#darcy POV

[jomiddlemarch]

in the middle before I knew that I had begun

Every visit to Rosings was a trial. As a small child, it had perhaps been most bearable, Darcy whisked away to the nursery where his cousin Dickon was often already settled, making the most of the hobbyhorse which Anne was too young to mount and which would be of little use to her as she would expected to ride side-saddle as soon as she was put upon a pony. Anne’s nurse was apt to ply them with shortbread to get them to behave properly, unlike Darcy’s nurse at Pemberley who would not have hesitated to box their ears. They were brought down to the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, standing as still as they could, Dickon having invented the game he called living statues to help pass the time. It would stand Darcy in good stead over the years, especially when he was most in company. At Rosings, they would be inspected, praised by Darcy’s mother, criticized by Aunt Catherine, and offered cakes by Dickon’s mother, who was quite plump and fussed least about crumbs and sticky fingers.

Returning every year was an obligation, one which only grew more binding after his mother’s death, though her absence was keenly felt, unblunted by time as Georgianna grew to resemble her. Her daughter was more like her in manner than in coloring, though she had her fair and unblemished complexion. Darcy could no sooner have stayed away from Rosings than gallop to the Moon upon a road of starlight, a fanciful image he’d conjured for Georgianna one night when she was recovering from a childhood illness, still fretful from her fever. If their mother had lived, perhaps he might have visited friends, stayed in London and made a wider acquaintance than that of the Bingleys, however fond he was of Charles. As it was, it was Darcy’s fondness which kept Charles from suffering more than one visit to Rosings, a boon even the sunny-natured Bingley was deeply thankful for. Darcy went, Georgianna accompanying him if her health allowed, the only argument Aunt Catherine would ever countenance, and he sat through dull afternoons and duller dinners, dull vintages and even duller volumes in the Rosings library. He listened to his cousin Anne play endless sonatas competently but without any particular feeling and he did his best to keep from striking the sycophant vicar Mr. Collins his aunt had given the Rosings living to; unlike her, Darcy was not remotely pleased by the man’s obviously intricately planned adulatory remarks, the slavering expression in his rather small eyes every time he uttered the most-esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an appellation Darcy felt did not need to be mentioned in every third sentence. 

A visit to Rosings was a trial and an obligation, a chore and a burden, until he arrived and found a stranger at the pianoforte, a vibrant, chestnut-haired young woman in a very simple muslin gown, his cousin Anne sitting beside her. Anne had never looked more sallow and sickly, her costly gown and jewels emphasizing her frailty in contrast to the bloom of the woman beside her, whose hair was held back by a plain ribbon fillet, her only adornment a modest little cross of some dark stones. She was playing the piano with more zest than accuracy and Darcy was dismayed to be unsure which aspect was pleasing Anne enough to make her pallid lips curve in a small but entirely genuine smile.

Anne stood when she saw him while the woman stopped playing but remained seated. He walked over to greet his cousin, bowing smartly while she made a gesture akin to a curtsy, the formality due their stations far outweighing any mild familial affection they might have for each other.

“Cousin Fitzwilliam, welcome. If you are here, you must have already seen Mama who have advised you to come. I hope your journey was not too taxing and that you will stay here a while and enjoy some music. My new companion, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, came just last fortnight. She is the cousin of the vicar and Mr. Collins was only too glad to discover he might have been able to in any minute way be of service to me, and by extension, my most-esteemed mother, Lady Catherine,” Anne said. She’d spoken more words than Darcy had ever heard her utter at one time, and though she was still quite pale and her curls rather lank and drooping, there was an unusual animation in her tone. She turned slightly to face Miss Bennet. “That is how he said it, wasn’t it, dear Elizabeth?”

“I believe he was only too glad and most assuredly blessed beyond measure,” Miss Bennet replied. She had the finest dark eyes Darcy had ever seen and her voice was confident and gay, far different from every other companion he’d ever encountered, women most often faded misses of indeterminate age who spoke little and softly, nearly always offering only an affirmation.

“That’s him exactly. He’d pressed his hands together as if he were about to give a homily in the pulpit and Mama gave him her falcon-sighting-prey glare and he only nodded his head several times,” Anne said. 

“He was honest though. I’ve never met someone as delighted as Mr. Collins is to render even the most insignificant service to Lady Catherine and I myself am certainly fortunate to have been offered the position as your companion,” Miss Bennet said. Darcy had never heard a companion speak so frankly to her betters about her role and felt he ought to be disgusted. Instead he was diverted, a condition he experienced rarely.

“I am the fortunate one, as you are far more lively and engaging than I could ever be. I’ve never known the days to pass so quickly,” Anne said.

“They shall pass quicker still when your strength improves and our walks about the countryside are more extensive,” Miss Bennet said, a remark which could have been cutting, as if might have been if Miss Caroline Bingley, Charles’s rather odious sister, had spoken it, but which was only imbued with a gentle, genuine warmth and kindness. “Though you risk a muddy hem three inches deep when you join me and your mother may be as disappointed in your deportment as she was in mine. I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I did not bow my head and offer an apology. Indeed, my courage rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“You are singular, Miss Bennet,” he said.

“And you have not even heard me attempt ‘Les deux petits savoyards,’” she countered, moving her hands back to the pianoforte’s keys.

“Oh do play, dear Elizabeth,” Anne said and Darcy inclined his head in agreement, at a loss for words. The melody began, quite spirited, much like the musician herself and Darcy realized this visit to Rosings was itself singular.

For he had fallen in love. With his Cousin Anne’s paid companion. A servant.

Somehow, he’d have to find a way to marry her.

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month day 7, prompt: servant.

Posted in the better late than never spirit.

[ayesha-lioness]

What a wonderful book for austen fan to enjoy. That was my great wish to see the well-known story again but from Mr. Darcy's perspective and this precious book is exactly the same I looked for to fulfill it. Highly recommend to read 🥰

When Mr. Charles Bingley rode into Hertfordshire to acquaint himself with Netherfield Park it was on a purely accidental recommendation. The solicitor who took it upon himself to advocate for Netherfield could certainly not be blamed for seeing a very desirable tenant in him. Bingley was at that time not yet two years of age, and unmarried, but he had the sort of good-humoured and generous character that must recommend him to almost anybody. The same could not be said for his closest friend…

Conceit and Conciliation is a full, canon compliant retelling of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”, told from the perspectives of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Charles Bingley.

It was written with a lot of love and a lot of help from my sister, and you can download it right now for free (ePub, Mobi or PDF) on my website laurasimons.com!

[lcianhale]

Here's what you missed on Lucian:

A quebra do silêncio dos deuses se provara uma péssima coisa para Lucian. Fazia anos que não saia numa missão oficial e o resultado da primeira missão após o seu retorno foi um tanto... desastrosa. Acabara ferido pelas formigas gigantes enquanto investigava a fenda com Dove e Joseph, encontraram uma segunda fenda e ainda por cima, trombaram com o cão infernal no caminho de volta, fazendo com que Lucian ficasse assistindo enquanto seus companheiros davam conta da criatura. Se não estivesse tão machucado, acreditava que teriam conseguido derrotar o monstro. Porém, seus colegas de missão deram prioridade a sua segurança, deixando que o cão infernal desaparecesse enquanto o carregavam.

Durante o retorno, o filho de Apolo perdeu a consciência diversas vezes, o veneno das myrmekes correndo por suas veias. Só veio dar sinal de vida no dia seguinte, repousando na maca ao lado de Stevie, de Niké, que também havia sido vítima das formigas. Seus comentários trouxeram um breve sorriso aos lábios de Lucian embora ainda estivesse fazendo careta devido a queimadura de ácido que corroera sua braçadeira.

Os dias se passaram e veio a revelação sobre o desaparecimento de Apolo e as coisas começaram a fazer sentido em sua cabeça. O constante tempo nublado vinha lhe incomodando há algum tempo e finalmente ter alguma resposta sobre o assunto era um alívio. Que é claro estava acompanhado de ressentimento. Se não fosse por Veronica, quem sabe por quanto tempo Quíron e o Sr. D. manteriam a informação em segredo?

Lucian fazia suas as palavras que Yasemin jogou na cara dos dois, eram basicamente os mesmos questionamentos que passavam por sua cabeça. Sentia-se traído pela direção do acampamento. O semideus jamais hesitara em compartilhar suas previsões através de desenhos com eles, e fora ingênuo o suficiente para acreditar que a confiança era uma via de mão dupla. Estava terrivelmente errado. Hale não compartilharia o conteúdo de seus sonhos com eles, não por agora.

Apesar da raiva que sentia da direção do acampamento, Lucian fizera sua parte na tentativa de emboscar o cão infernal. Ainda remoía o fato de que a criatura continuava andando por aí depois de terem topado com ela durante sua missão. Seu instinto era o de lançar flecha atrás de flecha no monstro, uma vingança poética para a criatura responsável pela morte de Aidan.

Seus planos foram por água abaixo quando reparou a reação de seus irmãos mais novos. O desejo de vingança era compartilhado por muitos residentes do chalé sete, o vazio causado pelo luto sendo preenchido por uma sede de violência. Já tinha visto aquele tipo de reação antes. Foi a mesma que tivera diante da Batalha do Labirinto e a morte de Lee. Alguém precisava cuidar dos mais novos. Sabendo exatamente como se sentiam, Lucian se voluntariou para o trabalho.

O clima no acampamento tinha voltado a sua "normalidade anormal", enquanto Lucian passava mais e mais tempo na biblioteca tentando interpretar seus desenhos. E aí veio o anúncio o tal do baile de gala. Tinha que confessar que não estava nem um pouco animado para o evento. A última coisa que queria fazer era participar de uma comemoração romântica. Fazia meses que tinha trocado São Francisco pelo Acampamento Meio-Sangue e quanto mais o tempo passava, mais Lucian se arrependia de não ter contado para seu namorado sobre sua herança divina.

Com a mensagem de Dionísio e sua previsão sobre a Rachel, Hale fez as malas e partiu para Long Island com a desculpa esfarrapada de uma "emergência de família". A ideia de procurar um apartamento com James quando seu contrato de aluguel acabasse indo para o brejo pois cá estava, com o contrato vencido e sem poder entrar em contato com o amado. Lucian não estava nem um pouco interessado em sentir o amor no ar quando nem tinha certeza se ainda estava em um relacionamento.

This is what you missed on Lucian.

[mysunfreckle]

One of the funnest Pride and Prejudice POV switches to write so far

From:

When all of the house that was open to general inspection had been seen, they returned down stairs; and, taking leave of the housekeeper, were consigned over to the gardener, who met them at the hall door. As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also; and while the former was conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself suddenly came forward from the road which led behind it to the stables.

To:

He rode directly to the stables, where he was welcomed with surprise and immediate inquiries as to whether any assistance was called for. Darcy assured them none was needed and handed off his horse, making his way down the road and towards the house unattended. His mind was fully occupied by his wish for a change of clothes and some refreshment, and his intention to summon his steward as soon as these had been obtained, so that he might have the remainder of the day to prepare for tomorrow. These were tranquil thoughts however; very different from the discomforts of travel, for they were familiar and sure of immediate remedy. Due to this pleasant and practical preoccupation Darcy was at that moment not aware of any person other than himself. That is, until he rounded the corner of Pemberley House and, standing upon the lawn and gazing up at the building, he beheld Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Poor guy <3

[wistfulwillows]

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic:

[theromanticartist]

Pride & Blood: Mr. Darcy Vampire

‘Pride and Prejudice’ meets ‘Twilight’

Check out the first 10 episodes for FREE, available only on Kindle Vella US.

In this fantasy retelling of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy, a Vampire Lord, hides his true nature behind a stoic facade. Captivated by the sharp-minded Elizabeth Bennet, he finds himself torn between his ardent love for her and his dangerous instincts. When Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an Elder Vampire head of his Coven, learns of the forbidden romance, she vows to eliminate Elizabeth. Complicating matters is George Wickham, a seductive werewolf with a dark past linked to Darcy.

Continue reading for free here.

[avionvadion]

Forest Deep Ch.44 (Sneak Peak) (It starts with another Sess PoV)

Beauty was a senseless notion.

It was something brought forth by fools who desired that which they believed was above them. Fools consumed by greed and lust, they gave into their most base desires and lost control of themselves, and were so pathetic and weak they refused to acknowledge how lowly they’ve become. This has not changed over the last two centuries. Sesshōmaru is convinced this senselessness has only gotten worse.

But… it wasn’t always about greed or lust, he’s discovered.

There was an ever present beauty in the nature around him, one he never bothered to acknowledge until it was finally pointed out to him. Sunlight streaming in through the branches, illuminating the path before him. Flowers in full bloom, surviving the cold and the harsh world, growing on the side of the road. He didn’t really understand it, or how he was supposed to appreciate it, but Irene had been basking in it shortly after her revival.

A woman who died beneath the ominous glow of a red moon, and came back to life in the warm rays of the morning sun…

Reckless, foolish, soft, and audacious, yet also clever and capable.

What was beauty in her eyes? Who was she to even cause him to be curious about it?

The day he had given her the kimonos, she had been delighted beyond reason. Joyous and bright, she walked with a spring in her step and a large grin on her face. Irene had been humming, moving ahead of the group and gazing at the scenery with sparkling eyes. The human woman had been acting completely enamored with the world around her, to the point Sesshōmaru found it ridiculous.

But then… she stopped moving and gazed up at the sky, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She had seemed so at peace. A serenity of sorts had taken root in her, and when she looked back at them her smile had softened, her brown gaze warm and misty and all too affectionate.

“Isn’t the world just so beautiful?”

Beautiful. A word Sesshōmaru understood, but didn’t quite comprehend.

He had observed the woman for a moment, watching her smile with life in her eyes and bright red cheeks. “What’s so beautiful about it?”

Irene soon spoke of the sunlight fluttering through the tree branches, and how it illuminated the plants below. Of the birds with their constant singing and the clear blue sky. She spoke of the life and nature that surrounded them, that grew around them, but what was the point? All things die eventually; that was the true reality. Beauty is just a temporary thing, and it will wilt just like the flowers she so adores.

Just like her life- which was taken under the light of the blood red moon.

Irene was a terribly foolish creature… but she was not greedy like the rest of mankind. She was audacious, yes, but she had no ambition, no desire to take that which did not belong to her or what was above her. She simply wanted to be. Irene was a foolish woman who found beauty in the mundane and temporary, and had an existence that was of little to no consequence to the demon lord.

So why… was he so irritated?

Even before having found the bridal hood, an anger has been stirring within him. The heavy scent of blood, the fear that tainted it, and the knowledge that some pest was trying to claim her for their own disgusting wants; it aggravated him greatly. Sesshōmaru wanted to tear his claws through the throat of the person that instigated all of this- and behead the vermin that stole her away.

One does not challenge him without facing the consequences, and finding the hair ribbon in the river stream was the final straw.

He showed no mercy to the lowly demons that got in his way. He ordered them to move, only having business with their leader, but when they tried to intercept him he cut them down. Most of the pests in the castle halls had been slashed to bits by his claws and poison whip, and catching the direction Irene’s scent was strongest- the fear in it spiking so strong it was almost rancid- he began to run. Sesshōmaru melted the door with a fury, furious with Irene for getting herself into another troublesome situation and furious with the water dragon demon for stealing her away.

But… seeing her turn to look at him, dressed in a magnificent shiromuku, cleaned up, and her dark brown hair done up with a flower pin, red rouge on her lips, his rage faltered.

He could only watch as the hood fell from her head and shoulders, cascading around her in a flutter of white-and-pink silk, and as she gazed up at him with teary eyes and a trembling smile, Sesshōmaru knew she was the very picture of beauty that would lead many fools into giving leave of their senses, sacrificing their pride and their minds in favor of something temporary and pointless.

Arrogant fools would tear her apart for their own greed, and their lust would break her sense of self. Adorned in such precious pink silk that was embroidered with lilacs and accented with a soft blue, Irene was undoubtedly beautiful.

She did not wish to be, however, and hearing her call out to him reminded him of his purpose in coming here. He chided her for her recklessness and took out the hair ribbon he found. Rather than attacking Ryūno immediately, Sesshōmaru decided to wait; will Irene truly abandon her pride and ask him, Sesshōmaru, for help, or will she accept her fate in marrying such a pathetic creature?

Did she truly leave the hair ribbon behind for him to find, or was it merely coincidence that it had been lost?

“I-I don’t… I don’t wanna get married!” Irene cried, a hiccup tearing through her throat. “I-I don’t-! I don’t wanna be here! I wanna go back, Sesshōmaru!”

That was all he needed to hear.

Yet that foolish woman still chose to show mercy, forgiving Ryūno for forcing her hand in his. She scolded him, lectured him, and even gave him advice. Sesshōmaru would have slaughtered the man for daring to steal away someone he had taken under his wing, and yet was asked to spare him. Ryūno should realize how close he came to death that day, for if not for Irene’s plea Sesshōmaru would have ended him then and there. He should be grateful, for Irene is far more generous than he, and had it only been Sesshōmaru that Ryūno had wronged he would not have agreed to Irene’s request.

Pitiful demon, so worked up over a human woman…

Just like Sesshōmaru’s deceased father, and just like his miserable half-brother who had been pinned to a tree in a fifty year sleep.

What’s the point of it all?

It just didn’t make any sense to him.

“H-How… do we get out of here?” Sesshōmaru had stared down at Irene as she approached him, watching as she tied her hair back with the ribbon he had given her. She looked rather anxious, nervousness radiating from her smaller form as she stood a few feet away in front of him. The shiromuku hem trailed behind her, clinging to her form and giving off an aura of elegance she normally did not possess. Irene curled her hands close to her chest, fingers hidden beneath her long sleeves. Her deep chestnut brown eyes, though concerned, shimmered with unsaid joy. “Which way’s the exit?”

Sesshōmaru said nothing, realizing upon seeing her smile at him that his own actions today made little sense.

He pulled his gaze away to stare at the door he had melted, wondering if the rage he had felt truly did come from a sense of pride- and why the scent of her blood disgusted him so. She was just another human he had allowed to travel with him. A curious one, perhaps, but a human nonetheless.

Just as she said before, they were neither allies nor enemies. They simply existed around each other. Nothing more and nothing less.

And yet…

“I-I want to stay with Sesshōmaru! I want to help him look after Rin! I-I want… I want to stay.”

To declare such a thing so fiercely, when she had been so hesitant to voice her desires before, made it clear that there was more to it. There was more to it, because Sesshōmaru would not stop her if that was what she wished. She was bound to vanish eventually, but if she wished to remain by his side until then… so be it. Irene would be granted his protection for just a little while longer.

He’d allow her to continue walking beside him.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Whatever it was that led to their continuous encounters, this was as far as it would go. His generosity only goes so far. He is Sesshōmaru, the eldest son of the great dog demon general, and though Irene may hold such affections towards him like many fools have before, he is not inclined to such ridiculous notions.

No, it is just as she said.

They exist around each other, and that is all.

He is merely…

[angeltannis]

I’ve made this exact post before but I can’t find it. Anyway “The mysterious and aloof character who seems like an obvious twist villain is actually just autistic and befriends the rest of the cast by the end” no better plot twist than this, ever

[avirxy]

🌹

“Oh my god,” Darci cries from somewhere nearby. “she’s here!”

Swells of crunching and cracking leaves rebound closer, approaching.

“Hey, hey,” Jim’s voice shakes and trembles as his hands land on either side of her bloodstained face, gently pulling it away from the wet leaves, trying to keep her attention.

All she can register are his warm palms, the roughness that aligns at the edges of his fingers, from gripping his sword a certain way.

[thegroundsofbrooklyn]

i think if darcy was 1950s movie man he would be the type of guy to sing singin in the rain

[cto10121]

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/YMMV/MidnightSun2020

Okay, but you need to read this since the entire thing is hilarious.

Does anyone that reviews this books not a raging, nitpicky anti?

…Oh, God, you weren’t kidding.

[cderiva]

[ a late birthday present for maria! nanami date ]

Nanami does not recall the last time he had a good evening. One without talk of work passed halfheartedly over an izakaya table gone sticky with spilt beer. One that doesn’t taste like the bland loneliness of a reheated frozen meal. Contentment is a thing deferred, the bed he will crawl into one day when he no longer has to wake up with the sun after so few hours of sleep he can count them on one hand with fingers leftover.

It is too early to assume that this is what that vague future life will feel like. They’ve only been on a few dates, have only known each other a few months, but in the soft glow of the restaurant’s ambient light, he feels like maybe he’s mapping the first tentative edges of something worth holding onto. Tonight, at least, he is not yet ready to see the end of the warm, ease that has settled over them.

They could leave, stretch the ten minute walk to the station into an hour with a languid gait and a few extra turns down blessedly quiet side streets, but Nanami wants to hold onto this moment a little longer. This conversation about nothing important, folded into the spaces between the indistinct complaints and pleasantries of the people around them. So the next time he catches sight of one of the waiters, he calls out a firm, “Excuse me.” And even though no one has ever accused him of having a sweet tooth, he answers the man’s questioning look with a request for dessert, heedless of the two plates bearing the crumbs of a dessert already finished.

[yikes077]

Love visiting my grandma in her residencial apartment. A bunch of old people giving me weird looks, and learning about dog shows, love, and bad acting on the hallmark channel

[redhairedgirl95]

can you do a different pov of any scene (for the ask game you reblogged)

Darcy's pov - from EM1 chapter 3

She almost couldn’t believe it had worked so smoothly. How could one be so stupid? Icy had written the note and, once Stormy had entrusted the message with the winds and blown it through the Princess’ window, all they had had to do was wait. In the meantime, Darcy had built up an illusion to make the old battered house look like the stylish Black Lagoon, the perfect date for the first date of the two royal lovebirds.

Twenty minutes after the set time, wearing a long blue dress and new heels, the Princess of the Sun crossed the door of the restaurant only to knocked out by Darcy’s spell.

“Idiot.” She commented, dropping the illusion and returning the shack to its original appearance.

“Stormy, get the Ring.” Icy ordered, while she and Darcy stood by one another, waiting, eager to get their hands on the Scepter, the magical artifact that would finally grant them the power of the Dragon Flame.

“There’s no ring here. The bitch must’ve left it at Alfea.” Stormy replied, pissed, and kicked the unconscious Princess in the guts. Pity that she was unconscious, she would’ve loved to see her suffer.

“Not a total idiot, then.” Darcy smiled.

“Let’s get started, sisters.” Icy ordered. “I want that ring.”

They grabbed the fairy and sat her in front of a wall, then Icy trapped her wrists into two ice blocks, and Stormy summoned lightning at the tip of her fingers, ready to shock the Princess – and wake her up in the process, of course.

“Wait!”

“What, Darcy?” Icy asked, and Stormy looked at her like she was crazy.

The Witch of Illusions crouched in front of the Princess and took off her shoes. “These are mine. They are new collection!”

[cinematicnomad]

Book ask question #8

08. what series has most pleased you?

i can't remember the last time i read a set of book that were in a series, especially not one i finished. so here's a list of some series i loved as a kid including the time quintet series by madeleine l'engle, the tillerman cycle by cynthia voigt (specifically my favorite has always been a solitary blue), the anne of green gables series by l.m. montgomery, and his dark materials by philip pullman.

📚book ask📚

[saintsanddevils]

Never Alone - pt 3

Aaric Graycastle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Since Aaric tried to make you leave Basgiath, you’re not speaking to him. So, you decide to take out your frustration on the mat.

Warnings: Iron Flame spoilers, violence, swearing, Mr. Darcy’s School of Yearning, ANGST

Author’s Note: I’m basically ignoring the entirety of the canon plot-line of Iron Flame so…

Word Count: 4K

Part Two | Part Four

————

-Assessment Day-

(Reader POV)

Anxiety and anticipation run rampant amongst the cadets as we stand around the edge of the large mat in the quadrant’s gym.

Professor Emetterio stands on the sidelines of the mat, parchment in hand as he reads out the rules and pairings for each session.

As he lists names, I feel a heavy, pleading gaze on the side of my face. Like I’ve done all morning, I ignore it. I never look, never meet those green eyes, and continue on with my day. Thank the gods I had chores this morning and I didn’t have to be anywhere near him. It’s hard enough knowing he thinks I can’t survive here. That I’m fragile.

“I can’t watch you die.”

His words from last night slam into me, stealing my breath. Burning fills my eyes and I quickly close them, counting each rise and fall of my chest to keep any tears at bay.

I’m not going to cry in class. I’m not.

I pinch my nails into my palm, ignoring the sudden awareness to the scar on my skin that matches his. The memory of our pricked skin, our promises, makes the burning in my eyes so much worse. Fuck.

Stop it, I chastise myself. Don’t waste your tears on him. Get a grip already. Focus.

I allow that festering anger from earlier to rise again. I quickly latch onto it, opening my eyes and holding firm to that anger to keep me from meeting Aaric’s stare.

“Sloane Mairi and Aaric Graycastle,” Emetterio suddenly calls out, dragging me away from my thoughts.

I ignore the burning need to look at Aaric as he approaches the middle of the mat. I catch him rolling his shoulders in my peripheral and I try not to snort at the absurdity. He’s had private tutors all of his life. Lessons on combat were one of his favorites and he insisted on extra lessons. He’s going to wipe the floor with every single person here.

I smirk. Except for me.

The blonde girl who slept in the cot next to mine in the dorms strides across the mat. This is an awful pairing; it’s obvious already. She’s shorter than Aaric and lacks awareness of her limbs as she begins to pace around him. Her movements are jerky and unsure. Aaric’s are swift and calculated. I can’t help but allow myself to finally look at him, watching for his tells. From the way his eyes snap to hers, I can see he’s already found her weaknesses. If you blink, one would miss how he quickly sweeps her legs out from under her, holding her legs down with his as he wraps an arm around her neck, squeezing till she immediately taps out. It’s over in under a minute, and everyone stands in bewilderment.

I roll my eyes. Fucking show-off.

“Again!” Emetterio yells from the sidelines.

I feel someone slide up next to me.

“Hey,” Violet greets quietly, as to not draw attention to us. “Still ignoring him?”

I try to ignore the distant sound of Aaric slamming Sloane into the mat, her groans echoing in the gym.

“Again!”

This is just unfair to Sloane.

I turn to Violet, sighing. “The prick deserves it. So does Dain, that nosey son of a bitch,” I glare in Dain’s direction, where he catches my eye and shrinks back a bit from my lethal stare. Good.

Violet huffs a laugh. “Yeah, Dain deserves that. He’s not on my good side right now either, if that keeps me in your good graces,” she winks.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling as I shove her playfully, ignoring the open stares from Violet’s friends across the mat. Gods, I’ve missed her. And Dain, when he’s not being so self-righteous. When we were little, we all used to play tag in the palace gardens. As young teens, we mock-played being riders and flying dragons before accidentally crashing into some precious heirloom and running away, making Cam’s twin older brothers, Halden and Alic, take the fall for it.

A bitterness fills me as I remember Alic. It’s been three years since he was killed, and the memory of Cam’s fury upon receiving the news is enough to make me want to look at him right now. Remembering how he tried not to cry when receiving the devastating news, even when Alic was a complete asshole as an adult. It didn’t matter. He was still his brother, his blood.

My thoughts force me to chance a glance at Aaric. He has Sloane on her knees, gasping for air as she quickly taps out. Emetterio’s mouth is in a permanent frown as he assesses them. At this rate, Sloane’s going to end up black and blue if that swollen eye is anything to go by.

When she heaves for air, standing to face Aaric again, I can’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll take him!” I shout, louder than I should since every single person whips around to look at me. I make the mistake of catching Aaric’s gaze. His eyes widen as I step forward.

“No,” Aaric refutes, but it’s not loud enough for Emetterio to hear.

“Fine by me,” the professor nods to Sloane. “Take a breather. Hopefully, you’ll learn something from this.”

I wince watching Sloane limp her way to the sidelines.

“You sure about this?” Violet asks.

I nod before saying under my breath, “I’ve fought him before.”

“Enough to beat him?”

I smile at her.

Violet whistles, low enough for only me to hear. “Good luck. Kick his ass.”

Striding across the room, I can feel the frustration rising in Aaric. His stare is intense when I finally face him. His green eyes smoldering with annoyance as I take a fighting stance. With the cold fury I felt last night from being controlled by him, I let it consume me, bolstering me as I raise my fists in preparation.

At Emetterio’s order, we begin.

Aaric’s taller and broader than me, muscles defining his arms and legs from years of severe training, but I know I’m his match. I’m smaller and lithe, able to maneuver around him like a snake in tall grass.

We begin our dance like we’ve done many times before. Only this time, everyone in the room fades away. It’s just us, our bitterness, and unresolved issues. What could go wrong?

Knowing Aaric, he won’t make the first move, not with me. He’ll wait, like a patient predator. I give in, attacking him head-on with a punch that he slides through, catching my wrist and twisting me so my back slams into his chest. His arms cage me as he holds me against him, locking my limbs in place with his iron grip.

“You can’t keep avoiding me,” he whispers in my ear.

I knock my head back, but he knew it was coming, his head swerving out of the way as he wraps his arm around my neck, immobilizing me. He doesn’t squeeze or press into me like he did with Sloane. He’s going easy on me, the bastard.

I pull a cheap move and stomp on his foot with my heel, pushing backwards to make him stumble. He catches himself before locking me to him again, this time I’m facing him.

Green eyes with flecks of gold fill with concern as he stares at me. It must look as if we’re glaring with the way our arms are locked, pushing for dominance, but I’m entirely caught in his gaze. My heart begins to soften at his obvious concern, longing filling me to talk to my best friend, but the raging bitch inside me, the one who helped me cross the parapet, yells at me not to give in. Even if he’s pretty.

I want to scratch his eyes out, remembering how he stared at me last night. So full of desperation to get me to leave. His look bordered on pity when I fought for my right to be here, and it bothered me to no end. If I wasn’t so attracted to him and worried about his stupid face scarring, scratching him to death wouldn’t be a fucking issue.

I shove my elbow into the curve of his arm, disarming his hold on me. Dancing away from him, I use the distraction to throw a solid punch at his solar plexus. The impact makes him stagger, but he comes back at me swinging. I easily dodge the punches.

“Stop fucking around and fight me,” I growl.

Aaric subtly shakes his head, his jaw clenching.

“You’re a coward,” I hiss at him, low enough so no one around us can hear. “And a hypocrite.”

His face shutters, as if the words slashed through his defenses. Good. I hope they do. I throw a punch that he easily blocks, but use it to distract him from my leg rising to kick the back of his leg. He folds, trying to catch himself, but I use my momentum to tackle him to the ground. We’re a mess of limbs as I try to pin him, but he uses his weight and strength against me.

He slams me to the ground, knocking the breath from my lungs momentarily. I let out a gasping wheeze, and Aaric suddenly falters. His hands loosen.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry—“

I slam my head into his, bone crunching from the impact. Blood streams from his broken nose as my head throbs, leaving me momentarily disoriented. On instinct, his hand comes up to his nose to stop the bleeding, and I take my shot. I elbow his stomach and knee him in the groin at the same time.

Aaric groans, but I’m not finished. I leap upwards at him, throwing him to the mat. Using my weight, I pin his legs with mine and hold my elbow over his throat, digging to stop his airway. He chokes and gags. I press harder, uncaring, unfeeling. All I am is rage.

When his eyes meet mine, the anger that’s coursing through me suddenly dies like a flame in the wind. I’m left shaking and gasping, staring down at him in shock over what I’ve just done.

His eyes catch it. That momentary slip on my face. With anyone else, they’d use it to their advantage. Throw me over and take me down. But not Aaric. Not Cam.

“I yield,” he gasps from under my hold, but his voice is strong, sure. And Emetterio hears him, stopping the fight.

Gasps from our onlookers bring me back to the present. I shove myself off of Aaric, stepping out of his reach as he’s slow to stand.

I try to ignore the pang of guilt that stings me from seeing the blood still gushing down his chin, staining his skin. The slight pain in my arms and legs is nothing compared to the ache in my gut.

I miss my best friend. Every cell in my body yearns to confide in him like I always do. To seek his comfort. He knows everything about me, having seen almost every tear I’ve shed. Can’t he understand why I’m here? Why I followed him, to become a rider? Maybe I did come here to try and save him, but maybe I can prove to him that I’m more than just the girl who hung on his every word, following him around the palace like a dog. I crossed the parapet. I beat his ass on the mat. I can fight my way through this place and live.

Even if he doesn’t believe I can.

I shake my head, moving away from the mats and towards the exit. I hear a shout of my name far behind me, but I don’t look back.

————

(Aaric POV)

The spoon in his hand begins to bend as Aaric grips it tighter and tighter.

“Uh, you okay, Graycastle?”

She won’t look at me, let alone talk to me. It’s been weeks. I can’t sleep. This is starting to get fucking ridiculous.

A glance at the cadet who’s speaking to him has him grinding his teeth.

“Yeah, I’m just… not very hungry.”

Aaric ignores him once more and continues glaring across the room at Y/N. Weeks have gone by, and she’s completely blocked him from her life. Acting as if they’re strangers. The only time he has any claim on her attention is on the mat. Emetterio has been rotating everyone to test their strengths and learn from their weaknesses, but every time Aaric faces Y/N, she’s cold and lethal, like the glaciers of the north. At least she’ll meet his eye when they fight.

Training with her brings back too many fond memories. It was only a couple of months ago that their training diverted to private sessions. For the last year, they were partners, taking turns beating the other up. They’d discuss weak points and show one another different moves. Laugh when the other took a misstep and landed in the mud. Joke and tease when accidentally knocking the other off their feet. It was fun when he was able to train with her.

This time? Not so much.

For the last few weeks, when he trained with her on the mat, he met her calculated rage. This was far different from the Y/N he knew back home. The one who gave him carefree smiles and stole slices of cake from the kitchen to bring him out of his gloomy mood. The way she would endear herself to him when she talked non-stop about the newest edition of a book series she adored, just to distract from how much his father pissed him off that day.

Y/N laughs at her table, stopping Aaric’s heart and his train of thought as he watches her talk with Sloane. He wishes he were sitting next to her, hearing whatever it is she’s laughing about. It’s been a while since he’s seen her resemble her old self. He’s caught her reading in the quadrant’s library, curled up in a chair, a few times. Or even basking in the sun with her eyes closed as the cadets wait outside for their chance to practice the gauntlet. Those few moments have reminded him so much of his best friend, he would momentarily forget she wasn’t speaking to him. He’d almost try to talk to her if her glares didn’t solidify where they stand now.

But he plans to fix that.

When she gets up from her table, so does he. Following behind as she makes her way to Battle Brief. Just as she turns a corner, he grabs her by the elbow and shoves her through the first door he opens.

Y/N stumbles into the empty classroom as Aaric locks the door behind him.

“Kidnapping attempt number three,” she shakes her head, leaning against a desk. “I’m more shocked this didn’t happen sooner.” Her eyes skate around the room, never meeting his. Still avoiding him. “Going to put me on Dain’s dragon, kicking and screaming? Strap me down and throw me out this time?”

Aaric’s gut clenches. “Of course not.”

She rolls her eyes before examining a chart on the wall to the left of him.

Look at me, he begs. His fists clench to keep himself from walking over and grabbing her chin to force her to look him in the eye. He can’t stand this distance between them. It’s eating him alive.

He misses his best friend.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” the words strike out with desperation, sounding like a plea. He notices her eye twitch, but she doesn’t look at him. “It wasn’t my right to force you to leave. But,” he softens his tone. “Please understand why I tried to find a way out of here for you. This place is a death trap. I only want to protect you.”

She closes her eyes for a second, breathing deeply. He can tell by her stiff shoulders she’s holding back from yelling at him again. He wants her to yell at him if it means she’ll talk to him, stay near him, maybe forgive him.

“I can’t watch you die.”

“Then don’t look.”

The memory of their last conversation comes unbidden, leaving a sharp sting in his ribs. That night, after she left him alone in the dark hall, she never saw how he stumbled back against the wall, staring in pleading horror at the girl’s dormitory door. His eyes had burned, and the burning didn’t stop as he stormed away, disappearing into the night.

Since then, fear has been choking him, consuming him as days turned into weeks. Every night, he wakes with gasping, heaving breaths as nightmares plague him. Lingering dreams of someone snapping her neck on the mat, or being pushed off the parapet, or even finding her dead body in the hallway haunt him.

Aaric now knows what true fear is. It’s driving him insane.

“It’s not your decision to decide what’s best for me,” her voice cuts through the room, silencing his raging thoughts. “I’m capable of knowing what I can and cannot handle.”

“I know—“

“Do you?” She finally, finally, meets his eyes, coldness solidifying in her gaze. It takes everything in him not to shrink back. “It’s been almost a month since parapet, and all I’ve done is survive. You can pity me all you want, think me weak and fragile, but I chose to be here, same as you. Unlike yourself, I don’t have a death wish or a hero complex. I’m not trying to save the world, I’m trying to save you.”

Silence falls heavily upon the room as something cracks inside his chest. Something undeniably broken that almost sends him to his knees.

Tears fill her eyes, and the sight sends him jerking forward, desperate to hold her. But he stops, unsure. It’s that uncertainty that kills him.

Before coming to Basgiath, back at home, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Not with her. Never when she needed him. He’d have wrapped her fully in his arms, breathing her in, as she cried into his chest. That same instinct courses through his veins even now. Even when she despises him.

Yep. He’s severely fucked things up between them.

Y/N gives an exasperated breath, closing her eyes. A single tear falls down her cheek. “I’m so tired of this, Cam.”

Aaric softens and takes two daring steps forward to stand inches away from her. “I’m truly sorry,” he ensures his voice is gentle, calming. “I’ve never wanted you to believe that I think you’re weak or fragile. I’ve known you for so long that I know that’s not true in the slightest. You tore across the country just to kick my ass and tell me how much of an idiot I am. I’d say that’s a level of bravery I’ll never be able to reach,” he smiles softly, catching the slight blush that rises to her cheeks at the compliment.

“Not only are you brave, you’re also incredibly selfless and stubborn,” he ignores the slight narrowing of her eyes. “I truly wish you weren’t so you’d be far from here, reading by the fire as you wait to hear from me.”

She scoffs. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d just sit by—“

Aaric shakes his head. “You wouldn’t. You’re too good, too strong, and way too loyal of a friend to leave me. I should’ve known better.” He tilts his head to meet her glistening eyes, fingers burning to hold the skin of her cheek. “I know better now.”

Her shoulders drop at the confession, another tear falling from her eyes. The sight wounds him deeply.

“What can I do?” Aaric’s green eyes bounce between hers, desperately clinging to the fact that she’s still here, she hasn’t attempted to leave the room. He has to think that’s a good sign. “Please, tell me what I can do to fix this. I—“ he swallows, muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenches his fists to keep from reaching out and pulling her to him. “I miss you so much.”

His eyes suddenly drop to her lips. “So, so much.”

A heavy stillness coats the space between them. The moment feels suspended in time before she gives a small intake of air, a gasp, before she surges forward. She crashes into him, practically throwing him off his feet before he catches himself and finds she’s hugging him. Relief courses through him as he immediately wraps his arms around her frame. Breathing in her scent of lilac and citrus, a sense of rightness settles in his bones.

“I’ve missed you too,” she whispers against him.

They cling to one another, uncaring how long they’ve been hiding in an empty classroom as voices come and go in the hall. The feel of each other is so familiar, it echoes with memories they can never forget. Instead of being in Basgiath, they’re transported home.

If Aaric closes his eyes, he can practically imagine holding her in the palace library, as he’s done before. But the far-distant roar of a dragon brings him back to the present. Reality crashing through the quiet.

Using his fingers to find and tilt her chin up to meet his eye, he smiles at her. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

He reluctantly lets go of her, stepping back to extend a calloused hand between them. “Hi, I’m Aaric Graycastle, and I have a severe case of suicidal hero complex.”

The laugh that bursts from her lips has his heart soaring.

She smiles as she slides her hand into his. A tingle shoots up his arm from her touch. He tries to resist pulling her back into him to hold her again.

“I’m Y/N Thorne, and I’m far too stubborn to let my best friend get himself killed.”

His eyes sparkle as he purses his lips. “He sounds like a total prick.”

She laughs again. “He is.”

“You should beat his ass,” he winks.

She shakes her head. “I already have.”

Aaric holds his ribs as a laugh escapes him. Gods, he missed her.

“C’mon, let’s get to class, or we’ll be late,” she sidesteps him and raises a brow in obvious mockery. “Graycastle.”

He smirks. “Haven’t you heard? A prince is never late, Thorne.”

She raises a brow in mockery. “Oh? Do you see one? All I see is a pompous ass.”

Aaric rolls his eyes before nudging her as he opens the door for her. “After you, my stubborn wench.”

“Say that again and we’ll see how long our friendship lasts,” she glares.

He chuckles, stepping close to her. “I thought you were friends with me cause of my charming personality.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me break your nose again.”

“If that means you’ll touch me, I’m all for it,” he winks.

His focus is entirely on the way her cheeks flush, making her hide her face beneath a sheet of her hair. Pride swells in him at the sight.

“Idiot,” she murmurs under her breath.

Once in the hall, his grin is stupidly wide as he slips her book bag from her shoulder. She tries to fight him for it, but gives up as he races ahead of her. She chases him, before clinging to his side as they make their way to Battle Brief.

There’s a spring in his step as they walk, a lightness he hasn’t felt in weeks that makes him giddy. He looks down at his best friend, who gives him the carefree smile he’s missed, and everything feels so incredibly good, he hopes that together, they can survive this place and accomplish what he came here to do.

With her by his side, he knows he can do anything.