognising from his tone that he knows somethings up. While your castle is always busy, you have no doubt that there are even more servants hurrying around today than normal. They had a ballroom to decorate and exquisite meals to cook for the guests who would be arriving later today. Given his enhanced senses, he could probably hear all the hustle and bustle around the place.

Rolling in his arms, you gaze at him wide eyed with an innocence he is evidently not falling for given his narrowed eyes. “I don’t know husband. Why is there more activity than normal?” You ponder playfully, tapping your lips before grinning as he begins to tickle you mercilessly.

“Wife. What is happening?” He laughs out, kissing your cheek when you both finish. You simply watch him for a moment, giving him adoring eyes as you note the flyaway strands of his hair from where it has fallen after his sleep.

Tugging him back down, you face him quietly for a moment as you slide a leg between his own. He shivers slightly at your cold feet, giving you a slight glare but says nothing further as he waits for you to speak.

“We are hosting a ball today. A masquerade ball.” You smile at him, watching as those strong brows come together in confusion. If you looked hard enough, you could probably see his brain working behind those pretty eyes of his.

“Why? It’s just a Saturday, unless there’s some special event I’m not aware of?” After one hundred years of living in Hekatalia for half a year at at time, Hoseok had long grown used to the cultural holidays and events that witches celebrated. He particularly enjoyed Summer Solstice, and often lamented on the fact he could never experience a Winter Solstice with you.

“Well...I don’t know if you remember but this year marks one hundred since the curse was activated. A hundred years of peace between the races and kingdoms. And one hundred years since we married. So I organised a masquerade ball to celebrate this and have invited members from all kingdoms to join us. We have werewolves, faeries and representatives from Sanguinus here too.” He looks at you with eyes that are wide with shock.

“Really? And they’re all coming here? Wow, you’re being brave hoping no one will fight.” He chuckles, the corner of his lips turning up in amusement as he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Well...that’s why it’s a masquerade ball. So no one can tell who is what. Instead, it will just be a joining of peoples to celebrate a monumental achievement,” You pause for a moment before leaning over to press a sweet kiss to his shoulder. “And it also means that we can dance in public. With a legitimate excuse. No one will complain about the queen and her prince consort dancing at a ball to celebrate one hundred years of marriage.”

He looks at you slowly, and you can see the flurry of emotions painting across his face. It’s something that you’ve both wanted to do for so long and your stomach flutters at the prospect of being able to show him of like you have always wanted, even if no one realises that there is true love hidden beneath the faux smiles.

“I can dance with you? When others can see?” The soft and hesitant tone to his voice breaks your heart, causing you to lift yourself until your lips are pressed together in a kiss that is chaste but full of love.

“Yes my love. For a night, we can pretend.” He gives a bright smile then, his entire face lighting up with a sense of joy and merriment that makes you feel content with life. There’s something particularly satisfying about making him smile, and you’re sure that one day you will figure out what that is. But for now, you just enjoy making him happy when you can.

Climbing out of bed, you head towards the door that separates your rooms before turning and giving him a mysterious smile that has a brow rising as he sits up. There’s a pause as you simply admire the stunningly beautiful sight your husband makes on the bed, the red silk sheets giving him a sultry look.

“Attendants will be coming to get a suit and mask sorted for you for the ball. I have meetings to attend unfortunately as the kingdom waits for no ball, but I shall meet you at the staircase tonight. I apologise that we cannot eat together, but there will be food being served at the ball we can partake,” You let your eyes drag over his body slowly, sucking your lip between your teeth and letting it out slowly to let him see how he affects you. “I expect you to be looking particularly handsome tonight.”

He gives a wicked grin, fangs lengthening before your eyes while his eyes spark with a crimson flash. “I will make sure to put extra effort into my appearance. We wouldn’t want it to look like the witch queen has a poor husband now.”

You simply laugh as he wiggles his brows before exiting to your room, excitement for the evening bubbling in your stomach.

-

Your day passes slowly as a result of your enthusiasm, and you can tell that your advisors are amused at your unusually happy demeanour. You’re normally far more careful to maintain a queenly expression when dealing with kingdom matters, even if you spend more time with these people than you do your own husband.

But the elation you feel at finally being able to celebrate your relationship with your husband in public, even if people think it only fake, is too much. To the point that you find yourself not concentrating on your duties and instead decide to postpone your meeting, allowing your advisors an early day to spend with their families or alternatively prepare for the festivities tonight.

Instead, you head towards the ballroom and take in the preparations for yourself. All around you, witches spell decorations to fly into place, sticking to the wall or hovering in the air perfectly. It’s been a long time since you had hosted any sort of event, and it all fills your veins with fizzing excitement at it all.

“Your Majesty, the preparations are almost complete. Will you accompany me back to your rooms and we can have you fitted into your outfit while we make sure your hair and makeup is perfect.” Soyeon smiles at your demurely, bowing slightly as she walks up to you where you stood in the middle of the hall.

Looking down at her, you give a nod of your head and smile back as you follow, hurrying your pace until you are walking abreast with your beloved servant. “Did you follow my advice?” You ask quietly, keeping your voice low so that others waking past.

Soyeon glances to you out of the corner of her eye and you spy the smile of glee that she fights to hold in. Almost immediately, responding excitement bubbles in your stomach and you can’t help but grab at her arm lightly as you giggle.

“Oh, I hope your dress is beautiful. You will look phenomenal Soyeon, truly. What if you find a man tonight? Or a woman? Don’t forget about me when you’re all loved up!” You pout at her playfully, causing her to roll her eyes while a flush of red brushes her cheeks prettily.

“I doubt that will happen Your Majesty. The dress is adequate and I will just enjoy my time there. Thank you for letting me have the night to myself, and for inviting me to the ball. I can never tell you how much I appreciate your kindness.” She whispers fervently, eyes flicking around the hallway to see if there is anyone who could see your affection.

There would likely be people who became jealous and bitter at how you favoured Soyeon, but you were reaching the point where you were beyond caring what others thought. When you were going to live as long as you were, surely there came a point when others opinions would matter little?

Entering your rooms, you pause to glance at the closed wooden door that separated your rooms and bit your lips with a sigh. Soyeon waits for a moment before pressing a hand to your lower back, encouraging you into the room where she begins to undress you quickly.

“I’m sure he will look beautiful, Your Majesty. Prince Hoseok is a handsome man, and you are an incredibly lucky woman.” She murmurs as she carefully folds your dress, ready for it to back into your closet.

Standing before her in simply your underwear, you watch as she takes a new corset out of your wardrobe and wraps it around your waist, tugging at the laces tightly until you are grunting out from the force. Idle talk is made between you both as she continues on, piecing together a dress of sumptuous ruby red that had been outlined in subtle, shimmering silver.

It’s only once your dress is finally complete, giving her a final spin to get the nod of approval, that you sit and allow her to arrange your hair to perfection. Tiny silver flowers get dotted throughout before she sits an exquisite diadem on your forehead, resting the ends in your hair.

The final touch is your makeup, and once she has finished painting a masterpiece on your face, you stand and admire her work in the mirror after she places the mask on you. It’s red, with silver glittering through in elegant lines and covers the portion of your face from your nose to just above your eyebrows. Giving her a huge grin, you turn slowly and admire everything she has put together.

“Perfect Soyeon, you have a true eye for fashion and makeup. Now go, you must get ready yourself. I can make my way to the staircase, he should be waiting by now.” You peer at the clock on the mantlepiece, noting the time is past when you had asked him to wait.

A quick glance out of the window lets you see carriages slowly filtering through the courtyard and guests dressed in the finest dresses and suits entering the castle. Smiling to yourself, you rest a hand on your chest as you watch for a few moments before looking yourself over in the mirror once more.

The dress is cinched in at the waist, your curves emphasised by the corset while your breasts are more prominent than they would normally be due to cut of the material. Silk is smooth and cool to your touch as you run your fingers along the material that rests at your stomach, noting with pleasure the way the dress flatters your figure.

Tonight, there will be no brows raised at your choice to wear silver and red. For it would be expected to wear the colours of both kingdoms, given that this is a celebration of peace between the two.

Making your way through the hallways, you tilt your head when you begin to hear the soft sounds of a string quartet filtering through the quietness and you can’t help the sway of your hips to the sounds. As you near, the music gets louder along with raucous laughter and constant talking between your guests.

Reaching the top of the elegant marble staircase that takes up the grand entrance, you pause for a moment to rest a hand on the marble edging and look over the room. The crystal chandelier is glowing with a beautiful luminance, casting shadows that are thrown around the room beautifully while more candles light up every corner below.

The center of the room has now been taken up with an elegant ice sculpture, a replica of the Ancient Oak that inhabits the Oak Grove. A few guests entering through the doors notice you above them and you spy as they immediately begin to gossip amongst themselves while giving you a courteous bow of the head.

But your attention is caught immediately by the lone figure at the bottom of the stairs to your right, his figure straight and regal. His outfit matches yours perfectly, with black trousers clinging to his legs and black leather boots winding their way up his calves, silver buckles and lining matching the deep red laces.

His waistcoat is charcoal while his shirt looks to be black silk, an equally dark tie around his neck that fits perfectly. A deep, velvet crimson jacket sits on his shoulders and you smile at the silver and black patterns that run through it subtly. Hoseok’s own mask is a perfectly replica of your own, and you feel pride at the knowledge that no one would ever mistake you both as being anything other than the couple of importance tonight.

Ignoring the guests as they arrive, you keep your gaze firmly on him as he rolls his head on his shoulders to relieve some tension before he lets out a sigh you could probably hear if you had his senses. But then he pauses, and you can tell he’s spotted you.

Almost immediately, a bright smile takes over the only part of his face that is visible and your stomach twists pleasantly at the sight. Ideally, he shouldn’t look too happy to see you but you find yourself uncaring as you slowly make your way down the stairs, one hand holding your skirts to keep them from trailing while the other glides along the bannister.

Hoseok moves to greet you immediately, bowing low until you reach him upon which he reaches out for your hand. Placing it within his, you give him a simple smile that tells him so much and he grins in response as he wraps your arm around his.

“You look beautiful wife.” He whispers, his voice as low as he can make it while still ensuring that you win. As he speaks, he glances around for any other vampires but it’s futile with the masks that cover everyone’s faces.

“And so do you husband. I’m glad that you followed my request.” You tease lightly, voice bubbly with glee and he lets out a low laugh as his head nods forward, his perfectly styled hair swept off his forehead.

“Of course. Shall we enter our ball Your Majesty?” He states loudly, drawing attention from those who are entering the castle for the first time. Smiling demurely at the crowd, you nod your head and move with him to the doors of the ballroom.

Inside, the room from earlier is ablaze with life and you pause to take it in. Thousands of candles hover high in the air, their wicks burning brightly in the final rays of evening sun that shines through the stained glass windows while their corresponding partners dot the room at various points.

All along the edges are tables and chairs, allowing guests the chance to sit and relax while the left side is taken up with one long table that is currently piled high with exquisite food. Almost instantly your mouth starts to water at the sight and you desperately want to pull Hoseok over there to eat, but you know that you must greet your guests first.

Decades of royalty training has imprinted wel upon Hoseok and you as you make your way around the room, talking to guests all of all walks of life and all races. The vampires are a little cold towards you but you are surprised by how genial they are overall, leaving you to wonder if perhaps the relations were always a little colder on your side than his.

Their conversations with you are geared more towards their surprise at exploring your kingdom, and you wonder how strange it must be to some of them. Travellers from Sanguinus and Hekatalia did not visit each others lands very often, and it was a tiny hope of yours that once relations warmed up between the two there could be the opportunity for more travelling.

Hoseok had told you many wonderful tales of the land Sanguinus held, from the rolling desert planes of the west to the rocky, snow topped mountains of the east. Hekatalia was not as diverse in its geography, and instead was simply covered in either forests or fields. Nature was simple here and had always been cultivated into magic used by its inhabitants.

Land like Hoseok’s was wilder, with the magic going haywire and causing vast differences in land and temperature. The way he talked about his home, and the wistfulness in his voice made you long to visit them so much. But you knew that was definitely impossible.

A queen simply did not take holidays in land that was not her own.

Your own subjects were polite towards Hoseok thankfully, giving him a regal bow and affording him the same respect they give you which pleases you. They don’t make for the most mentally stimulating conversations however. Unfortunately, most Hekatalian citizens are far too polite to spend too long talking to their queen.

If they spent too long with you, then it could look like you favour them over others which could generate a whole host of issues neither you nor they want.

It was the visitors from neither kingdom that are the nicest however, and you find yourself smiling truthfully when a group of werewolf guests compliment your home while also congratulating you both on a long marriage.

A rather upfront werewolf asks for a dance with you later and you cannot help the soft snort of laughter at his boldness. You don’t even need to look at your husband to see that he is bristling, metaphorical fur on edge as he gives the most polite and yet rudest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

He’s the perfect husband of a monarch however and says nothing that could be a diplomatic incident. Though you won’t lie, he probably didn’t endear himself either but the tenseness that you can feel in his arm lets you know it’s probably the best you’re going to be able to get with him.

The Master of Ceremonies officially announces the beginning to the ball and you watch from the side as couples from all over the room began to line up on the dance floor. Glancing to Hoseok, you noted the way his eyes focused firmly on the people dancing to the smooth beat of the music and give a small smile before nudging him gently.

“Would you like to dance husband?” You ask softly, your voice barely heard over the soaring music of the string quartet and the excitable chatter of the guests. He jerks at the sound of your voice, looking to you and you marvel for a moment at how astonishingly beautiful he looks. Even with half his face covered.

If anything, the mask makes the exquisite line of his jaw even more prominent and you swallow thickly at the sight of him in the golden glow of the nearby candles. His tongue flicks out, wetting those plush lips before his mouth kicks up into a tiny smile as he nods.

“I would be honoured, wife.” At that, he takes the lead and moves into the centre of the ballroom. Almost immediately, you feel the people surrounding you shift as awareness of who has entered their midst seeps in, but you can’t focus on anything other than Hoseok.

His spine is straight, and he almost towers above you in a manner that would be frightening if you didn’t know him. But the warm, tender way he rests his hand against your lower back and holds your other, with a touch more sensual than he perhaps should, has you feeling safe and protected by him.

You have no doubt that if anyone tried to hurt you right now, he would fight to his final breath to save you even if he is in the knowledge that you are more than capable yourself. A desperate urge rises within you suddenly, so deep and strong that you have to bite your lip to stop it, to rest your head against his enticing chest.

Instead, he leads you in a dance that is centuries old, his feet moving in perfect succession around the floor as you follow him with trained steps. You have no idea the spectacle you both make, and you don’t even notice the way people look between themselves with speculative brows raised.

You don’t know, because your gaze is firmly trapped in his like a moth to a flame. The ballroom almost goes hazy as you dance, bodies moving together as one until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. His own breath is coming a little faster from the exertion, but also from the sheer feelings you both portray with a simple gaze.

It would shock you both to see how you were dancing, as if no one else in the room even existed and with touches that spoke of an intimacy learnt over decades.

You both dance through endless songs, the hunger in your stomach battling with the need in your veins to take him away and let him savour you in a much more intimate way than the light affection he looks at you with now. In fact, it’s only when a passing dancer accidentally bumps into your back that the two of you are broken out of your reverie, blinking rapidly before looking away from each other with heated cheeks.

Pulling away, Hoseok quietly directs you to table of food that lines the side of the hall. Smiling at him shyly, you wonder if this is how lovers who court openly feel.

It’s at the table that you both fall back into your usual roles of cold politeness, the both of you separating to forage for food in an attempt to dispel any notions that your guests may have. From the furtive glances between you both, you worry for a moment that perhaps you may have a problem on your hand with gossip.

Gossip tended to twist things into negativity, and most stories became wildly obscure compared to their origins. There was every chance that after tonight, you could have five secret love children with him if you were not careful.

Though positive reception to that would perhaps precipitate being open about your relationship.

In an effort to deflect any attention, you spend the next hour moving from one group of people to the next on your own, giving genial smiles and accepting compliments about your home, your kingdom, the ball and your husband with a grace that has been trained into you since birth.

It is tiring however, and you forgot how intensive events such as balls are. A quick glance at the grand clock that hangs on the centre wall lets you know that you have been here for three hours already and the soreness of your feet tell you that it has been a very long three hours. You have the biggest urge to simply throw your heels away and go barefoot, but that would most definitely raise brows amongst the aristocracy who dance and chat around you.

“You look tired Your Majesty,” Comes a deep voice from next to you, and you look across with a carefully blank expression. It’s the wolf from before, the only giveaway to his identity being the extravagant black and white mask that only covers half of his face. You presume him to be handsome underneath the mask, given the beautiful jawline you can see at the moment. “But would it be remiss of me to request that dance I asked for earlier?”

He holds out a hand and you pause, eyes flickering around to find Hoseok only to fail in finding the black, silver and red outfit anywhere. Bowing your head regally, you place your hand in his own and allow him to lead you out to the dance floor.

The song now is slower, more suited to intimate couples you note as you look around you and you feel a pang in your stomach for your husband. You would love to be able to slow dance with him around the hall, but figure that you have danced enough with him for the moment.

It certainly would not take a genius to note the difference in your dance with this stranger, given the stiffness of your posture and the large gap you make sure to maintain between you both. Giving him a stiff smile, you decide to be polite and make small conversation.

“Forgive me, I don’t know your name.” Pausing, you leave him plenty of space to fill the opening and he takes it with ease, a sweet, gummy smile on his face.

“Min Yoongi, of the Lunatus Pack. And you need no introduction, my beautiful witch queen.” His tone is playful and you can’t help but smile at his infectious happiness, letting him twirl you around in an overly extravagant manner.

“Lunatus Pack? The ruling class of the Lupine nation. How interesting, I was told that no one high up in our werewolf brethen was able to make it tonight.” You ponder idly, eyes glancing around the room to try and find a red mask.

Yoongi hums lowly, his eyes focused on something over your shoulder that you can’t see and if you’d been paying attention, you would note the way his lips kick up in an amused smirk. “I’m not high up in the Pack, that is likely why. But how could I resist a chance to visit Hekatalia and see the infamous Witch Queen and her Vampire Prince?”

Leaning away, you raise a brow at him sardonically. “Are we a tourist attraction now or something? Interesting, most people in my kingdom seem patently uninterested in my husband.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, before spinning you suddenly, his hands much lower than you were comfortable with. Lifting them, you give him a firm look that has him tittering with bemusement. “An attraction? No. But you are famous. And does that mean they are as uninterested in him as you are in each other? Because if so, he must be exceptionally popular here.”

You say nothing for a few beats of music, letting an awkward silence fill the gap until you finally question what he means by that. Another laugh leaves him, and you find yourself feeling slightly uncomfortable, even though he is perfectly nice.

“I had been told that the Witch Queen hated her Vampire Prince husband, and that the feelings were mutual. And yet...the way you danced with each other tonight. That was with an intimacy borne of lovers, and the way you looked at each other reminded me of how my parents look at each other,” He stalled for a moment, hands tightening in their place on you. “I do not believe you hate each other as much as you wish everyone to believe. Nor do I think others believe that anymore, and nor do I think it’s such a terrible thing.”

Panic stirs in your stomach at his words and you look for Hoseok with anxiety flitting in your veins. That is, until his words sink into your skin and you look at him in a new light. “What do you mean? We were married under duress, and our peoples would never accept a love between two races.”

The words sound weak even to you, causing him to snort. “Oh sure. Maybe a hundred years ago that would have been true. But there have been one hundred, long, years of peace between your peoples. I’m sure there will be people unhappy...but you seem to be a beloved queen. I doubt your people would begrudge you finding happiness and love in the marriage you were forced into, with the man you will spend an eternity with.”

You can’t find the words to respond to that, emotion choking your throat tightly and you blink rapidly at the ceiling to hold back tears. Was he right? Would people accept Hoseok for you? Could you love openly and freely?

“And it would be a truly, stupid man to not want to love a woman as beautiful and kind as you.” He speaks these words louder for some reason and you frown, until you suddenly feel a warmth against your back that is familiar and comforting.

“Hello Min Yoongi. Strange to see a Lunatus Prince here. I’ve been talking to the Captain of the Guard, Jeon Jungkook, and apparently no one from Lunatus responded that they would be joining us today.” Hoseok’s voice is freezingly polite, each syllable bitten out and you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s not normally this rude, but you note with amusement the way his eyes glow a soft red under his mask while his kissable lips are pressed into a straight line. Yoongi lets go of you with a smile, bowing at his waist to press a kiss to your hand in thanks.

“Apologies Your Majesty. Our dance has been cut short, and please forgive me for concealing my identity. I’m sure you can understand the need to simply be free sometimes,” He gives you a warm smile that you find yourself responding with but he nods to your husband. “Remember my advice. I wish you both well for now and the future.”

At that, he turns and departs, winding his way through the crowd. You watch him go quietly before turning to Hoseok, giggling inside at the sight of the glare on his face. It pained you to not be able to tease him so openly, but if you were correct in your belief, then Hoseok was jealous. Something he never had to consider normally, as even with the disdain for your husband the people of Hekatalia still respected your marriage vows.

“Is there a problem husband?” You ask, voice airy with just a hint of playfulness that causes his eyes to narrow at you. The sight of his jaw clenching and the cherry in his eyes has your thighs squeezing in response, breath hitching every so slightly.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth, noting the way your lips part before they drag to your eyes, no doubt blown out at the blatant display of possessiveness your husband is portraying. Almost instantly, his own jaw clenches and you almost moan out at the sight of the muscles working beneath smooth skin.

“I believe I am ready to retire for the night wife. Are you ready to retire?” He asks, his tone perfectly polite and neutral without a hint of the blatant lust in his eyes. Nodding in a daze, you give an affirmative and begin to follow him out of the ballroom.

It’s infuriating how slow you get through the crowd, continuously accepting praise for the event along with gracious goodbyes and wishes of well being to you both until finally you are free. Soyeon is stood in the corner of the entranceway, laughing beautifully with a young woman in a dress of emerald green and you watch them both momentarily before moving on.

The both of you ascend the staircase with far more grace and poise than you are feeling, and you are thankful that it is common for the host of the ball to leave early. Fashionably late to arrive and fashionably early to leave. It would continue on for hours in the ballroom, but you find yourself uncaring.

Not when you are watching the way your husband strides down the hallway, his long legs eating up the ground while his shoulders sway in an unconscious swagger. The vampires are always an elegant race, but your husband moves with the predatory hunger of a tiger shifter.

It makes your legs quiver with anticipation while a slick wetness dampens the silk between your legs already, breathing a little harder than normal. You know he can hear it, and it turns you on even more to know that he’s likely enjoying the sounds of your need.

Reaching your quarters, you watch with hungry eyes as Hoseok pauses outside of his door before opening it slowly and turning to face you. His mask is still pressed to his face, and you have the strongest urge to take it off him to let you see the captivating beauty that had stolen your heart long ago.

Instead, you enter his room quietly, your demeanour meek in the way that he so loves and you hear the slow hiss of breath from behind you as he stays where he is, a quiet hitting sound letting you know he’s let his head flop back against the wooden door until you hear the soft click of it closing.

There’s no sounds now, the faint whisper of music that had drifted from the ballroom disappearing once the door closes and you whisper a spell of silence to keep the rooms quiet. A silencing spell is normally placed around them anyway, but you have a feeling that tonight is going to be particularly special and you shiver with anticipation.

Turning slowly, you watch as your husband rests against the door with his gaze firmly focused on you. Taking the initiative to keep quiet for him, you run your eyes over his slim body and can’t help the automatic flex of your hands as they itch to touch him.

You don’t even need to see him well to know that his sensitive eyes caught that tiny movement, not when the corner of his lips turn up in a smirk that speaks of sex and desire.

“Did you enjoy your little dance with Min Yoongi, wife?” He asks, tone carefully neutral and you watch him vigilantly to try and detect his tiny tells. Your husband has always been phenomenal at hiding his emotions, and with the extravagant mask covering his face you find yourself at a loss.

“It was acceptable. He asked earlier and I finally accepted. It would have been rude not to.” You could dissuade his jealousy easily by simply explaining your conversation with the werewolf prince, but you find yourself unwilling. Because it is so rare to see him possessive like this, and you desperately want him to ravage you the way he obviously wants to.

Your words do nothing to appease him and you watch with pleasure as he bares his teeth, jaw working and you can tell he can’t figure out what to do for a moment. It’s pleasing, working him like this in tiny nudges until he will give you what you want. In your kingdom, Hoseok was practically powerless while you had the strain of unlimited power.

It was with great pleasure and excitement that you readily handed the reins of power to Hoseok in the bedroom, succumbing to his desires and wants with a submission that you could never reveal in your daily life. Which is why when he begins to stalk towards you, his eyes a dark crimson, that you shudder with need.

“Very well wife. I would be an unsuitable husband if I dictate who you could speak to, and I have no interest in hobbling you in that manner. It would be unseemly of me to undercut you like that. But I find myself with a desperate need to show you that you are mine, no matter what anyone else in that damnable ballroom believes.” He growls, voice low in his throat until each word is almost rasping out of his throat.

Hoseok is upon you now, moving so close that there is nary a centimetre between you both, forcing you to have to crane your head back on your neck to see him. He doesn’t let up, barely lowering his head and you almost whine with need for him.

“Am I going to get my good girl tonight? Or am I going to have punish you for being naughty?” You’ve never understood how vampires can do that strange hissing sound that they make, but the way it winds through his words and deep into the primal fear you have has your eyelashes fluttering shut while you let out the tiniest moan.

“I’ll be a good girl for you. I swear.” Mostly.

He says nothing for a moment, simply watching you with eyes that speak of a great need that only you can satisfy. You almost whine at him petulantly as he smirks down at you, fully aware that he has you exactly where he wants you.

“Good. Now, let’s see what is only for my eyes.” He stands back suddenly, leaving you cold and desperate for his touch on your skin. You’re momentarily confused until you follow his eyes down to your dress, noting the way your breasts are pushed together enticingly in the beautiful fabric.

Chewing on your lip while giving him big doe eyes, you reach behind yourself and tug on the ribbons that keep your dress in place. It’s hard to undress yourself, but Soyeon has always made it so that it is possible if you try hard enough.

Only, the position must set off something deep within your husband because he darts forward faster than your eyes can track and there’s a sudden, loud rip of fabric that echoes in the room. Pausing, you look down with widened eyes to see the beautiful dress torn open, silk hanging in tatters to leave your breasts exposed under his watchful gaze.

The tight corset that holds your waist in tightly prevents him from seeing the full expanse of your chest and he bares his teeth in annoyance at the sight. That doesn’t stop him from lowering his head though, trailing his tongue along your collarbones in a molten trail of lust that has your knees quaking as you grasp onto his jacket.

Your husband has always known how to use his mouth to turn you into a wreck under him, like a god of desire whose sole purpose is to simultaneously torture and send you into another plane of existence with pleasure.

That talented mouth is currently sucking a deep bruise into the flesh above your breasts, his hands cupping the fleshy mounds while his thumbs circle the hardened nubs of your nipples, the feeling almost painful until you groan at him, tugging at his hair in a motion that can’t decide whether you want him to move away or get closer.

A dark laugh leaves him, his breath brushing against the wet trails of your skin and causing you to shiver from the cold. At the movement, he abandons his oral assault on you to simply track his mouth back north, the sharpened points of his fangs scratching against your skin in a tantalising way.

In a brutal show of the strength his race is so famed for, Hoseok bends down and lifts you up until your breasts are level with his wandering mouth. A squeal of laughter leaves you as you grasp the strands of his silky hair tightly for balance while he focuses his attention on laving his cravings on your breasts, hot mouth licking and sucking any inch of skin he can reach until finally he’s sucking a nipple into his mouth, the sheer heat of his wet mouth causing your head to drop back as you gasp out.

The movement has you wobbling and he grunts, moving with a speed that still shocks you until you’re landing on the soft covers, the silk embracing your body in a cold that contrasts deeply with the heat of his mouth. Hoseok isn’t bothered by the change in position though and instead focuses again on the hardened bud, tongue flicking out to play with it but his lips wrap around it to suck deeply.

It’s almost as if your breasts are directly connected to your vagina as each pull of his mouth has a corresponding throb of your inner muscles until you whine softly, wanting to push at his head but knowing full well that he will punish you if you try and make him do what he doesn’t want to. And yet, the thought of the punishment has even more wetness trickling between your legs under your dress.

“Good girl.” He whispers against your skin and you want to cry in relief as he sits up, legs straddling your waist in a sight so sexy it makes you delirious with want. Hoseok smirks as your breath hitches before reaching forward and playing with the destroyed threads of your dress.

It’s with barely a flinch of effort on his face that he rips the dress from you in sections, tugging the ruined material out from under you to throw it in the corner. You pout lightly as he grasps the edge of the corset, playfulness taking the edge of his emotions in his eyes as he rips that too.

“They have laces for a reason husband.” You admonish lightly, raising a brow as you lay before him with nothing but a pair of damp silk panties on and your mask. He snorts in response, shrugging as he throws the corset away and looks upon your body like it’s a feast and he’s a starving man.

“You have assistants for a reason wife.” His words are quiet and unfocused, causing you to tut at him lightly. Hoseok’s eyes flicker to you at that, causing you to bite your lip in an innocent expression.

“So fucking beautiful. And mine.” He practically vibrates with possessiveness as he leans forward, using just a finger to snap your panties from you and leave you exposed to him completely. He doesn’t do anything to you for a moment though, instead just lets you feel the tantalising light touch of his breath against your centre and you wiggle slightly with unrestrained need.

Petal soft lips press to your inner thigh in response and you watch as he noses along the vulnerable flesh there, eyes flicking back to you to check your response before he lets the very tip of his tongue trail along a specific area. You don’t need him to tell you what he’s doing, and you groan softly at the knowledge that he’s licking along your artery.

He can likely hear the pounding of blood that echoes in your head, rushing through your body with your heightened emotions and it’s beyond exhilarating to know that he’s instinctively attracted to that spot. It should be frightening, but Hoseok has long since shown you that pain can be pleasurable when done right.

Which is why there’s a slight disappointment that dips your stomach when he abandons your thigh, nosing along the fine hair of your pubic bone until his tongue plays in the very spot you’ve been craving him this whole time. A low groan leaves him as he presses the flat of his tongue to your clit, dragging it up slowly before swirling the tip around the swollen bud in slow and steady circles.

Moaning deeply, you grasp at the sheets tightly as his tongue leads an assault of pleasure on your body that has your defences falling like dominoes with zero resistance. Each flick of his tongue, whether it’s the kitten light licks that have your hips jerking in repeated, short bursts of motion or the deep passes of his tongue that dip into your entrance with every movement.

He stops for a moment to press sticky kisses to your thigh once more, heated tongue licking along the sensitive flesh until you feel the tiniest prick that causes your leg to twitch in response. Lifting your head, you look down to see that he’s bitten down lightly, enough to cause a bead of blood to slowly trickle down your skin but not enough to be anything worrying.

Hoseok watches the dark liquid move with eyes that burn a bright crimson, the unfettered hunger in them making your inner muscles quiver with a need you vocalise with a broken call of his name. The sound breaks the trance he’d fallen into and he moves forward in an almost snake like movement to catch the drop on his tongue, following it back up at a languid pace until he wraps his mouth around the bite mark that is already healing.

With closed eyes, he tugs his mouth off to reveal the mesmeric profile that you love so dearly and your heart kicks at the sight as he nuzzles your skin almost affectionately. The softness vanishes though as he moves back to your centre, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking with an almost brutal level of strength until your mewling and babbling out phrases that you don’t even properly understand.

A long, elegant finger dips into your channel slowly, coating in the sticky fluid that leaks from you with each glide of his tongue before slipping into you with ease. The intrusion is pleasant, but you gasp for even more, needing to feel the burning stretch of him.

He lets out a laugh against you, pressing a kiss to the bud of pleasure that throbs with need before sliding a second finger into you. Each move of his hand has him twisting slightly, searching for that special spot inside you until his fingers rub against the bundle of nerves that rest on your inner walls.

Almost immediately you let out a wail of pleasure, hips pushing up to encourage him further and he lets out a primal growl as he presses a hand firmly down on your stomach, keeping you firmly in place.

“Hoseok please, please. I’ll be a good girl, please just...I need you.” You pant out needily, fingers reaching for him desperately and clenching with frustration when he darts out of the way with a smirk. His lower face is shining with your desire and he simply licks at his lips, taking in the unique taste of you as his fingers move in you slowly.

“Why should I? You seemed happy enough to flirt with another man earlier.” If you were being honest, you’d completely forgotten that Min Yoongi existed when you had Hoseok taking you to a whole new dimension in his bed right now, and you decided that you’d had enough playing games.

“I wasn’t. I would never. You’re the only man I want, I swear. Please Hoseok, husband. Please.” You beg, pleading with him to give him and just fuck you into tomorrow. He watches you closely, eyes back to being his usual brown but there’s no softness in them tonight.

Tonight, he looks every inch the regal vampire prince he is.

Baring his teeth, you whimper at the sight of his sharpened incisors and pout as he pulls his hand from you. Lifting it up, he looks at the strands of sticky liquid that stretch enticingly when he pulls his fingers apart.

Watching you closely, your inner muscles clench desperately around nothing as he slots them into his mouth and sucks them out slowly, eyes remaining focused on you the whole time. “You taste good wife. Will you let me taste more?”

The question is surprisingly civil given how annoyed he’d been earlier, but you note the way his eyes focus firmly on the elegant column of your throat and recognise his real question. Despite his earlier bite, Hoseok always made sure to have your permission before biting your neck. It was a visible area, and took a degree of trust to allow a vampire that close to somewhere so vulnerable.

Your response was simply to run a finger along the expanse of skin enticingly, letting it trail along the curve of your breast and stroking down your stomach before reaching the wetness of your clit. As your fingers begin to play with yourself, a rumbling growl vibrates from his chest and you grin at him in challenge.

“Wench.” He hisses out, tugging his jacket off before pulling his tie off and undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. Once the delicious view of his tan, toned chest is given to you, he simply undos the laces of his trousers and pushes them down his shapely thighs, unwilling to spend the time required to take off those intricate boots.

The sight of his cock bobbing in the air makes your mouth water while your inner muscles squeeze, craving the thick intrusion of him already. He smirks at the sight of your blatant want and strokes himself playfully, lips pouting at you mockingly as he tugs at his turgid length with long and practiced strokes.

A bead of pearlescent pre-cum at his tip is swiped along his thumb before he’s leaning forward, pressing it into your mouth and letting you suck the salty bitterness off his skin with a swirl of your tongue. He moans out quietly before leaning down and capturing your mouth in the first kiss of the night, his lips pressing against your firmly in a sign to not fight his dominance.

You grant him entrance to your mouth eagerly, opening up and sighing into him as his tongue slides along yours in a sensual dance. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him closer and moan as he takes a thigh and wraps it around his waist, cock resting against your pubic bone as you grind against him in an attempt to gain some friction.

It takes only the slightest movement of Hoseok’s hips until his blunt head is pressing against your entrance and you break away from him to look down, the sight of him slowly pushing into you arousing beyond belief. You can’t help the way you clench down at the sight combined with the astonishingly pleasurable feeling of him stretching you.

He really shouldn’t feel like this every time you have sex, and yet he does.

“Oh...Hoseok.” You gasp out, your head falling back into the pillow as your body strains under him, tensing up as he bottoms out in you. Hoseok lets out a corresponding moan, soft and light as his head drops into your neck to get used to the sensation.

“Stop squeezing.” He snaps, nipping at your collarbone lightly and you shudder around him at the sensation, causing an immediate whine from him. Lifting his head, he glares at you with ruby eyes that promise retribution and you shiver with excited anticipation.

“Oh, is it going to be like that then?” Hoseok murmurs, eyes flickering over your face and before you can even respond, he pulls out until only the very tip of him remains in you before slamming back in with so much force, he almost shunts you up the bed to the headboard. Almost immediately you let out a wail of pleasure, the force of his movement pressing his hips into your clit with each thrust and sending sparks of desire that fizz through your veins before adding to the bubbling pit that’s building in your stomach.

Once he’s started, he doesn’t let up and each slap of Hoseok's hips against yours was so hard, so forceful that it felt almost bruising. Your body jerked upwards with each movement until you were almost positive he was going to fuck you through the headboard.

His breath, hot against the sweat of your neck, has you shivering while the primal sound of his low, guttural groans makes you clench even tighter around his cock. The sensation has him gripping your hips just as hard, fingers that are normally gentle squeezing with a force to leave pretty bruises in the shape of those hands you love.

It’s a good job no one but him and Soyeon will ever see the bruises on your hips, and the thought turns you on even more, more wetness making letting his cock slide in you even easier.

“Oh, you're being so good for me wife. So good,” He whispers darkly against the tendons of your neck, lips fluttering against your skin with butterfly soft movements that only heighten the sensation of touch you're craving from him. “My beautiful wife. Can you moan for me? Can you scream?’

Hoseok bites down then when you’re not focused on his mouth, his perfect white teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck with ease and you sob out a cry of pleasure at the sting. The pinpricks of pain his fangs cause vanish as his tongue laves attention to the wounds before he presses his lips to them, suctioning hard and you pant as you hear his throat gulp greedily at the thick red liquid you bleed for him.

The overwhelming sensation of both pleasure and pain has you writhing under him, throbs of desire causing you to clench around him rhythmically until he's hissing his displeasure at you once more.

Swiping his tongue along your skin to catch any leaking trails he had missed, he pulls away and you watch him through heavy lidded eyes as his lips pull back in a silent snarl. Once white teeth are now stained, while two impossibly sharp fangs are prominent in his mouth. He’s fed messily tonight, his lust causing him to be a little less careful and his chin is smeared with red.

“Bad girl.” Hoseok whispers lowly, his dominant hand coming up to wrap around your throat with a gentleness that belies the ruby in his eyes. His fingers avoid the sore marks he’s made though. Leaning down, his refined nose brushes along the bone of your jawline slowly, nudging at you in a way that's almost affectionate in spite of his words.

Rolling his hips into yours at an almost glacial pace suddenly, you can't stop the whine as his hips press against you enticingly; just enough pressure to make it feel nice but not enough to go anywhere.

“Say my name darling. Let everyone know who's fucking you good.” He whispers into your ear, voice low and sensual like a devil coaxing you out of your home. Hoseok is obviously not quite over his jealous flare earlier, and if it wasn’t for the sheer gratification he was giving you then you’d coo at him.

His words are accompanied though by another sharp snap of his hips, cock spearing you and pressing against that thick bundle of nerves on your inner wall until you're panting out his name, desperately, clinging to his shoulders with fingers that dig deep.

“Hoseok, please.” You gasp out, high pitched whines threading through every sound. Hoseok chuckles darkly, nipping at your jawline before pressing even harder against your throat till you can barely breathe.

“Say my name. Scream my name, wife. Who do you belong to?” He bites out, teeth gritted together while the tendons of his own neck appear enticingly from his efforts.

Wheezing under his grip, you tap at his arm until he's releasing just enough that you can have a breathe. The pressure in your lower abdomen is overwhelming, your pussy feeling like it's about to break from the pace he's going at and you can't stop the long, elongated moan that you let out as you finally reach your release.

Squeezing around him like a vice, your fingernails drag down his back deeply while your eyes roll into the back of your head.

A small part of your mind remembers his demand as he continues to thrust, causing micro explosions of aftershocks that ricochet your body. “Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. I belong to Jung Hoseok.”

Eyes opening you watch as Hoseok’s eyes slowly bleed from ruby to black in satisfaction, the smirk on his lips having a touch of smugness in your orgasm clouded mind.

“Good girl. Always such a good girl.” He grunts before his eyes close, expression almost pained as he presses himself firmly into you. His grip on your throat tightens once more while the other on your hip feels like he'll break something.

Hoseok's soft, bloodstained lips fall open as his brow creases from the force of his orgasm and you can feel his cock twitch as he cums, emptying himself inside you. “Good girl.” He whispers once more, eyes opening as his chest moves rapidly in an attempt to get his breath.

Rolling off you, you both face the ceiling and gasp desperately while your body feels boneless with a lack of energy. It’s like he’s sucked all the energy out of you with his bite and the orgasm, but it feels so pleasant that you can’t find it in you to care.

You don’t even realise that you’ve started to drift until you jerk into awareness when he lazily moves onto his side, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you closer to him. A soft kiss is pressed to your throat and when you look at him, Hoseok has an expression that almost looks like he’s asking for forgiveness.

“I’m yours too. You know that right?” He whispers out, and you can feel the sudden vulnerability in it. Smiling, you nod your head and kiss his forehead gently and simply tell him to sleep. You’ll always be his, just as he will always be yours. No matter what others think.

-

The final day, as always, is bittersweet. It begins with you awakening slowly, consciousness crawling its way into being at a pace that would make the snails in the gardens seem fast. Everything feels warm and the quiet solitude of the room is comforting for once instead of oppressive.

You don't want to wake up though, and you fight it as much as you can. Because waking up means facing the reality that he is leaving. That you have only scant hours with him before he climbs into his carriage and departs to his kingdom, unseen and unheard of for a further six months.

It makes your limbs feel heavy, the weight of your sadness like chains around your chest that squeeze tight until it is too hard to breathe. You had tried communicating one year, sending messages to each other as secretly as possible until you realised the futility.

One simply did not send messages from Hekatalia to Sanguinus, particularly not to the Crown Prince from the Witch Queen. Especially not when you were supposed to despise each other.

It was lovely while he was here though, while he was home. You weren’t even entirely sure where he called home anymore, but a tiny part of you hoped that he considered it here in your arms. Even if his time here was spent metaphorically shackled to the castle, you had the comfort of simply knowing that he was here.

For yet another moment, like the hundreds of times before, you cursed the Faerie Queen for giving you such a cruel curse.

Despite the knowledge that he was leaving though, your beloved husband was also the reason that you were waking right now.

He was already awake underneath you, his heart slow but steady under the warm skin of his chest as your head lay on him. Hoseok hadn't said a word to you, nor had he tried to coax you from slumber.

Instead, his fingers simply trailed along the length of your exposed back in slow, yet steady and assured movements. It was featherlight, and you would have shivered if he hadn't been doing it for long enough to desensitise your skin.

You're not sure why he hasn't tried to wake you, but he seems to be deep in thought. Though if you'd thought he wasn't paying attention then you were reminded of his vampiric senses when his hand glides up your back to rub at the sensitive skin at the bottom of your neck.

“Good morning wife.” His voice is low, gravelly with sleep and you revel in the deep tone with happiness. Nuzzling your nose into his neck, you refuse to open your eyes and ruin the moment.

Instead, you let your hand wander to rest against the velvet skin of his chest, the muscles firm under your hand. But it's the steady beating of his heart beneath your palm that calms you more than anything.

There's a misconception amongst your kind that vampires are undead and therefore have no heartbeat. It's wrong, obviously, and borne of fear and terror throughout the years. A way to demonize their enemy and strip them of the things that makes them relatable.

It is easy to slaughter innocents after all, if you believe that they are not alive in the first place.

Though it is a stupid belief that they have, given vampires quite clearly procreate. And dead people are not prone to giving life.

Still, you can't help the gut deep sense of satisfaction that you have at feeling that strong beat beneath your fingertips. The beat that tells you that he's alive and well.

“We have to get up wife.” Hoseok speaks, the words dancing from his lips into the quiet air like the tiny dust motes that you can see gliding lazily in the morning sun. Pressing yourself firmly against his side, you shake your head into his neck petulantly.

“No. I don't want to. I'm queen, I can do what I want.” You don't even have to see your husbands face to know he's probably smiling at that, his rounded cheeks pulled high while his eyes crease in happiness. It makes your heart hurt.

“Yes you are the queen. A very good queen, who does not abandon her subjects or her work to laze in bed with her husband that she should not love.” He admonishes, the hand stroking affection into your back making the words softer than they should be.

Sighing quietly, you simply inhale the soothing and comforting scent of him. “Maybe so. But I do love him. And my subjects will be here tomorrow, whereas he will not.”

His hand pauses and there's nothing further said, his very breathe still in his chest before he let's it out in a deep exhale that speaks of so many emotions. With a burst of movement, Hoseok rolls to his side and lays his arm over your waist while resting his head close to yours.

Neither of you say anything, gazes simply tracking over each others faces to keep every pore and line fresh in your memories. He looks beautiful, if a little paler than when he arrived due to his lack of spending time outdoors.

One year, you will declare him able to go where he pleases whether the population likes it or not. You know he likely won't go far, and he’s actually been the one confining himself half the time, but you would like him to at least try to experience some freedom.

His eyes are soft and unbelievably kind today, the colour rich as dark chocolate while his inky hair splays across the pillow and his forehead in a haphazard manner that is adorably sweet. The effects of sleep are still present on him as well, with a crease from his pillow in the round softness of his cheek while the puffiness under his eyes belies his tiredness.

It's the imperfections that make him truly perfect.

“I don't want you to go.” You croak out, voice cracking and hoarse with both sleep and emotion that you don't have to explain but that he feels all the same.

Hoseok says nothing for a moment and simply gives you a heart wrenching, bittersweet smile. “I know. I don't want to go. But you know I have to. Six months, and I'll be back. You know that I will love you fiercely, even when I am gone.”

Your eyes fall from his gaze and the pure honesty you see there. It must hurt him so, to constantly be uprooting his life like this. Yet he has not complained since the night he shyly confessed his love for you, fully braced for hatred and rejection so many years ago.

His thumb makes slow and comforting stroking motions on your side before he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead before letting them remain there for a moment.

“My father has a meeting in the Faerie Kingdom soon. I think I may ask to go with him.” You understand what he means instantly and shake your head.

“Hoseok...no. You know the faeries hate us. She will never undo this curse. And I don't blame her. I don't want her to. This curse keeps us apart, yes. But without it, we would have never found love in each other. Only hate. And our people will kill each other again.” You whisper, resting a hand against his chest as you make your case.

As painful as it is to plead with him to accept the status quo, you know that it must be done.

He makes a strained noise of complaint before hugging you closer. “I hate it though. I have to at least try. For our kingdom's, so they can see that we truly can get on with each other and love. For us, to no longer live half lives. For...the babe we lost through our hubris and the children we can never have. Please...let me at least try. How can I tell you that I love you, how can everyone accept that I love you if I can't even fight for you? You can't ask because of diplomacy, but I am not a king yet. I'm just a prince, with not as much to lose as you.”

You don’t know what to say to him, as denying his request would likely hurt him even more. He’d follow your demands if you told him not to go, you knew that, but you wondered what it would cost in your relationship. It had always been harder on him, the constant shuffling from one home to another and unable to make any concrete plans for his future.

Was this to be his life? You at least had your kingdom to run, but Hoseok’s father was not likely to give up the throne anytime soon. Hoseok spent his life either learning under his father in his kingdom and not doing a whole lot, or just plain not doing a whole lot in your kingdom.

You knew that he craved more in his life, and it pained you that he was likely unhappy in many areas because of the curse. He’d taken losing the baby badly, very badly, and you knew that he craved a family for you both. Maybe it was because he truly wanted a family, or maybe it was because he wanted something to do and a child would allow him to focus his efforts somewhere.

One hundred years was a long time, and the fact that there was a distinct possibility of never bearing children in the future was painful for you both. How could you deny him to at least try? To at least ask and try to fight for your right to happiness with each other. You wanted it as much as he did, and you did not want him to be facing an eternity of unhappiness.

“Just...don’t get too hurt if she denies it. Please. Even if she says no, at least we get half the year with each other. We will figure this out, even if we have to just declare our love to each other. What can they do anyway? The curse means we have to spend six months together, and they cannot kill us. But...try.” It doesn’t seem like much, and he huffs out a breathe in annoyance. Chuckling in his arms, you press a soft kiss to his neck and enjoy the way he shivers slightly.

“You know, if anyone could see you behind closed doors then their ideas of bloodthirsty and scary vampires would be gone completely.” You tease, pushing against him until he finally lets his arms relax and you slip from him.

Exiting the bed, you stretch with a deep groan before turning around and talking in the sight of him. Hoseok is leaning up on his elbow now, the silk sheets draped around his hips and revealing the delicious expanse of golden, toned stomach and chest. The image is slightly ruined by his sleep puffy face, but it just makes you smile as your heart swells with affection for him.

“Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful wife?” He grins, fangs slightly longer than they had been as his gaze tracks along the expanse of your naked body. Cheeks heating as your husband is evidently feeling different emotions to you, you shrug as nonchalantly as you can before walking to the wash basin in the corner of his room. Taking the towel, you dip it into the fresh water and give yourself a quick clean over before heading back to him.

Crawling onto the tall bed, you bounce towards him and laugh at the way his eyes focus on your breasts immediately. Leaning over, you catch his lips in yours in a sweet kiss before sitting back with a mischievous smile.

“Come husband. We must get ready.” He growls at your mocking tone, eyes deeping to crimson as he sits up and captures your lips in a bruising kiss, one hand twining in your hair while the other presses your chest to his.

His mouth leaves yours and moves down your throat hungrily, sucking in a needy motion against the column of your neck with a deep purr. “Impudent woman. Maybe I should have a last feed...for the road you know.” He hisses, the words tickling the sensitive skin and you moan quietly, your smile unseen by him.

Gripping his black hair tightly, you press his head to your throat in an encouraging manner while your other hand reaches his body down to grip him firmly, shifting your body into position. “Please do. A good wife needs to make sure her husband is taken care of.”

He lets out a strained groan as you sink onto him before pulling back and giving you a narrow eyed gaze, his amusement strong despite the red in his eyes. “Wench.” Is all he says before he focuses on the matters at hand, providing you both with the final pleasures of his visit.

Duties soon call however and within no time at all, you find yourself sat with your advisors as they discuss the recently updated terms of a trade agreement with a far away kingdom. You should be paying more attention than you are, and part of you admonishes yourself for being such a terrible ruler, but a larger part of you is focused on the welcome soreness between your legs and the ache at your throat.

Soyeon had to wrap a beautiful scarf around your throat, turning it into an endearing fashion statement to hide the redness of Hoseok’s bite. There was a burning desire to just throw the scarf away and wear his mark proudly, but you knew the shock it would likely cause.

One day, you would simply throw your caution to the wind and kiss your husband in front of everyone the way he deserved. If you had a coin for every time you thought something like this, then you would likely have enough money to rival the royal vault.

But there is another part of your mind that is firmly in your quarters with him still, and you wonder what he is doing right now. A quick glance at the clock tells you that the carriage is due anytime, and your stomach twists with unhappiness at the prospect.

Shaking your head, you engage back with your advisors and discuss the terms that you find acceptable along with the ones that you do not, requesting they go back and re-negotiate better for your subjects. They acknowledge the requests, writing down notes furiously that you have no doubt will be discussed with the corresponding partners in the foreign kingdom.

A sudden knock at the door has your heart racing while your stomach turns, causing nausea. Soyeon’s head appears behind the heavy wooden door and you feel the strongest urge to suddenly cry.

“Apologies Your Majesty, but your husband’s carriage has arrived.” Standing, you brush at invisible dirt on your skirts before nodding your head to your advisors who bow. Making your own apologies, you excuse yourself from the meeting and begin to follow Soyeon along the quiet and empty hallways.

“Is he ready?” You ask quietly, your tone strained as your hands play with themselves nervously. Soyeon gives you a sympathetic look, resting a hand against your arm for a moment before nodding her head.

“He is Your Majesty. Waiting for you just before the doors.” She didn’t even need to say that final sentence as you turn a corner and he’s there, looking magnificently beautiful. His dark hair has been styled elegantly, lifted off his forehead while most of his body is hidden behind a long, fitted black coat, the ends brushing his knees and meeting the top of his boots. The silver lining is a subtle sign that only you would understand and you bite your lip suddenly to stop a burst of emotion.

“You have only a few minutes before they will be expecting him. His luggage is already being stowed.” She whispers, bowing her head to you both before heading out of the door. Neither of you move for a moment, and you watch painfully as Hoseok swallows.

“They’re here.” He says, tone empty as he states a pointless fact that you both already know. Pressing your hands to your mouth, you nod your head as tears fill your eyes while a gnawing desperation fills every ounce of your body.

Upon seeing it, Hoseok’s brave face falls and his own eyes shine with unshed tears as well. Striding over briskly, you marvel at the extraordinary sight he makes with his coat billowing behind him before he’s suddenly there, taking you into his arms and holding you so tightly.

“Do not cry my love. Please. It will make it much harder to leave you and impossible to not give away my feelings.” He begs, words soft and light as a feather as he pleads with you desperately. Sniffling, you bring a hand to wipe away a stray tear and he gently thumbs away the liner that has slipped from your eyes.

“You look phenomenal. Like a king.” You whisper and he laughs quietly, his face light with happiness despite the sad situation.

“I will never be your king, remember?” He breathes out, the teasing in his voice a welcome break to the brevity of what is to happen and you cling harder to him. Hoseok lets you, and makes no motion to try and move you away from him. Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in tighter.

“You’re the king of my heart.” His laugh is loud at that, the sound happy despite the situation and you can literally feel it vibrate out of his chest as he lets his hands wander along the laces that keep your dress tied together.

“Wow. I don’t even know how to respond to that without making a sarcastic comment.” Pulling away, he looks down at you with so much affection and love that you grip the lapels of his jacket even tighter.

“Then don’t. Just...come back to me in six months happy. That’s all I ask. I love you.” You focus on his chest, flattening out his jacket and rubbing at imaginary wrinkles while your lip quivers threateningly. It’s probably not very queen-like but you’re beyond caring about that right now. Hoseok doesn’t respond, simply letting his own hands rub your arms in long and gentle motions before he presses his lips to your forehead.

“I will. I promise. And all I ask is that I come back to you being happy as well. I love you too.” His voice is thick and it cracks on the final part of the sentence, causing you to swallow thickly.

“I will miss you, husband.” You whisper and he gives a weak smile, tight lipped before he dips down to catch your lips between his own in a kiss so fierce and full of emotion. It’s six months worth of kisses in one go and it leaves you breathless, panting against him when he steps back.

“I will miss you too, wife.” Blinking rapidly, he looks up at the ceiling before taking a few fortifying breathes while he rolls his shoulders in preparation. Turning to the door, he looks back at you and gives a final smile before he’s gone and you’re left alone once more.

Staring at the closed door, you will him to re-appear and take you in his arms once more but he doesn’t. Because he can’t. You both know that the curse is vicious and cruel, the pain almost unbearable.

Not waiting for Soyeon, you move quickly through the deathly silent halls before reaching your quarters once more. Slowly moving to the window, you tentatively peer out and watch as the black carriage slowly disappears out of the courtyard of the castle, dust rising as it heads on the long road back to Sanguinus.

Facing your empty room, you look around it despondently and find him in every corner. The bed, where you’d made love many times and cuddled long into the night. Only last week you had lay on your stomach across it, Hoseok sitting on the floor in front of you while he read aloud from a book. Every page he read got him a kiss on the head, until he was giggling with how fast he was trying to read.

The nightstand, when he’d taken over the job of Soyeon to carefully remove your makeup as a simple excuse to be close to you. A few months ago, he had tried to put your makeup on for you, the results causing you to gasp in horror at the mirror until you both burst out laughing, holding your stomachs in glee.

The exquisite rug where you had both laid many times, hand in hand while discussing hypothetical futures. The desk in which you had both sat at, discussing treaties and agreements that he likely shouldn’t have been involved with, yet you’d been unable to not ask him to be involved.

And yet, while each memory hurt, it was filled with so much love and affection that your heart twisted painfully.

Moving into his rooms, you inhale shakily as you take in the wonderful scent of him. Moving over and sitting on the silk sheets of his bed, you run a hand along the soft material with a tiny smile. Only hours ago, you’d made love to him here for the final time.

Laying down in the place he always slept, you pressed his pillow to your nose and breathed him in. His scent would disappear soon enough, and you’d be left cold and empty of him. What would it be like, to never have to curl into his sheets and pillow and hoard every trace of him when he’d gone?

Tears fall in a slow trickle down your face to dampen the silk of his pillow in the quiet sadness of his room, and you lament the loss of your husband once more. Your quiet breakdown is almost peaceful, with Soyeon keeping staff away from your rooms to give you the privacy you so need. They wouldn’t understand why you mourn him.

You don’t know that in a carriage along a road at the same time, your husband is crying silently, his face stoic while his fingers clench tightly so as not to make any noise to alert his travelling companions. One day, he vows. One day he will never have to leave your side.

-

Epilogue

Thursday’s were simultaneously your least favourite and favourite day of the week. It was the day that your subjects were able to seek court with you, asking their monarch for favours or to resolve disputes, perhaps even suggest new laws and so forth.

You loved them because it gave you a chance to meet the very people you ruled over, and as an immortal queen you had plenty of time on your hands to get to know these people. It was likely that you would be overseeing the disputes of their grandchildren in the years to come.

They also often gave good advice that you would sometimes adopt into your own worldview, or suggested laws that were then debated amongst the lawmakers of your country. It was the perfect way to give the smaller people a voice in a society that perhaps didn’t listen as often as it should.

You knew that Hoseok was forever impressed with the format and thought it could perhaps work in Sanguinus, and when he was here then he would often sit in the accompanying throne and simply listen. In recent years, he’d even begun to quietly speak up and offer his own advice.

Perhaps the most surprising result of that was the your people didn’t hiss or spit at him. In fact, some had even taken his wisdom to heed. It filled you with a warm pleasure, resting in your chest to see the ever so subtle changes towards him over the years.

Of course, it wasn’t the outright acceptance you wanted but a hundred years was a long time. It meant your people had grown accustomed to his presence over the fifty years that he had resided in your kingdom, and you tentatively hoped that they would not consider him to be a threat to them.

He was, after all, their co-ruler.

Today had passed like all other days, with peasants, the middle class and even some of the lords and ladies of the Court coming to for you advice or to vent their anger. You were currently having to deal with two ancient families with a blood feud who were currently arguing over who owned a certain area of land.

Perhaps you would have been more forgiving with them, given that they were important families in your Court, but this was the ninth time that they had come to you in only a year and your patience with their incessant complaining had grown thin with their tiresome ways.

Sitting with your chin in your palm as you watched the two matriarch's of the family become increasingly loud in tone as they argued, you pondered if your posture was even remotely ladylike, nevermind befitting of a queen. And yet, you found yourself uncaring.

If Hoseok had been here, he would have sighed heavily at their pettiness and their constant threats of spells and hexes before leaving. Your husband had a short temper when it came to things like these people, and you found that your normally extended patience had shortened dramatically with them.

“Lady Elabaria, Lady Winania. May I interrupt for a moment?” You say, the question more of a statement that dared either of them to talk back or argue with their queen. A small, childish, part of you wanted them to try.

It would give you the perfect excuse to ban them from the castle for a whole year. Then you would have a whole year to no longer listen to them.

Unfortunately however, they are well-trained Court members and immediately cease their whining and threats to face you with bowed heads. Sighing heavily, you sit straighter and look over the two with a critical eye.

“I understand your concerns, but I must admit that I am becoming weary of hearing the complaints from both sides. This issue has gone on too long and frankly, you are taking up valuable time that could be given to other loyal subjects. I apologise for the harshness of this, but I have given both of your families ample amounts of time to resolve this issue and yet I find both families bickering like children once more. As such, I feel the only way to resolve this issue is for the Crown to seize the lands in question until the two families come to an agreement. Once an agreement is realised, the Crown will relinquish the land to the accepted owner. Now please. Leave.” You wave a hand as you speak the words and the air around you shimmers for a moment, the magical binding of your words sealing in a golden glow.

The two matriarch’s stare at you with eyes wide in shock before they narrow in unhappiness. For a moment, you ponder if perhaps they might turn on you and you prepare to tell them why this would be a silly decision on their behalf. It’s pointless however, as they instead turn to each other and begin to argue once more as they exit the throne room.

Watching them go, you look over at the advisors who sit at a panel along the side of the expansive room with an exasperated glance. Park Jimin, the Keeper of Words in your Court, gives a silent laugh as he shakes his head at their antics.

The peasants of your kingdom are far easier to deal with. They also don’t come with the arrogance or sense of self-entitlement that the upper classes come with.

“This is the last one Your Majesty.” Soyeon whispers from your side and you turn to look at her. She’s wearing an elegant dress of purple and silver today, her highest quality dress to make sure she gives the best impression to the subjects of your kingdom. You’d already complimented her on it and how it worked wonderfully with her hair, which had caused a sweet flush to grace her cheeks.

Nodding to her, you give her a tired smile. “Good. I’m looking forward to whatever culinary delights Jin has made tonight.” At the very thought of the food your chef makes, your stomach rumbles in hunger causing you to sigh. He’d made a most delightful stew yesterday, and you were hoping for something equally as filling for the cold winter day.

Turning back to the final person, you sigh in gratitude that your long day is almost over. As much as you enjoyed these days, they also left you feeling stiff and awkward from having to sit on the uncomfortable throne for as long as you did. Not to mention the heavy tiara that rested on your hair, a symbol of your ultimate power in the kingdom.

Perhaps you complain too much though, you reason to yourself. There are many in your kingdom who do far more work than you without complaint.

The final visitor is a sole traveller, their head covered in the hood of their tattered robe and you eye them over. The robe brushes the floor with each movement and you note the dust that dirties the hem, lightening the dark colour and wonder if they’re from one of the far reaches of your kingdom.

Normally, people dress up better to greet their queen. You say nothing though, and instead gesture with an elegant hand to them. “Speak your mind loyal subject. Your queen will listen.”

There’s a moment of quiet in the vast throne room and you shift in your seat, brows creasing in confusion as they do not speak immediately. Normally, people are excited to have the ear of their queen. You do not push them though, as you have discovered over the many years that some people are nervous about their request.

“Your Majesty. I come today to request your assistance. You see, I have a wife, and I love her very much. But our circumstances are awkward. People do not approve of us being together, for our families have fought for many generations. But I love her fiercely. And I’ve finally found a way for us to be together. I just need your permission to love her openly.” The sheer longing and love in the stranger’s deep voice makes your heart ache with a need to hold Hoseok.

His story sounds so similar to your own, and you find yourself pressing a hand to your stomach without meaning to in an attempt to ease the pain. You weren’t entirely sure why your permission was needed, but if the queen’s word could help to ease the path of love for this stranger and his wife then you would be loathe to hold it back.

You could at least help one relationship to be happy.

“Forgive me, stranger. I do not know if my words will bring you comfort or bring ease into your life with your wife. But you have my full blessing to love openly and honestly. Hold her tight, and always let her know how much you love her, for yours is a love that you have fought hard for.” Your words are perhaps a little more filled with emotion than would normally emerge from you, and you can see the confused frown that Jimin is giving you as the words you speak magically appear on the scroll he is holding.

There’s nothing for a few seconds, and you wonder if perhaps the stranger has more to say. But then he laughs and you freeze in confusion, brows coming together as your heart races with anticipation while your mind pauses in hesitation.

“Thank you for your blessing, my queen. I have waited a long time for this day.” Staring at him in disbelief, you can tell that Soyeon and your advisors are looking between your stunned face and the stranger with confusion.

“No...it’s not possible.” You whisper softly before rising from your throne a hand to your chest while your other grasps your skirts, lifting almost subconsciously as you make your way down the steps. Shaky steps are made towards him and your breath is coming faster than normal, your senses firmly attuned to the man in front of you.

He lets out a breathy laugh, hood moving as he shakes his head underneath it. “Hello, wife.” At that, he lowers the hood and reveals the bright smile of your husband. Your husband who should not be here, for it has only been three months since his departure.

The shocked gasps of everyone in the room let you know that you’re not imagining his astonishingly handsome presence and your eyes track over him quickly. Hair that has been flattened underneath his hood is still a sumptuous black while his golden cheeks glow with a healthy tan.

“Hoseok...how?” You gasp out, a shaking hand moving in front of you until it’s pressed to his very real, firm chest. He’s just as warm as always underneath the rough material of his robe and your trembling fingers untie it quickly, letting it drop to the floor and revealing the exquisite figure of your husband in an black riding outfit.

His hand comes to grasp your own tightly, thumb stroking along the soft skin of the back of your hand before he presses it to his lips in a sweet kiss. “I saw the Faerie Queen, like I said I would. I pleaded our case to her, in fact I spent three days begging her. She refused at first, not understanding that I was being truthful. I told her of our love, stories of us being together and even of our dream of a family and the babe we lost. I offered her anything I could give except you. My crown, whatever she wanted as long as we could be together.” He pauses, his eyes scanning the hall and noting the surprisingly neutral looks on your advisors as they watch him embrace you.

“I didn’t have to beg too much surprisingly though. Apparently, our dance at the masquerade seems to have given us away to the observant ones and she already knew. She didn’t take anything from me and though she is still angry over what happened, she understands that is is not our fault specifically. We are still cursed therefore but she modified it for us, to make it easier to live with. We have no time limit anymore. Our time, is ours. She apologises for the miscarriage also. She didn’t think that would ever happen as it never entered her mind that we might fall in love, and she knows well enough the pain of losing a child.”

The words are soft and only for your ears, but you don’t even care. You can’t find it in yourself to care. Because he is here when he shouldn’t be, and there is no pain or hurt. Only love and excitement.

“No six months?” You ask warily, resting your other hand on his chest while he holds your other with a firm grip. A beautiful grin lights up his face as he shakes his head slowly.

“We can be together as long, or as little as we want. Still cursed, but free to love as we want.” He whispers and you can’t stop the choked sob that leaves your mouth as tears fall. Over fifty years of wanting this, fifty years of desperation to have him like everyone has has their partner. And now, now you have him.

“I love you, you stubborn, beautiful, wonderful man.” You gasp, wiping at your tears. He doesn’t even get chance to respond before you push up onto the very tips of your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck firmly and pulling him down in a kiss so deep, so full of emotion.

The sight is probably shocking for everyone, to see their queen’s vampire husband here when he shouldn’t be. But what is perhaps less shocking to your most trusted people is the desperate kiss you give him while embracing him as tightly as you can. You don’t know it, but the people closest to you have long since guessed your feelings.

You may be cursed still, and you will be for the rest of your eternally long life, but you cannot think of anyone you would rather spend the rest of that long life cursed with.

[searchingwardrobes]

Desdichado: 15/16

When I posted this latest chapter on Ao3, I was shocked to see that I started this story way back in October of 2017. How is that possible? Well, finally here we are nearing the end of this Ivanhoe inspired fic.

I am going to confess an unpopular opinion: I was disappointed with the whole “no one saves me but me” thing in the CS movie. I actually yelled at the TV, “just let him save you!!!” Call me old-fashioned, but there’s something so romantic about the hero swooping in to save the day. So, here I fulfill my fantasy of Killian rushing to the rescue (plus that’s the way it happens in Ivanhoe, so . . . ). And yeah, I put him on a white horse. Fight me if you want, I don’t care.

Chapter summary: Emma has been sentenced to be burned at the stake for witchcraft. Unless, of course, a champion comes to fight on her behalf . . .

Words: 2,000 and some change

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: Baelfire and Killian have to fight to the death. To. The. Death. And death in a sword fight in Medieval times? It wasn’t pretty. So, be prepared . . .

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @kday426 @thislassishooked @teamhook @bethacaciakay @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @mythologicalmango @wellhellotragic @shireness-says @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @optomisticgirl @distant-rose

Chapter Fifteen

Killian respected his king, he truly did, but David was also like a brother to him as much as Liam had been. They had fought side by side in desperate situations, and as such, Killian wasn’t afraid to speak forthrightly with his friend, brother, and king.

“I must be her champion, Killian, she’s my sister!”

“And you are King!”

“Exactly, so obey me, knight! You’re still not fully healed!”

“I am well enough to fight for the woman I love!”

“You are impossibly stubborn!”

“And you are filled with foolish pride!”

“Actually,” another voice cut through their arguing, “I’d say your both acting like petulant children.”

Killian turned, mouth falling open to see a familiar face. Yet the woman standing in the doorway looked vastly different from the bandit he remembered fighting by his and David’s side as they made their journey across the continent. Her dark hair had hung loose and snarled then, but now it was swept up in loose curls with a tiara nestled above her brow. Her pale skin looked even more like alabaster in a bright blue gown which brought out the sparkle in her green eyes.

“Snow - I -”

“Killian,” David said, clapping him once on the shoulder before striding to the woman in the doorway, “I’d like to introduce my wife, Queen Snow.”

The woman tipped her face up with a smile to welcome David’s soft kiss. Killian was still speechless, but he recovered himself enough to give a deep bow and a mumbled “your majesty.” Snow laughed as she hurried forward to embrace him.

“Enough of that silly formality,” she scolded good-naturedly.

“When did the two of you wed?” Killian asked, then punched his friend in the shoulder with mock anger. “And why was I not called upon to be your best man?”

“It was a quiet ceremony at the lake with Sir Lancelot officiating,” Snow explained, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist.

“We managed to get my mother out of the palace without James knowing. For her safety, of course -”

“which was why we married when we did,” Snow finished for her husband, “everything with the kingdom being so fragile, we knew the right moment would never come. So it was just Queen Ruth and the two of us.”

Killian beamed, happy for his friends. “This is wonderful news! This will further solidify peace in the kingdom with Snow defeating the uncle who tried to usurp her own throne.”

“Yes,” Snow agreed with a happy sigh, “our kingdoms united, peace between Normans and Saxons, it’s the dawn of a beautiful new day.”

“Except that my sister’s life is still in danger!”

“Not if you’ll stop arguing and let me go be her champion!”

Snow rolled her eyes and lifted both her gloved hands, resting one on each man’s chest. “Now now, boys, please. Since neither of you can listen to reason, I shall.” She turned first to her husband, placing her palms on his chest. “Darling, you have just reclaimed your throne, and you have a brother to try for treason. You cannot leave now.”

“You’re taking his side?”

“The side of reason, remember?” Snow corrected, cupping David’s face gently.

“See, listen to your wife, David,” Killian quipped, earning him a glare from his friend.

“But he’s injured!”

“Now, David,” Snow said calmly, “you’ve seen him fight in much worse shape than this. Besides, he has love on his side.”

“I have love on my side,” Killian reiterated with a firm nod of his head.

“And if he dies, we still have a king.”

“And if I die – hey! Wait a second, Snow!”

The queen chuckled as she turned to her old friend. She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead in a motherly fashion.

“I believe in you, Killian, you know that. I can never resist teasing you, though.” She embraced him then and whispered fervently, “Please save her. David would never get over it if he lost her now.”

“Nor would I,” Killian whispered back. Then he stepped back, dropped to one knee, and lowered his head to the King and Queen. He placed his fist against his heart. “To you I pledge my fealty,” he told them solemnly, “I will not fail. I will bring back Princess Emma safely.”

“God go with you,” David said around the obvious lump in his throat. He loved his sister dearly, even though they had never met. But as Killian rose, and he saw the determination in his eyes, he knew his wife had chosen rightly. Sir Killian did know his sister, better than anyone perhaps, and loved her fiercely. He had no doubt he would bring Emma home.

*****************************************************

Emma stumbled as she was dragged out into the courtyard by two Knights of the Templar, and the one grasping her right elbow wrenched it as he righted her with a jerking motion. She blew at the hair that had fallen across her face, since her hands were tied behind her back. A cold dread filled her veins at the sight before her: the stake that she would soon be tied to rising imposingly to the heavens, wood piled up all around it. She pressed her eyes closed and prayed for strength, and when she opened them, she tilted her chin defiantly as she met Sir Gold’s eyes across the courtyard. He was reclining in a brocade setee on a balcony with a bowl of berries and cream at his side, as if he were enjoying a pleasant day of jousting and not an execution. She would not give him the pleasure of showing fear.

Emma was shoved up onto the wood pile. There was no chivalry towards her fairer sex now as one knight shoved her against the stake and the other roughly tugged the ropes free at her wrists. She could feel the sting where the ropes had rubbed her wrists raw. Before she knew it, the knights had yanked her arms behind the stake and tied them once again with the rope. Splinters from the wood poked through the fabric of her dress. One of the knights leered at her straining bosom, and Emma spit truculently in his face. He raised his hand and struck her hard across the face, splitting her bottom lip. She touched it delicately with the tip of her tongue, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

“Enough!” Sir Gold shouted from the balcony as he rose to his feet. “Emma Swan, you have been accused of witchcraft. If you wish, now is the opportunity to plead for mercy from the Lord our God.”

“I will do no such thing,” Emma shouted defiantly, “for I am innocent!”

Sir Gold narrowed his eyes. “So be it.”

He motioned towards the edge of the courtyard, and Sir Baelfire stepped forward. Emma had to admit that for all the knight’s faults, he looked truly devastated to see her tied to the stake. As was the custom, Sir Gold announced the next formality in the “trial.”

“Sir Baelfire is prepared to meet any knight in combat who wishes to act as Emma Swan’s champion! If any knight here believes her to be innocent of the charges, he may step forward. However, this knight must accept that it is a fight to the death. If the champion stands victorious, it will be considered a sign of mercy from God, and the accused will be released.”

A long, eerie silence descended upon those gathered. Emma never expected a champion to stand up for her, of course. The only Templar Knight with any motivation to do so was Sir Baelfire, and he was under his father’s thumb. Sir Gold was merely going through the motions, and everyone knew it.

“Light it!” he commanded, and the two knights who had tied Emma up came forward with torches.

Emma looked up to the heavens, pressing her eyes shut against the terror that welled up within her. She had never seen a prisoner burned at the stake, she personally thought watching an execution was the sign of a depraved soul, but she had heard that it could take a long time for the person to die. The flames would lick at her feet and legs first, causing excruciating pain. Then they would crawl up her body, and most likely she would be screaming in agony, praying that smoke would fill her lungs to suffocate her and put her out of her misery. Could she be brave in the face of such torment?

Just before the torch could touch the pyre, there was the thundering sound of galloping horses and loud shouts. Emma raised her head, and her heart soared as she saw a company of knights entering the courtyard, bearing her family’s colors and crest. Moreover, Sir Killian led the charge atop a pure white steed. He was dressed in full armor, save for the helmet. His dark hair blew in the wind, his blue eyes ablaze with intensity as he shouted out his purpose.

“I will be Emma Swan’s champion!”

His eyes locked on Emma as he swung down from his horse, but Emma couldn’t help her tiny frown of concern. It probably wasn’t evident to anyone else, but she caught the slight wince of pain upon his face and noted how it took half a beat for him to gain his footing. He wasn’t fully healed! What was he thinking charging in like this?

He tore his gaze from hers and kneeled before Sir Gold. “I come to fight on this woman’s behalf.”

Sir Gold scowled, disappointment clear upon his face that his macabre entertainment had been delayed. “You believe her innocent?”

“I do.” His words, however, were not aimed at the man before him. He turned his head, his gaze burning into Emma’s. She saw emotions there she had not dared to hope for, and she almost choked on the way it pierced her heart. Yet wasn’t he promised to Lady Aurora? She obviously would no longer be forced to wed wicked Prince James. Emma bit her lip, forcing down the hope welling up inside. His heart was not his to give, and even if it were, there was no guarantee that the two of them would get out of this alive.

Sir Gold snapped his fingers at his son, and Sir Baelfire strode forward. There was no unsteadiness to his gait, no wince of pain subtly lining his face. He suddenly seemed so large and broad in comparison to Sir Killian’s slight frame, and fear welled up in Emma’s heart. She glanced down at the knight still gripping the fiery torch. He leered at her, clearly expressing his belief that the fire would still be lit, that this was but a mere diversion.

Both knights slid their helmets over their heads and pulled their swords from their scabbards. Sir Baelfire paced back and forth, glaring at his sworn enemy. His father repeated the proclamation that the fight must be to the death. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sir Baelfire surged forward with a shout. Emma had wondered if his affections for her might sway the fight, but clearly his hatred for Sir Killian and his own self-preservation was worth far more to the man.

Killian raised his shield to block the blow and parried. Most knights were cumbersome and stiff in their armor, but Sir Killian fought differently. His armor had been forged by a talented Arab smith in the Holy Land and was fashioned in more of the Eastern style; lighter and less restrictive. Many of his fellow knights scoffed at the lack of protection, namely at the back of his legs and over his arms, but Killian found his fighting form was far better and more than made up for it. He spun, slashing at Sir Baelfire’s legs. Though the other man’s armor protected him from the blade, the heaviness of the iron encasing him sent him sprawling to his back. Killian leapt up and swung downward at his enemy. Sir Baelfire rolled away easily from the strokes of the blade and rose once again to his feet.

The two knights were complementary in their fighting styles; when one gained the upper hand, the other quickly compensated. Killian couldn’t deny it, he felt his strength waning. He struggled to his feet after yet another blow from Sir Baelfire’s broadsword, catching Emma’s eyes. Her lips were pressed together, her face pale, her forehead creased with worry. He could see it in her eyes; she was more concerned for him in the moment than herself. He took deep breaths, love for this incredible woman filling every corner of his soul. With it came a strength he didn’t know he possessed, and he swung with feral rage at his adversary. The hilt of his sword connected with Baelfire’s head with incredible force, and the man twisted sideways, hitting the ground with a dull thud. His helmet went flying from his head, tumbling through the dirt. Killian followed, kicking him repeatedly until the man was forced to tear way his chest plate so he could breathe. He rose to his knees, bruised and bloodied, and Killian was shocked when the man locked eyes with him.

“Finish me,” he said in a low voice, and the look in his eyes made Killian pause as he lifted his sword. “You heard me. Finish me! Save her!”

Sir Baelfire closed his eyes in resignation, and with a heavy heart, Killian swung his sword to deliver the fatal blow. As Sir Baelfire’s decapitated body hit the dirt, a cry of rage rose from the Knights of the Templar. Killian stumbled to his knees, trembling from the violent end of the battle as he yanked off his helmet. He never relished taking a life, yet knew it was sometimes necessary.

“Killian!”

Emma’s terrified scream broke through his melancholy, and his eyes flew open. His heart plummeted to see flames licking at the outer logs of Emma’s pyre. She twisted, trying to release herself from her bonds, sheer terror lighting her eyes. Killian shouted her name, then rushed for his horse. He swung up easily, all fatigue from the battle fleeing in the face of Emma’s immediate danger. He put the animal into a gallop immediately, racing for his love. Templar knights attacked, but Killian’s own company joined him in the fray. Killian was like a man possessed, slaying everyone in his path to get to Emma.

The flames still hadn’t crawled high enough to reach her, yet Emma blinked against the heat and coughed as smoke billowed up. His horse reared as Killian reached the pyre, but he spurred the beast on. He slashed at her bonds with his sword, and as soon as she was free, he reached a hand out for her to take. He swung her up into the saddle in front of him, knowing the danger was far from over. His armor clad body would hopefully shield her from any arrows. He urged his steed towards the gates, yelling for his company to retreat.

As they galloped forward, Emma screamed as she saw the portcullis being lowered, but Killian only sped onward. She shut her eyes tight as they made it through just in time. The drawbridge was also being raised, but Killian’s horse easily made the jump, and judging by the whoops and cheers as they sped off into the forest, so had the rest of his company. The whizzing of arrows had also ceased.

Behind her, Killian’s body relaxed. He re-sheathed his sword and brought his other arm around her tightly. He bent his head to bury his nose in her hair and ghost his lips over the shell of her ear. His hair was damp with sweat, his body exuding almost as much heat as the pyre they had left behind. His musky, battle scent made her blood thrum.

“Praise be to God I got there in time,” he whispered, voice husky with emotion.

Emma had so many questions. Why had he come? What about Aurora? Why was he holding her so close, whispering in her ear? What did it all mean?

But for now, she banished the questions and relaxed in his embrace as the swaying of the horse beneath them lulled her into a long-needed sleep.

[aeducanka]

OC Profile Meme

Thanks for the tag to the wonderful @gingerbreton!

I decided to go with my precious darling, Em!

(A part of my birthday present from wonderful Annorelka. Go follow her on deviantArt or Instagram! She is an amazing artist that you need in your life.)

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PHYSICAL

Name: Emerald Aeducan.

Nickname: to most people she is either Emerald or Em but when she was a child, her relatives used to call her "Emmie" (even in the Prologue Trian was still using this nickname in a condescending manner). To Sten Emerald is simply "Warden". Alistair, Zevran, Morrigan and Oghren sometimes call her "Princess" and only the context says whether the intention was playful or hurtful.

Age: 23 at the time of her recruitment to the Grey Wardens, had her 24th birthday slightly over a month later.

Species: dwarf (Orzammar).

Morality: (at the time of Prologue) self-proclaimed lawful good, (after the Prologue) self-proclaimed neutral good. It is debatable whether she is truly good or just a neutral with a strong inclination to do good, especially to the people she cares about.

PERSONAL

Religion: officially she believes in the Stone and you cannot prove otherwise.

That being said, she is a chief supporter ONLY of the reformed "church" of the Stone - the foundation stays the same, but the principles are as follows: good people enrich the Stone, assholes weaken it, and your nobility will not save you from the Stone's scrutiny SO YOU BETTER BE NICE.

Sins: greed/gluttony/sloth/lust/PRIDE/~envy~/wrath.

Emerald's greatest fault is her pride. Although the time spent in exile made her, more or less, aware of her shortcomings and able to express genuine humility (or even self-deprecation of sorts), Emerald, deep down, is convinced of her superiority to ALMOST EVERYONE. She knows that she is awesome, she has the papers to prove it, and even if she does not flaunt her superiority in your face, you still ~know~ that she judges you in the categories "If I were you, I would never make any of your mistakes". She goes to great lengths to change it as the Queen.

Virtues: chastity/ CHARITY/ DILLIGENCE/ humility/ KINDNESS/ ~patience~/ ~JUSTICE~.

Ooh, it is a tricky one since Emerald does her best to project an idealized version of herself. That being said, her humility is more often than not depression-induced so it does not really count. Her first marriage was very chaste, but then she did not love her husband and so I would not count is as genuine chastity. She may appear patient but she is still very much struggling with it. She is also very just for someone raised as a spoiled noblewoman, but due to her sheltered life, I feel that she has still a lot to learn.

Known languages: her mother tongue is Common as spoken in Orzammar. 

As Orzammar is a fairly isolationist kingdom, I cannot say how much impact there was on the princess learning foreign languages. A language nerd myself, I like to think that Emerald knows at least a little bit of Orlesian (due to Orlais being Orzammar's best trading partner) and Tevene (due to the dwarven minority living there), but it is purely my speculation. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

For sure Emerald picks up random words and phrases from Leliana, Zevran and Sten - partially because she is a nerd but mostly because she knows that ~being more understood~ would make them happy.

Build: scrawny/bony/slender/fit/ATHLETIC/~curvy~/herculean/pudgy/plus size/average.

A friend of mine saw Queen Emerald take off her shirt in the shower, and she said that Queen Emerald had an eight pack, that Queen Emerald was shredded.

(She seems curvy only to a non-dwarven eye, though. To dwarves her charms are only slightly above average.)

Height: ???

Scars/Birthmarks: information classified! She was lucky enough not to receive any scars that would be difficult to hide with casual clothing, though.

Abilities/Powers:

1. She is a born diplomat and a pacifist who will do her best to resolve a conflict without unnecessary bloodshed.

2. She is well-versed in Orzammar's politics and her unshakable composure attests to it.

3. She makes excellent first impressions and can befriend people easily. 

4. She is a good leader and advisor.

5. She makes for an empathetic friend who can listen to you rant for hours.

6. She is a good tactician and I firmly believe that she could beat Cullen in chess.

7. She is a trained warrior, by Landsmeet physically stronger than Alistair, who relies both on her smarts, her dexterity and strength.

8. She draws fun and happiness from the world's most boring hobbies which surely must be a some kind of witchcraft.

9. She shares Alistair's sense of humour, enough said.

Restrictions:

1. Her reputation of a fratricidal ex-princess makes any negotiations in Orzammar kind of difficult.

2. She speaks very posh which triggers some people's *Oghren, cough, Oghren* bratty princess alert.

3. Despite being well-versed in politics, she is a bit too idealistic, too merciful, and she used to trust her family members blindly.

4. Her composure does not really falter even among friends which gives off an impression that she is keeping distance... which she is, but not to THAT extent.

5. She is an excellent advisor… until she becomes frustrated because her advice is not listened to and her input is ignored.

6. She is good at listening to people for long periods of time, but if it is not important, she may not give the rant her full attention (getting just enough gist not to be accused of ignoring the person and dismissing the most of it when it is no longer useful).

7. She does not step up for a leadership position, despite her qualifications, unless the circumstances literally force her to do so.

8. As much as tactics go, she is miserable with games other than chess because either she will not realize that her opponent is a cheater (Isabella, round 1) or, which is worse, she will not be able to prove that her opponent is cheating (Isabella, round 2).

9. She is smart and well-trained but not very inspired as a warrior. She could be defeated by stronger people, more dexterous people, smarter people, luckier people or people who, like Kallista Tabris, are very dedicated to their craft.

FAVOURITES:

Food: anything that hails from Orzammar! Nothing makes you long for your local cuisine better than a bitter exile. Also, she would not put herself above eating a nug. Sorry, Leliana!

Pizza topping: (modern AU) corn and mushrooms. Emerald is by no means a vegetarian but she is very picky about meat so in most cases - a vegetarian pizza it is!

Colour: her all-time favourite is purple, but, frankly, Emerald is the embodiment of "Do you like the colour of the sky?" meme. Her exile to the surface made her aware of a brand new palette of colours and she loves them all. That being said, early on her "comfort" colours were the subdued earthy colours of Orzammar.

Music genre: she mostly listens to instrumentals, both in the canon and in the modern AU. She is very picky with songs, though I could see her enjoying a band as “low brow” as ABBA. During her exile she develops a soft spot for Fereldan folk songs and Leliana's Orlesian-Fereldan repertoire. 

Movie genre: Emerald is not much of a movie fan. Generally, she does not have time for them. She mostly watches documentaries with some classics/awards nominated movies thrown in for a good measure. She could be persuaded to watch something entirely outside her watching preferences when quality time with friends is the main incentive.

Curse words: Emerald does not cuss, especially not in public, but I think that there are certain dwarven words she says in her thoughts when the situation goes badly.

Scents: Emerald does not like the smell of the rain and she even agrees with Sten about Ferelden smelling like a wet dog, but during her rule there is nothing she misses more.

FUN STUFF:

Bottom or top: that is disgusting. And wrong. I don’t even get- why would- Her Royal Highness has never had sex with anyone, anywhere. It is none of your- you have- the nerve, the audacity, she is the Queen of Orzammar and about to get married. Warden Alistair is her former companion, barely, and he is just awful, humour-wise. And how- how- do I know, frankly, that you are not sleeping with him? Maybe you are. Maybe you are trying to throw me off? Hmm, check and mate.

Sings in the shower: not all all, she is too aware of her lack of singing talent. Sometimes she hums to herself, though.

Likes puns: all kinds of them, with strong preference to Alistair ones, and ability to make almost EXCLUSIVELY the terrible ones.

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Phew! It was a long one. Sorry, I have a tendency for writing much more than I should. ^^”

Tagging: @bitchesofostwick, @bluekaddis, @etoilebinaire, @dekudoodle, @lady--revan and @visionmarred (Hi! Reverienne here!), @gingerbreton (Freya? 👀). As always, there is absolutely no pressure!

Tagging back is fine but only at your own risk!

[fyeahwonderbat]

Keyword #4

Theme: Tension Rating: PG / T Word Count: 1,808 words NOTE: I imagined Tonia Sotiropoulou as the face claim for this chapter, but feel free to imagine whomever you’d like!

Diana didn’t know how to greet the witch she had been sent to meet. A cluster of fireflies floated around the head of the woman in the cell and, in a state of shock after stepping through Zatanna’s portal, the only thing she could think to do was remain silent. The witch snickered, the lines of her face caught in the shadows that the fireflies couldn’t reach. “And who might you two be?” 

Taking a step forward, Diana decided to take charge of the conversation and oblige the witch first. “I am Diana, daughter of Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons.”

“What!?” screeched the woman as she leapt out of her corner. “You can’t be… A daughter to the queen? You lie!”

“You know my mother?” Diana rebutted her accusation with a question of her own. 

The woman’s voice felt much like a snake slithering around her, the echo of the cell giving her a haunting awareness of the danger both she and Bruce were currently in. There had been no other way to enter the Underworld, and it might have landed them in the lap of one of her mother’s enemies. “Know her? She tried to save me from this hell I’m living in. If I had only listened, I wouldn't have had to endure being overtaken by that sow, Persephone!”

Hearing that description provided Diana with all of the necessary clues she needed to identify the witch-- no, the goddess before her. With belated excitement, she blurted out the name she knew belonged to her, “Hecate!?”

“Who?” Bruce whispered from behind her.

However, her attention belonged to the goddess of witchcraft whom she’d always wanted to meet, ever since she was a little girl. Slowly but surely, she watched the horde of fireflies float towards her in an almost ghostly way. Their weakened glow began to reveal the unruly curls of hair that curtained her beautiful face, yet a pair of striking eyes peered through the messy strands with evident scrutiny. “How do you know my name?”

“My mother told me about you. She told me how you were betrothed to Hades, how she dressed you for your wedding in her chambers and walked you through the gate to the Underworld, how--”

“It must be you!” gushed Hecate as she flew around her with unbridled glee before reaching out to grab both of her hands. The imprisoned deity looked incredibly honored to meet her. “I was unaware that Hippolyta had a child! It’s such an honour to meet you, my darling girl. Oh, you’re so beautiful.” 

The way that Hecate showed her affection felt incredibly nostalgic for the Amazon who once grew up on an island of Greek women. Hand holding and pet names were luxuries she hadn’t realized she missed until that very moment, in a rock-made cave in the depths of the Underworld. She savoured the sincerity for a moment longer before reminding herself that they were only in hell for a particular reason. “As are you. Had I known--”

“You expected anything less?” scoffed Hecate, amused by her courtesy. “My magic may be restricted in this gods-forsaken place, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”

“Which explains why you summoned us here, to help you escape.” Came the cold voice of the Batman from over Diana’s shoulder, sarcastic as ever. It was just as embarrassing as it was infuriating for her to hear her companion address a goddess in such a cold fashion. Despite the poor lighting of the cell, she made sure to glare at the Dark Knight as if he could see her fury like a beacon of rage in the darkness. 

She felt Hecate’s hands slip away from hers while she giggled fiendishly. “I see. Well, I can tell you have the same taste in men as your mother.” 

“We’re here to stop Hades,” Diana specified in order to bypass any small talk as she cautiously observed the way Hecate drifted towards Bruce. “We were hunting these demons that we believe he is creating, and it led us to you.”

There was a heavy pause after she finished speaking. With her back to Diana, she couldn’t make out which emotion the goddess was presenting. However, knowing Bruce as well as she did, she noticed the way his frown lifted into a solid straight line which could only mean that he was witnessing a rather solemn expression on her face. So moved was he, that he spoke to her with the respect he owed her from the very beginning when he asked, “Why did you bring us here?”

That question pulled the goddess out of her daze and helped her to regain her plucky attitude, much to Diana’s delight. With a renewed focus, Hecate justified her actions, “Because I’ve been meditating for months now trying to find a mind powerful enough to help me escape from this cell and your witch sent me you two. Honestly, who is this man, Diana?”

Trying to stifle her amusement, she replied, “This is Batman. He is a very successful detective, as well as a warrior.”

“Hmph, I guess I shouldn’t expect the standard of human intelligence to be the same as the gods.” 

Her eccentricities had officially worn out Bruce’s patience. In that deep bellow that even resonated inside of the centuries old Amazon, he brushed past her taunting and pressed the witch who could turn him into a literal bat for an immediate answer, “Do you know what the hell is going on down here at all?”

“Hecate,” Diana called to her in the hopes of distracting her from exacting her wrath on the tactless man. “Tell me: how are you even alive?”

The question shocked the goddess like a bolt of lightning, as if she had inherited her father’s power over electricity. “What do you mean by that?” Hecate inquired, seemingly stunned.

“I was led to believe that all of the gods died in their battle against Ares.” Diana replied.

Her answer made the goddess recoil with much less dignity than she most likely would have wanted. “When was this?”

“Long before I killed him.” Was her sharp response. 

Again, Hecate took a moment before answering her. This time, the air in the cell became heavy as her voice grew deeper. “When was this war?”

Judging by the determination she heard in that once cheery voice, Diana feared for the worst. She remembered that Hecate claimed to be searching for someone to free her months on end, but it was becoming increasingly more obvious that her sentence wasn’t as small as she once thought. “Many millennia ago.”

The truth managed to make the world stand still. One by one, the fireflies around her head shriveled up like autumn leaves and fell to the ground, dead. As the only source of light began to wither away, Diana braced herself for whatever sort of reaction Hecate would have, and she heard the way Bruce’s boots dragged along the stony ground as he did the same. As the pitch-black darkness surrounded them, they could do nothing more than wait for her to react to the news of her stolen time.

“AAAUUUGGGHHH!” Hecate screamed at the ceiling with all of her might. “I’ve been here for all that time!? HADEEESSSS!” 

The screech of her cry was so strong, it forced Diana to slap her hands over her ears as a meager attempt to protect her from the sound. Her head began to throb from the pressure of her voice to the point that it hurt to open her eyes. Nevertheless, she did her best to squint in order to see if she could spy Hecate and grab a hold of her. If she could shake some sense into the wailing goddess.

Until she spotted the reverberating columns that acted as the stone-made blockade that kept them all trapped inside of the cell.

Diana watched them rattle under the influence of Hecate’s voice, and it dawned on her that the goddess of witchcraft should have been able to spring free from Hades’ captivity. However, she realized in that moment that it might have required the skill of an Olympian god to dismantle the prison made by another Olympian god.

Though her head was splitting the instant she released her ear, Diana dropped her hand onto the hilt of her sword and gripped it tight. Her feet stomped their way over to the thin pillars with a murderous look in her eyes. Leaning into her desperation to escape the pain in her head, she swung her blade at the shaking stone-made bars and watched them shatter against the sharp edge of steel. It took only one swipe at them to destroy what felt to her as seven columns. The vibrations on her sound made the metal sing and it somehow outlasted the yells of a disgruntled witch.

When Hecate swallowed her rage along with a deep, deep breath of air, she muttered, “Y-You… You did it. You broke through the cell.”

“We did.” Diana pointed out happily. 

But to her dismay, her relief about being free was short lived when she heard the sound of galloping coming from somewhere in the distance. The unmistakable sprinting of a horde was growing louder and louder, filling her heard with absolute dread. The monsters were coming, there was no doubt about it, and they were intending to decimate the lot of them. 

“Hecate,” Diana had a request to make, even though it sounded much more like a command. “Can you transport Batman out of here?” “What!?” Bruce growled. “No!”

“Gladly.” Was the goddess’ reply a second before she snapped her fingers. Diana could have sworn she heard Bruce attempt to argue his case, however, all she truly heard was a phantom-like wail immediately after. 

She knew he would be furious with her, and rightfully so. This had been his mission from the start and she had given him - for lack of a better word - hell for tackling something much bigger than himself without a structured plan. He told her just minutes ago that he trusted no one and Diana imagined that she had officially shattered his trust in her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t guarantee that Bruce would survive the horde of self-mutilating demons that were charging at them.

And she refused to allow him to take the chance.

She removed her shield from her back and prepared herself for battle. “Let’s go find Hades.” 

Giggling like a child in a candy store, Hecate’s eerie amusement managed to fuel her with confidence as she sang in her ear, “Now those are some magic words.”

Diana had to believe her.

If the goddess of witchcraft commended her willpower as spellbinding, then it must be true.

Yes, and if she completed his mission, surely Bruce would have no choice but to forgive her.

[depulsorpg]

WHATS IN YOUR FILE.

NAME: Isobel Clemonte. GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cisfemale, she/her. HOUSE & YEAR: Hufflepuff, 6th. BLOOD STATUS: Muggleborn. AFFILIATION: Neutral.

WHAT DO THE RUMORS SAY.

POSITIVES: Loyal, problem solver, determined. NEGATIVES: Stubborn, perfectionist, proud. LOOKS LIKE: Adelaide Kane.

WHAT IS THE TRUE STORY.

Comes from an extremely wealthy Muggle family.

Doesn’t quite understand her place in the Wizarding World.

Dubbed as the Ice Queen by others, until they truly uncover the sweetheart beneath.

Unsure of which world she would rather be in.

Misses the luxuries and the status of the Muggle world.

one life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it.

born as a miracle to an extremely wealthy family, with a gap of ten and fifteen years between her older brothers, Isobel grew up spoiled and without a want in the world. her mother (a member of a small scottish royal clan) married her father (the son of one of ireland’s ancient founding families) in a time where most would believe their differences were greater than their similitudes, forgetting the thing that united them above all else –their hate of the english. living in a castle on the irish countryside, anyone looking from the outside would believe Isobel is a princess. Isobel’s mother a fervent catholic ensured that her children were raised on the faith, strict, stern, and not afraid to punish her children, Isobel’s mother ran the house with an iron fist, while Isobel’s father kept busy with work, often travelling for weeks. when you have everything in the world, you want the one thing money can buy, love. thankfully Isobel had her brothers, and during her childhood they become her greatest protectors, as they had already went through what she was going through, as they grew up so did the difference between her two brothers. often torn between looking up to her rebellious oldest brother, or the perfect rule following son that was the middle sibling, Isobel loved them both greatly. and while her life wasn’t ideal, it was a perfect life from anyone looking from the outside, rich, powerful, and influential, the Clemontes were the family everyone wanted to be a part of. Isobel should’ve been grateful for what she had, because at only nine years old, her life changed forever.

it is not easy to hear the words ‘your daughter is a witch’ specially if the patron saint of your country was celebrated for hunting down witches. when the ministry officials approached the Clemontes they were not prepared to see Isobel’s mother dump an entire flask of holy water on her daughter. but no matter how much her mother prayed, Isobel was a witch and there was nothing anyone could do, except prepare her for a world that hated people like Isobel. as it was expected her older sibling sided with their mother, not wanting anything to do with Isobel, her oldest sibling became the only person who supported her and stood by her, the one who would one day take her to diagon alley for the first time, and the one who one day drop her off at king’s cross. Isobel’s father hired the best tutors money could buy, because if his daughter was a witch, she would be the best witch of them all. time passed and each lesson brought her closer to the moment she would have to leave her family behind and attend hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. when Isobel arrived at hogwarts not even her mother’s hateful stares prepared her for what was awaiting her.

but to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying

apparently some wizards and witches are better than others, or so some of Isobel’s classmates were quick to point out. this world didn’t like people like Isobel, they called her magic stealer, mud-blood. the irony of the situation was not lost to her. she had not asked to be born a witch –the ministry employees who visited her to bring the news had made it clear that witches and wizards are born, not created- Isobel had lost half of her family when she discovered her abilities, and these people, these purebloods, accused her of stealing magic. and for the second time in her life Isobel realized that money could not buy happiness. her wealth and power meant nothing to these people, and she was sure she was even richer than some of them. but she was here, and everything she had lost would not be in vain, and every letter where her oldest brother called her ‘his little witch’, and the one letter where her father said he was proud of her, fueled her with determination to prove she was magical.

Isobel earned a reputation of being cold and distant, the ice queen, they would call her, but what else was she to do in a world that hated her? not even her family had wanted her, she was not about to give anyone a chance to hurt her. there were however those who had managed to chip away at the wall of ice surrounding her, and when they managed to wedge themselves into her life they got to see the real Isobel, warm, kind, caring, everything she had learned from her brother. Isobel aced her OWLs last year, and getting such high marks only gained her more enemies, but she is determined to finish what she started no matter how much she wants to quit, and with the war raging on outside of the safety of the castle walls she wonders if it would be better to return home, to the comfort of her former life of wealth and power. but then again, is home still her home? her friends and classmates talk of war, of fighting, but Isobel cannot stop thinking about how this is not her war, but aren’t they fighting for her?

it is not easy to be a child of two worlds, especially when you are not wanted on either.

WHAT ARE YOUR RELATIONSHIPS.

AMOS DIGGORY: Occasionally finds irritating, will bicker with. GRETA CATCHLOVE: Close friends with, one of her first friends. CHARITY BURBAGE: Tolerates her questions about Muggles, finds annoying. DIRK CRESSWELL: Studies together with, friend. ALECTO CARROW: Finds intimidating.

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Paranormal Guide to Glamis Castle

2016 was a hard year. It was a year of unexpected a change, a global sweep of political turmoil, and, like, everyone died.

This year handed a pretty similar fate to Simon Bowes-Lyon: in July he became the 19th Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorne. And although the Earl was used to playing his part in his twisted and deeply-rooted family tree (or is that an overgrown garden of Scottish secrets?), he would take on an even greater inheritance than being a cousin of the Queen: Glamis Castle.

Nestled in the village, Glamis, in Angus, this castle has witnessed 1000 years of history.

And you won’t be reading up on this history in a GCSE textbook. Twists and turns, deaths and wars, births and broken people; it’s no wonder that this is considered one of the most haunted locations in Britain.

Yet beyond the ghosts and ghouls making their way down its passages in the dead of the night, is its cultural value to Scotland. Even now it features on the Royal Bank of Scotland’s £10 notes, and it is categorised as an A-List building.

And no, this doesn’t mean it houses Gwyneth Paltrow for an annual yoga retreat - rather its famous gardens are protected and celebrated for their sheer beauty.

However, it should be made clear that Glamis Castle’s fame is actually down to its messy history and family relations which can’t be pruned: it was the residence of Macbeth (well, according to Shakespeare anyway), the childhood home of the Queen Mother, and the birthplace of Princess Margaret.

And - like most haunted locations - the messy history and family relations was what left behind those that still linger.

Indeed, the fact that its open to the public probably helped carve the path the ghosts take as they trail the castle’s grounds. But the twisted and thorny family tree certainly gave birth to the tales of terror that still haunt this landmark.

And it is Macbeth himself who leaves us one final warning before we embark on our exploration of its haunted halls:

“By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.”

A Brief History Of Glamis Castle

Glamis Castle has been the ancestral seat of the Earls of Strathmore and Kinghorne since 1372; yep, she’s old.

This is an unbroken line of relations who inherit the castle, and as a result of this, it has witnessed significant chunks of Scottish history. And going simply by the Scottish-English relations mangling British history alone, if the walls could talk, they would probably be screaming.

And thus, we enter one of its first moments of recorded history - the 11th century - with a death, and no less, the death of a king.

Yet even before this, and even further back than the 11th century, there are traces of delicate and deep historical value: a Pictish stone – the Picts were a confederate of Scottish people from the Iron Age to the early medieval era – was found in a creek just by a neighbouring village of Eassie, henceforth bestowing its name ‘Eassie Stone’.

But is it’s the Lord of the castle that weave its wonderous history: the title Lord Glamis was created in the 15th century, and this would echo the chaos of the castle, and I suppose politics in general. For example, the wife of the 6th lord of Glamis was accused of treason, followed shortly with a charge for poisoning her husband. She was accused of witchcraft, and met her fate on the pyre.

Following this, James V seized Glamis, and even lived there for a few years, affirming its political position within history. He was one of the many royals to set up shop here, and contribute to its brutal and bludgeoned past.

It’s pretty obvious that death features prominently in, well, all history, but Glamis Castle in particular has witnessed its fair share of wars; during the commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland, soldiers were garrisoned here, and it served a military purpose again a few odd centuries later as a military hospital during the First World War, but it was the former era of Scottish history which left its final mark upon the castle. In 1689 the final major restorations took place, and any changes beyond this only included the creation of a Grand Baroque garden.

Thus, the castle itself was undisturbed by the forces of modernity, and the same can be said for its long-term residents.

The Monsters Of Glamis

History might sound complicated, but hauntings tend not to be.

Often, we tend to come across the same tropes of terror: maybe a queen who wanders the grounds looking for her lost crown; a soldier from some long-forgotten war; or perhaps a witch who was burned at the stake for her crimes (but chances are the castle’s owners fabricated the details to sell more tickets in October).

                                   But did you expect monsters?

Indeed, did you expect something actually called the Monster of Glamis?

In the late 19th century, a child was born – Thomas Lyon-Bowes. And Thomas was the rightful heir to the castle. But it is believed that this child was deformed, so deformed in fact that he was described as half-frog, half-man.

This legend would go on to gain ground in the 1960s due to various biographies detailing the later history of the Castle, and all the things that might remain trapped within it. And it is the ‘trapped’ part of the history that follows so many of winding pathways evoked by our imaginations.

The child had no gravestone which clearly supports the claims that he was kept alive, and kept alive somewhere, yet according to funeral customs of the era, this was normal for an infants’ death.

But it was Michael Thornton’s visit to the castle that stirred the secrets of the castle yet again.

As the official biographer of the Queen Mother, Thornton was told by the 16th earl that the entrance of the chamber where Thomas allegedly lived was bricked up following his death. And this was even backed up by Virginia Gabriel who resided at the castle during Thomas’ rumoured existence.

This rumour can even be traced back to 1908, from which the first reference is made:

"in the Castle of Glamis is a secret chamber. In this chamber is confined a monster, who is the rightful heir to the title and property, but who is so unpresentable that it is necessary to keep him out of sight and out of possession"

The family strongly oppose such claims, yet the legends relating to a supposed ‘secret chamber’ branch out much further than a frog-man hybrid decaying within the walls of Glamis Castle.

It was alternatively claimed that in every generation of the family a vampire was born, and locked away in this secret room.

Or, it could be the story of the death of the Ogilvies which evoked such interest: this family sought protection from their enemies, and were walled up in the ‘Room Of Skulls’ to die of starvation.

However, it turns out that this tale is actually true.

The secret rooms don’t stop here, however; Earl Beardie is the next supernatural phenomenon to lay claim to his residence, even if he is a few odd centuries behind on rent.

The 15th century legend states that either the 2nd Lord Glamis or 4th Earl of Crawford had been playing cards. However, it was the Sabbath, and his hosts and the servants refused to play or advised him to stop such sinful activities.  

In a rage he exclaimed that he would play cards until doomsday arrived, or perhaps with the devil himself. The story goes that a strange man arrived soon after this exclamation. 

The stranger joined his game of cards, and then proceeded to take his soul for he was indeed the devil (reminds me of any odd Friday night at Spoons).

His calls for the devil to join his game were thus met, and he was condemned by him to play cards until Doomsday.

A servant even peered in during this contest out of curiosity, and was blinded by a shaft of light shining through the keyhole.

According to the claims of the castle, his shouts and shrieks still echo down its halls today as they did on that fateful night, and he is rumoured to be still contained within a secret room, gambling his final pennies away with the devil himself.

The Ghosts Of Glamis Castle

As a result of the castle’s brutal history, and the legends supposedly trapped within its thick walls, the many reported sightings of ghosts do not go unfounded.

The most common sighting echoes the history that remains chained to the castle: late one evening, an Earl was taking a stroll around the grounds after dinner, and glanced up at his inherited home.

Yet, to his surprise, his saw something rather out of the ordinary.

A woman was gripping the bars of one of the windows and staring up with wild eyes into the Scottish night.

He made his way towards the window, and attempted to speak to her, but she was torn away from the window by some unseen force. She would be seen again.

In fact, she has garnered the title ‘The Woman With No Tongue’.

She is also often seen wandering the grounds, and pointing up at her scarred face.

Her fate is unknown, yet here she stays.

Our next ghost is rather unimaginative. She takes the name of most female ghosts – the Grey Lady – and even though the exact nature of her haunting isn’t discussed much, she is believed to be the ghost of Lady Glamis.

As discussed before, she was burned at the stake in 1537 for being convicted of witchcraft and conspiring against the king.

The final ghost of Glamis Castle remains close to its regal heritage, so close that is, that it sits by the door of the Queen’s room.

Commonly seen as merely a full-bodied apparition, this servant boy stays close to her quarters, and has never been reported beyond the stone seat he is often found to be sitting on.

Between the royalty, and amongst the residents tortured and tangled within her brutal history, Glamis Castle remains a cultural icon among the Scottish. And why wouldn’t it be?

Boasting magnificent gardens, precisely-preserved pieces of history to lead you down the spider’s web of its ancestry, and a few junctures and jolts to indulge in the possibility of the devil and his many delights, it is truly a relic of real history.

Yet, upon closer inspection, the castle’s official website has purged itself of such rumours.

There is scarce mention of vampire children scurrying through the walls, or of ceaseless Texas Hold’em sending cries down its corridors, or even of terrorised women looking out the windows, and seeking their freedom from the castle which keeps them prisoner.

But what really lies beyond the beauty of Glamis Castle?

[thecrucibleffxiv]

OF BLOOD AND FUR: A TALE OF LUST GONE WRONG

Scandal erupted in the upper echelons of Ul'Dahn high society as accusations rang of Lycera Amaranth, noted concubine to Diabolos, having seduced the husband of Faye Covington, angel made flesh and an inspiration to us all! Reports are coming in that this is not the first time that Lycera has meddled in Faye's life, and that Faye is (rightfully) out for blood!

Months ago, Val Covington, husband of Faye (who quite frankly is way out of his league) stumbled upon a fortune telling shack. Driven by curiosity, he made his way inside where in addition to a fortune he received a trinket from the witch behind the counter: a small coin that was said to ward away malice from his immediate vicinity. Fool that he is, he believed the liar and that's where this all began. He became obsessed with the coin and its supposed promise, so much so that he began to push away those close to him, even his own lovely wife!

It was when she was at her wits end that the foul witch Lycera emerged from the flames of hell and appeared to Faye, playing at being distressed by the predicament she found. Lycera lied through her teeth and said that a rival witch had placed a curse on Val, and that she could lift it - but only for a price. As witchcraft demands payment for magic, the price was that of Val and Faye's firstborn child.

You see, while witchcraft does demand payment that was not Lycera's true intent here. She wanted a child of her own in order to better maintain the ruse of being human. That's right, Lycera is not actually a hyur - she’s a Vampire! What's more, she is the thrall of the foul Vampire Heiress Sasha Rochester! You see, while Sasha is currently fleeing the continent she is having Lycera manage her affairs so that her empire does not crumble beneath the concerted efforts of our own publication and the good people of Ul’dah. And while Sasha is absolutely careless with her true identity, Lycera takes it far more seriously. Following the lead of women such as Faye and many other admirable hyur women, she's married herself a mi'qote man and made the appearance of settling down. But of course, seeing as how vampires are infertile, she had to acquire a child by other means, and who more worthy to steal a child from than the pinnacle of beauty that is Faye Covington.

Faye, on the other hand, aside from being one of the most graceful and elegant and beautiful and powerful people to exist also leads a double life. She is a skilled conjurer and exorcist and uses those skills to maintain the peace as a mighty voidsent hunter, as chronicled in the biographical novel series from Wae Publishing. Powerful and mighty as she is, she was backed into a corner and had no choice but to bow to Lycera's whims and accept her devil's bargain. From here a grudge was born, along with a pledge: someday, somehow, she would take the monster down.

Which brings us closer to the present day. Dissatisfied with how long it was taking Faye and Val to produce a child for her, but also bound by their bargain, Lycera had found herself in possession of a set of twins, the origin of which are unknown but surely unsavory. She had what she wanted, but was still upset at the Covingtons for their lack of progeny, and so Lycera hatched a plan to both hurt and humiliate Faye.

Using her powers of vampiric hypnotism, Lycera put Val Covington under her spell and made him yiff with her. For those unfamiliar with the term yiffing, I'm sorry to bring this to your knowledge. Yiffing is a sick and twisted sexual practice in which a Miqo'te hides their ears under a bandanna and wears fake hyuran ears on a headband while the hyur wears fake cat ears. It's a sick, quite frankly racist practice that only the most disgusting of minds could have come up with. It leaves a stain on your soul that can never be erased and will follow you always, and Lycera walked away with an irreplacable bit of Val’s soul from this dastardly act - among other things.

And what of Lycera's husband, you might ask? Well, he's little more than a puppet, arm candy to present to the world and to do her bidding. She has long since turned him into one of her own and as such he is bound to his lady. Even though the pair are married, it is all an act - he’s a near-mindless thrall and nothing more.

Having learned the truth, our dearest angel of light and goodness Faye Covington has hatched a plan. She has sworn undying vengeance on Lycera Amaranth and declared that she will take the monster’s head on the 32th Sun of the Third Astral Moon. As temptresses and servants of evil are not really people, this is nothing more than a monster slaying (which, as all of us who’ve read Faye Covington: Vampire Huntress Goddess-Queen of Glory know, is well within her capability).

We look forward to hearing of her success.

Edel Geraldine is in no way biased on this story and denies that his official seat as Chairman and sole member of the Unofficial Faye Covington Fan Club has skewed his perspective.

@fair-fae @lady-lycera @its-the-val-pal @olisnark @sasha-rochester

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[itshistoryyall]

Part 4: Burn Them All

photo credits: here

A little foreword before we begin:

I had to start over for this part because, I’m gonna be honest, it’s a mess. For some reason historians have this aversion to keeping history in a tidy chronological order, and I’m not sure why, but I basically had to sift through other people’s research for multiple days and then come up with a game plan for how all of this was going to be laid out. To put into perspective just how large this part of the research was, I made this photo of the links that I found on Wikipedia.

   The rest of this will include only the trials that I wanted to research or thought were interesting or had some sort of historical importance, so if you feel like there’s one I didn’t mention and you would like researched, please email me or PM me and I will do my best to do a separate post about it. I have to admit, it was just too much for me to do without spending a few weeks researching. Now, back to the good stuff.

 In the mid-1500’s we begin to see a wide-spread persecution of alleged witches and a mass hysteria driven by religious persecution and fear of accusation. This time period between 1560-1630 is considered by most historians to be the bulk of the trials, and that idea is backed up by sheer numbers. The death toll from these trials is somewhere in the 40,000-50,000 range, though, historians of the past have wildly unpredictable and outrageous estimates numbering in the millions. Taking into account a “normal” level of fatalities for crimes outside of witchcraft, plague fatalities, and normal death rates, it’s a bit safer to assume somewhere in the thousands 40-50,000 even seems a bit steep to me, but no one can ever know for certain. The important thing to takeaway from this was that it was a lot. In this section we’ll be focusing on the trials that have enough historical information to be granted a name and some basic description located somewhere other than Wikipedia, or (more likely) the ones that piqued my interest most. Those are as follows: The Witch Trials of Wiesenteig, Trier, Berwick, Bamburg, Nogaredo, the Pappenheimer Family, Pendle Witches, and the Affair of Poisons. The Salem Witch Trials are a unique set of events that I feel require special attention and will therefore write on that subject separately. size

As we learned from Part Three, these trials began in a region of southern Switzerland and spread from a French-speaking side to a German-speaking side, so from that we can deduce why the first major trial took place in Germany. The Wiesenteig Witch Trials began in 1562 amassing a death toll of around sixty and earning its reputation for the first mass execution of this magnitude[1]. To understand why we saw such extreme numbers here, we need a little background. The city of Wiesensteig, like many other cities in Europe,[2] was facing a difficult few years. Some might call these things simply unfortunate, but not Wiesensteig. They were clearly cursed by witches because no other city in the world could possibly have inclement weather, the Bubonic Plague—among other epidemics, and (I think at this point it goes without saying, but alas) religious turmoil! So obviously, the first course of action after a particularly brutal hailstorm in 1562 was to arrest a few ladies for witchcraft. Of the accused, six were made to confess through torture and were executed, but before facing their punishment they claimed to have seen several other women at their Dark Sabbath[3]. The women that were named from neighboring Esslingen were soon arrested, and then shortly released leaving authorities in Wiesensteig outraged by the lack of sentencing. In reaction, Weisenstein saw forty-one more executions. In December of 1563, the execution of twenty more women was approved leading ultimately to the production of a widely used pamphlet, True and Horrifying Deeds of 63 Witches. Further executions in the area occurred in 1583, 1605, and 1611 leaving an estimated total of ninety-seven women who perished.

These were certainly not the largest trials to have occurred in Germany, however the Trier Trials taking place in the diocese of Trier near the borders of France, Belgium, and Switzerland[4] certainly left their mark on the world. We can’t know for sure the number of casualties because existing records of the trials only include those that occurred within the city-limits, and they do not include statistics for the entire diocese or those that may have perished via torture or while imprisoned. The number that most sources reference is 400; however, it’s likely that the number closer to the thousand mark rather than the low hundreds, and as such it can be an assumed low estimate of the actual number of deaths. This incident is considered the largest mass execution of peoples during an extended period of peace in Europe’s history.

The appointed archbishop of Trier in 1581, Johann von Schönenberg, was quick to order a purge of three groups that he didn’t like very much. That included Jews, Protestants, and lastly, witches. Due to Johann’s support for these trials, we see a large upturn in the popularity and commendation of these executions among increasingly more church officials. The largest number of executions took place between 1587 and 1593 when 368 people were burned at the stake in twenty-two villages. The number of those executed was so heavily comprised of women, that a couple of villages were left with only a single female resident amongst the living, but that is not to say that it was only women who were executed for sorcery. A large number were members of nobility, held positions in the government, or were people of influence, and of the victims, 108 were men. One notable male victim was rector of a university and a chief judge in the electoral court who didn’t approve of the trials; Dietrich Flade, the rector/judge, doubted the effectiveness of torture practices and opposed the violent treatment of the accused, and as such, was arrested and subjected to the same abuse as those he was attempting to protect. His execution was a turning point, and it effectively ended any opposition to the trials in Trier and making way for hundreds more burnings.

 I would like to issue a trigger-warning for the sensitive material that is to follow. It is graphic, detailed, and gruesome, so please do not read further if you feel sensitive to these subjects.

 One other case worth mentioning in Germany is the Pappenheimer Family Trials. Though it was a small number of fatalities, it was unusually well documented for the time and that gives us a great deal of written detail to refer to when describing the torture practices in these trials. The family comprised of a mother, father, and three sons—Simon (22), Jacob (21), and Hoel (10). The mother, Anna, was born the daughter of a grave-digger and began life on the fringes of society, and her husband, Paul, did not fare much better in life as an illegitimate child and day laborer. Throughout their lives they lived apart from most of society and were likely not even treated kindly by other poor laborers. In fact, the surname suggests that the family was in the business of privy maintenance and cleaning, and it was not their original surname. The real family name was Gämperle, and they were in for a fate much worse than name-calling after Paul was accused of murdering pregnant women in order to gain magical benefits from their unborn fetuses. The whole family, aside from their youngest son, was subjected to cruel and relentless torture until they had confessed to hundreds of unsolved crimes over the past few decades including murder of the elderly and children, spoiling cattle, thievery, and burning people alive in their beds.

On July 29, 1600,the following took place: the eldest sons and their parents were brought before the town along with two others accused of witchcraft, Anne was placed between her two sons, the executioner cut off her breasts, and then he proceeded to beat her and her sons in the face with them three times each. Next, Anne was whipped five times with a “twisted wire,” then both of her arms were broken on the wheel, and her body was immediately burnt. Next the men’s arms were also broken, they all received five lashes with the twisted wire whip, and all of them except Paul were tied to the stake and burned. Paul was then spitted alive and roasted to death, and then once he was dead his body was also burnt.[5] This was all displayed for the entire town to see and was then used as a punishment for ten-year-old Hoel, who was made to watch the entire ordeal. Later that year he was also tortured, strangled, and then burned at the stake after having confessed to eight murders on his own. The importance of pointing out these torture proceedings is to make a reference point for how tortures took place during these executions, and to give you an idea of what this could look like at each and every execution described hereafter.

For our next trial, we turn to Scotland’s famous witch trials where, purportedly Shakespeare gained the inspiration for one of his most famous tragedies, Macbeth, and where we begin to see an association with witches and the natural forces of weather. The Berwick Witch Trials took place for a year beginning in 1591, and it was all due to the inclement weather that beset King James VI after he had sailed to Copenhagen to marry Queen Anne. While the royal couple were sheltering in Norway and waiting on the storms to subside one Danish Admiral, Peder Munk, made mention that high ranking official of Copenhagen’s wife was to blame for their misfortunes. After the suggestion, several nobles of the Scottish court were also accused and confessed to plaguing the voyage of Queen Anne with raging storms and for sending devils to climb up the sides of the ship. More than a hundred of the accused were executed marking this as one of Scotland’s largest witch hunts on record. These events prompted King James to publish his dissertation Daemonologie in 1597, marking the beginning of a secular persecution of witches and conversely inspiring a well-known playwright.

Shortly after the publication of Daemonologie, and the execution of the Pappenheimer’s, the famous English witch trials known as the Pendle Witches[6] (part of a larger series of trials known to history as The Lancashire Trials) took place in 1612. These trials are some of the best kept records of the executions taking place in the 17th century. We know that these trials led to the execution of around 10 people (two were sons of the accused), and although these numbers seem inconsequential when compared to the thousands who perished in Germany, it actually made up a significant portion of executions that took place in England where it’s estimated that the combined executions during this era were fewer than 500. Inspiration for the witch hunt that accused 11 people, included an instance where an unfortunate series of events involving Elizabeth Southerns and her granddaughter Alizon Device. Elizabeth also went by the alias Elizabeth Demdike which was a title derived from “demon woman,” and she was commonly believed to have been a witch by her neighbors for around fifty years prior to the Pendle trials. Her granddaughter, Alizon, one day had the misfortune of running across a beggar selling pins that had an ill-timed stroke after refusing to sell her his products. Pins were often handmade and expensive, and although considered a fairly common item, could also be used for magical purposes including divination, healing, and love magic. The beggar, John Law, was left lame and stiff with a permanent distortion of his face, and subsequently almost the entire Device family, including Elizabeth Southerns now in her mid-eighties, was put on trial for witchcraft.

Next we have a rather large historical event that took place, known as the Thirty Years’ War, and I don’t want to spend a lot time on that subject, so I’ll hit the highlights. It took place mostly in Central Europe from 1618-1648, and it is known as one of the most destructive wars in human history. During this time, we see somewhere around eight million casualties due to human violence, war, plague, and famine and a twenty percent loss of Germany’s total population on par with the casualties that it faced in WWII. We can also see witch-hunting efforts exaggerated by the raging war between most of Europe, and consequently some of our largest casualties from the following executions. Two of the four largest executions of witches in the Early Modern Period (1500-1800) took place during these thirty years of chaos and they resulted in fatalities numbering in the thousands.

[1] Though, we do see an execution a few years earlier in a region of Italy that mirrors the scope of the trials in Weisensteig, it is not as well documented and I thought, for brevity’s sake it would be best if I left it out.

[2] You’re not special, Wiesensteig.

[3] Not the band, that’s a different kind of sabbath.

[4] Remember Switzerland where those other crazy trials started? Me too.

[5] (Unknown, 1600, pp. 1-10)

[6] The Lancashire Trials consisted of the Pendle witches and the Salemsbury witches among other hunts in the area.

[lodelss]

The Martha Stewarting of Powerful Women

Ann Foster | Longreads | July 2019 | 14 minutes (3,613 words)

On March 5th, 2004, Martha Stewart was found guilty of obstructing justice and lying to investigators. At the time, she was one of comparatively few female CEOs, and she was irrevocably tied to her company’s success: her smiling, serene, WASPy perfection thoroughly entwined with her company’s numerous ventures. When she first faced charges of insider trading, news media and the general population reacted with schadenfreude, or as one New York Times article coined it, blondenfreude: “the glee felt when a rich, powerful, and fair-haired business woman stumbles.” And stumble she did: In the wake of the scandal, Stewart voluntarily removed herself from most of her roles at the company, and as part of her sentencing she was barred from involvement with the empire for five years. Stewart re-joined the Board of Directors in 2011, but the company never truly bounced back from effects of the scandal.

The Times named Stewart’s conviction among the 20 most notable cases of insider trading, and she is both the only woman charged on the list, as well as the person whose alleged financial gains amounted to the least ($51,000), drastically less than the millions — and cumulative billions — of dollars taken by the men on the list, including Kenneth Lay, CEO of Enron. Samuel D. Waksal, founder of ImClone, the stock Stewart was alleged to have illegally sold shares from, pled guilty to orchestrating stock trades and was sentenced to seven years and three months in prison. Yet, it’s Stewart who would become the lead character in two made-for-TV movies — Waksal’s role in each is found much further down the call sheet.

There are countless other instances of men investigated for stock fraud at a similar level to Stewart’s alleged actions, and most of these men were not charged. Stewart was both investigated more ruthlessly than many of her male counterparts and she was also publicly shamed in a way men were never subjected to. In the end, the Department of Justice charges against Stewart for criminal securities fraud were thrown out, and a civil insider trading case the Securities Exchange Commission brought against her was settled. Crucially, neither of these alleged misdeeds were what ultimately landed her in prison. She was charged and found guilty of lying to investigators in an attempt to cover up her lack of insider trading: Yes, guilty for trying to cover up a crime she hadn’t committed in the first place. 

When news broke that she would face five months of jail time, it was greeted with delight by late-night TV show hosts, the news media, and seemingly most of the nation. Her case was covered more in the media than the concurrent investigation and trial of Lay by a vast margin, as coverage of Stewart dominated business, entertainment, home, lifestyle, and even some sports sections of newspapers. Between November 2003 and May 2004, the time period of Stewart’s trial and the Lay investigation, New York–based magazines featured Stewart in 1,507 articles; Lay, in just 12. Though Stewart was more of a celebrity than Lay, he had clear ties to then-President Bush and Vice President Cheney, as well as other high-ranking political officials. A scandal could have been made of his connections, but clearly that wasn’t as appealing to readers as minute-by-minute reporting on Stewart’s downfall.

Media coverage during Stewart’s investigation and trial was derisive, mocking the traditional feminine aspects of her empire as well as deriding her alleged “diva” behavior. This misogynistic treatment — both of her facing charges for lesser actions than men who never went to trial, and for the delight and nonstop news coverage of her trial and sentencing — would become the standard for treatment of formerly powerful women in the midst of a downfall. Let’s call it the Martha Stewarting of powerful women: a single-minded focus on their misdeeds, while countless men doing the same thing avoid the spotlight.

Martha Stewarting is hardly a new phenomenon, but the retrospective understanding of her treatment sets it in a new focus. Women as leaders have been rare throughout Western history, and those who strived to attain positions of power usually did so under designated survivor circumstances: There weren’t any male relatives left to take over the family property, the family land, or the kingdom. Nearly 1,000 years before Stewart’s sentencing, the heir to the throne of England was a 33-year-old woman named Matilda. The nascent country hadn’t encountered this particular designated survivor scenario before. In fact, the concept of a female monarch was so unknown that the word “queen” at that point meant only “the king’s wife.”

Let’s call it the Martha Stewarting of powerful women: a single-minded focus on their misdeeds, while countless men doing the same thing avoid the spotlight.

The rhetoric recorded as she attempted to rally support to take the throne is eerily prescient to the press around today’s female business and political leaders. Matilda battled for the throne against her male cousin for 18 years in a period then known as “the Anarchy.” Chroniclers of the time reported the 12th-century misogyny that prevented her from being able to rule: Matilda’s ambition, and the very concept of a female leader, was seen as unnatural. Her cunning, intelligence, and craftiness was interpreted as shrewishness. She was seen as unsympathetic for not displaying the charm or warmth of her male rival; a woman could never be a ruler, but also, couldn’t she smile more? It was Matilda who settled the Anarchy when she suggested her son take the throne as the new king; the nation, crippled from nearly two decades of war, relented. It would take more than 300 years after her death for Lady Jane Grey to become the next woman to — albeit briefly — sit on the English throne.

Hundreds of years later, our modern society is not too different. Our current equivalent of reigning monarchies, corporations, are overseen by men just as their predecessors held roles as dynastic kings and elected rulers. Most women who ascend to these ranks do so by virtue of family connections, inheriting companies or empires from male relatives or spouses. For a man to fail as a king, president, or CEO through wrongdoings is so commonplace as to be insignificant; in fact, the patriarchal system supports these men as they fall, leaving doors open for them to regain their former level of power. For a woman to ascend to these roles is novel enough, rare enough, that when they display the same fallibility or criminal activity, they dominate the news cycle for months. This when we reach peak Martha Stewarting: the particular schadenfreude expressed at the public shaming of powerful women behaving badly; the way that women who misbehave are treated as representatives for the entire gender and shamed far more than men would be for the same actions.

This double standard is similar to treatment of the mostly female victims of European witch hunts of the 15th to 18th centuries. During this time, approximately 50,000 people were put to death for alleged witchcraft. These were most often women who wielded some level of power and autonomy that caused discomfort to local magistrates. Women in many European countries at this time were not permitted to own property or control their own finances. But women with no male relatives — widows, women without children, spinsters — found ways to make ends meet on their own terms. These women ran their own businesses in fields like midwifery, herbalism, and the sorts of alternative healing popular today among female CEO Gwyneth Paltrow’s fans. The accusations made against these women were often that they had been consorting with the Devil and providing dark magic to their clients. In the Salem witch trials of 1691 and 1692, these women’s property was seized and turned over to the same men who accused and sat in judgment of them. In both the European and American instances, it wasn’t just the alleged witchcraft that led to these women being executed; it was the threat they posed to the patriarchal culture. If women were able to create their own livelihoods, to live outside of a patriarchal society, it threatened the higher status of all men — the notion of a “natural order” with men always in a superior position. Today, powerful women are still eyed suspiciously, though their trial is through the court of public opinion rather than through a Puritan tribunal.

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As rare as it is for an upper-class white woman to reach the level of success to warrant so substantive a fall from grace, it is even rarer for people of color and working-class people to attain. As such, Martha Stewarting happens primarily to wealthy white women, those whose privilege can fool them into believing their gender is a nonissue or even an advantage. That is, until they dare to make a mistake, in which case they become defined entirely by their gender — the invisible misogyny suddenly apparent. There are other double standards affecting people of all marginalized identities’ opportunities for success, in the amount or lack of support they are able to obtain for their careers, and how the media portrays them both when providing exemplary models of humanity and when breaking the law. With very few exceptions, it is wealthy white women who are able to get close enough to white male power to threaten it. And, if they threaten to make white men look foolish for following them, the Martha Stewarting comes on even more strongly as a defense mechanism to protect the woman’s former supporters.

Which brings us to former Theranos CEO Elizabeth Holmes. In March 2004, the same month that Stewart was sentenced to prison time, then 19-year-old Holmes dropped out of Stanford to focus entirely on her healthcare startup. As CEO, Holmes stood out not just for her youth and gender but also for her conventional white beauty. Like Stewart, her fresh-faced idealism and awkward persona were enmeshed with the company itself, powering media coverage for her youth and ingenuity as well as for the healthcare disruption she promised. Fifteen years later, she — like Stewart — fell entirely from grace. Holmes’s company went bankrupt and folded, and she is still facing criminal charges.

Her case has not yet been decided, but she has been vilified and pilloried by the media in a similar manner to Stewart: her downfall representing not just her personal failure, but interrogated for what it might mean for any woman who dares to take on a leadership role. Holmes’s passionate speaking style, her widely reported tendency to promise more than she was able to do, and her ability to finesse away detailed questions with braggadocio are textbook behavior for Silicon Valley start-up culture. More start-ups fail than succeed — they have about a 40% success rate. Combined with the small percentage of female-fronted Silicon Valley start-ups (26 percent of the most notable start-ups of 2018 included even one female founder), this means that male-fronted start-ups fail more than those fronted by women. Holmes’s actions, like Stewart’s — and Matilda’s — reignited debate over whether their behavior proved women were inherently unsuited for positions of leadership and power.

Holmes herself has yet to admit culpability to any of the charges she’s faced. As reporter John Carreyrou recounts, Holmes “sees herself as a sort of Joan of Arc who is being persecuted.” The parallels between accused fraudster Holmes and literal Saint Joan of Arc may not be immediately obvious. When Holmes was 19, she left Stanford and began her company. At the same age, 15th-century French peasant Joan was executed for heresy and treason following three years of leading French armies against the English. Yet they may share a similar overall trajectory: Both possessed preternatural levels of personal charisma and a single-minded determination and passion to change the world. And both went from being lauded and adored to becoming pariahs. 

Had she failed in her military campaigns, Joan’s story may have been a footnote. But she led the French in a number of campaigns that directly resulted in the coronation of King Charles VII. Under normal circumstances in Joan’s time and place, women were never entrusted with positions of power, let alone consulted on military concerns. A lower-class girl like her should have held even less sway. But Joan claimed to be in direct communication with God, her military ideas and dedication proof positive that he wanted the French dauphin to succeed in battle against the English. The people of France adored her as a heroine, but the defeated English and Burgundian troops refused to accept that they could have been bested by a young woman. They also knew that casting her as a witch and a servant of the Devil would taint King Charles’s validity. Like Martha Stewart, her prosecutors were determined to charge her with something. And so, Joan was arrested and tried for her habit of wearing men’s clothing.

She had worn men’s clothing on the battlefield, and, upon her initial imprisonment in England, continued to dress in this manner in an attempt to prevent sexual assault. While in prison, she was successfully pressured to sign a legal document disavowing her claims to have been acting on God’s orders and included a promise never to wear men’s clothing again. The circumstances upon which she was then found to have worn men’s clothing are unclear — had her captors intentionally removed her women’s clothing in order to force her to break her word and don trousers? Had Joan been forced to choose these clothes due to the ongoing threat of prison rape? Regardless of the reason, Joan is recorded as once again donning men’s clothing, and as such was found guilty of breaking her own promise. Her punishment was to burn at the stake.

By contrast, Elizabeth Holmes has settled fraud charges from the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission, and has been indicted on nine counts of wire fraud and two counts of conspiracy to commit wire fraud. The public’s perception of her remains critical — casting her as either a devious con artist or a wide-eyed naif in over her head. Her alleged choice to intentionally lower her voice has also distracted from her legal battles to make her into a source of pop culture mockery. This vocal styling, like her androgynous presentation, seem — not unlike Joan — to be at least partly deployed in order to obscure her femininity in a male-dominated arena. Holmes is a tall, slender, conventionally attractive young white woman — as rare a Silicon Valley CEO as Joan of Arc was as a 15th-century military leader. Holmes’s affect helped her gain the trust of the male investors she needed to succeed. She was able to attract incredibly powerful male allies and supporters, many of whom continued defending her even as Theranos became exposed as a house of cards.

It is here that, outside of Holmes’s self-identification with Joan, more similarities emerge in the stories of these two women. Both have been vilified by some for their actions to an extent unlikely to befall a man who had performed the same actions; their gender has made them more hated by their accusers and critics. Holmes’s acolytes, like the defeated English nobles facing Joan, refused to accept that they had been bested by a young woman. Ultimately, the men in both instances seem to have determined that the only way this could be true is if the women in question was somehow unnatural. Joan was, therefore, a witch and a heretic. Holmes, a sociopath and a master con artist. These men may have been, in very different ways, defeated by these women, but in retroactively recasting the women as manipulative, the men were allowed to emerge as innocent. The women were both temptress and villain, the men twisting reality to retain their own sense of importance. Twenty-five years after Joan’s execution, Pope Callixtus III declared the charges against her unsubstantiated, naming Joan a martyr. In 1920, Joan was canonized as a Catholic saint, and she is now remembered for her bravery, passion, and commitment to her cause. Perhaps Holmes, whose early success predicated on her passionate declarations of wanting to save lives and improve the world, is hoping to be reconsidered similarly.

Despite strides in American feminism, women are still socialized and groomed to be complacent — we are peacekeepers, subordinate to men’s desires, not raising our voices except to back up what a man has already decided. For a woman to reach a position of power in a patriarchal structure, however, requires her to lean into the game. Traditionally feminine traits like passivity, gentleness, and nurturing will not allow a woman to take a power position. Stewart, always seen as canny and bright, was thought to have betrayed her fanbase when her calculating behind-the-scenes scheming came to light. The sweet-faced Holmes’s leadership style has, post-downfall, been consistently described as bullying. To reach the levels of power of each of these women was to act like a man; facing consequences, they are vilified in a particularly misogynistic manner.

Despite strides in American feminism, women are still socialized and groomed to be complacent — we are peacekeepers, subordinate to men’s desires, not raising our voices except to back up what a man has already decided.

Case in point: Lori Loughlin and Felicity Huffman. The actors were the most famous of the fifty people charged in the college admissions scam dubbed Operation Varsity Blues. Huffman’s lesser charges — and less tabloid-ready family — have allowed her to recede as Loughlin has become the face of privileged overreach. Loughlin and her husband have both pled not guilty, with rumors holding out that their defense will be that this practice is so commonplace neither realized they were breaking the law. Both Huffman and Loughlin have been shown to have made secret payments to admissions consultant Rick Singer; emails have been made publicly available in which both women specifically discuss their actions. Huffman pled guilty, expressing remorse for her actions. It remains to be seen if this will be her defense strategy, and if that will succeed, yet there is truth to the notion that Huffman and Loughlin’s actions are not all that different from those taken by countless wealthy parents. But it’s Loughlin’s face that was featured on tabloid covers and gossip websites. As with Stewart, the dissonance between saintly persona and criminal prosecution was too salacious to resist. When Martha Stewart was released from prison, she expressed her belief that she had been charged and jailed as “an example … that’s it.” Martha Stewarting is not just a woman facing scorn for doing something countless men get away with every day; it’s being charged with these crimes at all.

While Loughlin is best known for her acting roles, she has also been working as a producer on most of her recent TV projects. After cocreating and producing the short-lived primetime soap Summerland, Loughlin took on the role of executive producer on all of her projects for the Hallmark network beginning in 2014. Now part of the 26 percent of female executive producers on television, Loughlin focused on projects that capitalized on her mom-next-door, wholesome vibe. Unlike the more elusive Huffman, who had rarely used her persona to sell her film projects, Loughlin had married her persona to her on-screen presence, as closely as Holmes had married herself to Theranos or Stewart to her eponymous media company. So when Loughlin was charged in Operation Varsity Blues, it affected both her ability to take on acting roles (she was fired from all upcoming Hallmark projects and the final season of Fuller House), as well as her brand as a TV producer. Above all else, the contrast between her persona and her actions led to her own Martha Stewarting: public shaming that focused more on her actions than on those of her 49 co-accused parents, including her husband. 

Whatever their culpability, the charges faced by Loughlin, Huffman, Holmes, and Stewart are all backed up by evidence of their actions. Where the double standard comes in is the extent to which they have been publicly shamed for wrongdoing even as countless men have done and will continue to commit similar acts without facing the same consequences. All four women are white, heterosexual, able-bodied, and wealthy, allowing them to thrive in their lanes. However, even these privileges are not enough to protect them from our culture’s glee in watching a powerful woman fall.

The situations faced by these four women represent just one of countless no-win situations for women in our culture. Women are reprimanded for being too fat and too skinny, for being too meek and for being too confident, for failing to report a sexual assault or for bringing attention to one. When money and power enter into the equation, women are chastised for being too dependent on men or for being too much like businessmen. In all scenarios, failure becomes inevitable. The patriarchal system incentivizes greed and allows wealthy people to get away with as much as they do. In order for women to attain power, it must be within this same system, making women as fallible and corruptible as men. Yet the barometer is different for women: “Boys will be boys,” but a woman who is seen to misbehave is immediately condemned by the exact same system she’s leaned into. And it’s the culturally groomed sense of discomfort with women being in power, that it is “unnatural,” that leads to this demonization. We have been living in a false equivalency, pretending as if women can succeed in a man’s world. You can attempt to set aside your gender, like Joan of Arc and Elizabeth Holmes; you can present a sweet face to the public while working ruthlessly behind the scenes, like Martha Stewart and Lori Loughlin; but when you fail, you are nothing more than just a woman.

* * *

Ann Foster is a writer and historian living in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Her research interest is in the intersection of women, history, and pop culture, especially the lives and stories of figures both well-known and half-forgotten.

Editor: Katie Kosma Factchecker: Ethan Chiel Copyeditor: Jacob Z. Gross

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[akissatmidnight]

Scotland has had some problems with witchcraft for years! All those pesky sorceresses have been poisoning the wells, killing off the livestock, and spreading the plague since the beginning of time! But when did witches and the devil’s brides really come to light in Scotland? When did the downfall of women like Geillis Duncan begin? Gather ’round, fellow Sassenachs and I’ll tell you the story of witchcraft in Scotland…and it doesn’t begin with ancient druids…

Picture it, Scotland, 1563. The crops are failing, the animals are sick, and the children are all being born weak. Things aren’t looking too good and they can’t figure out why. They’ve been to church, pay their taxes, and try to be good people. So, obviously, it must be the work of the devil. And the historic tools of the devil’s work? Wayward women, who are often swayed by promises of beauty, wealth, and the power sorcery can provide.   That gave birth to the Witchcraft Act of 1563, which was based on several others put into action in England. It made witchcraft and associating with witches a capital offense. Sound familiar?

There were a few witchcraft trials here and there in Scotland, but the North Berwick trials from 1590 to 1592 put them all to shame. They involved nobles, various countries, and 70 victims who were put to death…one such person was named…Geillis Duncan.

I know this might not be a shocker if you like to dabble in history, ever gave Geillis a google search, or read one of our previous Outlander posts about the real history mentioned in the books. But Geillis was a real, flesh and blood, woman whom the book character was based on. First, let’s talk about how these trials first started and then get into how Geillis got roped in.

The real trials began with King James of Scotland, who had been very nonchalant about earlier talks of witchcraft in Scotland. But rough sailing in 1589 changed all that. There were so many violent storms during his way to pickup his new wife Anne of Denmark, and on his way home, that he thought it would only be the work of witches. In his mind, no one else would dare mess up his blessed nuptials.

I mean, as anyone who has ever planned a wedding knows, it’s stressful enough without witches ruining your big day. And since James had the pleasure of seeing a few witch trials in Denmark and learning how their tried their witches, he knew he needed to clean up his country. So he dipped back to the Witchcraft Act of 1563 and pushed it to those in power, giving way to the North Berwick trials, which James couldn’t help but attend.

With the green light from the king, there were arrests left and right. The charges, beside overall sorcery, were things like poison, trying to sink the king’s ship, killing a neighbor, and overthrowing the monarchy with help from the devil. Getting someone arrested for witchcraft was as easy as a pointed finger and a bad word. Hmm…reminds me of someone…

Anyways, once someone in North Berwick was accused of dancing with the devil, the torture would begin. I’m not going to be graphic, but in evolved poking, pricking, beating, drawing, and many other violent ways where the victim would be basically forced to not only confess to witchcraft, but also name the other members in their “coven”. This created a domino effect that ended up with even more people being tried.

Geillis Duncan was nothing but a lowly maid in Tranent when she was arrested. Her employer accused her of having magical healing powers and generally sneaking around to do the devil’s bidding. What followed were weeks of torture, the finding of a so-called “Witches Mark”, and her naming more than 7 fellow witches, who were also tried and put to death by hanging.

Geillis Duncan’s confession

Then there were the Great Scottish Witch Hunts of 1597, 1628, 1649, and 1661. Each time, hundreds of accused witches would be arrested, tried for their supposed crimes, and then put to death. Torture was throughout, and the loose tongues brought on by hot pokers and pliers resulted in more “confessions” and accusations. In 1597 almost 400 people were put in trial throughout Scotland with around 200 being executed. In the last hunt, in 1661, nearly 700 people were tried in a 16 month period.

By the time of the last witch trial in 1727, between 4,000 and 6,000 people were tried with around 2,000 actually being executed. It declined mainly for two reasons, the first being that a larger portion of the population was getting educated. The second was when Scotland became a commonwealth to England in 1652, which largely took the power of the smaller Scottish courts…not that it really made much of a huge difference at first. The hysteria over witchcraft really came to an official end in 1763 when the British government repealed the original Witchcraft act of 1573, making the whole “death to witches” thing legally impossible. Good news, right, Claire?

Finally, what made someone a prime target to be tried as the devil’s mistress in those days? Certainly not just a rocking’ bod and a soul you’re willing to bargain for. A witches’ mark  was one of the first things the captors searched for. Now these weren’t all forms of birthmarks, but if there was a raised feature on your body like a mole, wart, or even ac actual third nipple, they would claim it was the teat from which you fed your familiar, the personal helper of the accused. Usually, these perfectly normal marks would be pricked to check for bleeding, since everyone knows that black cats and crows only drink blood.

And not just birthmarks were in the spotlight, your ability to say certain prayers would be tested as well as your ability to handle holy items like crucifixes and the sacraments. They would also take a look at your livestock. If you had a shifty looking rooster or an owl roosted in the barn that couldn’t say The Lord’s Prayer, they were probably in league with the devil, thus helping you in your evil schemes. And if you had the misfortune to have a spouse die? Obviously that would be a sign that you’ve killed them off. And finally, after all the torture and seeing if you died when thrown in a river or hung from a tree, they would ask again the most important question…

♥♥♥

That’s all for this week! I hope you liked reading a bit more about the witch trials in Scotland and you come back soon to see what else we have cooking for season three. If you want to read our other posts, or even take our Outlander witch quiz, click HERE!

  And did you see our product review this morning? This great shop Fangirl Pixie Jar is selling Outlander, and other fandom, necklaces for only $12.35 and that’s without the 15% discount that comes only from us! To see more, click HERE!

My blog partner Sarah’s latest book just came out and it’s my fav of her college romance series. So if you like steamy stories, bad boys with hearts of gold, street racing, true love, and some action, click HERE to preorder Third Wheel now!

Finally, I personally have two romance novels out that are set in Scotland! The third book will be out soon, but the first two are all set for your reading pleasure. Queen of Emeralds is available HERE and The Amethyst Bride can be picked up HERE!

  Scottish Sorcery Scotland has had some problems with witchcraft for years! All those pesky sorceresses have been poisoning the wells, killing off the livestock, and spreading the plague since the beginning of time!