#ch: princess margaret

[marnigifshistory]

Bel Powley as Princess Margaret in A Royal Night Out

[luvly-writer]

XOXO

Ch. 18 Nothing happened in the way i wanted

-•-

Author’s Note: I find it so funny that whenever I come back I release like five chapters then disappear, I love that 😭

Warnings: Mentions of SA and predatory behavior. Beginning of angst.

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @mxtokko @loonymoonystuff @grandstrangerphanthom @1lellykins @cangosleepnow @dreamspectrum @its-maemain @tamimemo @nightw-izhu @trasshy-artist @gabriiiiiiii @pank0w @writing-for-the-hell-of-it

Masterlist:

-•-

Thud Thud... Thud Thud... Thud Thud...

I could feel my heart in my throat. I took the napkins and kept on twisting them in my hands. I feel Grandma's gaze on me and her hand on mine, stopping me from fidgeting.

"Mona, you are going to be okay. You have constantly gone against your father and you will win once again. Plus, I am right here. Your father won't intimidate me," she reassured you with a smile and a wink. You were both sitting in one of the family rooms in the Vanderbilt manor. You had arrived early and had been served coffee. Your father had been taking his sweet time in arriving, always one for theatrics. You remember a time when this sort of dramatics was used in playing around with your sisters. Charlisse always wanted to be a dragon or a pirate; Aurora presented herself as the princess, the unicorn, I always wanted the mermaid and the adventurer. Our father was always the narrator of our little ploys and we would present them to our mother. He used to be so warm and caring and loving sometimes..but when I got to middle school, after my grandfather's death and the beginning of my sisters' competition for CEO, he grew colder and harsher. I would love for my father to go back to the way he was before...

Snapping me out of my daydream, my father enters the room and sits across from us.

"Margaret." he said curtly and my grandmother looked at him dead in the eye, "William...You look terrible," she responded, causing me to snort a little. Grandma was never one to hold back on my father. She was right though, my father looked horrible. He had eye bags and his clothes looked crumpled, something highly unusual for William Vanderbilt. "It's been a rough few days, Marge" he responded and turned to me.

"Y/n.." he acknowledged me softly and I squeezed my grandmother's had tightly before answering, "Father."

"Shall we?" he gestured to both of us and I nodded. He cleared his throat and began speaking, "Before anything...I am sorry, my sweet dewdrop, for everything I've put you through these last few years...I know this in no shape or form begins to excuse anything I've put this family through but I do want you to understand the big why of everything and maybe we could begin a journey where you could forgive me. I love you, sweetie, I do. Your sisters and you are my pride and joy, my greatest creation, and my proudest achievement. I am deeply sorry I have neglected you all these years in the name of the family business and image. A few years ago, when you were in middle school and my father died, in his will he left very clear and strict instructions on what had to be made. Were they not to be followed, everything that we owned would have been put at risk. You see when I was younger, I was much like you...I had a passion for music and it flowed through every breath I took, I wanted to pursue it freely yet my father disregarded it because someone had to take the mantle of the family business. I rebelled for some time and did whatever I pleased, I had the freedom to do so seeing as the family lineage was important to the old man, and me being an only child, I wouldn't be at risk of getting disowned. The old man...he was....furious and pulled some strings so that no matter what, I would fail so that I would end up back home and submitting to taking the mantle. His plan worked and to avoid risking history from repeating itself, he left clear instructions for you girls so that no one stepped out of line. One of the clauses was that everyone was to be part of the family business, the second was that you all had to be married, and if by the time you were 20, you weren't married, it was the board's obligation to find you a suitable husband. The third was that you all had to keep the best image possible so that you wouldn't drag the family name to the ground...the same way I did years ago...My lawyers have been working on ways to invalidate the clauses for years, Clarisse and Aurora knew how to play within the clauses but you...I'm afraid that with your mother's free spirit and my temperament and rebellion, you proved to be a force too difficult to control. No one knows that more than me. I got so lost trying to not lose everything and please my father who is already in his grave, that I forgot the most important thing, my family. I am so sorry for all the years I have mistreated you, Charli, Rora, and Mom. You deserve so much and it took you showing me how much I am acting like my father to reevaluate my behavior these last years. I promise, I will do my best to mend and better all my wrongs."

You were stuck to your chair...honestly...fuck your grandfather. Everything made more sense now, why you always visited your grandparents when your grandfather was gone, how you'd see your other grandmother more often when he died, why he was never mentioned, the drastic change in your father's behavior after his death...

"I knew there was a reason I never liked the man," said your grandmother with a huff as she took a sip of her glass of wine. This made you and your father laugh.

"What about the clauses...do I still fall under them?" you ask. It was the one thing that still worried you...was Morris still in the picture, did you still have to take a place in the family business, was marrige still an obligation-

"No. A few days ago, my lawyers called me. After retting a meeting with the board after New Year's and discussing the clauses, they were finally able to find a breakthrough. Everyone took to voting and decided that the best outcome was to proclaim them invalid. What are a dead man's wishes but silent demands? You are free, I spoke to Mr. Morris. Which speaking of, I want to clear the air that he was the board's decision. They were pressuring us to choose him seeing as he used to have a clean record." He answered.

"I still don't get why you would allow that roach of a man near your daughter, William! This is worst that a disgrace, he was disgusting!" Margaret grumbled and my father agreed with her.

"You said he had a clean record?" I asked focusing on that weird part.

My father nodded, "Ah yes, a few weeks ago, some information was leaked to our members of the board about sexual assault allegations and predatory behavior in Mr. Morris. After we hired some private investigators, we found most of the information to be true. Tomorrow the board is releasing an official statement of apology directed to you. I am deeply sorry, my dear. I do promise to be better." he said taking my hands in his a giving the a squeeze.

"I am free.." you say softly, and both your grandmother and father smile.

"You are. No competition, no family business, no arranged marriage, you are free to be your own person, kid" he assures. "I am very proud of you, dewdrop. I talked with your grandmother over the phone. Once you finish college this may, both of your trust funds will be officially released to you."

"I can open my art gallery!" you say tearing up and both of them nod proudly. "Time to share the good news with Tim, Mona. I bet he is going to be delighted," Said your grandmother.

Shit...Tim...It has been weeks since you'd answered a message of his. You knew it was unfair to him, to just ghost him out of the blue. You had a good reason too...well as far as good reasoning goes. You hadn't talked with him ever since spending Christmas with him and ignored all of his invitations for New Year's...Your conflict must have been visible in your face because your grandmother rand father looked at you concerned.

"About that..." you say and take a deep breathe.

-•-

You were finally going home to your apartment after the very long day you had. You had confessed...Not to Tim, no... your family. After explaining the whole thing to your grandmother and father, they were conflicted, to say the least. As they were battling with being proud for outsmarting the entire family and media, disappointed for your lying, and concerned for your well-being, your sisters and mother had arrived and were filled in the entire thing. At first, no one wanted to believe you. They reassured me that they couldn't believe it was fake because they swore the love between the two of you looked real. No one could act that well, yet you were in denial. As everyone sat for dinner, they all agreed on one thing, Tim and you were meant to be and clearly in love, but neither of you was seeing it. Your sisters and mother were insistent in your talking with him, but you were in denial. Your father and grandmother tried a different approach by saying how much they approved of him and how he would make a great addition to the family. Still, you saw no sense. You loved Tim, that is true, but you appreciated him as a friend too much. He was your friend, the one who you learned to trust and tell everything, he was the one who had your side any time, he was the one that showed you every movie you had missed, every game you had never played, every story you didn't know. Sure it had only been two months since you met, but he became such a strong part of your life that you weren't sure you wanted to ruin by confessing how much you loved him. Tim was your friend, he was just helping you out, he knew how to play a part well because he had practiced with his double life, he was just playing a part for you. He wasn't...he....didn't...love...no, you didn't even want to think it. Tim was a good guy, Tim loved to help others and he always gave his best for others, that's why he was so convincing, because he is Tim. He is pure and devoted to a good cause. He was Tim, your Timmy, your friend, mine. He was everything, the closest thing you had to twin flame and you didn't deserve and you shouldn't tarnish the purity of that relationship.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you noticed you were about to pass his apartment complex and noticed his lights were on. You told the driver to stop. You were putting an end to this. The driver parks in front and you tell him you will be quick. You step out of the car and run to the lobby. Having been recognized there, they let you up without a problem. Finally, in front of his door, you knock roughly and call him out.

Lo and behold there is Tim Drake in all his glory when he opens the door. He looks more tired than usual, is the first thing you notice. Ever since the two of you started talking, you have been helping him get a better sleeping schedule and his eyebags have lessened by a lot. But now, weeks later, you can tell your absence took a toll on him. His eyes showed he was conflicted. Anger, relief, sadness, tiredness, and something else you couldn't quite put a finger in. (Admiration and love, sweetie, that's what it is)

"Just when I was enjoying my inner peace..was wondering when you'd deem me worthy of your presence again," he said and you flinch at the slight snark and glare he gave you.

"You are angry, rightfully so" you start and he cuts you off, "Really, what gave you that impression?"

"I have a good explanation"

"That so?"

"My father set me free.." you say and his eyes soften a little

"Which means.."

"I don't have to get married, I won't be forced to be part of the family business, I won't have to deal with Morris anymore" you say softly and he nods, pleased.

"That's good angel, still don't get why I had to be ghosted for it. We started this together we should end it together" he stresses and I look down

"I know, its just that...that means that"

"That?" he preassures

"We are over." I finally look up, trying to keep my tears at bay, "And I've been trying to find a way to tell you."

-•-

extras:

Grandma calls Y/n “Mona” because of Mona Lisa

William calls Y/n dewdrop because of her obsession with mermaids when she was a kid

I changed the time line a little bit. Tim and Yn know each other from high school (Gotham Academy), having both been each other’s crushes, but the formally met on November. Spent the last of November and all of december together. She stopped talking to him after christmas and ignored him until the second week of January which is this chapter.

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

His Majesty The King has been graciously pleased to appoint Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales, GCVO, to be Royal Companion of The Order of the Companions of Honour. 

The Companion of Honour (founded 1917) is a special award granted to those who have made a major contribution to the arts, science, medicine, or government lasting over a long period of time. There at 65 members at any one time. The Order of the Companions of Honour was founded by George V to recognise services of national importance. Its motto is, "In action faithful and in honour clear". Catherine is the newest, and youngest, member of the Companions of Honour.

Ranks and Post-nominals: Member (CH)

Current members include: Sir David Attenborough, David Hockney, Sir John Major, Dame Judi Dench, Sir Ian McKellen, Lord Coe, Dame Maggie Smith, Lady Mary Peters, Sir Paul McCartney, Delia Smith, Margaret Atwood, Sir Elton John, Sir Quentin Blake, Sir Salman Rushdie, Ian McEwan, Dame Anna Wintour, Dame Shirley Bassey

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 1 Chapter 2

And we’re back with the masquerade!!! Are you ready for our favorite couple to meet? I sure am!

All the love and hugs again to my bestie @hollyethecurious​, for whom this fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing expertise, and to @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Emma, Killian, and Cora I used in the artwork! Love you all, ladies!!!

I’ve changed my mind a little bit about the posting schedule for this fic. Ch3 which brings Part 1 to a close is a relatively short chapter and since Pt2 is really the main focus of the fic, I’m going to post Ch3 this Wednesday and start Pt2 next Sunday. Updates will then be weekly.

Thank you all for your enthusiasm for this fic! I can’t tell you what it means to me! I hope you enjoy this one and let me know what you think!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. 

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: Almost 6900 of 61,6K

Tags: Birthday fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1

New tag list. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Dearest Reader,

The day of the Jones masquerade ball has arrived and This Author waits with bated breath to behold the finery members of the ton will don for the evening's festivities.

There will of course be the requisite literary characters- This Author understands Countess Cora Spencer will be dressed as the Queen of Hearts of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland fame, with rumors suggesting that young Tilly Jones will be dressed as the title character. There appears to be a full complement of Faire Tale Princesses as Mary Margaret Blanchard plans to dress as Snow White and Aurora Rosen as the Sleeping Beauty.

As for the men, if previous masquerades are any indication, the portly will dress as Henry VIII, with the fit as either the devil or Alexander the Great. The bored (of which the eligible Jones brothers will almost certainly be among) will dress as themselves, in basic black attire with a demi mask as a nod to the occasion. But of course, This Author could always be surprised.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 30

~*~*~

Killian Jones stood along the wall of his mother’s ballroom, wishing desperately that he was anywhere else but here. As the son of the hostess, and as one of two eligible sons of the hostess, he found himself surrounded by either a host of tittering, banal debutantes, or their bloodthirsty mamas, who he rather thought of as sharks, always on the lookout for eligible bachelors for their trite and simpering daughters. At the moment, he was cornered by an aging shepherdess.

“Another Jones! No other family has blue eyes like the Jones’ do. Which one are you? I know you’re not David, I just saw him.” She waved her hand vaguely toward the other side of the room. “So you must be the Viscount or Number 2. Which is it?”

Killian eyed her coolly, but he was afraid he couldn’t keep the touch of anger he felt out of his gaze. While he loved his family very much and would not truly wish to be a member of any other, he sometimes wished he was seen as less of a Jones and more as himself.

“Number 2,” he bit out.

“Oh, I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I must go tell Aurora. I told her you were number two-”

“Killian,” he all but growled.

“-but she was sure you were the Viscount. That’s why she’s over there, talking to…”

“Please excuse me,” he interrupted her suddenly. “I’ve just noticed someone I must speak to.” It was either that or murder the twittering ninnyhammer. And with this many people in attendance, he didn’t think he could possibly get away with that.

He moved away from her, making his way to the ballroom’s side door, hoping for some peace and quiet, and perhaps a glass of rum in his brother’s study.

“Killian!”

He cursed under his breath. He’d nearly made a clean getaway. He turned to Alice Jones with a smile on his face.

“Good evening, Mother.” She was dressed as some Elizabethan character, probably Shakespearean, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out who. “What can I do for you?”

The dowager viscountess beamed at her son and Killian’s heart sank. Her smile could only mean one thing.

She placed her hand on his arm before speaking. “Would you just look at Ella DeVille over there? Her Little Red Riding Hood costume is just too much red. It makes her look like a vampire. And no one is talking to the poor girl at all. Would you dance with her? Please? For me?”

Killian fought to keep from rolling his eyes. He loved his mother dearly, but if there was one thing that grated on his nerves, it was her tendency to meddle in the romantic affairs of her unmarried children. Followed very closely by not being able to abide a proverbial wallflower at any ball.

“Have mercy, Mother,” he begged. “No one is asking her to dance because she has the most twisted sense of humor and a laugh that can be heard for miles.” He cast his eyes around the room until they landed on another prospect. “I’ll dance with Mary Margaret Blanchard, how’s that?” He turned back to his mother to see her nod her head and the corner of her lips lift in a secret smile.

“That’ll do. Thank you, Killian.” He turned and when his eyes landed on Mary Margaret again, he was reminded that it could have been much worse. He’d known her for years and he really did like her. She was kind and gracious and objectively quite attractive, though he himself wasn’t romantically interested in her. As a result, he was completely confounded on why she hadn’t snagged herself a husband yet. Perhaps she was holding out for someone in particular.

He began to approach her when he heard a wave of whispers behind him. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end and a sense of anticipation gripped him. He knew he shouldn’t allow anything to distract him from his pledge, but his curiosity overwhelmed him and he turned toward the entrance of the ballroom.

It was as if time stood still.

Just inside the doors stood what he could only describe as a true princess come to life. She was dressed in a beautiful, shining blue gown whose skirt sparkled like diamonds. The bodice and sheer short sleeves were trimmed with silver detailing that flashed when it caught the light. Her mask was silver and had an exquisite swan detail around the right eye. Tendrils of blonde hair framed the other side of her face. But it was her gaze that captured his attention the most. This was a woman filled with unadulterated joy. She looked around the room as if she’d never seen a more glorious sight than all the silly members of the ton dressed in their ridiculous costumes.

Her beauty was truly breathtaking, the way she held herself, the poise, the grace of her movements. She was radiant and he had to be close to her. Mary Margaret was completely forgotten as he strode purposefully across the room. Three other gentlemen had beaten him to the lady and stood around her, showering her with praise and compliments.

She didn’t react as he would expect a lady of the ton to react. She didn’t lower her eyes demurely, she didn’t giggle, she didn’t act coy or as if their adulations were her due. She simply smiled at them. Or beamed rather. He held his hand out to her.

“Pardon me, gentlemen. But the lady has already promised this dance to me.” He gazed into her green eyes, which widened slightly at his bold pronouncement. He wondered if she would expose his lie for what it was.

She smiled and placed her hand in his. He drew her closer, then led her out to the dance floor.

“Have you permission to dance the waltz?”

She shook her head. “I don’t actually dance.”

He was taken aback. “You don’t?”

“I’ve never learned how.”

Killian was stunned speechless for a moment. What young lady of the ton would have reached her age and not learned how to dance?

“There is only one thing to do then.”

She tilted her head at him in question. “And what’s that?”

“I shall teach you.”

Killian was shocked and then utterly charmed when a surprised laugh burst from her lips.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, trying not to sound too affronted.

She contained her giggles and turned her sparkling eyes upon him once again.

“Even I know that dancing lessons are not conducted at a ball.”

“And what does that mean exactly, hmm?” he asked, speculatively, “Even I?”

She didn’t answer.

“Mmhmmm,” he murmured. “Well, I cannot allow this sorry state of affairs to continue. A beautiful lady such as yourself must learn to dance. Come with me.” He began to pull her toward the doors.

“Where are we going?” she laughed. He stopped and turned toward her again.

“Your laugh,” he said. “It’s so lovely.”

Her smile widened impossibly further. “I’m happy.”

“I can tell.” He could only see half her face, but the beaming smile, the laughter and joy in her eyes had him completely under her spell, and he would happily remain there.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Hmmm?” he asked, startled out of his musings.

“Where are we going?”

He smirked and moved closer to whisper in her ear. “The private terrace.”

She turned to face him, her face inches from his. “And how would you know of the private terrace?”

Killian pulled back, staring at her in shock. Was it possible she was unaware of his identity? Not that he expected everyone to know who he was, but as a Jones, he was used to being recognized by members of London society. Even if it was only as Number 2.

“Let’s just say I have my ways.” He tugged on her hand again. “Come, dance with me.”

She took a step toward him and Killian knew his life had changed forever.

~*~*~

Emma hadn’t seen him when she arrived at the ball, but she’d felt the magic in the air, a tingling anticipation that melted into a soul-deep warmth when he appeared before her, his gloved hand outstretched. She placed her hand in his and suddenly knew that he was the reason she was here tonight.

He was tall, with artfully tousled dark hair. Sparkling blue eyes, the shade of which she’d never seen in her life, shone out from behind his mask. His strong jawline was covered with dark scruff, with just a touch of ginger evidenced under the lights. He was dressed in tight leather pants, with a black waistcoat over a white blouse which was open enough to show quite a bit of chest hair, and a long, high-collared tan coat over all.

People seemed to know who he was. When her eyes landed on his, the men who’d been fawning over her since she entered the room seemed to back away in deference, and when he’d led her out to the floor, couples already there parted for them.

He was handsome and strong, and for this one moment in time, he was hers. When the clock struck midnight, her life of drudgery would return- a life of abuse, hatred, and attending to Cora’s every wish. Shouldn’t she have this one night of dreams?

It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to dream.

She felt like a princess. And for this one night, he would be her prince.

They emerged into the hallway outside the ballroom and Emma laughed again, simply delighted with everything about the evening. Her prince paused and turned back toward her.

He ran his knuckles along her jaw as he spoke. “Your smile is so lovely, too. I like to watch you smile.” His words were low and cloaked with sincerity and she could almost believe that he meant them and she wasn’t just this evening’s conquest.

But before she could respond, they were interrupted by a blonde prince striding down the hall. “There you are!” he exclaimed as he approached them.

Emma gasped, terrified she’d been found out. But the man was looking at her prince rather than her. “Mother has been looking everywhere for you. You disappeared before dancing with Mary Margaret, and I had to take your place.”

He wore a black mask like her prince, with a white blouse underneath a dark red quilted jacket. His strong jaw and blue eyes were very similar to her prince. She looked back and forth between them before recognition dawned. They were both Jones’! And given the fact they’d both been conscripted to dance with Mary Margaret Blanchard, they must be Killian and David. Killian was her prince, for everyone knew that David Jones was the only male in the family with blonde hair.

“So sorry,” Killian murmured, not sounding the least apologetic. A fact that didn’t escape his brother’s notice. “Some things are unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“If you leave the party and abandon me to that pack of she-devil debutantes, I swear I shall exact revenge until my dying day.”

“A chance I’m willing to take,” Killian said, looking at Emma. She realized then that David was also staring quite intently at her.

“Good evening, milady,” he said, holding his hand out. When she placed her unoccupied hand in his, he raised it to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “May I request an introduction?” he asked, directing his words to his brother.

“You can try your best, but I doubt you’ll succeed. I haven’t even learned the lady’s name yet, myself.”

“You haven’t asked,” Emma replied, with a smirk.

He turned fully toward her. “And would you have told me if I had?”

Emma shrugged. “I’d have told you something.”

“But not the truth,” Killian rejoined, his eyebrow raised at her and a smirk on his face. Emma felt her cheeks heat at the teasing gesture.

“Tonight isn’t a night for truth.” David tilted his head in question at her response and Killian glared at him.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he growled.

David shook his head. “I’m quite sure Mother would prefer for me to be in the ballroom, but it’s hardly required.”

“I require it.”

Emma felt a giggle bubble in her throat.

“Very well,” David sighed. “I shall take myself off, then.”

“Excellent,” said Killian.

“To face the ravenous wolves.”

“Wolves?” Emma questioned.

“Eligible young ladies,” David clarified. “Ravenous wolves, the lot of them. Present company excluded, of course.” Killian rolled his eyes. “My mother would like nothing better than to see my dear older brother married off.” Killian groaned. “Except, perhaps, to see me married off.”

“If only to get you out of the house,” Killian commented drily.

“But then again, you are so much more ancient than I am, brother. Perhaps you should be the first to the gallows, er, altar, I mean.”

This time Emma did giggle.

“Do you have a point?” Killian asked, exasperated in the extreme.

“None, whatsoever. I swear, brother.” David’s eyes were full of false innocence and Emma couldn’t have stopped smiling if her life depended on it. “So then,” he continued, looking back at Emma and motioning with a grand flourish of his arm, “will you take pity on my long-suffering mother and chase my brother down the aisle?”

“Well, he hasn’t asked,” she quipped.

“How much have you had to drink?” Killian grumbled.

“Me?” Emma asked.

“No, him,” Killian replied.

“Nothing at all,” David assured them, “but I am seriously considering remedying that fact. It’ll likely be the only thing to make this evening bearable.”

“If going after a drink removes you from my presence,” Killian said, “then it will be the only thing to make my evening bearable as well.” David grinned, jauntily turned on his heel and was gone.

“It’s nice to see two siblings that love each other so well,” Emma murmured.

Killian had been staring rather menacingly at the door through which David had disappeared when her words drew his attention back to his companion. “You call that love?”

Emma thought of Zelena and Regina, the animosity, the constant bickering and sniping between them. “I do,” she said. “It’s obvious you would lay down your life for him. And he for you, as well.”

Killian released a put upon sigh, then smiled, completely ruining the effect. “I suppose you’re right. As much as I hate to admit it.” He leaned against the wall, looking irresistibly handsome. He cocked his head at her in question. “Do you have any siblings?”

Emma thought about his question for a moment, before answering decisively, “No.”

“You took a rather long time to answer that,” he mused. “I’d think it’d be a rather simple question, not requiring much thought.”

Emma turned her head away from him, not wanting him to see the pain in her eyes. She’d always wanted a family. In truth, she’d never wanted anything more. But her father had never acknowledged her as his, and Cora actively hated her. As much as she’d hoped for a sisterly relationship with Zelena and Regina before she met them, only Regina came anywhere close to being a friend, not the sister Emma had dreamed about.

“I am an only child,” Emma finally said.

“And that’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?”

Emma nodded. “That is all I’m going to tell you.”

“Very well,” he answered, lifting himself from the wall and walking toward her again. “What am I permitted to ask you?”

“Nothing, really,” she said.

“You won’t tell me anything about you?” he asked, a touch of desperation in his voice. “Nothing at all?”

Emma tapped her chin, contemplating her answer. “I suppose I could tell you my favorite color is yellow,” she said, “but beyond that, I shall leave you with no clues as to my identity.”

“Why so many secrets?”

The corner of Emma’s lips rose slightly. “Says the man in a mask.”

“Well, it is a masquerade, after all.”

“This entire night is a secret.”

“It is indeed,” he agreed, his smile dimming somewhat. “Why don’t you ask me a question, then?”

Emma turned to him surprised. “You would have me ask you a question? Any question?”

“Yes,” he exclaimed. “I have no secrets.”

Emma scoffed into her hand. “I find that very difficult to believe. Everyone has secrets. Things they’re ashamed of, things they’d rather remain hidden.”

“Not me,” he countered. “I’ve never seduced a married woman, I have no gambling debts, and my parents were completely faithful to one another.”

Which meant he wasn’t a bastard. Of course he wasn’t. His words made Emma’s throat tighten in heartache. That meant he’d never pursue her, honorably anyway, if he knew that she was.

“You haven’t asked me a question,” he reminded her.

Emma blinked in surprise. He was serious. “Very well, then, wh-what is your favorite color?” she stammered.

Killian’s eyes widened. “You’re going to waste your question on that?”

“I only get one?”

He shrugged. “Seems more than fair, since you’ll not allow me any.”

“Oh, very well then. Yes,” she insisted. “I want to know your favorite color.”

“Blue,” he answered without hesitation.

“Why?” she asked.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided her. “That’s two.”

“Oh, come on,” she complained. She had to restrain herself from stamping her foot in frustration, although she couldn’t really blame him. “Is it because of the ocean, or the sky?”

Killian’s eyes narrowed at her. “Are you an artist?”

“No, why?”

“Because most people would have taken my answer and left it at that,” he explained. “But you,” he continued, “you want to know why.” He paused for a moment. “Why yellow?”

Emma took a deep breath, unsurprised that he’d turned the question back around at her. “Because of the sun, I suppose. The sunshine makes me happy. When the sun reflects off the dew on the grass…”

“There’s not much grass in London,” he observed.

Emma sighed. “No, there isn’t.”

“You’ve spent time in the country, then?” he asked.

Emma caught her breath. Lady Whistledown might know all the gossip in London, but in all of her verbiage of the Jones family in general, and Killian Jones in particular, she’d never mentioned his perceptiveness. She was going to have to mind her lips, lest she give him any clues to her true identity. She couldn’t imagine what he might be able to glean from such an innocent fact, however. She nodded.

“You never told me why your favorite color is blue.”

Killian’s eyes turned faraway. “I’m not sure. I’m surrounded by the blue eyes of my family. Except Ruby and Henry. Their eyes are green. Like our mother’s.” He leaned toward her. “Like yours.”

Emma had trouble catching her breath. When he looked into her eyes like this, it felt like he could see to her very soul. He leaned back, out of her personal space and she could breathe again.

“Everyone says the Jones’ blue eyes are like the sky on a cloudless summer day. Perhaps that is what I miss. The blue sky.”

“If it wasn’t raining, it wouldn’t be England,” Emma commented drily.

“I went to Italy once; the sun shone constantly.” His face was contemplative as he remembered.

“That sounds like heaven,” she sighed.

“Would you believe that after just a few weeks there, I missed the rain?”

“No!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” he insisted. “I missed the rain.”

“I spend half my life grumbling about it.”

Killian laughed. “You’d miss it if it was gone.”

Emma fell silent, wondering if there was any part of her life she’d miss if it was gone. She certainly wouldn’t miss Cora or Zelena and the abuse she suffered on a daily basis. But she’d miss Granny and the other servants. She’d probably miss Regina, at least a little bit.

But it was a moot point. After this one perfect, magical night, she’d be right back to her life as usual.

She supposed she could have left Spencer House before now. If she was stronger. If she was braver. But where would she go? She’d need references to get any other type of job and Cora certainly wasn’t going to give her one.

“You’re very quiet,” Killian murmured, drawing her out of her musings.

“I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“What I would miss in my life if it were to drastically change.”

“And do you expect it to change?” He was close now. His eyes intense as they gazed into hers.

“No.”

“Do you want it to change?” he whispered.

She gripped his forearms as he laid his hands gently on her waist.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes.”

 He released her and took her gloved hands in his own, kissing each in turn. “Then we shall begin tonight. And tomorrow, you will be transformed.”

“Tonight I am transformed,” she said sadly. “Tomorrow, I will disappear.”

“Then we must pack a lifetime into this very night.”

He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his face to hers, gently brushing her lips with his own. It was her first kiss of any kind and a singularly thrilling sensation, but she couldn’t let it continue. She pulled back and away from him before it could go any further.

“Dance with me,” she begged.

She saw the disappointment in his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by amusement. “You said you didn’t know how.”

“You said you would teach me,” she countered.

“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her around the corner and up a staircase. At the top, they emerged in front of a pair of French doors. He opened them and led her out onto a small private terrace. It was decorated with several potted plants and housed two chaise lounges to the side. Her sense of direction was excellent, so she knew they were directly above the ball room. She could hear the music floating up from below.

“Handel,” she breathed. “My governess had a music box that played this very tune.”

“You had a governess? You obviously loved her very much.”

There was that perception again. Emma’s cheeks flamed. Why couldn’t she seem to keep her mouth shut around him?

“Is it that obvious?”

Killian grinned, a sort of roguish, smug smirk that made Emma realize she might be better off gluing her lips shut for the rest of the evening.

“Yes. I can see it on your face. The same way I could see that you prefer the country to the city.”

“Well, I did spend more time with her than anyone else in the household.”

“That sounds like a lonely upbringing,” he mused.

“In some ways it was, in others, not so much.”

“You’re such an enigma.”

Emma’s lips lifted in a small smile. “Good.” She paused for a moment. “You didn’t have a lonely upbringing, obviously. All those brothers and sisters running about.”

“You know who I am, then?”

She nodded. “I didn’t at first.”

He grinned. For some reason, that information delighted him. “What gave me away?”

“Your brother,” she answered honestly. “Everyone knows David is the only Jones brother with blonde hair, and since he was perturbed with you about leaving him to the ‘wolves’, as he described them, I knew you had to be the other eligible Jones brother, Killian.”

“You’re quite the detective.”

Emma shrugged. “It wasn’t terribly hard to put together, with as much as Lady Whistledown writes about the Jones family.”

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed. “Now we come to it. You know about me from Lady Whistledown.” His smile was broad again, and Emma found herself responding to it in kind. “So what else do you know about me from Lady Whistledown?”

Too caught up in the back and forth between them, Emma wracked her brain for things she’d read about Killian Jones over the years, completely throwing caution to the wind.

“I know you won some silly horse race last month in Hyde Park.”

Killian was indignant. “It wasn’t silly. And I’m a hundred quid richer for it.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him, a smile on her face.

“I know that you once lopped off the head of one of your sister’s dolls.”

“I’m still wondering how that blasted woman found out about that.”

“Perhaps she’s a Jones,” Emma observed.

“Impossible,” Killian declared. “Not that none of the Jones are smart enough to pull it off, but if she were, we’re too smart not to have figured it out by now.”

“I know your name has not been seriously linked with any young lady of the ton,” she continued, “and that your mother despairs of ever seeing you married.”

Killian wondered if she realized just how many clues to her identity she’d just given him. If she only recognized him because of what was written in Lady Whistledown, then she obviously hadn’t been out in society long. And if she knew about the doll- which Whistledown had written about in the early days of her column, two years before- he knew she had been in London at the same time. Because while Whistledown was now delivered all the way out to the country, in the early days, it had strictly been for Londoners. So she’d been brought up in the country, with a governess, but had been in London for at least the last two years, and yet, not out in society. There was also the matter of her hesitation when she talked about family. A most puzzling conundrum.

Killian shrugged. “The pressure has somewhat lessened of late with the marriage of my brother.”

“The Viscount?”

Killian nodded.

“Whistledown wrote about that, too,” she observed. “In great detail, I might add.”

“Well,” Killian hedged, “she didn’t have all the facts. Lady Whistledown doesn’t know everything that goes on in society.”

“She seems to.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” His gaze sharpened as he gazed at her. “But I’d venture to say that if she were here on this terrace, Lady Whistledown wouldn’t know your identity. Am I right?”

Emma nodded. “But I’m so well disguised, no one would know who I am.”

“What if you removed your mask? Would she recognize you then?”

Emma’s eyes widened behind her mask and Killian took just a bit of satisfaction from that.

“I don’t think I’m going to answer that,” she said, turning from him and leaning along the edge of the terrace.

“I didn’t think you would.” She could hear him approach behind her. The heat from his body enveloped her and she turned toward him, catching her breath. He was inches away from her and his gaze behind the mask rooted her in place. Emma couldn’t speak. Nor could she breathe through the searing connection between them. Intense blue fire filled his eyes. Here was a man used to getting what he wanted, and right now, he wanted her. There was also an honesty and a strength in his gaze that she desperately wanted to lose herself in. If anyone could take her away from the life she now led, this man could.

This was anticipation. Desire. This is what a gently bred lady shouldn’t even know about. But she wasn’t a gently bred lady. She wasn’t a member of the ton, nor would she ever be. Being alone with him on this terrace was enough to ruin a reputation, but she didn’t have one to begin with. So why should she abide by society’s rules?

She’d always sworn to herself that she would be no one’s mistress. She refused to condemn any child she bore to her own fate as a bastard, but there were miles between one dance, one embrace, one kiss, and falling into his bed and staying there for as long as he’d have her, betraying herself in the process. She desperately wanted this one night. This one night of fantasy.

She lifted her chin, getting lost in the cerulean depths of his eyes.

“You’re not going to run away, then? ” he murmured. She shook her head, realizing that he’d read her once again. She should have been afraid at how easily he seemed to do that, but right now, with this something flaring between them, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Are you going to teach me how to dance?” she breathed.

Killian’s smile rivaled the sun she loved so much. “In a waltz, there’s only one rule,” he said, positioning her hand on his shoulder and taking her other hand in his own, “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

He began to lead her in a basic three step. It was only moments before her foot came down on his.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, looking up into his face again.

“My sisters have done far worse,” he assured her. “Let’s try again. Can you hear the music?” She shook her head. “Close your eyes and listen closely.”

She did as he bade and in moments she could hear the soft swell of the music over the low murmuring of the crowd below.

“One, two, three, One, two, three,” he murmured in her ear. “Do you feel that? The rise and fall of the music?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He smiled. She didn’t know how she knew he smiled, but she could feel it in the tenor of his voice. “Good. Now watch our feet and allow me to lead you.”

She opened her eyes and looked down. They tried again, and she was suddenly doing it.

“Oh,” she gasped. “This is wonderful!”

“Look up,” he ordered gently.

“But, I’ll stumble again.”

“You won’t. I won’t let you,” he assured her. “You appear to be a natural.” She could hear the smile in his voice again and looked up into his eyes. At that moment, something clicked inside her. He led her in the waltz, twirling her around the terrace, slowly at first, then picking up speed until she was breathless and giddy.

He brought her back close, holding her tightly against him. “What do you feel? In your heart.”

Emma couldn’t speak as she tried to catch her breath. His hard, lean body was solid against hers and she wished she could melt into that strength and never leave.

His hand on the small of her back pressed ever so slightly as he spoke again, more urgently this time. “Answer me. Please.”

“I-” She could barely get it out, but whatever tomorrow would bring, she owed him at least this. “I feel everything,” she admitted. “Joy… fear… anticipation…”

“What do you hear?”

“The music.” She paused. “Like I never have before.”

“And what do you see?”

“I see you.” Her words were only a whisper now. “I see… I see…” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say that she saw her very soul in the depths of his blue eyes. The moment was too charged. She was too vulnerable. If she were to admit that here, now- for she could see that he felt the same- if she were to admit the truth to him and he did the same, she’d be lost to him forever, and she couldn’t be unfaithful to herself in that way. Not now, not ever.

“I can’t,” she breathed. “Please don’t speak. Please don’t make me say it.”

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his eyes darting between hers. “I won’t speak. I won’t say a word.” And then his lips were on hers. It was different this time, no less thrilling than it was earlier, but now he was more forceful. Their first kiss, if you could even call it that, was only a brushing of lips, but this was a full possession of her mouth, still gentle and achingly tender, but cloaked in passion and desire. She was powerless against it. When his tongue touched the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, she opened for him, shuddering in his arms.

The hand in the small of her back, the one that had led her through the waltz, exerted gentle pressure, bringing her even closer to him. She felt very small in his embrace, safe, warm, protected. And like the most beautiful woman in the world.

It made her think anything was possible. Perhaps even a life without servitude and stigma.

One hand moved to the back of her head as his lips left hers and peppered kisses across her jaw and down the slope of her neck. Shivers of pleasure ran down her spine as she lifted her chin to grant him more access.

“Your hair is like silk,” he murmured into her skin.

Emma couldn’t help it. A sudden laugh burst out of her. He pulled back, an amused expression on his face.

“And now what are you laughing at?”

“How do you know my hair is like silk when you have gloves on?” A boyish grin spread across his lips.

“I don’t know how I know. But I do,” he insisted. “But just in case, perhaps I should test that with my bare hands.” He held his hand up to her. “Would you, perhaps, do the honors, milady?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off of his as she gently tugged at each finger in turn and then pulled the entire glove off. The expression in his eyes was something she’d never seen before. Hunger… and something else. Something almost spiritual. His hand cupped her face, the pads of his fingers moving gently across her skin. The tingling left in their wake threatened to completely undo her. They reached up until they ran through the tendrils left loose from her chignon.

“I was wrong,” he murmured. “It’s softer than silk.”

Emma was suddenly overtaken by a desire to touch him the same way. She pulled back slightly and held up her own hand in between them.

“It’s my turn.”

Something flared within his eyes and he grasped her hand with his gloved hand while the other worked at the fingers of her glove. But instead of drawing it down her arm and removing it, he pulled her close and brought his lips to the edge of the glove, all the way at her elbow, and kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her arm.

“Also softer than silk,” he pressed into her skin. Now he slowly, agonizingly slowly, drew the glove down her arm, following with his lips. Her skin was on fire and she grabbed his shoulder with her other hand, no longer confident in her ability to stand. Just below her elbow, he glanced up, barely breaking the kiss. “You don’t mind if I stay here for a bit?”

Emma couldn’t speak, so she shook her head instead. His tongue darted out and traced the bend of her arm. Emma gasped in pleasure.

“Thought you’d like that.” His words were hot against her skin. She nodded. Or at least, she thought she did. His lips continued his trail down her arm until they paused at her wrist. He remained there for a moment before he pressed a kiss into the very center of her palm and then looked up.

“Who are you?”

She shook her head.

“Please,” he begged. “I have to know.” She stood as still as a statue. He raised her hand to his lips and began running them along her knuckles. “I want to call on you tomorrow. I want to meet your parents. I want to pet your dog. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She still couldn’t move, but tears filled her eyes.

“I want…” His eyes were surprised, as if he couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words. “I want your future. I want every little part of you.”

She felt a tear slip past her eyelid and she closed her eyes, steeling herself against the emotion in his.

“Don’t say another word. Please. I can’t bear it.”

“Then tell me your name. Tell me how to find you tomorrow.”

“I…” The clanging of bells interrupted her. “What is that?”

“It’s the signal for the unmasking.”

“What?”

“It must be midnight.”

“Midnight?” she gasped, her hand flying to her mask in alarm. “I have to go!” She gathered her skirts in her hands and ran from the terrace.

“Wait!” She heard him call behind her, but she didn’t dare stop. She wiped the stray tears from her face as she flew down the stairs, chastising herself the entire way for completely falling under Killian’s spell and not paying attention to the time.

She arrived at the ballroom doors and whimpered in dismay as she spied her destination on the other side of a wall of people all taking off their masks with delighted laughter and frivolity. She turned to see Killian just reaching the bottom of the stairs behind her. There was nothing for it. She plunged into the sea of humanity, murmuring apologies and excusing herself as she went.

Suddenly she found herself face to face, or face to mask rather, with none other than her stepmother. Why did it have to be her? For if anyone here tonight would recognize her, it would be Cora. Emma caught her breath and tried to keep the terror out of her eyes and words as she excused herself yet again.

“Watch where you’re going,” Cora snapped. Emma watched with open mouth as Cora swished her skirts and walked away. Cora hadn’t recognized her! If she wasn’t so terrified and frantic to get out of the Jones house before Killian caught up with her, she would have laughed with relief. She looked behind her and saw that he’d spotted her. He was making his way across the ballroom with much more efficiency than she had done. With renewed determination, Emma moved forward until she reached the far doors.

There was the Spencer carriage, just like Granny said it would be. She turned and saw that Killian had been waylaid by David, but his visage was thunderous as he caught her eyes. She ran down the steps and into the waiting carriage.

“Go, go, go!” she cried to the driver. And with a crack of the whip, a trundle of wheels, and the clipping of hooves on the cobblestones, she was gone.

~*~*~

Killian could have murdered his brother for stopping him when he’d nearly caught up with his mystery lady. By the time he’d extracted himself and made it outside to the square, she was nowhere to be found.

David, horrified that he’d thwarted Killian’s pursuit, was most apologetic when he returned to the ballroom.

“And you never got her name?” David asked, incredulously.

“She refused to tell me,” Killian exploded. “It was a masquerade ball, brother, in case you didn’t notice!” He hated to sound so hateful, but he was truly at his wits end and had no patience for nonsense.

David took no offense and simply rolled his eyes at his brother. “Yes, I’m aware. But we still recognized most everyone here. And you’re sure you’d never met her before?”

“Never,” he assured him.

David spied the glove Killian still held in his hand. “Is this hers?”

Killian looked down. He’d quite forgotten he still held it in his hand. Hope flared in his chest. “Yes.” He brought it up to his face to get a closer look.

“It has a crest and initials, too,” David observed.

“Do you recognize the crest?” Killian asked.

David shook his head. “No, but Mother will.”

Killian speared him with a look. “I’d like to avoid that scenario, if at all possible.”

David laughed good-naturedly and slapped Killian on the back. “Don’t blame you. But I honestly don’t see any way around it.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “You’re probably right. Damn. Of all the women Mother has trotted out before me, and now I finally found one, I’m going to need her help to find her!”

And he knew it wouldn’t be easy. It was never easy to find someone who didn’t want to be found. And she most definitely didn’t want to be found. She’d made it quite clear that he’d never see her again after tonight. But he had to try. A few dropped hints concerning Lady Whistledown’s column, and this glove. It was all he had to go on.

He’d find her. He’d find her and make her his. Or his name wasn’t Killian Jones.

~*~*~

Thirty minutes after her arrival home, Emma was returned to her true self.

The gown, mask, and slippers had all been returned to where they belonged. Her hair taken down, her makeup scrubbed off.

The princess was gone. The housemaid reappeared.

She crawled into bed, her hand knitted baby blanket bunched up under her chin, and let the tears fall for the life, for the man, she’d never have.

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading and sharing! I’d love to hear what you thought! Ch3 will be up on Wednesday!

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

ch. 8 — frician (to desire)

notes: margaret by lana del rey was a big inspo for this one

summary: alethia arrives in kattegat

warnings: i dont want to give it away tbh. in a good way i promise!!!! jack we talked about this literally last night (its not to that extent but still hehe)

tagged: @demon-of-the-ancient-world @levithestripper @grantairescurls

general masterlist | series masterlist

Alethia

Lagertha was kind to her. She was glad that she did not end up alone, as she had feared, and yet, there was the perpetual feeling of only being wanted because she was linked to Athelstan.

They all stared.

She knew they whispered.

Still, Alethia boarded ship, successfully this time, making for Kattegat. Ecbert could not stop her, and she was not inclined to stay any longer than she had to. If only she could have felt as if this was where she was meant to be.

In truth, Alethia had no idea if this was the right thing to do. What if she was messing everything up, ruining things for Athelstan? This was his life, not hers, and it felt like she was intruding.

And still, Alethia followed Athelstan like John the Baptist, quiet like a shadow. In Kattegat, Athelstan helped her onto the docks. It was only when she touched those wooden planks that Alethia felt free.

She breathed in the salty air that was no different from the sea mere moments ago, and yet, entirely something else. This was to be her new home. Alethia would make it work, she had practiced enough for this moment for the entirety of her childhood.

The eyes glued to her back were there when Athelstan squeezed her shoulder, her hand, looked into her eyes with that gaze meant to comfort were not lost on Alethia. Rollo, Floki, Ragnar, Lagertha – they would not look away. Alethia wanted to turn around and hiss at them as she would have with King Ecbert, but instead, she ducked away and towards the Great Hall, disappearing in the feast that was being hosted for the return of the Vikings.

Athelstan kept his distance, as he had since they had met again. Alethia knew that there would be a gap between them, some sort of irrevocable change upon reunion, and yet, she ached for things to return as they had been.

They never had, not since she’d been a girl. And in that moment, Alethia felt ancient. 

The woman with the feline eyes approached her a few hours into the feast, when Athelstan was still being held close by Ragnar, and most of the crowd had surmised to get drunk instead of doing anything meaningful for the remainder of the night. Alethia backed herself into a corner, where a cat curled around her ankles and she could nurse a cup of mead in peace.

Alethia knew that she was a queen the moment Aslaug approached her. She held herself with the same inherent dignity as Catelyn Stark had, as Sansa had. Alethia straightened her back, pushing herself up. The cat jumped away, disturbed by her sudden movements.

“Queen Aslaug.” Alethia said, bowing her head.

“How do you know who I am?” Aslaug asked. She was holding a bundle in her arms, the babe whom Alethia presumed to be Ivar sleeping lightly.

“You hold yourself as I would expect of a Götland princess.”

Aslaug raised one of those well-manicured brows, but she gave Alethia a small smile. 

“Then you are the woman that plagues my dreams.”

“Sorry about that.” Alethia said.

“You have an accent.”

“Sorry about that as well.”

“It is all fair and well. I expect Athelstan has been teaching you to the best of his abilities.” Aslaug said. She took a seat next to where Alethia had been, patting the free space. The cat returned to Alethia’s lap.

“I dreamt of you. I am not… friends with Athelstan as my husband is, but I think in this, I understand him better than Ragnar does.”

Alethia looked down, scratching the cat between his ears.

“He loves you.” Aslaug whispered. Alethia paused, her heart beating wildly in her chest. When she looked over to Aslaug, the Queen of Kattegat was smiling.

Alethia did not know what to say, swallowing. She looked back down, clearing her throat, and a small laugh escaped Aslaug.

“Do you love him?” she asked. Alethia wanted to say yes, but the guilt of it strangled her, and she could not say a single thing. Aslaug sighed. 

“You are good for him. He is not someone I understand very well, but Athelstan is a man who has suffered greatly. Even if he is a Christian, I can see that.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.”

“It is everything.” Alethia protested. Then, she leaned back against the wall behind her, resting her head. “I was afraid of you, you know?”

“Me? I am not someone invocative of fear.” Aslaug replied.

“Please. You are a Götland princess. A völva. You see things others do not. I am not afraid of warriors. They all try to kill me, but so far, none of them have succeeded. Those that see beyond the fog of reality, they are the ones that scare me. You, Queen Aslaug, are one of them. You have my respect, and my admiration, no matter what others say about that.”

Now it was Aslaug’s turn to be speechless, but Alethia could not stay silent. She had to continue. The words built on the back of her tongue, forcing themselves out of her mouth.

“You are brave, too. I heard of Ivar and his disability. From what I understand of your culture, Northmen despise what they perceive to be weakness. I knew a boy like Ivar once. His name was Bran, and he was one of the most powerful men alive. No one thought he would survive what happened to him, but he did. Your Ivar… you have a right to love your son. He needs you.”

“Thank you.” Aslaug said. “And I… I know what happened to you. Most of it, anyway. The correct way to address you should be Queen, and not simply your name.”

“Please, do not.” Alethia replied.

“I won’t.” Aslaug promised. “I do not know how much the Gods showed me of your life, but I hoped that what I did see was all of the pain you experienced. It is enough for ten lifetimes.”

Alethia’s heart caught in her throat. She tried to stop the tears that pricked her eyes, right until she looked at Aslaug. When the Queen smiled at her, cold facade from a few hours ago gone, Alethia let them fall. She gave herself three minutes of respite before she cleared her throat.

“Queen Aslaug, may I ask a favour of you?”

“Almost any.” Aslaug replied.

“May I protect you? I would be honored to serve you and your children as a shieldmaiden, for I know you left many of yours behind when you came here. I do not wish to go to war anymore, but protecting a family, to protect children – that I can do. It is the sort of fierce gentleness I wish to embody.”

“Give it three moons. Rest. Then, we shall speak of what you have asked.” Aslaug promised. “But now, go. Find your priest. Do well by him.”

“I will.” Alethia promised. She did not expect Aslaug to cup her jaw, to lean forward the way she did, as if she was reading something behind Alethia’s eyes. The moment passed, Alethia shuddered, and then, she left. Aslaug turned to her son.

Athelstan

Ragnar whistled as Alethia approached them. Neither he nor she turned to look at the King. Alethia only stared at him, eyes somewhat bewildered. She looked lost, as if she’d forgotten where she was. Athelstan was fully aware that all eyes were on him as he crossed the distance between them and touched Alethia’s shoulder.

She looked right at him, green eyes boring into his own. 

“Are you alright?”

Alethia looked down, and then back up at him again. She closed her eyes. “I need a break please.”

“Of course.” Athelstan said. “Go wait outside for me. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Alethia nodded, slinking towards the door. Athelstan turned to Ragnar, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. In that moment, Athelstan could not laugh at it. 

“Nothing smart, Ragnar. Not tonight.” he said. Then, Athelstan followed Alethia outside. She was picking at her nails when he found her, and Athelstan watched as she hissed under one particularly painful tear. Suddenly, he was reminded of his mother. When Lillian had bad dreams, she would do the same thing. She had destroyed herself in the process.

Athelstan knew he was his mother’s child.

It was why he put an arm around Alethia, guiding her through the empty streets of Kattegat. Everyone was still in the Great Hall, celebrating. Everyone but the two of them.

He did not know why he brought her to his longhouse, but Athelstan felt the palpable sort of relief when the door to his home shut them out of the world outside.

Alethia spotted the portraits immediately. Athelstan had forgotten they were there, not having packed them away before he left for the raid. She went to them immediately, staring with wide eyes.

Gently, Alethia picked up a portrait of Floki, staring right at the viewer. Athelstan tried to swallow down his fear, stepping towards Alethia to explain.

“Athelstan these are…”

“I know I shouldn’t have.” Athelstan replied.

“What do you mean? They are beautiful. This one right here, it is exactly how Floki stares at you when you say something he does not like. And this one-” Alethia grabbed another piece of parchment, this time of Ecbert looking down at the subject. “It is exactly how King Ecbert sits his throne. Are there more?”

Athelstan hesitated. Of course there were. There was an entire sketchbook dedicated to Alethia , but he was not sure if he wanted to tell her that.

His silence was enough for her. “May I see them? Please? Your art is so beautiful.”

Art? His portraits were art?

“It is blasphemy.” Athelstan replied, shame making it difficult to breathe.

“Blasphemy? Athelstan, there are many things in this world that are blasphemy. This is not one of them. Trust me, I know.”

“How?”

“Because I love art. I have seen much of it. Van Gogh, Monet, Kahlo, Rubens, Gentileshi, Rembrandt, Michelangelo – you name it, I know it. Your portraits have spirit. Do you know the most important thing about art, Athelstan?”

“Portraiture must be used to portray the life of Christ. To display our belief to the world.”

“No.” Alethia shook her head. “No, that is not art. That is illustration. Art is that which makes you feel something. These portraits are that.”

Athelstan did not notice the tears until they tracked down his cheeks. He could not move, did not stop Alethia when she grabbed a small journal from his table. She looked at him with raised brows, and Athelstan nodded softly. Alethia opened it, and froze immediately.

He prayed she would not turn away from him for this. Alethia sat on his chair, looking at the first page. It was a portrait of her the day she had arrived in Ecbert’s villa. Alethia’s hand ghosted over her own features, careful not to touch the charcoal and smudge it. After a moment, she flipped to the next page. It was her side profile, this time sketched right after a long lesson of English grammar. 

Her sitting on the edge of the roman bath followed, then Alethia balancing a sword, then only a collection of her features that Athelstan had practiced with, all disconnected. There was a sketch of her hand on her shoulder, tugging on an old scar. That was from the bath after Alethia had lost her child. Then, there was Alethia sharpening a dagger, Alethia talking to a serving girl, Alethia, Alethia, Alethia…

She paused on the page where Athelstan had sketched her right after the battle against the Northmen. Athelstan had struggled with it, because he had never drawn someone with nothing in their eyes. Portraying someone’s gaze to be empty was a thing of the almost-impossible. Alethia set down the journal, returning it to its rightful place, and Athelstan awaited judgement.

“Thank you.” Alethia whispered. “You have made me immortal in the only way I wish to be.”

Athelstan was a selfish man. “Which way?”

“That of love. I see your devotion, Athelstan. I see it in every line of each portrait. And then I have to look back up to you with empty hands in search of some way to thank you, and I have nothing. I am a beggar. I wish I had something to show for mine own character.”

“You need nothing.”

“I know. I know, but I wish to give you something, Athelstan.”

“Why did you trust me? Why did you tell me your secrets when you could tell me nothing else?” Athelstan asked.

Alethia smiled lightly. “When you know, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Alethia stood, the chair scraping on the wood. She took Athelstan’s hands. Gentle. The gesture should have felt repetitive. It never would, not to Athelstan.

“I saw you , standing behind King Ecbert in that damned courtyard. I saw you, Athelstan, and I saw your pain, your gentleness, your willingness to try, to give me a chance. Out of all the people there, you were the only one that did not regard me like an animal. Perhaps I saw my own pain reflected in you, but I do not want that to be it. I wanted… I knew that you would be right .”

Athelstan closed his eyes, trying to take another breath. Each one was harder than the one before, and the tears that had been isolated exceptions at first now ran down his face, hot and salty. He was not sure what they meant.

And then, Alethia’s hands were on his face again. They caressed his cheeks without guilt, with the gentleness of a million lifetimes that they did not have. Athelstan could have fallen at her feet right then and there.

She touched her forehead against his, wiping his tears. Athelstan let himself sob, only once, for all the pain he had let pass through him to avoid what he was doing now. He was ruining a moment, he was-

“It’s alright.” Alethia said. “Don’t force yourself to stop.”

Alethia was the only one he trusted to catch him if he fell, and so, he did. She held him as his senses left him and his shoulders buckled under the weight of everything he thought he’d forgotten about. Athelstan buried his face in the crook of her neck, there where the world meant nothing.

Time was meaningless where they stood, and for the first time in his life, Athelstan was not holding up the sky all by himself. The weight on his shoulders had not been lifted away entirely, but he was not carrying it alone, then. 

Athelstan felt the storm brew in his stomach. It coiled itself, beginning to boil and bubble up into his throat, and then, his mouth was forced open. His arms turned against him and he left Alethia’s shoulder, looking at her. With violence, the words were taken out of his mouth and into the air, and Athelstan trembled with fear as he said them. But they were right.

“I love you.”

Alethia’s eyes widened, she froze, and for a moment, she looked scared. Then, her eyes softened, her mouth broke into a wide smile, and there seemed to be some of that violent love that had forced his vocal cords moving within her as well. 

“I love you too.”

“How do you say it?” Athelstan said. The words broke out of him too.

“What do you mean?”

“Those words, how do you say them in your tongue? Your mother tongue, not any of the others. Your language. I want to say that to you in your language. If anything.”

“They mean more in my language. The way that you want to say them, they are impossibly heavy. It is not the same.”

“Good. I want it to mean something.”

“Ich liebe dich.” Alethia whispered. She said the words as if she was directing them at him, not teaching them to him.

“Ich liebe dich.” Athelstan repeated. Alethia laughed, air leaving her lungs, her chest rising in a rapid exchange of air.

“Ich dich auch.” Alethia replied. Athelstan knew what she had said, without any doubt. This time, it was Athelstan who moved first. Finally, he had the courage to kiss her. He was not so afraid  that he had to ask, he simply did it.

His lips touched hers, and Alethia melted into him, pulling him closer. She was slow, languid, patient, nothing like that first time, where it was as if they had tried to cram everything into one kiss. Athelstan felt lost, unsure what to do, but as Alethia’s hands wandered to tangle in his hair, caress his jaw and neck, and her tongue dared to move further, he found some of that confidence that only Northmen and Ecbert seemed to possess.

And then, Alethia pulled him even closer. Athelstan was flush to her, his head began to spin, and he suddenly became overly aware of just how close they were. He knew what came next.

“We don’t have to.” Alethia whispered suddenly. “This is enough for me.”

“I trust you.” Athelstan replied. He felt no guilt, and he was not surprised at that. It was Alethia. How could the most sinful of things be bad with someone as beautiful as her?

No God could convince him that everything he was doing was wrong.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to regret this.” Alethia said.

“I could not. Not with you.”

“But you… what about God?”

“Let God see that I love you, and if He condemns me then, I shall gladly accept the pain of it. It will have been worth it, for you.” Athelstan replied. Alethia’s eyes widened at his words, her hands digging into his tunic. 

“Athelstan…” she began, but he shook his head.

“No more, Alethia. I am sure.”

Alethia nodded, and she kissed him again, leading him towards the bed. Athelstan felt his heart beat in his chest. He had only ever done this once, and then it had been under the influence of whatever Floki had given him. He did not know…

But Alethia was gentle, slow. She lied down on his bed, and Athelstan allowed himself to lie atop her, kissing her slowly. Alethia’s hands wandered, undoing the laces of his tunic. He was somewhat relieved to see that her fingers trembled as well. She pulled it over his head, barely breaking the kiss, and Athelstan shuddered as her hands ghosted over his chest, before she reached back up, fingers combing through his hair.

Athelstan could not help the quiet groan that escaped him as she kissed his neck, leaving a small bit at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

There was something within him that snapped, and Athelstan flipped her around so that Alethia sat atop him. He reached up, pulling her closer. His hands wandered, undoing her tunic now. Alethia leaned down, kissing him with a fervent urgency that left Athelstan dizzy. He slid the tunic down her shoulders, watching as the fabric fell. Athelstan could not take his eyes off of her, determined to commit every scar, every raised bump, everything he could see to memory.

“My eyes are up here.” Alethia joked. He laughed nervously, looking up, and that made Alethia laugh in turn.

“You can look.” she whispered. 

“I’ll do a bit more if that’s okay with you.” he joked back.

“Oh?”

Athelstan let himself touch her, sins forgotten, let his mouth kiss her neck, kiss her collarbones, her shoulders, lower and lower, down her body. He dared to move her as if she was not immovable, a mountain against him, a man.

His hands found their place at her hips. Alethia rolled them with a knowing smirk, and Athelstan tried to suppress another groan.

“What are you staying quiet for?” Alethia asked, her hands travelling down his chest, his stomach, until- 

She reached inside his pants with no shame, fingers wrapping around him deftly and sealing any sounds that could have left his mouth with a kiss of brazen challenge. Athelstan sighed into her mouth, already bucking up into her hand. 

Gently, he stopped her by the wrist.

“What is it?” Alethia asked. “Do you want to stop? We can-”

“I want more. I want you.” Athelstan replied. Alethia nodded, making to undo her own breeches, but Athelstan knew with a firm suddenness that he wanted to do that himself. 

“Lie down.” he said, his voice calm. He did not know where he was taking it from, the courage, only that he suddenly had it.

Alethia followed his words, lifting her hips as Athelstan removed the remainder of her clothes, until she was bare before him.

“That’s not fair.” she whispered. “I want to see you, too.”

“Be patient.” Athelstan reminded.

“Oh, patient, are we now?” Alethia teased. “I thought you wanted me so badly.”

She is in his blood, he thought. In his very bones, in the foundations of his body, his soul. And yes, God, he wanted her badly. But Athelstan was not going to rip the clothes off of her body and fuck her like an animal.

Maybe he could if she taught him.

For now, there was only the gentleness that he had promised her. She tugged at his pants again, impatient and Athelstan noted that Alethia was needy . The thought made him think of things he was better off keeping to himself.

Alethia undressed the rest of him, and now, there was truly nothing that Athelstan could hide. Her hand returned to him , and Athelstan thought that he could not wait any longer, which surprised him, considering that he thought he was patient. Apparently not when it came to her.

He gave her a half-question in the form of raised brows and she gave him a half-answer in the tiniest of nods.

Alethia guided his hips, looking up at him once more, and Athelstan gulped down the rest of his fear. He pushed inside her, and almost immediately, his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. This was not what he had been waiting for for over a year, but, God, wasn’t it a good reward anyway?

“More.” Alethia whispered. “I want all of it.”

He obliged, giving her the rest of what he had, until his hips were slotted against her pelvis. There was a thought in the back of his mind, one of the sort that he was finally holding her the way a husband was supposed to hold his wife, and it made his blood rush. He had not wanted to have her because of this, but it was a gift Alethia had given him. 

Afterward, Alethia curled into his arms, still naked. Athelstan traced the scars on her back, the massive one on her abdomen, the ones on her thighs. There was an automatic anger as he saw the many small cuts that inched up towards her womanhood. Athelstan was not sure he wanted to know what had been done to her.

The cuts that littered her stomach scared him more. How was she still alive? It didn’t matter, what did was that she was alive.

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her collarbones, and, finally her lips, as if Athelstan had not done that enough already. He knew there was a dark bruise at the base of his neck where she had bit him. It was little surprise to him that Alethia liked to scratch and tear, and more that he had enjoyed it.

“Do you feel sinful?” Alethia asked.

“No. But I…”

Athelstan trailed off. It was not the right time, nor the right place. He would keep the question for another time.

“Did you like it?” he said instead.

“I did. I hope you…”

“Yes. It was… I do not know how to…”

“Call it mindblowing.” Alethia winked. Her smile was sardonical, and Athelstan snorted. 

“Worldchanging.”

“Thank you. I always knew I had superpowered…  you know what, I’m not finishing that joke.”

“Thank you.”

“Rude.” Alethia teased. Athelstan turned onto his back, pulling the blanket over him and Alethia. She put her head on his chest, and he knew that she was listening to his heartbeat. Athelstan thought that it was Alethia’s way of making sure he was alright. 

“Why did you draw me?”

“Because you are the light that illuminates my life.”

“Adoringly poetic.”

“Hmm.” Athelstan hummed. “I loved you since I laid eyes on you, I think.”

“Really?” Alethia asked. 

“Truly. And there is something about you that makes drawing you an utter joy.” Athelstan admitted. “Your eyes…”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” Alethia recited.

“I like that.”

“I knew you would.”

“You are impossible to ignore.” Athelstan whispered. “I love you for it, my lady. My lady, my love, my light.”

Alethia smiled. There was no pain in her features, and her muscles were not tense. It was everything Athelstan could have asked for.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Let's talk about the Order of the Companions of Honour by u/Extreme-Slight

Let's talk about the Order of the Companions of Honour The announcement yesterday that Catherine, Princess of Wales has been elevated to the Order of the Companions of Honour (CH) would have sent shock waves through the Cali Sunshine for a number of reasonsTiming Usually honours are announced in June around the Monarch's Official Birthday / Tropping The Colour and New Year's Day. They can be announced at anytime but by singling C-PoW out, she gets a moment of glory to herself, it celebrates St George's Day (which gets tangled up with Nationalism etc) and what a sweet message to the Wales's children on how much their mum means to Grampa. TOW has a history of trying to eclipse Prince Louis's birthday and this would have knocked anything the said off the front pages.First among EqualsThe CH is limited in membership and (yeap we're Brits) hierarchical. Your position in the Order, therefore the order you walk in is strictly by date of elevation to the Order....... except...C-POW as the only member of the RF who is part of this Order has gone in at Number 1, it is effectively HER order now. And I can see a lovely tradition starting where they elevate George's future spouse to the Order in their 40th Birthday year.She stands alone without peer in this order (can we hear the screams yet)Networking There are already a couple of "lifestyle" gurus on the list, Delia Smith and Anna Wintour (Met Gala invites anyone?), UK acting, music and art royalty - Maggie Smith, Elton John, Ian McKellen, Margaret Atwood to name a few - Sport, Ecology and Science - Seb Coe, Mary Peters and David Attenborough. I hear that Mary Berry and Patrick Stewart on high on the list to fill the vacancies in June.Can you imagine the good that could be done if just one of these opened their black books to support ARO, Invictus or Archwell? But now it's the Earthshot Prize that will benefit by being seen with a fellow Companion.It's based now in the Commonwealth.More than any other of the UK Orders, this one is becoming Commonwealth based and I can see the order becoming much more diverse under C-POW's guiding hand.The Commonwealth and any Viceroy positions slipped away from TOS hands thanks to their negative comments but this really does, for me start to mark the end (again)More information about the Order rom Wikipedia here post link: https://ift.tt/A1OWEFP author: Extreme-Slight submitted: April 24, 2024 at 12:10PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[abwwia]

Margaret Eleanor Atwood CC OOnt CH FRSC (born November 18, 1939) is a Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, teacher, environmental activist, and inventor. Since 1961, she has published 18 books of poetry, 18 novels, 11 books of non-fiction, nine collections of short fiction, eight children's books, and two graphic novels, as well as a number of small press editions of both poetry and fiction. Atwood has won numerous awards and honors for her writing, including two Booker Prizes, the Arthur C. Clarke Award, the Governor General's Award, the Franz Kafka Prize, Princess of Asturias Awards, and the National Book Critics and PEN Center USA Lifetime Achievement Awards. A number of her works have been adapted for film and television.

Atwood's works encompass a variety of themes including gender and identity, religion and myth, the power of language, climate change, and "power politics". Many of her poems are inspired by myths and fairy tales which interested her from a very early age.

Atwood is a founder of the Griffin Poetry Prize and the Writers' Trust of Canada. She is also a Senior Fellow of Massey College, Toronto.

Atwood is also the inventor of the LongPen device and associated technologies that facilitate remote robotic writing of documents.

Photo Tim Walker

#womeninliterature #PalianShow ##femalewriters #womenwriters #novelist #femalenovelist

[raisab332012]

https://ancillasvintage.quora.com/Princess-Margaret-Daisy-of-Connaught-The-daughter-of-Prince-Arthur-Duke-of-Connaught-third-son-of-Queen-Victoria

https://ancillasvintage.quora.com/Princess-Margaret-Daisy-of-Connaught-The-daughter-of-Prince-Arthur-Duke-of-Connaught-third-son-of-Queen-Victoria https://ancillasvintage.quora.com/Princess-Margaret-Daisy-of-Connaught-The-daughter-of-Prince-Arthur-Duke-of-Connaught-third-son-of-Queen-Victoria?ch=15&oid=101973800&share=0ef2ee69&srid=7KVRc&target_type=post

[nervouspearl]

[weloveperioddrama]

the crown + feminist or powerful moments (requested by @jacnaylor)

[bloodywondersden]

Georgie Henley as Margaret Tudor in The Spanish Princess.

[marnigifshistory]

Bel Powley as Princess Margaret in A Royal Night Out

[jancsloan]

Character Posters: Princess Margaret, THE CROWN

You don't know for a minute what it is to be unhinged.

[countrymusiclover]

Kane and Griffin Blood

Kristin Kane is the secret daughter of Abby Griffin and Marcus Kane. She isn't hidden away under the floor, instead lives with her father he forces her to never leave their room, one afternoon she does and meets guard cadet Bellamy Blake- who she instially falls for. Years later she ends up in the skybox with Octavia and her sister Clarke - who has no idea she exists. The 100 are sent down and she reunites with Bellamy - together they must all learn how to survive and will Kristin ever accept what her parents did to her for her whole life.

Ch 1 - That's our Dream

Ch 2 - Prisoner 318 (part 1)

Ch 2 - Prisoner 318 (part 2)

Ch 3 - Love and old enemy

Ch 4 - Living War/Home Onward

Ch 5 - Reunion/Sacrifice/Drilling

Ch 6 - Bell's Betrayal/Tech Tackover

Ch 7 - Survival is what's left

Ch 8 - Families Conflict

Ch 9 - Praimfaya Riots

Ch 10 - Bunker Law

Ch 11 - Blake's vs Blake

Ch 12 - Family Struggles

Ch 13 - Space Life Once Again

Ch 14 - Strong Willed

Ch 15 - Dinner Fate

Ch 16 - False Princess

Ch 17 - Reliving Everything

Ch 18 - Margaret Blake

(Is an x reader. I just put a name because I felt like it)

Tags - @100foreverfiles @ocappreciationtag

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[fateandsecrets]

Fate & Secrets--Ch. 3

✺ Hyperion ✺

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” Matthias asked as he steered Alaya out of the ballroom. She winced. 

“I’m fine, Matthias.”

Her guard pursed his lips but said nothing more until they stood at her bedroom door. As if she’d been waiting for them, Sophia opened the door, immediately ushering Alaya and Matthias inside.

“I heard shouting,” she shut the door quietly. “What happened, my lady?”

Alaya plopped into an overstuffed armchair, her golden, diamond-studded circlet tipping to the side of her head. The princess didn’t even bother to fix it.

“Stupid Sagaxan princes,” she muttered under her breath. “Stupid bastard sons.”

Matthias and Sophia exchanged a glance.

“Prince Malik and Prince Adonis were in attendance tonight?” The lady-in-waiting approached her princess, taking her hand and leading her to sit in front of a large mirror. She gently removed the circlet from Alaya’s hair, running her deft fingers through the knots that had formed throughout the day. 

“Unfortunately,” Alaya grumbled, though she relaxed a bit as Sophia worked.

From his position at her door, Matthias asked, “Aren’t they always in attendance?”

“Sadly.”

“I thought you and Prince Malik got along.” Her guard folded his arms.

Alaya made a face. “We do. It’s his brother that I can’t stand.”

“I’ve always liked Prince Adonis,” Sophia commented as she loosened the last few knots out of Alaya’s hair. “He’s quiet. Keeps to himself.”

“He also ignores the servants and everyone else he deems unimportant,” The princess added helpfully. Sophia rolled her eyes.

“Your flair for the dramatics is as unparalleled as ever, my lady. Come. I’ve prepared your bath.”

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me, Your Highness.” Matthias bowed before moving into the hallway to stand in front of her door.

As Alaya slipped into the bath, her mind immediately went to her father. Several of his advisers had taken his body to a remote location on the far edges of Hyperion territory, had laid his body to rest while she entertained their people in his place.

Her throat tightened with tears as she slipped under the water, attempting to drown her thoughts and sorrows, but two words remained as she resurfaced, jabbing at the broken pieces of her heart like a dull, wicked knife. 

He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.

Alaya didn’t realize she was sobbing until she felt the gentle hands of her lady-in-waiting brushing her wet hair off of her cheeks.

“Up you go,” Sophia murmured, taking the princess’s hand and helping her out of the tub, wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Alaya’s voice broke as she clung to her friend. “Now he’s gone. I couldn’t even attend his funeral, I can’t even wear black to mourn him.”

The people of Hyperion were known to wear bright, vibrant colors. Black was only worn when one was in a period of mourning, and her father’s advisers believed suspicion would be raised if Alaya were to be seen wearing it. She knew they were right, but it felt wrong to continue to wear bright colors when her father was dead. Hyperion should’ve been black and empty. 

But now Hyperion was hers. Alaya was the queen. 

As the firstborn–and only–child of the Meryalls, Alaya had always known she would be queen someday, even when she was little. Her parents made sure of that. 

But not like this. She couldn’t become queen like this. She wasn’t ready.

“What will become of me?” Alaya whispered as Sophia tugged a silken nightgown over her head. “I’m not ready to rule. Mother–”

“Is indisposed at the moment,” Sophia cut in gently. “You know this. She is not fit to rule.”

Her mother had become a shell of her former self since Alaya’s father died, leaving her quarters only when it was absolutely necessary. Margaret, the queen’s lady-in-waiting, had simply shaken her head sadly when Alaya attempted to visit.

“She’s not herself, Your Highness,” Margaret had told her. “Better to visit once she’s recovered.”

A month had passed since that conversation, and her mother showed no signs of recovering anytime in the near future. 

Unlike her mother, Alaya couldn’t afford to shut down, couldn’t afford to scream and cry and rage like she so desperately wanted to. 

“That may be so,” Alaya said aloud after a few minutes. “But if the Sagaxans knew the truth–”

“I know, my lady.” Sophia squeezed her hand. They all knew. 

It would mean war.

King Ludovic, Malik’s father, would invade Hyperion without a second thought once he heard of the demise of King Anata. Out of all of the clans, Hyperion and Sagax had the most tenuous relationship. 

Tenuous was putting it lightly. 

Long before Alaya’s time, Hyperion and Sagax were united as one territory named Albrecht. As time went on, the territory became divided into two factions: those who believed in the old Greek myths, in the Titan Hyperion, the personification of sunshine. As such, much of their culture revolved around the rise and set of the sun. Work began at sunrise and ended at sundown. 

The Sagaxans favored the shadows, favored the cunning, favored darkness. Much of their work was done in the quiet only the night could offer. It was no surprise when Nyx, the primordial goddess of the night, became the entity the Sagaxans revered above all.

“That’s where the saying ‘as different as night and day’ comes from, Alaya,” Her father had always told her with a hint of a smile in his voice. “Civil war was inevitable.”

“Your Highness?” 

Matthias re-entered the room without knocking, which was unlike him. Both Alaya and Sophia whirled around to face him. 

“Matthias!” Sophia hissed, sprinting across Alaya’s chambers to grab her lightest cloak, wrapping it around Alaya’s shoulders hastily. “By the seven suns, can’t you knock? She was indecent.”

While Alaya appreciated the cloak, as her chambers always housed a particularly chilly draft, Sophia’s concern was unwarranted. Alaya had known Matthias since she was a little girl, had played with him often– until he was old enough to begin training for his current position by her side. As if sensing Alaya’s thoughts, Matthias rolled his eyes. 

“Honestly, Soph, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides,” His expression lost most of its mirth. “We have a problem.” 

“A problem?” Sophia parroted, throwing an arm across Alaya’s chest instinctively, as if to protect her. Alaya winced as Sophia’s elbow jabbed her in the chest. 

“Suns, Soph, your elbows are sharp enough to cut glass!” The princess gently pushed Sophia’s arm away. “What’s going on, Matthias?”

Matthias straightened, all business. “The twins heard a commotion under your window, Your Highness.”

“A commotion?” Exasperation seeped into Alaya’s tone. “Of what sort, Matthias? You know how Andres exaggerates–”

“I am well aware, Laya,” Matthias snapped. Alaya stilled. Though Matthias was her oldest friend, he rarely called her by her first name anymore, much less the nickname he’d given her when they were children. “Forgive me. At first, I said the same thing, but I had Alston investigate. You know he’s the more sensible of the two.”

“And?” Suns, if he’s stalling this much it must be bad, Alaya thought. Even so, she found herself grabbing the nearest knife she found on her dressing room table—a push dagger with an intricately carved ivory handle—wrapping her hair around the blade to form a makeshift updo. 

Matthias swallowed hard. 

“Alston!” He called.

Alaya’s jaw dropped when she saw who Alston dragged into her room. Her anger followed when their surprise visitor simply smirked as Andres forced him to his knees. 

“You.” 

***

Matthias had to hold Alaya back from grabbing her sword, lest she run the bastard Sagaxan prince through. 

“Princess,” Prince Adonis’ lips curved wickedly. “I never thought I’d be seeing your face again so soon, and in your bedroom, no less. Is this how you welcome all trespassers?”

Alaya bared her teeth.

“No, actually.” She lurched forward, but Matthias held her fast, locking her arms behind her back. “We welcome trespassers by locking them in the dungeon and hanging them when the sun rises. Would you like a demonstration?”

“Nyx umbra, princess,” Adonis shook his head, placing a hand to his chest. “You entertain prisoners in naught but a cloak and your nightgown? How very uncouth.” He chuckled. 

“Leave your goddess and her shadows out of this,” Alaya hissed. “What in the seven suns-"

“Ah-ah-ah,” Adonis held up a finger. “Leave your god and his suns out of this.” 

Alaya gritted her teeth, twisting around to look up into Matthias’s face.

“I need everyone out.”

Her guard’s hold tightened. 

“Your Highness–”

“That’s an order, Matthias.”

Matthias released her at once, though with clear reluctance. “I hate it when you do that,” he grumbled. Alaya gave him a sweet smile, patting his cheek before he motioned for Andres and Alston to follow. 

As the men filed out, Sophia remained. She regarded her princess warily, eyes darting between Alaya and Adonis.

“I’ll be fine, Sophia,” Alaya assured her. “Go.”

Sophia smiled dryly. “It’s not you I’m worried about, my lady,” she said, lifting a brow, as if she was daring Alaya to prove her wrong.

“I’m not going to murder him in my bedroom, Soph–”

“You are indeed merciful,” Adonis intoned drolly. 

“His blood would take ages to come out of the carpets,” Alaya finished, wrinkling her nose. 

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” Sophia said after a moment, bobbing into a curtsy before stepping into the hallway as well.

As soon as she was gone, Alaya turned to Adonis. “Now,” she said through gritted teeth. “Tell me what you’re doing here, Your Highness.”

“And if I don’t?” Adonis stood, brushing an invisible speck of dirt off his deep blue tunic. 

Alaya scowled. “Then I’d be more than happy to show you my proficiency with the sharp end of a blade.”

Adonis’ gray-blue eyes glinted with amusement. “I seem to remember your swordsmanship is severely lacking, my lady. Why, just a year ago, there was that friendly duel between Gervasio and Hyperion. King Gerard–”

“Had the unfair advantage and you know it!” Alaya wasn’t sure why she bothered to entertain conversation with the prince. “Stop changing the subject. Just tell me what you’re doing here or I’ll-“

“Yes, yes, make your empty threats, princess,” Adonis began, but something snapped in Alaya then. She slipped the dagger from her hair and lunged, grabbing the prince by the shirt collar and holding the knife to his throat in one fluid motion.

“Care to repeat yourself, my lord?” Alaya snarled, her hair a mess of wet brown strands framing her face, her cheeks flushed with anger. Adonis caught her wrist before she could pierce his skin.

“Point taken,” he said, flashing the smile that Alaya knew made most girls swoon. “No pun intended, of course.”

Alaya’s lips twitched. She would not give him the satisfaction of laughing, though. She was not most girls. Alaya was a queen, whether she was ready to be or not. 

“At any rate,” Adonis continued, pushing Alaya’s blade away from his throat gingerly. “I heard something peculiar when I happened to stumble past your window, Your Highness.”

“I’m not surprised. Eavesdroppers often hear things they shouldn’t,” Alaya shot back. 

Adonis smirked. “That may be so, but do eyes see what isn’t there?” 

“They do if you’re crazy,” Alaya mumbled, but Adonis pressed on, unperturbed. 

“You’ve been crying,” he noted, studying Alaya’s face. 

Alaya tightened her grip on her dagger. “I’ve never known you to care so much about my wellbeing, Your Highness,” she replied, each word sharp and precise.

“About your wellbeing?” Adonis laughed. “How you flatter yourself, my lady. I care little for your wellbeing. What I am curious about, though,” he grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Is the reason why. What could the heir to Hyperion’s throne possibly have to cry about?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” Alaya jerked her chin away, but Adonis held her there, his lips curving. 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Your Highness.” A cruel light glinted in his eyes. “But I do believe I must congratulate you.”

“Congratulate me?”

“Of course,” Adonis pinched her cheeks like she was a silly child. “It’s not every day one gets to witness the rise of a new monarch.”

Alaya finally succeeded in breaking free of the prince’s grasp. She backed up, holding out her dagger in warning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said evenly. 

A slow smile spread across Adonis’ features, the cruel light still dancing in his eyes. 

“You and I both know your father taught you to be above lying…” He leaned in close, his next words a breath against her ear. “Your Majesty.” 

Chapter 4

~~~

taglist: @flowerbbybananamilk @thepilotguy988 @typewriting101

[winterbaby89]

1, 2, 6, and 9 please, ma’am!

1 - What made you start writing fanfic?

I had a niggling idea that just wouldn't leave me be until I got it on the page.

2 - Which of your own fanfics have you reread the most?

I'll narrow it down to the top 3:

Éire - OS - Rated M - 14+K words - Summary: When sisters Ruby Lucas and Emma Swan travel to Ireland for their final year of college, they had no idea just how much their lives would change.

As Destiny Has Its Eyes On You - MC - Rated M - 55+K words - Summary: Princess Emma Swan of Misthaven has been prophesied as the Savior since before her birth. Now with the help of a Lieutenant from her past she is going to take her destiny into her own hands, to defeat the Evil Queen. This fic is partially co-written with @seriouslyhooked having reworked her Ch's 1 & 2 from her fic Destiny Has Its Eyes on You

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke - MC - Rated M - 148+K words - Co-written with @hollyethecurious - Summary: Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile. Twenty-eight years later, Killian Jones awakes in Storybrooke expecting just another ordinary day, that is until a number of abnormal occurrences disrupts his otherwise scheduled life. The greatest of which is a new face in town. A young woman by the name of Emma. Emma. What a lovely name...

6 - Name three stories you found easy to write.

I'm not sure Easy is the right word, but I'll list the ones that I remember having the least issues with??

An Unexpected Fall - OS - Rated G - 734 words - Summary: Just a simple meet cute where girl falls for boy, and boy falls for girl.

The Time We're Apart - OS - Rated T - 5802 words - Summary: Life is never as simple as it seems, as a summer love dies with autumn's leaves. What are our lovers to do to rekindle the shuttered flame?

The Great Office Secret Santa Caper - OS - Rated M - 9923 words - Summary: It is time for the company Christmas party again, and with it comes the week of gifts from the Secret Santa's. A “fun” tradition that Mary Margaret insisted David implement a few years back, to encourage camaraderie between employees.

9 - What do your fic bookmarks say about you?

That I read a LOT, and I only read Captain Swan

fanfiction asks!