#daring to court one who is already betrothed!

[sweet-rabbit]

perspective what's that yeah i started drawing just norway reading then once got past the head, uh, things happened

[eraenaa]

Twin Flame

Aemond Targaryen x Twin Reader

Synopsis: Anywhere that you are, that I’d be. Following Aemond to the Riverlands against your better judgment and sensibilities because you knew all too well you could never be apart from your twin.

Warnings: ¿Angst?, Targcest, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 2,333

A/N: (1) Based on a request where they wanted "Aemond has a twin sister, they both love each other, more than sibilings should, but ofc they could never do something about it.When Aemond takes Harrenhall he sees the opportunity, and gets his sister to go with him. At the end making Harrenhall their piece of paradise, where they can love each other freely without the expectations of their family or the court." (2) Find the song references ;)

“Come with me, sister, come with me to Harrenhall.” You feel your stomach pit at the vulnerability in your twin’s voice. A vulnerability that you had not seen nor heard for so long— a vulnerability that he had hidden away, but it would always shine through for you. “Aemond,” You sighed, resisting the urge to turn to him. Your knees already felt weak, and to look upon your twin’s face would surely make you rethink everything that needs to be done. Just a look upon Aemond’s pleading face would make you forget about all the sensibilities that your brother seemed to ignore. “Please… I need you, ñuha perzys.” (My fire)

“And they need me, Aemond. You know this.” You choked. “With you gone and Aegon burnt and Ser Criston away… who will be with Helaena and Mother? Sister has already refused her dragon even for her own sake— someone must protect them, Aemond. If not you, then me.” You looked upon your twin’s eye and saw unshed tears. “But you are meant to be with me— to be by my side! From the womb to our tomb, we are meant to be with each other! Do you dare to separate us? You? My own twin would be the one to tear us apart?” You shook your head. “Aemond… the circumstances have changed! You know what we must do! I—I cannot leave our mother and sister defenseless! I must stay here, and you must go to Harrenhall… without me.” Aemond took hold of your arm, his grasp harsh. Unwilling to let you go. “I will die in Harrenhall without you,” 

“Oh, Aemond,” You sighed, stepping forward and cupping his cheek, feeling as a tear fell. “If you die, I will shortly follow after. You know I cannot live without my twin flame.” You whispered. “We must do our duties, brother… were you not the one who taught and had embedded that in my head? We must play our roles here and deny ourselves comfort and… and our desires.” Aemond scoffed. “Deny ourselves?” He spat. “We have been denying ourselves the moment we were born! You and I, and they know we belong together, but what have they done? They had plotted to separate us the moment we came to this world! Forcing us to betrothals that align with our duties and pay no mind to what we want!” You swallowed thickly, caressing his cheek to calm the fire in his veins. 

“Can you not see, sister? If we are in Harrenhall, we will be free. We shall command the Riverlands together— just you and I and our dragons. We will reign fire upon the usurpers and their bannermen; we shall take what is rightfully ours, and no one could hinder us anymore.” 

“Oh, my love… your mind is muddled— deluded.” You say softly, but Aemond furiously shakes his head. “Do you not want to be with me?” He asked, voice holding a magnitude of hurt that broke the heart that you shared with him. “I do. But you know I can’t. Not when Mother and Hela—“ 

“Enough with your excuses! They had made their decisions— they have no intentions of winning this war— let alone fighting it! Mother still holds love for our enemy, and our enemy still holds love for her. No one from their side would dare harm Helaena, and you know this!” You looked at him, appalled by his words. “You would leave them defenseless?” You say in disgust. “I would leave them to be with you! If you would make me choose between them and you— you already know the answer, so be merciful, sister, and not make me utter it.” You did not know whether to focus on the dread in your heart or the overflowing love for Aemond. “Gods, brother… this is no use. You know what we must do, and I beg you, my love, to accept our fates. We must go our separate ways. I’m sorry.” You almost sobbed, urging him to let go of his hold of you. You placed a tender kiss upon the side of his lips and felt another tear roll from his eye. “I love you, Aemond… but I’m sorry, I cannot come with you.”

Aemond left for the Riverlands before first light, and you felt his departure by the throbbing pit in your heart; half of you had left. “You must know that this is for the better, my sweet,” Your mother whispered, staring into your eyes, which resembled your twin’s. Though she bore the both of you on the same day, she often had difficulty accepting that the two of you were twins. Because where Aemond was brutal, you were gentle. Where Aemond was rash, you were rational. What the other lacked, the other had— never complete, but whole when together.

“I know. I—I think I know… but mother, I feel like I had betrayed him,” You said. You knew perfectly well both of your roles and what must be done to save your family and faction, but you could not help but feel the lack pitting in you within just a few hours of your beloved twin’s departure. Alicent sighed and cupped your cheek as she saw the tears welling in your eyes. “What you did is for the sake of me and your sister, and we are forever grateful for you, my love. You had made your choice, and Ameond his.” You nodded, unable to look your mother in the eye because as much as you tried to sell to Aemond that the reason for your reluctance to come with him was your mother and sister— you had used that as a ploy to hinder him from leaving and going to the Riverlands because you never thought your twin flame could leave you. 

You knew Harrenhall had to be felled in order to have an advantage in the war, but when the castle fell, you had been warned by Helaena that Aemond would soon follow. You could not let that be. And you foolishly thought that if you hindered him from going to Harrenhall by denying yourself to follow him, you could perhaps redo the prophecy. 

“She must go to him.” Helaena suddenly spoke, breaking the silence between you and your mother. Your gaze flew to your sister, who looked distantly out of the window. “No. Sister, I stayed here for you and Mother.” You say, feeling your mother hold onto your hands. Helaena turned to you with a knowing yet far-off look in her eyes. “You stayed here for him. But he needs you in Harrenhall.” Your mother shook her head, “Your sister will stay here with us. And in time, when need be… we shall leave this all behind— live… live a quiet life. Somewhere away from all this bloodshed.” 

“Leave?” You questioned, brows deeply furrowed. “Leave for where? This is our home, mother.” You added, Alicent licking her lips and gaze traveling the room. “I did not stay here with you and abandon my twin so that we could leave our home!” You practically yelled as you realized the plan that your mother had concocted. “Kingslanding is ours thanks to Aemond. Do you mean to abandon it? Leave it for what? The woods? Essos?” You asked incredulously. “We will leave kingslanding for somewhere safe! Away from fire and revolt! Away from dra—“ You abruptly stood and removed your mother’s hold. “But we are dragons!” You screamed. Alicent shook her head, the influence of Aemond shining through you during his absence. 

“There is nothing more to be said,” Helaena spoke again, sensing an argument was to break. “We will leave, and so shall you.” You licked your lips and shook your head as you walked towards your sister. “Helaena,” You sighed. “Go to Aemond, sister. He needs you more than we do. You are his twin… his opposing force— only you could calm his rage.” You turned to your mother, who looked upon you and your sister, defeated and picking at her fingertips. She gave a hesitant nod, her plan failing as she could never truly take you away from Aemond, no matter what plan she had concocted ever since both of your childhoods. You were wholly Aemond’s, and no one could deny you from him— not even yourself. 

You arrived in Harrenhall in the dead of night. No one questioned your arrival as they had let you and your dragon pass freely, making you question if your twin had warned them; Aemond was already sensing that you would come for him. 

You walked through the eerie halls of the ruined castle as you relied on your intuition as to where your beloved was. You reached a door with the faint light of the hearth shining through the cracks. You carefully pushed upon the warped wooden door and immediately saw your twin lying on the right side of the bed, a pillow placed on the left where he draped his arm upon— the same position he would have whenever you two would sneak upon each other’s chambers and sleep in each other’s comfort. 

You threaded lightly as you stood by Aemond’s side, gently running your hand through his silky hair. Immediately, he woke and turned to you, his lilac eye wide. You saw confusion, apprehension, and shock in his lilac eye. “It’s just me,” You say softly and soothingly, cupping his cheek and tracing his scar with your familiar touch. “You… you came,” He said in disbelief. “Of course. I came for you,” 

You held your breath as Aemond reached up and kissed your lips. You two had only done such acts a few times before, but you had both placed great restraints upon yourselves to never repeat actions again or let your desires stray further. “I knew you would come back to me.” He whispered against your lips, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. “I could never truly leave you alone, now can I? You are half of me, Aemond… I cannot live without the half of my soul.” As the words left your lips, Aemond moved to kiss you once more, moving you to straddle him on the bed. 

“I have only ever wanted you, my fire… only you.” He breathed heavily. Letting his lips stray to your neck, brushing away your hair that you had inherited from your mother. Hair that reminded him of the fire that burned brightly in your veins. “You are all that I need. With you here, I could die happily.” You abruptly parted. “Do not say such things, Aemond. If you die, I’ll shortly follow, and there will be fury that you must pay.” You say harshly, glaring at your twin, who only sadistically grinned at your words. You could not even think of such things, for it only left devastation— if your twin was taken from you, it would only leave you bereft and reeling as he would be the loss of your life. “And I shall do the same. I will follow you into the dark, my fire.” 

Your lips found home upon his again, your hips moving upon his, feeling his need greatly protruding upon your heat. “Aemond,” You mewled, feeling him leave marks upon your neck. “Do you need me as much as I need you?” He hummed. “Answer, sweet sis, will you finally relent and open your eyes to see that you are mine? Or will we still have to deny ourselves?” He questioned. “I’m yours, my love. You have known it ever since— no matter what I say— no matter what has been done, I was and will always be yours.” You breathed heavily. 

You gasped as you felt his hand slither in between the both of you to cup your cunt. Aemond groaned as he felt your wetness seeping through your small clothes. “Aemond, please, please, please— do not make me beg. I want you badly.” You pleaded, Aemond completely amused by your desperation but merciful enough not to let you plead for him further. Your eyes rolled back as you felt him slip a finger into your cunt as his thumb drew lazy circles upon your pulsating pearl. 

You found his lips again, your tongues battling for dominance as your cunt was completly in his control. “More, Aemond, I need more,” You cried, frustrated as you could not find the release you sought desperately for. “Of course you do,” Aemond taunted but still obliged. You lifted your hips as his cock was released from the confines of his night trousers. “Gods,” You cried as you sank upon his length, your nails digging onto his shoulders as his mouth was enclosed upon your tit that he pulled out from your clothing. “You kept yourself pure for me— you truly knew to whom you belong, do you not, sister?” Aemond gritted, already consumed by the pleasure that you and he had denied yourselves. When you sank completely onto his length and when the tip of his cock was perfectly hitting the spot in your cunt, you finally felt complete.

Aemond kissed the tears of pain and pleasure away as your hips moved slowly and cautiously, as each movement only provided pain due to his well-endowed length. “You were made for me,” Aemond groaned as your tight cunt clenched around him further. “Only you could make me feel as such, and only I can make you feel like this.” He growled against your skin. 

When you finally felt conviction, you moved your hips fervently against Aemond’s. The sound of your wet cunt, slapping skin, and your the pleasured moans filled the room. Words of love and desire that had not been uttered but were always known spewed from both of your lips and when you felt your release coming, you locked your lips with Aemond’s and let yourself come undone in the arms of the man that had been yours the moment you two were born. 

Tag List: peachysunrize gelacat0413 maidmerrymint aemondwhoresworld fireydragonblood anukulee spacexdrago amanda08319 seamaiden aylasrants blackswxnn dracaryxzs trashpackbitch tomie-it-girl mamawiggers1980 chaosluvr deine-schatz

[imaginesmai]

Feelings I cannot express - Eris Vanserra

Wow, look at that! Me, avoiding responsabilities and writing another Eris fic for which I have no time! What a surprise! Enjoy this LONG LONG PIECE that has consumed my time lately. Shout-out to @glitterypirateduck who is too in her Eris' era.

Plot: Five times Eris didn’t know how to express his feelings, and one time he did

Warnings: descriptions of violence and blood. Mean Eris when he doesn't know how to express his feelings. Troubled, traumatized boi.

1

His steps were wobbly, and he had already stopped three times to catch his breath. Each time, the ground seemed closer, more tempting. Eris always cared about the impression people had of him, and in his court, he polished it like nowhere.

The strong, cruel prince that matched his father’s temper. Someone who they wouldn’t mess with, someone who would reign one day when Beron was gone. Only the silent corridors were the witness of that other part of him, the real one, that was leaving bloodied prints on the walls.

Beron had raised his hand against his mother, like many other times. He had crossed her beautiful and soft face with a hard slap, just because she dared to share her opinion on a political matter. And Eris had unconsciously let his power flare. Just an ember, a spark in his middle finger.

His father had seen, and had deemed right to remind him where was his position in his court. Lashes had ripped his back into shreds, blood trailing down his arms and legs. He had finished two hours before dawn, but Eris hadn’t been able to move until the night was already started. That way, he made sure no one saw his vulnerable form.

Eris closed the doors of his room as soon as he was inside, and stumbled into his bed. Falling face first, he closed his eyes and willed his conscious to leave him. No one heard his prayers, and he was still wide awake when his door opened again.

He would have been startled, alert or even afraid, but your scent sneaked in before you entered. Eris groaned in acknowledgement, and he knew any warnings or threats were useless against you. You already knew the dangers of your actions, the consequences of being involved with him. And yet, you were always there.

“Can you take off your clothes?” you broke the sinister silence of the room with quiet steps. “I’ll run you a bath”

“Where’s my brother?”

“Asleep” you answered, brushing your soft knuckles against his locks. “Don’t worry about it”

Flynn, the younger Vanserra brother, had tight sleep schedules, so part of his worry faded away. It wouldn’t do him any good if someone found his younger brother’s betrothed in a light sleeping gown.

Eris heard you filling the bath with water, and tried not to let the guilt worry. The first time you had helped him, he had threatened to burn you alive, and gone as far as give you a nasty burn scar on your left forearm. You hadn’t left, and he hadn’t thanked you. While you two ignored each other in the court ministrations, it was your secret routine – you, a stranger promised to a monster, helping him among his dearest family and friends.

Not once in his life he had let someone so close to his torment, to his vulnerability – to his body. People assumed he had tons of lovers, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of someone touching him. With you, he had discovered in the last years, it was different.

Your hand on his shoulder startled him back to reality, and he finally looked at you. There were dark bags under your eyes, a determinated look fixed on him.

“It’s ready” you tilted your head slightly. “Can you get up on your own?”

“Of course. Get away” he scoffed, but didn’t argue when you stabilized him by his elbow when he rose. “I don’t need your help. You’re more a liability than a support”

“I know you can do it, Eris” you didn’t even blink at his mean words, nor reacted when he tried to push you away. “Maybe we should take your tunic off before – “

“Get off me!”

Eris didn’t measure his strength when he pushed you off, just desperate to shake the feeling of kind hands that he didn’t deserve. That would never be his.

You stumbled back and got your feet tangled between the carpet, which caused you to fall on your butt. He physically flinched when your hands broke your fall, when he saw you suck a breath in pain. But he wouldn’t apologize, he never did. If being the worst person alive meant you would live, if hurting you meant no one would do it, then he could carry the guilt and self-hate just fine.

From the ground, he felt your eyes on him as he striped his clothes. They fell to the ground, his tunic nothing but ripped shreds of cloth. His vest wasn’t much better, or his shirt. Only his pants had been saved from the bloodbath. Eris made a point by not looking at you while he undressed, leaving his briefs on.

He didn’t need to look into a mirror to know that the way your body tensed from the corner of his eye wasn’t an exaggeration. Every fiber of his body screamed at him when he walked towards the bathroom, when he heard you get up in a rush and follow him.

The fact that you didn’t demand an apology or got angry at him rubbed all the wrong spots.

“Let me warm the water”

“I can do it myself, little fox”

Still, your hand sneaked and you dipped it into the water, and within seconds steam started to fill the bathroom. Eris stared at that particular spot between your shoulder and neck, where he wished he could thank you with a soft kiss. Wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into the bath with him. Be the person you would lay with that night.

“Do you want me to help you in?”

“What I want you to do is to leave” he answered as the temperature of the room rose. “I want you to lay with your future husband and forget about me”

“I can’t do that, Eris” you casted him a glance. “I can help you in though”

His anger rose back up and he didn’t say anything when you straightened back up. Your fire magic was only a spark of his own, only useful for warming water or lighting a chimney. That you had to use yours because he was too spent was a disgrace upon himself.

Eris made a point to leave his back to you inside the tub, letting the warm water wash the blood away. He pushed his head between his arms and ignored your presence. Ignored your warm hands as they brushed the wounds so they wouldn’t get infected. Ignored your quiet movements as you left healing and numbing creams on the counter. Tried to ignore you when you massaged his shoulders and scalp, cleaning his hair like his mother used to do.

Eventually, you decided to leave him alone in his rooms. After helping him get up from the bathtub and into the bed. Tucking him in like a stubborn child, turning off the candles. Only when your hand brushed his hair one last time, he noticed the new addition to your beautiful wrist.

He gripped it before you could hide it, and for the first time in the whole night, you flinched. Not because his touch was rough, since he held it like expensive glass. Not because you were afraid, because with him, you never were.

“This is new” he whispered in the dark room, staring at the bruises along your delicate skin. “What happened?”

“He just got a little handsy. Flynn…” you doubted before you sighed, sitting on his bed. “Your father has been pushing him more and more about the weeding. He left this morning with him to hunt in the forest, so I can only guess they talked about it. So he got drunk. And I was late for dinner, because he hadn’t informed me it would be early tonight”

“Anywhere else?” he asked, and eyed you with enough intensity to warn you against lying.

“I’m fine”

You had been raised for that, Eris guessed, and that was normal for you. Being sold to the best buyer for your hand, endure a shitty betrothed until you were to marry and he could ignore you properly. Eris didn’t dare to think about how things would be if your position allowed him to marry you. If his father saw you worthy of his first-born.

But you were stuck with Flynn Vanserra, a man uncapable of love and caring. A man who did worse things than a bruised wrist.

“Be careful” he allowed himself to say, just because it was dark, and you couldn’t see the real concern and fear of someone finding out about your behavior in his room. “Don’t let anyone see you leave my rooms. And don’t come back. I don’t need you”

“Good night, Eris” you rose from bed, and Eris missed the warmth of your wrist against his fingers. “Don’t forget the creams”

With silent steps, you left his room, and Eris spent the night awake wondering of you could see right past his lies, past his fake cruelty and indifference towards you. If you could see how much he cared about his brother’s betrothed.

2

It wasn’t too often that the palace opened its door for lesser fae. On special occasions, his father allowed them to attend to the main hall and see what they were missing because of their condition. Beron took out the elegant clothes, the expensive wine and bright plates. And then, he didn’t let them use any of that and had them watch from the corner the superiority of his family.

Eris didn’t particularly care about those events, but he had been forced to attend to that one – since it was his own birthday. He didn’t celebrate his birthday, he didn’t get presents. Not when years of monotony rolled by and nothing changed. His mother had been the only one wishing him happy birthday that morning, kissing the side of his head quickly and reminding him to be nice.

To stand by and endure his father’s show of power at his expense. All his brothers were there too, and not too far from Flynn, you too.

You were wearing an orange dress that emulated autumns leaves. Each time you moved, lights reflected yellow and brown sparks that had the lesser fae turning their heads around. Eris too couldn’t keep his eyes away from your form for too long, with the risk of being caught.

Flynn seemed to be least affected by your looks, or your presence. While you were required to stay by his side and be faithful, he dragged you through countless humiliation. Talking and flirting with other women when you were standing a few feet away, ignoring your attempts to start conversations, leaving you while you greeted a friend.

Eri’s nails were imprinted on his palms from how hard he closed his fists each time it happened. He had almost set fire to a curtain when he had been close enough to watch your crestfallen expression.

To avoid anyone noticing him staring at you like a hawk or turning his brother into ashes, he busied himself with pointless talks and stupid politics. He endured it for three long hours, and then he granted himself a rest excusing himself for the bathroom.

He knew you had been following him since he left the ballroom, but didn’t acknowledge you until you were far from the crowd. Eris walked through the hallways and across the backyard, and stopped only when he reached the stables. Then, he turned around and his heart skipped a beat at your sight.

Your beautiful hair had been let down, and you were wearing a crown of golden leaves. Everything in your attire claimed you were their possession, but you weren’t his to look at, to enjoy. So he raised a brow and waited for you to talk.

“You’re hard to catch” you started. “Someone might think you’re running away from me”

“Maybe I’m running away from your annoying presence”

You scoffed and he hated and loved that you didn’t seem affected by his words. There was no truth behind it, just the urge of hearing your voice in your reply.

“I want to wish you happy birthday” you confessed, and even your voice was sweeter that night. “Haven’t seen you in all day”

“I’ve been busy” he lied.

Shamefully, he had waited for your visit for hours. Last year you had been the first one to wish him happy birthday, and he had remembered for the whole year the feeling of your lips against his cheek. It had been a friendly kiss, although it had been the only time he had seen you blush. And during the hard days, he held onto that memory like a lifesaver.

You hummed and tucked your hands in front of you. Eris tried not to notice the silver ring that claimed you as his brother’s possession, the distinction from other women. You never wore it, but you had to in events like that one.

In the silence that followed his lie, Eris’ whole body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, his fist untightened and his jaw unclenched. His nostrils flared slightly as he took in your scent, and finally, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Happy birthday, Eris” you finally said, and smiled brightly at him. “Do you want to open your present?”

“Present?” he blinked surprised, the question catching him off guard. “You got me a present?”

“Birthdays are supposed to be filled with presents. Extravagant parties are good too, but I think everyone should get a present” you explained. “I tried to keep yours in an envelope, but someone found it before you. And I couldn’t help it. Do you want to see it?”

Eris nodded dumbly. You could offer him a crumb of your lunch and he would gladly treasure it for the rest of his life. Just like he was doing with all your moments together, before you were cruelly snagged into his brother’s arms eventually.

He followed you through the stables, wondering what you could give him. He didn’t remember the last time someone got him a present, a pleasant one. Anything you could give him would be perfect, so he wasn’t worried about liking it or not. He was worried about cracking down and smudging that beautiful lipstick with his own lips.

Like second nature, you walked him towards the pit where he kept his hounds locked. They slept together and were Eris pride and joy, the first and only gift he got from his father. As you unlocked the door, Eris stuffed his hands in his pocket awkwardly. Then, he looked inside.

And broke into a loud, deep chuckle that rattled his bones.

Eris laughed and laughed until he took his hands out of his pockets and had to press them into his stomach, bending over. When he opened his eyes and tried to regain his posture, he lost it over and over again.

“I take it you like it” you chuckled with him.

He missed the way your eyes shone at his laugh, the way you bounced off your feet at his happiness. It had been the only real smile on your lips that night, and it rivaled any of the elegant lamps in the ballroom.

His hounds, the terrifying big dogs that haunted prisoners when they got out of his dungeons and tracked down traitors, had each one fox knitted hats. Who had ripped fae apart with their sharp teeth and devoured limbs like butter. They all stared at you with oblivious calm and a fox hat.

“They look – they look so ridiculous” Eris managed to say between laughs, and pointed at Maximus, who had its head titled and one of the ears had bent down. “And so happy! How did you put them on? This is the best present I could ask for”

“Oh, they didn’t put much of a fight when I sneaked some treats” you shrugged, and Eris broke into another laugh. “Besides, they like me too much not to let me do it”

“You’re a devious creature, little fox” he scoffed, and finally looked at you. “You are – “

Whatever he was about to say died when he caught the glimpse of the moon light hitting your ring. The ring that reminded him that you may have given him a birthday present, but everything else belonged to Flynn. He caught the words he was about to say and stuffed them down his chest. He forced himself to look away from your expectant expression, and swallow the guilt.

You would never be happy with him, but neither would you be with Flynn. Your fate in that court was sealed, yet you would keep your life with the youngest Vanserra.

“Thank you for the present, Y/N” he managed to say, not daring to look back at his hounds.

“You’re welcome, Eris” you copied his formal, clipped tone in a mocking way, noticing the change of the atmosphere but not caring about it. “Maybe next time I could knit you one for yourself”

“I’m afraid I look nothing like a fox. More like a snake perhaps”

“And I’m afraid you’re too hard on yourself, but we aren’t considering our deliriums”

Eris opened his mouth to argue, but he felt them coming before you did. A couple, probably drunk and lesser fae, had snuck into the gardens. And they probably wouldn’t recognize you, wouldn’t report to his father about your reunion. But Eris couldn’t risk your safety, not when you were the only thing that made him be glad of being alive for another year.

He caught your arm in a tight grip and your eyes widened before listening to their steps. You didn’t have to look to know the couple was staring. In your eyes, Eris could see his own fear of having those short and meaningless meetings cut short because of a snitch. He hated that you weren’t afraid of his tight grip or the fire in his eyes, but because of the retaliations if you were discovered.

One of his hounds poked a lazy head to see what the silence was about, but saw no threat and turned away. And to ensure it wouldn’t turn into a threat, Eris put on his heir-mask, the hatred and cruel prince everyone expected him to be, and snarled with fire under his tongue the venom he knew you didn’t believe.

“And if I ever see you snooping again, I’ll have your head on a pike in your weeding chambers. Tell my dear brother to shorten the leash of his belongings” he pressed on. He caught on the couple’s sniff of fear and respect, but also your own hurt. Hurt at the words he was blading for your protection, he told himself, that were necessary. “Leave before I change my mind”

With a final hard push, he threw you a few feet away from him. You looked down and scrambled away from him, and the couple left too. Eris was left alone with his foxed-hounds, and the horrid realization that hurting you was the only way of keeping you safe.

3

Eris paced the length of your room for what felt like forever. He had already noticed every detail you kept in your room that made it so you, had fought with the inadequate feeling of invading your personal space. He had had time enough to consider if he was going insane and paranoid, but it was late and you weren’t there.

You always retreated to your rooms early in the night. Sometimes, he knew because he accompanied you when his brother was too drunk to remember your presence. Other times, he knew because you sneaked into his dorms right before night set. You were supposed to be there with him, teasing him for not being able to look away from the lingerie that lay forgotten in your armchair.

But you weren’t, and Eris was pacing.

That morning, as you all had lunch as a family, his mother had asked an inadequate but innocent answer. It was only logical that after almost five years of courting you started talking about the actual weeding, but you weren’t. Because his brother was too much of a dick to entertain it until he had enjoyed his youth to the fullest, and because you sneaked glances at him when no one was looking.

You had given her a simple answer – love matters took time, and better be safe than sorry. While everyone agreed quietly, Eris had noticed the way Flynn’s face darkened. As if the idea of you answering a question directed to both of you was inadequate.

Eris had left the dining room with an uneasy feeling, and had kept it in his stomach all day. When you hadn’t appeared during dinner time nor had his brother, he had decided to search for you.

You weren’t in the stables, where you spent most of your time between horses and his hounds. You weren’t in the kitchen, where you snuck off when Flynn got too much to handle. And you weren’t anywhere he looked, so he had decided to let the worry get the best out of him and wait for you in your rooms.

As if the thought of you had summoned you, the doors opened and Eris turned around in a frenzy.

“Thank the cauldron” he scoffed, already replacing the worry with anger. “Where the fuck have you been all day? Do I really have to wait here if I want to…”

“I’m sorry” you apologized, your voice void of any fire or charm.

He tried to make himself argue with you further, to explain his presence in your room with a stupid excuse and not let you know he had been worried. There was no blood or visible wounds on you, not new bruises or burns he can explain his sudden lack of words with.

But he could see something there, that made his blood boil and his heart beat furiously against his chest. You walked past him in silence and removed your heels next to your wardrobe. Without saying anything or acknowledging his presence, you peeled the eiderdown off and climbed inside the bed.

Only then he watched your shoulders tight as you tried to keep the cries to yourself. Eris walked on autopilot to the edge of your bed, and watched in silent horror as tears fell down your face. You were squeezing your eyes shut, probably wanting to be left alone, but he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed. Just like you had done so many times.

It was so different from what he knew, what you did with him, that he didn’t know what to do. Hesitantly, he caressed your shoulder and you whined, your body turning around so you could face him.

“What happened?” he asked, his hand trembling with the effort of staying on your shoulder and not brushing the tears away.

“He locked me in a basement, because he said he was tired of seeing me everywhere and hearing me all the time” you admitted, curling your body around his. “There was no light. And I was fine, but he didn’t come back and I called. And no one answered and – “

Your explanation died with the first sob, and many followed. Eris knew what basement you were talking about. His father had locked him and his brothers many times in the past. Big enough to allow a standing person, but not to let them sit. Tight enough so a part of your body was always touching the wall, and dark enough to rob your breath.

Eris willed the words stuck on his throat to leave him. He wanted to lay down beside you and comfort you like he should. He wanted to break every last of his brother’s bones, and then some more.

“I was so scared” you admitted quietly, finally opening your eyes to look at him. “I thought – I thought I’d been forgotten”

“How did you get out?”

“Beron heard me”

He didn’t need to ask for further details, just tried to keep eye contact as your beautiful eyes were constantly drowning in tears and sorrow. His father was as cruel as Flynn, but until you were officially married, he still had to ensure your safety for your family’s sake.

You cried against his side and eventually your body gravitated to his lap. His free hand carefully brushed yours, and you held it so tight and hard that Eris choked his own cry. How many times he had felt alone in his own home? Forgotten in that same basement while Beron went hunting, or partying?

The thought of you locked in those four walls turned his stomach up. You, with your easy smile and your kind words. Full of kindness and love that no one in that court deserved, certainly not him.

Still, Eris held his ground sitting on your bed. He lighted some candles and sealed the room with a glamour against sound and strangers. The rational part of his brain told him to leave before someone came looking for him, the irrational part to do worse things. But he stayed on your bed, stroking his thumb across the back of your hand and brushing his fingers against the nape of your neck.

As you cried, Eris begged himself to do something with the words that resonated in his heart.

“You’re not forgotten, I could never forget you. I won’t”

“He could try and hide you in the last corner of the universe and I would still crawl my way to you, my little fox”

His mouth was kept shut and his fingers continued his ministration, until your breath slowed and your sobs disappeared. Then, when you were about to fall asleep with his hand in yours, you opened your eyes one last time and gave him a small smile. Maybe he hadn’t said anything, but he was starting to suspect you could read his mind and heart.

“I’m glad you came for me” you confessed quietly. “Thank you”

He should have said that he didn’t accept your gratefulness, that he wasn’t worthy of them. Instead, he smiled back and stared at you while you fell asleep. With his heart roaring just a big wilder.

4

His court was under attack.

Eris had come to that realization a month ago, when a missive from Hybern had reached their borders with a threat of dead and destruction. In that moment, he had thought it had been a minor attack. A political attack, a threat with little importance in a world where everybody hated his court.

But then, his father had dismissed the king demands and patrols started to go missing. Parts of those patrols came back, traumatized soldiers that died in a few days but that had enough time to scream horrors. More soldiers were sent into the forest, and more soldiers died.

For a month, Hybern had debilitated them in their own home until most of the army was unavailable. And now, his home was under attack.

The top part of the palace was on fire, people ran desperately through the corridors and soldiers from both sides fought in the backyard. Eris was sure Beron would be able to win that battle, maybe the war. Yet what worried him was that Beron didn’t particularly care about causalities, and there were many that had Eris’ heart in a knot.

He had managed to take his mother to safety, to a hidden room where women and children waited. He expected to see you there too, but instead, had found a hiding Flynn that didn’t answer his questions.

Eris had left his brother in the middle of a hallway with a shutten eye and two broken legs that wouldn’t let him get away from the soldiers. He hoped he would get killed so Eris wouldn’t be the one to carry the task.

As he ran through the castle against the waves of running people, the fire on his veins roared louder. What would he do, if he came upon the worst scenario? Would he crash his home down? It had been eight months since his birthday, and he had come to the realization he feared the most. That those times he seemed to spot you among a crowd, when his soul sang for you, where for a reason.

He hadn’t found the courage to tell you yet about the golden string he tugged at sometimes, hoping you would turn around and confirm his suspicions.

If he lost his mate today because of his brother’s cowardice, because of a war his father had started out of greed, Eris wasn’t sure the world would be a safe place for anyone anymore.

Asking the running members of his court would be useless, as it would be worrying about them seeing his panic-stricken expression. Eris focused on running and following his instinct, until it led him to the stables. The place where you had shared so many memories that was now a bloodbath.

Soldiers were lying on the ground, dead and unconscious, some of them begging for his help as he stepped over their bodies. The heart of the battle was close enough he could hear and smell death looming, but all of that died down when he finally saw you.

“Eris!” you cried out his name, and what was left of his heart clenched at the broken sound. “Eris I –“

Your cries were muffled by a rough hand over your mouth, of a soldier that hadn’t seen him yet. You were being dragged towards a carriage, your limbs flying around as you tried to get free from the enemies’ grip. Eris would have time to thank fate for allowing him to reach you on time, before you were taken away from him permanently.

Fire licked the carriage’s front, not letting their occupancies leave untouched. It consumed the vehicle in a matter of seconds, burning so powerful and tight that Eris felt light headed for a second. His power felt like a bottomless pit where he could dive without consequences, so he did just that.

Unleashing his short swords, he used both hands to clean his path towards you. The soldiers realized shortly after that their scape root was compromised, but too late that who had compromised it was the crown’s heir.

They didn’t stand a chance against his rage, his power. They fell to the ground like flies while all Eris saw was red. Red seeping through your wounds into the ground, staining your dress. Red pooling the earth beneath his feet as every last soldier fell to their death. Red of his power, that consumed every threat against his mate.

Once he was done, he crashed to his knees in front of you, and the fire died all together when your arms locked around his neck. He didn’t contemplate what it would look like when he pushed you farther into his embrace, listening to your heartbeat like a lullaby.

“You shouldn’t be outside” Eris whispered against your hair, the remains of his anger seeping through them. “If you were smart, you would have stayed inside. Dumb woman. What were you thinking?”

“I wanted to find you”

Your admission didn’t catch him off guard. You sounded so sincere, so relieved, that he only got angrier. Why was fate so cruel to bond him with such a kind soul? Of course, of every reason you could have gone outside, you would have chosen him.

“I didn’t know if you were okay” you continued, lifting your face from his chest to look at him. “What if you had been hurt?”

“And what would you do, hm?” Eris almost cut you off, suddenly repulsed by your touch.

That he had let you get so close to put yourself in danger was a mistake. It had been a mistake the first time he looked at you long enough to discover how bright your smile was. A mistake each time he had allowed you in his room to tend his wounds, every conversation you two had in secret.

There was no answer to his questions, and you knew it. Eris got up and didn’t offer you a hand, instead turning his face away from you. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to ignore the endless thoughts about what could have happen. The things he should have done better, because none of that mattered now.

Eris tried to ignore you when you finally got up and grabbed his hand. Your hand caressed his fingers, his hands, his arms. You caressed his skin as if he hadn’t just slaughtered ten strong, healthy soldiers with families.

“I somehow do irrational things when it comes to you” you spoke quietly, wrapping your hands around his elbow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get in trouble. But the thought of you being hurt… I’m sorry”

“Let’s get you to safety” he grumbled, not acknowledging your apology.

He imagined what it would feel like to have you hanging from his arm in different circumstances, maybe in another world. Briefly, he indulged himself and slowed his steps so he could soak into it. There were bodies and blood, sounds of battle and death cries, but none of them seemed to matter as you walked down the hallways to the hidden room.

The battle was already dying down, but it wouldn’t be safe until nighttime. Eris would make sure every last enemy was death before letting you set a foot outside the safe room. He vowed himself to distance himself enough to never repeat that moment, and to protect you with whatever it took him. Indifference, cruelty. Whatever put you to safety.

What he couldn’t control was a last moment of vulnerability. He stopped right before the discrete doors where his mother and the rest of women and children waited. Turning to face you, his heart got the best of him and raised his arm without his consent.

“Be safe” you begged him. “Please. I don’t want to lose you”

“I will, little fox”

Eris tucked a strand of your hair, sticky with blood behind your ear. He watched like a hawk the cherry blush that painted your cheeks, the contained smile that you hid horribly. Instead of retreating, he let curious fingers explore the curve of your cheekbone. Your jawline, your chin. The curve of your nose and your lips.

His traitor fingers stopped at your bottom lip, tugging it down. It should have bothered him that those lips were meant for his brother, that they had already tasted him when his brother had gotten too handsy. But it didn’t, because they looked so kissable that he thought he had imagined it when you leaned forward.

When your eyes fluttered closed and his body gravitated too, he thought he imagined. The distance became shorter and everything became white noise. Eris had dreamed so long about it that he thought he was dreaming.

But not even his dreams were so livid, so real. He blinked one last time before crashing into your lips with a straining force. You tasted like blood from your open lip, and like clouds and sky and perfection. There were teeth and tongue and he couldn’t control himself more than the kiss.

Shockingly, he was the one pushed against the opposite door, your much smaller body trapping him as you grabbed him by the shoulders. He stole every breath and whine that left your mouth with kissing. For those few seconds, he let himself explore each inch of your mouth like it was the last minute of his life.

It might had been, if someone saw you with him and told Beron. His father thought had him pushing you away, so hard you stumbled down.

“Get inside” Eris demanded you, gripping your elbow harshly. You blinked with those swollen lips and rosy cheeks, and he clenched his jaw.

“Eris…”

“Don’t come out, not until I come back. Be fucking smart for once in your life” he opened the door and dozens of women stared at you two.

Something in his chest stilled when your eyes widened and that bond became alive. When he was certain that you felt the same tug he had been feeling for a long time, that he had lost sleep over. It dawned to him that nothing would be the same after that day, whether the attack finished or not. Whether his father found out or those women kept silent.

So, for the first time in his life, Eris let himself accept those hidden feelings and kissed you one last time. Slow, deep, in front of his mother who covered her mouth with a surprised gasp. He dragged his lips between yours, only for a second.

When he tore away, Eris was sure he would die happy if that face was the last thing he saw.

“Don’t leave the room until I come back, my little fox. Only me”

Eris didn’t let you answer. He turned around and closed the doors behind him, running down the hallways. Looking for the enemy, for his brother whose betrothed had just kissed, for his father who could kill you both. And away from where his heart was safe with you.

5

Not even a week of mourning was stablished for the deaths at the Hybern attack. Not even a week for the thousands of soldiers who had died defending his home.

Eris had made sure that every family got their loved ones’ bodies back, and that there was enough wood to light up fires for them. He mourned more for them than for his own family, who had suffered an immense hit.

Flynn Vanserra had been found ravished in a forgotten hallway, his body mangled beyond recognition. People whispered that he had found an end according to his life – cruel, mean, without mercy. Eris stared at his brother’s corpse and curled his lip, because before his death, not a scar marked his body. While he had usen yours like a blank canvas.

Beron Vanserra had died too, and that had rattled Eris’ world.

His father had been the main objective, and after he had fallen from the upper tower, the enemy had retreated. Beron was dead before he hit the ground, courtesy of a dozen poisoned arrows on his chest. Eris had watched his body burn in silence contemplation, thinking about how many times his father had raised his fire against him.

Now, it was Eris who light up his father’s tomb fire.

Days brushed quickly but there was one thing that had him grounded – you. Eris Vanserra was officially a High Lord, so no one argued when you appeared by his arm on Beron’s funeral. When you moved your things to the room besides him.

His people whispered about the caring brother who had taken upon the charge of his betrothed so she wouldn’t be discarded. And about the cruel king who had killed his own brother to wed a nameless girl. Eris didn’t acknowledge any of those comments.

He just kept you close as loyalties were stablished, letting everyone know that you were off limits. For touching, for hurting, for insulting. One noble was brave enough to question your place in the palace with Flynn death, and one noble lost his tongue the next morning.

As everything settled down, Eris found himself taking walks with you through the forest, something his brother had never bothered to do. You hung from his arm gracefully, new and expensive dresses on your wardrobe, and a radiant smile on your face.

“Will you teach me how to ride?” you asked him one sunny afternoon. “So I can ride hunting with you”

“I will get you your own horse if that’s what my mate wants” he let the title sweeten his mouth, warm his heart. “I will get you whatever your heart desire, my little fox”

“Maybe I’ll turn into a spoiled princess then. And you will find your ruin at my expensive demands” you chuckled, shifting closer to him.

You could ask him for a court and he would fight to death with anyone to grant you your own court. You could ask him for his court and he would get on his knees and offer it to you without another word. Those words were meaningless, because you rarely asked him for anything. Even when you had changed rooms, you had been happy with just a bed and a blanket.

“I’m happy with being here, close to you. I don’t need anything else”

The more time he spent with you, the more he marveled at your selflessness. You had been helping those with injuries from the fight, talking with the families who were grieving. By nighttime, you returned to your chambers where Eris was waiting for you, having abandoned his own for yours. You two laid in bed looking at each other until you fell asleep.

Then, Eris spent hours staring at you, letting his heart soak into the comfort.

“You are quiet today” you commented, breaking him from his thoughts. “Court problems?”

Eris always had court problems. The change was coming slowly but surely, and his father’s loyal friends weren’t happy with that. But it wasn’t their enmity that had him deep in thought. The last rays of sun warmed your face as he looked at you with a small smile.

Talking about his feelings was his weakness. He had been mean, cruel and downright villainous to you for years because he couldn’t open his heart to you. He couldn’t endure the thought of you hurting because of his stupid feelings.

But he wanted things to change. He wanted you to be happy and safe, and if he had to share his thoughts and swallow his insecurities, he would.

“I was wondering” he admitted eventually, a little unsure. “We are mate. But… do you think, we would have found each other? If we weren’t?”

You looked surprised at his questions. You hadn’t talked about the bond, just accepted it. When Eris had found you after the battle, you had hugged him tight and kissed him once more. You hadn’t talked about it, and yet, you both were comfortable with it.

After the initial surprise, you gifted him a soft smile, and your eyes crinkled against the sun.

“I would have found you either way, Eris. You had me since I set a foot in this court” you answered him. “I used to worry that there was something wrong with me, because I couldn’t feel anything for Flynn. Not love, not hate. Nothing. Whatever he did was fine because it was the price I paid to stay close to you. And it was worthy”

“Don’t say that, Y/N”

“I can’t, that’s what I feel. And I’m not afraid to tell you that I’ve loved you for a long time, my darling. Long before I knew we were mates and through all we’ve been through. I’m sure I would have loved you even if we weren’t mates”

Eris wondered if he would ever be able to speak so freely about his thoughts. He couldn’t still voice out what he felt for you. How he would turn the world around if you asked him to, how your love was enough to keep him alive forever. For now, though, Eris smiled and leaned down to press a sweet kiss against your nose, earning a soft giggle.

He would tell you all of that someday, show you his feelings when his words were stuck. Eris Vanserra owned you that much.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[arcielee]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2700+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, kissing, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, slight overstimulation, creampie. Author’s Note: This was the poll winner! 💜 Thank you to my lovelies @aemondsbabe and @valeskafics for helping me brainstorm the title. No beta, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. This will be a series of one-shots of the moments between Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Northern bride-to-be (which I pulled from my OC!Stark x Aemond Targaryen story, but whatever). There will be fluff and there will be smut. Enjoy!

You could feel the panicked gaze from your handmaiden, her visceral exasperation spilling as she watched you pace the room, but you could not hold still. 

Not tonight, not after that kiss.

She begged until you finally allowed her to help you change into your nightgown, despite how your skin felt aflame. She then took your hand to lead you to the vanity to sit, to hold still, to allow her to brush and braid your hair for bed, just as she had every night since you first arrived to the Red Keep months ago.

You had traveled from Winterfell at the behest of your brother, a promise to see through what the late King Jaehaerys failed to accomplish: to solidify the bond between the North and South kingdoms. Cregan saw no harm with the capital’s proposal, as you had already scorned all of the Northern lords who called for your hand. 

“Who knows, sister,” his eyes twinkled just as your father’s had when he was still alive, “perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” 

You had scoffed, but soon realized how right Cregan had been, that you were enamored from the moment you met Aemond. The rest of the Keep seemed to fade away as you watched him, his imposing severity that settled into the sharp contours of his face and in the way he held himself. He towered you; he watched you with his one eye, a lovely lavender that flitted over you, while the other was hidden beneath a leather patch with the wrathful scar that curled above and below.��

You remembered the touch of his hand–his palm calloused and warm and gentle–when he took your own; you recalled the spill of silver as he leaned forward and the softness of his lips against your knuckles with his kiss. Even his low timbre soothed you as he repeated your name; the introduction left you blood rising to the surface. 

Your courtship with the prince was something to be displayed–an ailing king’s desperate grasp at legacy. Aemond played the role of the perfect, regal gentlemen, but you wished to pull him away from the prying eyes of the court, to learn everything about the infamous one-eyed Targaryen prince.

There were stolen moments scattered with Aemond and you collected them piece by piece, but still you were rarely, if ever, allowed a moment to be truly alone with him. 

It was not until the crowned princess returned to the capital, and the chaos that followed and ruined the family supper, that you were able to follow after Aemond, out into the gardens of the Red Keep. 

You recognized his silhouette at once, and moved closer until you saw his ethereal glow from how the moon poured over him. Your tone was soft at first, a teasing kindness until you saw the upwards curl of his lips, and you dared giggle with your encouragement that he should teach you swear words that would best describe his nephews in High Valyrian. 

And then something changed, something shifted. Aemond stepped closer and you felt the cool night air pull away, enveloped by his warmth, the scent of smoke and leather and sandalwood. His palm moved to cup the side of your face and then he kissed you. 

This was your first truly intimate moment you shared with your betrothed. And it was also your first kiss. 

You sighed sweetly in his mouth, a kindled passion that thrummed from where his hands touched your hips, his hold to pull you closer only to quickly recoil once one of the Cargyll knights finally found you both. 

The White Cloak then escorted you back to your quarters, your steps lead-filled, and here you were expected to sit still as your handmaiden fret over your hair. 

But you could not sit still, hence why your slippered foot tapped the stone floor, your heart pounding violent against your chest as that kiss in the garden replayed in your mind…

“Please, my lady,” your handmaiden squeaked, the ivory comb tangling in your hair.

Your hands flared out to ward off her touch, your tone cutting. “Thank you, but that is enough. You are relieved from your duties for the rest of the night,” you stood up, pushing the poor girl and sending her stumbling towards the door. 

Her eyes were wide. “I–I have not finished with–” 

“I have hands of my own,” you grabbed the silk robe to cover yourself, “I shall manage,” and when you turned to step towards the girl once more, she squeaked again. She moved to open the door and paused to see Prince Aemond already poise, his one arm tucked behind his back and the other lifted as if he meant to knock. 

It was an eternal silence; Aemond looked startled, but his gaze eventually found yours, and you stared back, unabashed, burning from the sight of him. 

Meanwhile your handmaiden, mortified, shrank to slip past the prince and leave.

Only when you heard the soft sound of the door closing behind did you find the courage to move towards Aemond, reaching for his tunic and pulling him close. You fell into him, your lips hungry for his own and he returned your passion before slowing to savor, his tongue running your bottom lip and then curling into your mouth. 

It continued until your breath was an exchange between, his exhale becoming your inhale and trilling through your veins, pumping your heart. Your mind was clouded with his proximity–you felt giddy and your hands twisted into his tunic to hold yourself upright. 

He hummed, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest. A shy sigh spilled when you felt his length pressing through the fabric and against your stomach, a bolt of warmth and want curling together. But your passion was replaced with a trepidation, something that now curdled instead. 

You broke the kiss, a rosiness spilling from your lips to your cheeks, to the tip of your nose: “I lost my maidenhead on horseback.” You felt your blood thicken with your confession. “But I have never been…” 

The words would not come, but Aemond did not need them. Instead he closed the little space you created, his warm palms moving to cup your face and bring you back to capture your lips with a tender kiss. 

“I will be gentle,” his low timbre promised. “I do not wish to hurt you.” 

You believed him, as you had seen his actions that spoke far louder during your time at the capital. He had always shown you a careful consideration since the courtship began, but now you found that you could not wait another moment. 

Your fingers pulled at the silk robe you had thrown on, allowing it to slip from your shoulders and puddle onto the floor. Your hands moved to the lacing that lined the front of your nightgown, but you paused, pinned under the lavender of his eye. 

His chest rose and fell with his steadied breath a moment before he offered his hands, his slender fingers gentle to loosen the ties. Aemond stopped to place kisses on the slope of your shoulder, your chest, a soft tickle of his lips as more of your skin was bared to him. 

You felt vibrant, ignited by his touch, and you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, admiring the flush of rose that now stained his skin. You pulled at your skirts, grabbing the bottom hem and peeling it over, dropping it into the silk puddle already at your feet. 

Lust now swallowed the lavender, but Aemond only hummed his admiration as his gaze slowly dragged from your face, following your curves and then returning to meet with your eyes again. 

“Gevie,” he mused with a slight curl to his lips. 

You burned, cursing your Septa for the little Valyrian she indulged to teach you, too shy to ask now for a translation, but bold enough to reach for him. Your fingers touched the buckles of his tunic. Aemond hummed again as you began to undress him, until he was bare from the waist up, and the heat that pooled from him now seeped and curled into your core. 

His form was lean, taut, with a muscular definition and its decoration of silver scars scattered across his chest and his abdomen. Your fingers trailed the lines that cut into his trimmed waist, and then you stepped closer to press a soft kiss to the right side of his jaw. 

Aemond caught your chin, bringing your lips to meet with his own again. His kiss was drawn out, wringing the air from your lungs but still so gentle that you could not help but melt into his chest, into the warmth that he embodied. 

Your fingers reached to touch his jaw but paused, a hovering hesitation. He took your hand and brought it back to cradle against his chest, watching you. You swallowed. “Aemond, please,” you began slowly, your voice careful, “I wish to see all of you.”

His jaw steeled with your request, tense for that moment but then he reached with his other hand to remove the eyepatch. The crimson seemed bolder, brighter, cutting through from his brow and into his cheek, and you also saw that placed in his scarred socket was a sapphire stone that glittered in the amber light of the room. 

You pressed to your tiptoes, your fingertips touching to tilt his jaw down and you pressed a kiss beneath, your lips careful to trail his maim before placing another against his cheek. “Ñuha zaldrīzes,” but you were slow with the only Valyrian you knew, and finished with another kiss to his lips. 

My dragon. 

His expression was unreadable, and for a moment you believed that you had ruined the practiced pronunciation. But then Aemond moved to wrap his arms back around your waist, his face burying into the softness of your neck and his hands grabbing into the curves of your hips. Your laughter spilled as you felt him lift you enough for your feet to not touch the stone floors, your arms wrapping around his neck, and Aemond moved with wide steps, bringing you back towards your bedside. 

You fell back onto the mattress, looking up at him. His neck bobbed as his eye followed the pink hues that now spilled from your cheeks to your neck and onto your chest. Your nipples were peaked and your eyes shone bright as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed and moving on top of you.

He tucked his head to trace the slope of your neck with his lips and your back arched with the desire to feel his chest against your bare skin, a fluttered moan spilling from you. Aemond moved lower, placing warm, open mouthed kisses that scorched your skin, with a warmth that was pouring into your core. 

Aemond continued lower, his silver tresses spilling and tickling your skin as he moved between your plush thighs. You mewled with the touch of his lips to the inside, and your thighs squeezed to stop him. 

You are breathless. “It tickles.” 

He only hummed, reaching to press his hand onto your stomach, a comforting touch as his fingers traced abstract lines on your skin. “Let me,” and his exhale was titillating as he nestled back between. 

Aemond was careful with his touch, just as he always showed himself to be. He was aware of your every sound and sigh, pacing himself with a slow rhythm that began to build until his clever tongue had you pinned to the mattress. 

You blossomed with bated breath, grabbing fistfuls of the bed linen to ground yourself from falling into the trance of his ministrations. You felt a prod at your entrance, his finger curling within, and your pleasure fluttered up your spine. It was too much and you writhed from his mouth, but his other hand moved underneath your thigh, gripping into your soft flesh, halting you. 

Let me.

Aemond quickened his pace, encouraged by your quiet pants, from how your heartbeat now pulsed around the digits that were knuckle deep in you. You felt Aemond pulling you towards a precipice that was consuming, a warmth that crashed against and spilled throughout. Your heart still bruised against your ribs from the cresting tremors of your fading pleasure, and only then did you notice it. 

How Aemond grinned smugly against your wet cent. 

You reached with boneless fingers that tangled into his silver hair, pulling him back so you could capture his mouth that now glistened with you. It was your own bittersweet taste on his lips and you felt emboldened to grab his waistband. When your fingers brushed against his heavy bulge that pressed the crotch of his slacks, a sweeping shyness returned. 

He pulled back with a sly smile, removing them before he moved back on top. His arms cage you to the bed and your skin rose with how his breath fanned against your cheeks. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he repeated after a moment, but his heavy hesitation lifted as you pulled him into the cradle of your hips.  

You sighed from how he molded into the softness of your body, and Aemond gave another savoring kiss. “Please, Aemond,” your eyes wet from your want, and his head dipped to watch as he grabbed the base, careful to line himself with your entrance. 

Aemond paused with a new trepidation that settled along the rose hues that dusted his sharp features. You squirmed beneath him, searching for friction, to feel the blunt press of his cockhead against your silken folds. 

“Aemond,” you now plead, a honeyed whisper, another kiss to encourage him, “I want you.” 

He watched you as he pressed forward, and you felt a stretch, a fullness as his hips moved against yours. You tensed from the new sensation, your nails biting and leaving red crescent marks that startled against the white of his skin. 

Aemond stilled at once, allowing you a moment to adjust, his brow furrowed with his concern. You then let out a soft exhale before tilting your chin to give him a kiss, a promise that you were fine. 

And only then did Aemond move, slowly, carefully, with each gentle thrust that split you further as he sheathed himself fully within you. It rekindled a deeper passion, and your eyes widened with a small gasp; he dipped his head to press his lips to your neck, decorating the column with his kisses, your pulse thrumming beneath. It began to ripple through you and your thighs tightened around his slender waist, beckoning him closer still. 

“Aemond,” you gasped.

He hummed his acknowledgement, pushing himself up. He used one arm for balance while his other hand moved to press onto your hip, his palm trailing closer to your bloom above, his thumb moving in circles. 

You felt raw, sensitive still from before, and something sparked with his touch. The air was thick and caught in your throat; a passion spilled from you without the same tensity from the first time, though still with a melody that played sweetly throughout your veins. 

Your velvet walls clenched with your climax and it pulled Aemond after. He groaned his own release, melting against you and burying his face back into the curve of your neck. You gasped again from how he pulsed between your legs, his heart rattling through to your bones. 

After a moment,  Aemond rolled to the side, his chest expanding to catch his breath before he reached to pull you to curl against him, equally breathless and aglow. Your arm was thrown across, your face pressed against to feel the rhythm of his heart, his seed spilling onto your thigh; his fingers began to trace patterns on your skin. 

He leaned to press another kiss to your hairline, and he whispered the same word from before. “Gevie.” 

“What does that mean?” You cannot help your grin, tilting your head back to look at him. 

His other hand came round, a finger pressed to your cheek to look at you. “Beautiful,” he said and then he gave you another kiss. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @hb8301 @namelesslosers

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[yandere4lyfe]

can I get a part two of the water god also do you watch or do the amazing digital circus or murder drones

((Here's part 2 of Yandere! Greek God x Mortal! Darking! And to answer your question, I have seen the amazing digital circus! I do not about murder drones, though. Is it interesting?))

The fates.

It was decided long ago that Ketos was to take a mortal woman as his wife. He was furious at first. 

He raged at sea for several days and nights, protesting the fates' decision. It was futile, though. Once something was decided, it was woven into the fabric of one's destiny, permanently bonded together. There was nothing one could do except to accept it.

Ketos couldn't do anything besides his fate. He did contemplate killing every mortal woman by flooding the lands, but it would have been foolish to do so. He didn't want to face the ire of Zeus, who would no doubt come down to smite him if any of his mortal or potential mortal lovers were harmed or killed.

It wasn't until the fates came down and told him the name of his future mortal wife. Things changed when out of his arrogant curiosity, he decided to leave his realm to seek her out. He wanted to see for himself if she was worthy enough to be his wife.

And once he saw her, he did not expect to fall as hard as he did.

She was beautiful, not as beautiful as Aphrodite, but beautiful enough to be his wife. Things he had not imagined before, back when he abhorred the thought of a mortal being his betrothed, hit him and carried him away like the waves crashing against the earth. 

He obsessed over her. Watching her from the sea everytime she took a walk along the sandy shore, taking on human forms to stalk her from afar, and even engaging in conversation with her in disguise just to hear what her voice sounds like among other things.

He had completely fallen for her. He decided the next time he saw her, he would come to her as himself and try to court her.

And well, their first meeting did not go as he had planned.

He had thought she would marvel at his magnificence. He was a God, for Zeus's sake! But she looked at him in fear. Distress plagued her beautiful features and he had no clue why. Surely, there was no reason why she would refuse a God like him, was there?

And so began an unique song and dance where he would try to court her, give her gifts, talk to her, all for it to be for naught! She refuses again and again.

And Ketos was starting to become angry...

How dare she refuse his love? She was his! The fates had already confirmed it! Her destiny lies and ends with him! 

He grew increasingly impatient until it came bubbling up one day and he snapped.

He was already in a terrible mood after facing so many of her rejections. He saw her dreadful look and grew tired of her pleas as she refused yet again. But this time, he was going to have her one way or another.

He lashed out, making the calm waves rage and the clouds above heavy and gray.

He threatened her with the lives of her family, along with all the other villagers she lived and grew up with. He didn't care about any of them! If it took killing everyone around her for her to be his, he would gladly do it. Even if she died in the process, all he would have to do is go to Hades and pluck her soul out of the Underworld so that she can finally be with him. And if he couldn't, he was a God. He had all the time in the world to wait for you to reincarnate and take you as his wife then.

Luckily, he didn't need to go that far. Though reluctant, she finally agreed to come to him! He was ecstatic. She took his hand and he praised her for choosing him. It didn't matter if she wasn't happy at first. He'll make her see the positive sides to being his betrothed. All his thoughts reverted back to all the things he wanted to do with her...

He would love and cherish her as they will soon be husband and wife. 

He was so happy to have her, his lovely wife.

((I think I may do a part 3 that's more of a look into their married life. Hope you enjoyed this one though!))

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers (a teaser) ⟢

at age fifteen, you’re betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, you’re set to marry him. so, when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship you’re trying to get into.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, emotional romantic and sexual tension all in one lmao, angst, smut (in the future scenes, this teaser is sfw!)

★ NOTES; so my blog won't die in my absence nd slight inactivity from writing, i decided to leave you guys a snippet of the third n last part of my royalty series <3 as always, content in my teasers are not final and can be subject to change so heads up on that!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

It’s several hours past midnight when you hear three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers. 

Annoyed, you stare at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies from the neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive collection of cosmetics in Ancarra, your guests certainly knew how to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents can dispel the pure vexation that’s been making your blood boil the entire evening. 

Not bothering to answer the door, you whisk yourself into the plush seat tucked underneath the dresser. There’s only one halfwit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how terribly tonight’s festivities went, you’re in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyone—much less Seraphia’s exasperating, insufferable, scheming—

“Isn’t it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?”

You try to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangles half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he notices you fumbling with the cherry red rouge you’re applying to your lips. 

But try as you may, you cannot ignore Jeonghan when he reaches a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color that you accidentally tinted just a few millimeters from your lip line. 

Not when his smoldering stare holds yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you can’t even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabs your chin and forces your gaze to marvel at the man himself.

“Sulking again, Princess?” Jeonghan sneers and you want to hate him for it, but you can’t. “I saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?”

“Because you’ve made it your life’s purpose to make mine miserable,” you snarl, putting as much venom into the words as you can. “Minghao isn’t a traitor. If he was, he wouldn’t be sitting on top of the Rènxìng empire. He wouldn’t even be daring enough to show his face here for the sole purpose of courting me.”

He sighs as if meaning to be sympathetic, but you’ve long seen past the ruse. “Poor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didn’t you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman who’s already spoken for?”

“I am not spoken for,” you interject, trying not to crumble from how his thumb lightly dabs at your lower lip. “Not by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choice—”

“Yes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess who’s chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,” Jeonghan coos, face inching ever-so close to yours.  

“But as it turns out, all the other men you’re trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.” 

Your lungs burn as if they’ve been set aflame and Jeonghan is merely adding more fuel to the blaze. “You’re despicable.”

“And you, Your Grace, are much too gullible,” he chuckles, each breath fanning hotly against your skin. “I’d say just give it up and surrender, but you’ve been fighting against me since we were children. Putting an end to our very interesting relationship in such a boring way wouldn’t make good for the history books, no?”

All of a sudden, you remember something that Soonyoung told you in passing. How Jeonghan is someone who cherishes his loved ones deeper than one would otherwise expect. He loves his homeland. He loves his family. Above all, he loves his people.

With how he keeps reeling you back from all your attempts to escape your engagement, any other person would assume that he loves you just as much.

But how are you supposed to believe that someone like him is capable of love when all he does is thrive off your misery?

“This new rouge you’re testing out,” he murmurs, as if it’s remotely acceptable to just shift the conversation after what he just told you. “It’s the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, no?”

“In what way does it concern you?” you grit. 

The despicable prince simply hums. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’m quite curious about its actual longevity.” 

You can practically hear your heart stutter to a stop when he closes the distance even more—only a hair’s breadth separating your mouth from his. You’re clueless as to how it happened, but you suddenly find your fingers coiled around the front of his shirt. Looking for purchase. For solid ground.

But you should know better than to anchor yourself to someone as unpredictable as Jeonghan.

“If someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds, would you even be more furious than you are now?” he whispers and you can feel the ghost of a smirk against your lips. “Or would it garner the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?”

Your pulse is roaring in your ears and all of a sudden, you can’t remember how to breathe. His intense stare is pinning you in place no matter how badly you want to escape. The scent of expensive champagne lingers on his lips and you find yourself craving for a taste. 

But you can’t. You can’t want that. You can’t want him. 

This is the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember. The man you’ll be cursed to sit beside in a throne room forever if you don’t do anything about it fast. 

You know these facts perfectly well, and yet…

Your eyes flutter closed as you hook your wrists across the back of his neck, letting your arch-nemesis fall deep into you.

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

want to be added to the taglist? leave a reply <3

[thelov3lybookworm]

We'll Heal

Summary: They have healed a lot in the past few years, and they will heal a lot in the ones coming.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2681

Warnings: angst, beron, eris being the tiniest bit mean but overall hes just a sweetheart, eris's brother, allusions to SA and domestic abuse, trauma. i think thats it, but if theres more i need to add, let me know!!

A/n: based on this request. i feel like i like this fic a lot cus my writing in this is so good, in my opinion 🥹 THANK YOU TO THE ANON WHO SENT ME THAT ASK ❣️❣️❣️

anyways, ENJOY🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

The Vanserra brother’s scents were quite similar to each other. Y/n had learned that very quickly.

Having to hide and cower the moment her fiance arrived, she’d gotten better at scenting people.

All of them had distinct scents to the point if someone paid attention, they could figure out which one it was. But initially, it would be hard to differentiate between all the seven woody fragrances with hints of ash and sweet maple.

For example, Eris’s scent was woody, smoky, with a very light sweetness to it. Autumnus, Y/n’s fiance and the second born, his scent was very similar, but it was the slightest bit sugary. More so than all his brothers.

If there was one brother who actually had a different scent, it was Lucien. And Y/n thought she knew why.

Six of the brothers had almost the same scent, but the youngest didn’t? Y/n was not dumb. She was pretty sure Lucien was not Beron’s child, and even if Y/n was not so well versed in recognizing a person’s unique fragrance, his warm demeanour would have made it hard to believe he was.

He was by far the nicest and kindest being Y/n had ever met, but she did not know whether that was a compliment for she had not met many. Other than her father, father in law, fiance and his brothers, Y/n had no experience mingling with other fae. Being the daughter of a wealthy nobleman, she was always sheltered since the day she had been born, her purity and piousness valued above all else.

She had never even interacted with the lower fae that worked as servants for her father before he had basically sold her off to the high lord to further his position in court. Being the father of one of the brides of the high lord’s seven sons certainly came with perks he was unwilling to let go of.

He had hoped for Y/n’s betrothal to the eldest, but Beron had outright refused, so her father had had to settle for the second best.

Which was probably one of his worst decisions ever, considering Autumnus had made her life miserable and refused to let her step foot out of their private east wing.

Y/n supposed she should be glad he let her leave her room at least.

He had taken one look at her and agreed to marriage, and Y/n was aware that had Beron not forced him to court her for six months before the wedding, he would have snatched her right back to his room.

But of course, being ordered to not touch her intimately before their marriage did not deter him from seeking her out at night, when no soul would be awake to report such uncourtly behaviour or spread rumours. And as long as no one threw mud on their family name, Beron Vanserra didn’t really care what happened to the women in the palace.

Despite his… daring endeavours, Autumnus was adamant on keeping Y/n sheltered, and she had overheard a conversation between one of the other brothers and her fiance one evening where he claimed that he only wanted her to stay in the wing so no one would get any untoward ideas about harming Y/n.

How Ironic.

For all he claimed he only wished for her wellbeing and did not want to see her hurt, he sure had no qualms about putting his hands on her himself. Be it for his own sexual pleasure or sadistic desires. Y/n would never be able to understand why seeing the tears and bruises on her skin as the outcome of his actions brought him such satisfaction, nor would she ever wish to.

The sun was setting in the distance when a door close by slammed with a bang and Y/n’s shoulders tensed, already dreading the moment her bedroom door would also burst open. And then her fiance would stumble upon her. It was time for him to come anyway.

But the scent that reached her when the bedroom door creaked open was not that of her fiance’s. Surprised, she turned to greet the guest, her wide eyes meeting that of frenzied amber.

"Good evening, my lord." Despite wondering what was going on, Y/n began to drop into a curtsy.

"We do not have time for pleasantries. Hurry up."

Y/n blinked, the harshness of the oldest vanserra brother catching her off guard. "What-"

"Hurry up." Eris growled, striding towards her and grabbing her wrist.

Her blood ran cold at the force in his grasp, sweat forming on her back.

No.

Please.

Autumnus has assaulted me enough. Why is his brother doing this to me too?

Another thought crossed Y/n’s mind.

If Autumnus smells his brother on me, it’s over for me.

"What- what are you doing?! Autumnus would be furious if he catches me with you-"

"Autumnus is dead." Eris snapped, glaring at her when she refused to budge despite his insistent tugging on her hand to drag her out. It took Y/n a moment to fully understand what he was saying.

Her skin went numb. The surroundings turned mute. Her eyes lost focus, and as if her skin had lost all ability to hold her, her jaw dropped, lips parting.

"Wh- what?"

He released a frustrated exhale, his eyes falling shut. "Are you broken? Can you not say anything other than what?" When Y/n just stared at him, he growled. "No wonder you never stopped Autumnus from being his bastard self."

He dropped her hand, instead grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Listen to me carefully girl. Lucien’s lover was killed and now every other brother is out hunting him. Your betrothed is dead. The place is in chaos. There are no guards out there. I am trying to get you out of here. Okay? I am not trying to take advantage of you."

Y/n blinked, forcing herself to actually see the male in front of her. That was when her eyes snagged on the dark stains on his expensive jacket. The jacket itself was the darkest shade of maroon, yet the spots coloured by what looked like blood were discernible.

Blood.

She met his eyes. "Why are you helping me?"

His jaw clenched. "Not all of us are assholes, you know. I have sent Lucien to the spring court, and before anyone else returns to check up on you, you need to be gone."

She nodded, numb to his vice-like grip. "Can I ask you one more question?"

Eris’s lips tilted up cynically. "Of course. Would you like me to order some tea too? We can sit by the fire and chit chat? We could also bring the rest of the bothers even-"

She swallowed. "Point taken."

"Good." He snapped, eyes hard as he grabbed her hand again. "I’ll have to winnow you now." He mumbled, more to himself than to her.

And he did just that, depositing her on what seemed like the border to spring court. The thick foliage cascading down to the ground in trickling rivulets of red, orange and gold faded into the warm embrace of summoning of summer, green leaves and pink petals that looked like they’d burst with the slightest touch beckoning Y/n to come closer, to breathe in the sweetness.

Uncertain, Y/n turned to look at him.

"What now?" He questioned impatiently, gaze flitting from tree to tree, shadow to shadow.

"I-"

"Lucien or one of the high lord’s sentries will find you, if that’s what you’re concerned about."

Y/n was going to say that she had never stepped foot out of her father’s estate and then Beron’s estate, but that was a more valid concern than what she had in mind. So she dipped her head and turned away from Eris, taking steps towards the border as her stomach flipped in her tummy.

Before she took the last step and finally got rid of all ties to Autumn, she turned to look at him.

He raised a brow.

"I… I hope you get the best in life, my lord. I truly do."

His eyes softened, and he nodded at her in acknowledgement.

The moment she set foot in spring, he was gone.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"Y/n?"

She groaned and turned away, tucking her head between her pillow and the bed.

"Go away."

She heard a chuckle, causing her to tense. The sound itself was nothing bad, but the underlying love for chaos in it had her ready to fight.

Autumnus?

Clenching her fists in the bedsheets, she peeked her eye open, and sure enough, a flash of red hair caught her eye.

He stepped closer and yanked the covers off of her, his sinister smile still on his face as he took in her cowering form, his deep chuckle causing a shiver to run up her spine.

“Time to play, bitch.”

No. Please no.

He had not listened. He’d dragged her out of her bed in the middle of the night.

The first night of many to come.

Pine and maple mixed with honey filled her lungs, and she jerked up and back, heart thumping in her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed herself against the headboard, feeling her tears tickle her skin as they rolled down her cheeks.

She heard nothing, no movement or breaths or menacing footsteps approaching her for long moments, and she blinked her eyes open, looking around the room over her heaving chest.

The eyes staring back at her with tears in them were not amber. They were russet.

Lucien.

Lucien, not Autumnus.

She exhaled, lips parting as she took in the sadness on her husband’s face. "Lucien, I-"

He shook his head, walking closer to her and settling down next to her. "It’s okay my love. I know how hard it is." He gently grasped her fingers in his hand and pried them from the blanket, and she reluctantly released her death grip on it.

She sniffled. "I’m trying."

He smiled at her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I know you are, and I’m proud of you for it."

She watched him as he placed a kiss on each of her finger tips, then her knuckles, then finally her palm before meeting her eyes. And once again, she was reminded of the fact that this was Lucien. He was not his brother.

It had been over half a century since that day Eris had dropped Y/n on the spring border, and still, everytime she had to remind herself that she was now with Lucien, not his devil of a brother.

Lucien was a devil too, just not in the sense his brother was.

When Y/n had found Lucien after entering Spring Court, bleeding and bruised, his eyes hollow but pain still oozing from every pore of his body, she had managed to pull him- even as unwilling and ready to die as he was- towards where she thought she saw some tall spires rising into the sky through the proud trees boasting the prettiest of leaves she had never seen before, sure that it would be were the high lord resided.

She could only hope that Eris had informed him beforehand and that she was not dragging herself and Lucien from one hell to another.

The high lord had accepted them with open arms though, and Y/n had not expected the lengths he went to to make them comfortable. And despite the paranoia Y/n had after her experience with one HIgh Lord, despite her scepticism and reluctance to trust Tamlin, she developed what many would call a sibling bond with him. So did Lucien.

In the aftermath of all the tragedies, Lucien had isolated himself and only Tamlin could pull him out. But one day, Y/n had had enough of waiting. She had been waiting to talk to Lucien for over a month by that point, and when he had refused to talk to her or anyone at all, she’d barged into his room.

He had finally spoken to her and revealed that it was Autumnus who had told Beron about Jesminda’s existence, hence leading to her death. And despite Y/n believing in the saying, ‘Respect the dead and remember their good’, she cursed her dead fiance all over again.

From that day onward, Lucien and Y/n had connected, becoming closer as time went, comforting each other over shared loss of loved ones, life and home.

It was only a matter of time before they decided they liked each other more than friends did.

But Y/n had never been able to forget the things Autumnus did to her. It had taken her over a decade to even let Lucien kiss her. She had thought she was getting better in recent years though.

Apparently not.

Y/n leaned close to Lucien, resting her head on his shoulder. She tried so hard to move on from her experiences with Autumn court in general,but every time something happened that reminded her even slightly of the place she had been born, all her progress seemed to wash down the drain. Each time, she would be upset, but Lucien would tell her it was fine.

It was not.

Because if it were fine, why was she not stronger? Why, when anytime Lucien grabbed her a little too hard when play fighting, when the head maid got frustrated and yelled at others who were not doing their job well, when Tamlin used his high lord voice while commanding his sentries, why did Y/n stiffen? Why did sweat trickle down her back like the cold fingers of her fiance? Why did her blood seem to stop moving in her veins?

Y/n was disappointed quite often.

"Y/n, love, you know it’s alright. I can feel your thoughts without being a daemati. You need to give yourself more credit for how far you’ve come."

Just like that, tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes again, and she snuggled closer to him, hoping he would not be able to look at her filled eyes if she made it impossible for him to look at her.

He pulled away from her grip, knowing what she was trying to do and not falling for it. "Look at me sweetheart. It’ll get better with time."

Y/n just nodded, focusing on the golden skin of his throat rather than those eyes that made her spit out anything on her mind without compulsion.

He sighed, and Y/n wished she could erase the sound from existence because it made her feel worse than she already did, knowing she hurt Lucien too when she refused to get better.

"Fifty years ao, Y/n, you could not stand to be within arm’s length of me without having shivers. Without having nightmares, you could not close your eyes. You could not talk to anyone because everyone reminded you of him.

"And now you can do so much. You organise and host events for Tamlin, you are training to be an emissary, you can hold your own against those pompous lords whose jacket buttons hold on for dear life. Tell me, what can you not do?"

That made an unexpected giggle burst from Y/n’s lips, and she looked up to find Lucien’s lips quirked to the side, his eyes glittering.

"And no, Y/n, you do not disappoint me when it all comes back to you. I am so very proud of you for even beginning to get better in the first place. Mother knows I would have been a ghost wandering the halls had I been the one who endured Autumnus and his bullshit."

Y/n pressed her forehead to Lucien’s, whimpering softly. "I love you."

She felt the air in front of her shift and settle as Lucien shuffled closer, placing his lips against her.

"And I love you. And I promise you, my love, we’ll get better."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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Lucien Vanserra Taglist: @mirandasidefics @tele86

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

 Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that  cruel smile—

 Better to avoid him altogether. 

 A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head. 

 “Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit. 

 “Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.” 

 “Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.” 

 “I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

 “You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

 Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head. 

 “Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.”  You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head. 

 “One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds. 

 ”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

 You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

 “Fit for a queen.” 

 “The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

 “I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

 “Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array. 

 “Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress. 

 More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening. 

 “Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

 You suppress a shiver. 

 “Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

 The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt. 

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged. 

 You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?” 

 Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

 “I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.” 

 You grind your teeth. 

 The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it. 

 ”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you. 

 “Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.” 

 Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it. 

 “Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot  continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you. 

 A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.  

 As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle. 

 Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful. 

 Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly. 

 “Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

 Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears. 

 “T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought. 

 “Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can. 

 “Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

 “Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

 Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there. 

 “Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.” 

 You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride. 

 That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly. 

 “Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

 “No, no, it’s nothing—”

 “Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?” 

 You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

 But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

 She is angry. 

 You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal  perfectly, even without her input. 

 You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

 “Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.” 

—

 The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth. 

 Everything is dead here. 

 The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

 I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

 You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden. 

 It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips. 

 Your father stands before you. 

 He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut. 

 He is horrible. 

 He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

 You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

 “No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

 “A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.” 

 The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so. 

 I slept… unusually deeply. 

 You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind. 

 You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you. 

 After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces. 

 To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow. 

 It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress. 

 “I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow. 

 “Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

 “I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

 “ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

 “The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

 “Yes, thank you. I would.” 

 Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request. 

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence. 

 “Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly. 

 “So that the gods might receive their prayers.” 

  The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color. 

 “Is it not beautiful, lady?”

 “Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors  true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest. 

 It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead. 

 If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now. 

 “Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest. 

 “Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?” 

 “She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.” 

 You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

 His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word.  “Heathenistic rituals.” 

 The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation. 

 “Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?”  His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way. 

 “Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.” 

 “Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat. 

 “Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him. 

 “Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name. 

 “My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.” 

 “That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly. 

 “He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. 

 “I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement. 

 “Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.” 

 “Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection. 

 “Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?” 

 Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.” 

 “This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey. 

 “W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

 “I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.” 

 “H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra. 

 “My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.” 

 “By all means.” 

 Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

 Geralt’s, and the wolf’s. 

to be continued…

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[original-art-stories]

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Stars Above, Stones Below By Destina. "After the disastrous end of his betrothal to Gwen and the regret of his offer to Princess Mithian, Arthur swears off finding a wife until he's ready to wed. When Merlin offers himself to Arthur as bedmate, Arthur suggests they hand-fast in secret for a single year of mutual pleasure without obligation. As their year together unfolds, and secrets and betrayals unravel around them, Arthur and Merlin learn there is no such thing as uncomplicated pleasure. Everything they thought they knew could change in a single year."

Give the Dragon a Chilli by Supercalvin. Modern with Magic. "Aithusa might have been no bigger than a house cat but she was still a dragon. That meant wings, claws, and her hoard, which in Aithusa’s case included soft pillows, fluffy socks, and much to Merlin’s chagrin, stolen pants. When Merlin found out that his winged ward had stolen a rather considerable pile of clothing for her hoard, he thought that it would be the end of any kind of friendship with his neighbor. But when Merlin met the victim of Aithusa’s burglary, he was pleasantly surprised to find Arthur, a man who had never in his life seen a dragon let alone a burglarizing one, and Cavall, a curious German Shepherd puppy who was quick to befriend the little white dragon. From there, it was only the beginning."

The Student Prince by FayJay. Very famous this one, you probably know it already. Modern with Magic, BAMF!Merlin and Reincarnation. "A Modern-day Merlin AU set at the University of St Andrews, featuring teetotal kickboxers, secret wizards, magnificent bodyguards of various genders, irate fairies, imprisoned dragons, crumbling gothic architecture, arrogant princes, adorable engineering students, stolen gold, magical doorways, attempted assassination, drunken students, shaving foam fights, embarrassing mornings after, The Hammer Dance, duty, responsibility, friendship and true love..."

Dew Point by kinase. Modern with magic, BAMF! Merlin "Arthur Pendragon is as popular and successful as a sixth former can be. He hasn’t quite figured out his future yet, but it’s going to be brilliant, he’s certain. At least until some daring stranger on a cool motorcycle topples his world upside down on the first day of school. Modern magical AU".

The Wall of Arthur by supercalvin. ModernAU has no magic, but this is just adorable, I love it. "In a surprisingly good David Attenborough impression, Gwaine said, “Here you see the remarkable mating ritual of the Merlin and the Arthur. Which involves mostly insults and swearing.”

Or: How Merlin and Arthur Met and Why There is a Restroom Wall Dedicated to Arthur’s Ass"

In Love With My Radio by lunchee. ModernAU is funny and sweet. Good fic. "Merlin listens to the radio, Arthur stalks Merlin, Morgana lives to create chaos in Arthur's life, and then everyone goes to McDonalds! Also, love happens.

From the km prompt: Arthur has an anonymous blog/LJ/twitter where he posts about his life, and Merlin follows it RELIGIOUSLY. Arthur starts posting about how he's stalking this amazingly hot guy.

My Significant Bother

Merlin's job as PR junior on the royal account isn't as glamorous as people believe: Most nights, he's saving Arthur, Duke of York and black sheep of the family, from possibly committing monarchy-shattering shenanigans. When tragedy hits and Arthur is now second in line to the throne, the public doesn't react too favorably to the new Prince of Wales.

A solution has to be found and Merlin's contribution is key to the problem: Roped into posing as Arthur's fake boyfriend, he's supposed to make Arthur's popularity levels rise with his steadfast and relatable presence and elevate him from scandalous rake to romantic figure...

For Without You I Am Lost

What if… Throughout the centuries, the magic in Merlin grew? Like, every sorcerer/witch and so on has a limit for growth, yeah? Some level that they reach and that’s it. No more power for you. But Merlin /doesn’t/ since he’s not /with/ magic but instead /is/ magic. So. Like. It grew with him and he learned more and more but he’s all alone, right? Has no Anchor. So he’s doing all he can, spreading the knowledge, educating people on and about magic and for a while it works. Magic is accepted, taught, even revered all over the world. The world prospers. Peace and harmony grows. Yeah, sure, there’s baddies from time to time but in general all is well yeah?

But… All this power that keeps on growing inside. What if it… Starts corrupting him? Like. Unintentionally, bit by bit. He doesn’t even notice that some of his decisions sHOuLd seem… Wrong, maybe..? But.. Power grows and grows and morality blurs for him. After all, he’s all alone. He has no one there for him. He’s always there for the EntiRe PoPulaTion of the WoRLd, but HE’S alone.

So what if… Arthur returns because Albion’s greatest need is to be saved… From Merlin..?

We Begin Again (Series)

*** Absolute fave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read this series, especially the first two books ***

For many long years Merlin waited.

For the other part of his soul, for the other half of his life. He was born to serve Arthur. So that meant he was also born to wait. Even if it took a thousand years. Even if the wait seemed never to end.

Until one day, suddenly, it did.

When Arthur stumbles from the Lake of Avalon 1,500 years after his death, he finds a world unlike the one he knew. Faced with the loss of everyone he loved, and the threat of impending prophecy, Arthur must learn what it means to be not just a king, but the Once and Future King. Merlin does all he can to guide him, even as he struggles to hide his love for his king, and his fear of losing him again.

Story includes sass, banter, horseplay, & True Love.

In For Keeps

Merlin and Prince Arthur have been in a relationship for a while, unbeknownst to others. Arthur is ready to take the next step and make them official, but Merlin isn’t yet. The restrictions on his life and the mere idea of the lack of privacy seem too much for him to bear.

Separated over Christmas, overworked and overwrought, an accident befalls Arthur.

Cue a worried Merlin racing overnight on a trouble-ridden trip to Scotland on Christmas Eve.

Well, the course of true love never runs smooth...

*** I swear I’ve read these a million times ***

The Pact

The ancient Albion Pact demands that the Prince of Wales must take someone magic born as his soul-bonded consort by the time he is 30 or face death. Before he was a Detective Inspector Warlock, Merlin Emrys was young and in love and made a promise to Prince Arthur -- and now Arthur is calling it in.

The Lonely King

The Prince of Wales at his school. Merlin was sure it was all just a very bad joke. A modern royalty AU.

There Are No Gays In Football

When a deeply-closeted Arthur Pendragon finally earns a spot in Camelot's first XI, he's dead set on breaking records, not one of sport's last taboos. But life, like football, is a funny old game, and sometimes the only way up is out. Especially once he realizes he's arse over tit for the new physio.

A queer Arthurian tale of courage, love, and football.

The Difference of You

It’s not that Arthur Pendragon can’t get girls to fall for him; it’s just that he can’t seem to keep them around. Relationships and Arthur aren't on the same page at all, really, but one day there's Merlin on a bus and then it's different.

But it’s a Good Refrain

Arthur doesn't care much about the popular radio program Dragon's Lonely Hearts until his ex-girlfriend calls in to slag him off and get advice. When he calls in and has an on-air argument with the host, it starts off more than he expected, including meddling friends, over involved fans, and maybe love.

No Matter How Far Away You Roam

“I was wondering if you might come home with me.” Merlin stops mid-rant and stares at him, and then down at his panini again, and back at Arthur. This is a panini of lies and pain. He can tell already.

“For Christmas? I’ve got an uncle and a mother and a sister waiting for me at home, in case you hadn’t remembered, I’m not going home with you just because you’re a workaholic.”

“No, it’s. My mum might be under the impression that we’re a little bit married.”

In which Merlin gets conned into spending Christmas with Arthur's family and pretending to be his husband, because somehow this is his life

Magic Reveal

What I’d have done

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5013721/chapters/11522743

It’s set around season 3. It’s mostly Arthur centric and it’s really good. It’s not out of character at all and is a realistic depiction of what could have happened in cannon

These are my bookmarked favorites! I love these magic reveals!

In relief:

The Map of Honor:

By the Sword:

Dying to Return

Turn of the Tide:

 I tried to keep it plot heavy. Most are Arthur/Merlin, but a couple isn't.

Family Tree - Fic starts after defeating Cenred's forces and an army of the dead in the siege during the Tears of Uther Pendragon

Without Song - In which Arthur is envoy to a grieving family, and Merlin rides with him.

So Are They All, All Honourable Men - Merlin gets into a fight with a knight

I've come Too Far To See The End - Morgana finds out Merlin is Emrys.

Onfindan - The aftermath of Athur finding out

The Perfect Scry - Arthur finds out Merlin has magic and Merlin doesn't know he has magic. So Arthur does what any BFF would do: everything he can to keep Merlin from finding out he has magic so he don't freak out.

After Ealdor - There’s a fine line between good and evil, and Merlin wonders if he’s crossed it

Pendragon Red - Camelot is overrun by sorcerers, Uther is dead, and Arthur wonders what the sorcerer want him and Merlin so much for.

They Call Him Emrys - Bring Emrys to the Dark Tower, Morgana demands. Or Gwen will die. Canon AU that diverges in mid S5.

The Best-Laid Plans - A group of mercenaries pose as Knights of Camelot after the disaster of Agravaine and the dragon. They run into Arthur and his Knights.

The Immortal’s Encore series

Believing that he has long since failed in his destiny, an immortal Merlin decides the only way to make things right is to break the barriers of time, rewrite history, and correct his mistakes. Unfortunately, such a task is not so simple in practice. The threads of time are a slippery opponent, and people are not easily made pawns in destiny's game. And perhaps the greatest threat of them all? Merlin himself. A millenium has left him greatly changed. Is he still the man that destiny chose, or will Merlin's return only bring a new doom to Camelot with it?

Not very well known. This is one of the best fanfics I ever read. I’ve checked so many of the classics and most of the most commented, most bookmarked ones, with the most kudos. I’ve accidentally stumbled on this one and since that day I am completely obsessed with it. The best BAMF Merlin I ever read, the writing style is impeccable, the plot is smart and well planned and thought through, characterisations are on point, the consequences are realistic and so complex. I cannot recommend this enough. There are 4 works in the story so far and it’s WIP, but the writer is very productive and disciplined, the updates are happening once or twice a week.

Lay Your Head on The Shoulder of a Good Friend

With Camelot readying for the upcoming gathering of rulers of the Southern Kingdoms to discuss peace, Uther has tasked Arthur with an additional duty: befriend the Prince of Essetir and learn anything he can of King Balinor, and of magic, and of dragons, that might be of interest should the treaty not succeed.

That's easier said than done, as he and Prince Merlin don't exactly hit it off immediately. But, befriending Merlin and learning of magic and life in Essetir leads Arthur down the paths of discovering long held secrets surrounding his own birth, and his mother's ill health, and his father's hatred of all things magic.

Adding even more complications to the mix are rowdy knights, frustrating princesses, a possible traitor in their midst, and an overly-verbose dragon; not to mention the burgeoning and peculiar feelings for his fellow prince that Arthur struggles to put a name to.

I love this fanfic. It’s written by Skitz_phenom, not very well known, but this author is amazing. Incredible BAMF Merlin, Arthur & Merlin are so very well written, she/he written one of the best sexiest and steamiest scenes in Merthur fanfic world. The story is great and touches your heart. Completed.

If you will enjoy this, I highly recommend checking their other works.

N16 writes great magic reveal fanfics (not just)

There are 24 works written by this author. I haven’t read them all, but the ones I’ve checked are great. The theme of so many of N16 fanfic stories is the reveal.

To Kill a Nightmare is one of those. It include BAMF Merlin tag as well. Once again, if you enjoy it, check the other works of this talented author.

These are various lists from different individuals that I saved in a document some time ago.I need to free up space on my computer… However, I'm hesitant to delete them. I'm not familiar with all the blogs mentioned; if you recognize any, please inform me!

[skythighs]

Calista's Dream: Blood on my Blade

Hi, I'm back with another one. Once again, I don't own the pictures. I just used them for a vibe 😌

Word count:2.5k

Warnings: she cuts herself intentionally in this chapter but not because she wants to. Also, my future chapters will have adult content, so be aware that this is for 18+

Chapter 1

10195 AG

It was an unusually sunny day on Caladan and I wasted no time escaping from my mother. She’s planning the arrival of my betrothed who is due to arrive within a week from today. She’s coordinating flowers to match my dress and wine to compliment the chosen meat that will be served at the feast following the nuptials. Meanwhile I couldn’t care less about any of it. I didn’t have a choice in the matter so why should I be bothered in planning for it. He will arrive in Caladan an entire month before the wedding so that he can court me properly according to my fathers wishes. I was not opposed to the idea of courting, but it all seemed useless now. The Emperor ordered this arrangement; neither Feyd Rautha or myself would have chosen each other if that weren’t the case. Our houses were rivals, I dare not say enemies for fear of upsetting my father. He would no longer accept that term when referring to the family I would be marrying into. 

My dark hair blew in a strong gust of wind as I looked out at the vast body of water ahead of me. I would be leaving my home in just over a month and I had come to terms with it. I’ve been saying goodbye for now in my own way. It was not a final farewell for I knew in my soul I would die on Caladan, because I am an Atreides. I lay flat on my back in the damp green grass soaking in the beautiful sunlight, knowing I’ll soon be an inhabitant of Giedi Prime with its black sun. While deep in thought I notice Gurney running towards me looking upset. I sit up so he can find me easier in the tall grass.

“Gurney, what's the matter?”

“Little Duchess, your parents sent me to find you. They are here.”

“They?”

“The Harkonnens, my lady.They’ve come a week early, no doubt to catch us by surprise.”

“Feyd Rautha is here, on Caladan right now?”

The very idea struck me and I felt myself break out into a nervous sweat. I wasn’t prepared. I had more time to- to wrap my mind around his arrival. He wasn’t supposed to be here today. 

“Lady Jessica is in your chambers, you must hurry Little Duchess. She wants you to change and prepare yourself for a formal introduction.”

With that I’m off, sprinting across the tall grass in order to prepare quickly for the unexpected guest. Gurney's laugh in my wake is confirmation that my back is covered in wet grass stains. My mother will have to work magic to get me ready quickly. 

“Where have you been?” exclaimed Lady Jessica.

“You’re covered in grass Calista!”

“I’m sorry. They weren’t supposed to be here so soon.”

We remain silent while stripping the stained gown and damp underclothes. A maid pulled out an elaborate emerald green gown with matching jewelry and hair pieces. 

“Your father has already received our guest in the great hall. He is entertaining him there while they wait for us. The kitchen has already begun preparing a feast. Be calm, all is well.”

Jessica could sense the nervous energy from her daughter and it made her feel all the more high strung given the circumstance. 

“Do not show fear to him, Cali. For if you do he will crave more of it.”

“I know, mother. I’m just surprised, is all. I thought I had more time.”

Castle Caladan was warm and cozy even though it was large and spread out. There was a warmth deep within the stone of those walls that can not be manufactured. It was the warmth of home, of love and familial bonds, a feeling that came after the birth of Calista and had lingered for some twenty years now.

When my mother and I stepped into the great hall silence fell upon the Duke and Na Baron who sat across from each other at the great table. There was a tension in the air no doubt from the early intrusion made by the Harkonnen. It seemed the Na Baron traveled with nothing less than a small armada. A show of force perhaps from Baron Vladimir himself. One wall had Atreides soldiers lined up and the opposite was the same for the Harkonnnen. This felt less like an introduction between a couple whose pending nuptials were mere days away and more like a meeting before a battle. A last ditch effort to broker peace before the inevitable war followed.

My father and our early guest rise to their feet as I make my way into the room. My emerald dress swishes with each step I take, I ensure my shoulders are back and my head is held high. I would not be shaken by him. The great room is bathed in sunlight as the sun still shines brightly outside and for a moment I wish I was still just a girl laying in damp grass.

“Na Baron Feyd Rauth, may I present to you my daughter and Heir Calista Atreides.” my father places his hand on the small of my back as I stand beside him.

I reach my hand out to the Na Baron and feel his warm lips graze my knuckles as he bows briefly before me.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you my lady.” 

Once he speaks I realize his teeth are painted obsidian black and I almost cringe.

His predatory eyes watched every twitch of my face muscles, every slight movement of my lips as I welcomed him to Caladan. His eyes remind me of the birds of prey. He watches calmly and intently taking in the lilt of my voice. More than this his own voice was so wholly unique it caused a slight shiver to travel up my spine. He was so pale white the sun shining into this very room could damage his skin. He wore black armor similar to the Harkonnen armada standing around the room. I take him in from head to toe and have to crane my neck to look up at him. I had always been small and now as a grown woman of nearly twenty I stood an entire head shorter than him at least.

He seems pleased by the fact I have to look up at him to see his eyes and he offers me a wolfish grin.

My mother interjects with “We have prepared a feast for this evening once you have rested from your travels Na Baron. Calista will show you to your chambers now.”

My mother gives me a pointed look that only mothers have mastered.

“Of course follow me.”

With that I'm off leading him down winding corridors a few short paces ahead of him as he shortens his steps to stay just behind me and out of sight. For the sake of being polite I decided to try and make conversation with him.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon Na Baron, is there a reason you moved up our scheduled timeline?”

 I attempt to turn my head slightly just to catch him in my line of sight, but he intentionally evades my attempt.

“I didn’t want to wait any longer.” His gravelly voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Quick and to the point. I halt my steps and face him head on as he smirks down at me. My reaction amuses him it seems.

“Are you saying you arrived here early because you couldn’t wait one more week to see me?”

He takes a large step towards me, making my breath catch in my chest.

“You’ve been mine for the last six years. I’ve waited long enough to see you with my own eyes, those pretty little portraits didn’t do you justice.”

He reaches his large powder white hand up and catches a strand of my long ebony hair. He rubs my silken hair between his fingers as he stares into my eyes without blinking. 

“You even smell pretty, Lady Atreides.”

He wantonly sniffs the strand of hair in his grasp. Making me shudder in disgust, and some other ambiguous feeling. I attempt to separate myself from him but he won’t budge, he continues to stare me down with his near dead eyes.

“Let me show you to your chambers Na Baron, you must be exhausted.”

I refuse to show him an ounce of fear remembering my mothers words. Besides he was on my home planet, I need not fear anything on Caladan. 

He smiles at me showing his black teeth much to my unease but he releases my hair and we continue our trek in silence.

As we reach his chambers I bid him farewell until the feast that is and take my leave quickly. The hairs on the back of my neck tell me he watches from the doorway as I make my departure. He watches me until I am completely out of his sight as I turn out of the guest wing entirely. Only then does the gooseflesh on my skin settle down.

Back in my own chambers my mother meets me in the corridor.

“Did you show fear?” She asks seriously. She was gripping her own navy gown tightly between her fingers.

“No.”

I grasp her worrying hand on her gown.

“B-but I think I amused him somehow. He said-”

Using the Atreides battle language she motions they will continue this conversation in her chamber with the door closed.

Once inside my chamber we secure the door and settle onto my chaise lounge chair together. 

“He told me he showed up here early simply because he was tired of waiting to see me.”

Lady Jessica tensed up slightly, alarming Cali.

“What? What is it?”

“He is eager to wed you it seems. I was hoping he would be indifferent, for your sake my Cali.”

Realization dawned on me the moment my mother voiced her concern. He was eager, he was looking forward to- to having me as his wife.

The evening came quickly and after changing into a fresh gown per my mothers request I was heading into the great hall for the welcome feast. My new gown was light blue and white lace with matching jewels of course. I wore my hair entirely up to avoid another incident with the Na Baron touching my hair without permission. I hoped to convey a message to him. A message that said, I don't belong to you. Not yet at least.

 Once I entered the great hall I noticed my father was seated at the head of the table this time with Feyd Rautha at his left hand side with an empty seat beside him closest to her father. My mother sat regally on his right hand side taking stock of our Harkonnen guests around the table.

When the men noticed me they both stood and went to pull out my chair in unison. Feyd Rautha insisted as I was his betrothed and my father sat awkwardly, not used to his daughter being the center of another man's attention.

“Thank you Na Baron.”

I say politely as I take my seat. He then moves his chair a couple inches closer to my own than it was before. Not very subtle at all I think. He retakes his seat and quickly calls for my goblet to be filled with wine. Well isn't he attentive? I wonder if I can expect the same level of care once we are on Giedi Prime. Is he just luring me into a false sense of safety before revealing his true self? Try as I might I can’t seem to get a good read on him and it bothers me and puts me on edge.

He didn't speak much at dinner until it was time for speeches and thanks to be granted to the hosting house.

He stood from his seat beside me and raised his goblet of fine Caladan wine.

“I would like to take a moment to thank Duke Leto Atreides for being so hospitable to me although I arrived before our agreed timeline. However, having seen my bride in all her glory I should have come sooner.”

Many Harkonnen men bellow out joyous laughter at that and agree with whoops and cheers.

I look between them uneasily feeling like a prized trophy already.

“I would like to present my lady with a gift.”

A meek Harkonnen servant appeared with a finely decorated box that could only hold valuable jewels. He took the box from the servant and faced me. I took a short sip of wine to cover my nerves and received the box with a smile.

I opened the box and barely contained my shocked gasp. It was indeed not fine jewels, but a bloodied dagger. Not a clean dagger but a bloody one, even the handle was covered in blood.

“I- it’s lovely. Thank you.” I give him the best smile I can muster.

“It’s a Harkonnen tradition as I’m sure you know.”

His dead eyes seemed to come alive with some unknown emotion.

“Of course. I just didn’t realize the blade was meant to be...used.” 

I gesture for my gift to be brought forward so that I can offer it to him.

He opens the box and inspects the blade thoroughly. 

“A fine piece of art.”

“I do apologize since it’s missing blood.”

He looked at me and tilted his head as he looked me up and over taking note of the neckline of my gown.

“Certainly you can remedy that, My lady.”

He hands me the blade with an expectant look.

“I don’t understand, Na Baron-”

“-Your blood would do most nicely.”

There is a chill that freezes my blood to the bone. He sits once again in his chair that is still too close to mine. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” 

I look at him as if he’s grown a second head. While my father watches the interaction closely, waiting for the slightest misstep on Feyd's part so he can call in our soldiers to defend the future Dutchess. My mothers warning plays in my head and I know what I have to do.

I take the pristine blade and grab the hilt, slowly and precisely I drag the blade against my palm covering it in my very own blood.

Once again his eyes are lit with some unknown emotion. All I know is they don't seem so dead when he looks at me that way, and I feel myself blush. He takes my offer staring at it in what I can only describe as reverence as he places it carefully in its rightful place. The same meek servant steps forward and removes the gift from the hall.

[sl-ut]

a princess's order

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader

description: rhaenyra tries to come to terms with the fact that y/n is betrothed and will soon be leaving king’s landing, but it is much more difficult than she had anticipated.

warnings: descriptions of sex, slight hints homophobia, arranged marriage

words: 4.4K

date posted: 20/12/2022

next part

“Have you ever kissed a man?” 

The question was a bold one to be asked by one young princess to her lady as they took a stroll through the gardens, and a few older ladies seemed to perk up as she asked it while they passed by. Gossip was a very expensive luxury in King’s Landing, and so late in the afternoon on the evening of a royal feast, very few were eager to pass up points of conversation to bring up with those who they are seated with. However, anyone who genuinely knew the princess and her lady would know that this was not entirely out of context. The two young girls liked to spy on others at court, spinning their own tales about which lady was after which lord, and what aspects of their personal life would jeopardise such a match, making sly comments about the men who served the princess’s father so dutifully (and the queen, on several occasions), but never had they truly ventured into their own sexual appetites, for they were both young and unmarried, so they were expected to have not taken part in anything below their station.

Y/n’s face beamed with heat, embarrassment creeping up her spine at the princess’s question. She lowered her gaze to the fabrics of her skirts, picking at them anxiously with her free hand before she shook her head.

“Of course not,” She glanced over her shoulder to spy the princess’s sworn protector, Ser Criston acting as if he was not at all listening in on their conversation from several paces back, “It would be unbefitting of me.”

“Hm,” Rhaenyra hummed, “Interesting.”

"Rhaenyra," The lady hissed, "Please tell me you haven't-"

“Lady Y/n, do you dare question my virtue? As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne, I could have you hanged, drawn, and quartered for such a thing.”

“Lady Y/n, do you dare question my virtue? As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne, I could have you hanged, drawn, and quartered for such a thing.”

Y/n scoffed, bumping the silver haired princess with her shoulder as they continued to walk. Rhaenyra chuckled at her, pursing her lips as she thought up her next inquiry.

“Have you ever been with a man?”

“Rhaenyra!” Y/n sneered under her breath, “I’ve already told you that I haven’t so much as kissed a man, and now you ask if I’ve-” She glanced back at Ser Criston once more before lowering her voice even more, “-lost my maidenhead?”

“Oh please, it does not require kissing.”

Y/n furrowed her brows. She did her best not to imagine how her parents had been while performing their marital duties, but she did know that they were very in love and did not hold back on their affection when in the company of their own families. As the lord of a powerful house from the Riverlands, Y/n’s father was betrothed to the most suitable bride, and it was considerable luck that they grew fond of each other. Y/n dreamed of a marriage of her own that resembled that of her parents, and she certainly could not imagine allowing someone to be inside of her without even so much as a kiss.

“Would you wish it without?” Y/n asked.

Rhaenyra debated her answer, “Depends. If he is old and ugly, I think I could do without, but I think I would quite prefer it if he were to be quite handsome.”

Y/n remained quiet at this. The days were growing sparse in the time that they had left together like this; Soon enough they would be married off and unable to spend so much time together in favour of caring for their husbands and children. Rhaenyra at least had the luxury of having a choice in the matter, and the fact that she would remain in King’s Landing regardless of who she married, while Y/n was under the complete control of her father and could be shipped off to the other end of Westeros to marry any old lord at a moment’s notice. In fact, she knew for a fact that her father had already been corresponding with several lords around the nation for a match for her, whether it be for himself or for his son, and from her father’s perspective, many seem eager to take such a fine young lady to wife. 

“I think we should return, Princess,” Y/n murmured, “The sun is setting, and you still need to be bathed and dressed before the feast.”

If Rhaenyra took note of her friend’s change in attitude, she did not make it clear to her as she quietly agreed, holding her arm tighter within her own as they began the trek back into the Red Keep and up to the tower where her chambers were. 

The hours of the evening passed quickly with so much to do. Rhaenyra took her time in the bath, preferring to make life more difficult for her ladies and handmaidens than it truly needed to be, while Y/n carefully laid out her gown for the evening before taking care of her own appearance. The young lady donned a gown of scarlet silk, a colour that Rhaenyra insisted that she wears more often–not only did it compliment her features tremendously, but it also meant that she wore the colours of the royal house. The dress had short, capped sleeves, and an intricately embroidered bodice of gold, white, and amethyst, allowing her space to breathe and giving her a more womanly figure, which her father insisted that she must begin to present. 

Rhaenyra smiled at her when she took in her appearance, kissing her cheek and telling her that she was lovely. The young lady blushed at her words, surely Rhaenyra must be blind to compliment her when she always appeared so radiant herself. Rhaenyra’s gown was extravagant for such a common event, though she seemed to prefer more mature designs as of late. It was grey in colour, but took on multiple shades of thread that decorated the entire length of the gown; It was a beauty that Y/n imagined that her father would need to sell all of his titles and lands to even hope to afford, though it was likely gifted to the princess, as many of her finer articles were. The princess struggled to disguise her sneer when her handmaidens suggested that tonight she would attract many suitors in such a dress, and even joked that she would change if they thought such a thing.

“You look beautiful, princess,” Y/n wrapped her arms around her shoulders from behind as they stared into the mirror at one another, “Like a queen in her own right.”

Rhaenyra smiled at her, the apples of her cheeks growing red at her praise, grasping her hands within her own to thank her. 

The princess did not expect to find someone so dear to her after Alicent became queen, and she hadn’t expected to feel so close to someone else in such a way that made her heart soar upon her kind words and her stomach clenched at the mere sight of her. Rhaenyra admired her friend’s beauty, sometimes finding herself unable to look away even when she was caught. She, too, understood that their friendship would never stay the same after they were both married, only she was under the impression that she would be able to call upon her dearest friend whenever she needed her, and that Y/n would never agree to a match that required her to pick up and leave her behind. 

The feast was grand, a celebration of the young princess Helaena’s second name day. It was not an occasion in comparison to the ones held in honour for Rhaenyra’s own name days, nor was it as grand as those held for the prince Aegon, but it was still a large scale event that befits a member of the royal family. Rhaenyra, of course, is seated at the right hand of her father, glowing in the candle light as she overlooks the masses that have gathered, eyes constantly falling over to where her beloved friend was sitting with her own father, who scarcely took a break from socialising with the other nobles around him to notice that Jason Lannister had taken up the seat next to his daughter and was speaking very closely to her ear. 

Rhaenyra sneered at this. Jason Lannister had once made an attempt to seduce her, and once she had made it clear to him that she would fly to Casterly Rock and burn it to the ground before she became its Lady, he made haste to turn his attentions elsewhere, and unfortunately for her, he had seemed to set his gaze upon Lady Y/n. She appeared to be equally as unimpressed with his honey-coated words as she did thankful for some sort of entertainment, but Rhaenyra was sure that Y/n wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall for whatever he was telling her, especially since she had been the one to tell her many things about Jason Lannister several years before when he had tried to seduce the princess at Aegon’s name day hunt. 

Still, the princess found herself downing the remainder of her honey wine–funnily enough having been provided for the feast by Jason Lannister’s brother, Tyland–before she descended the small staircase and slowly made her way through the crowd in the direction of her lady.

“Lord Jason,” Rhaenyra interrupted whatever he was saying, “If you wouldn’t mind, I am in need of Lady Y/n’s assistance.”

“Princess,” The lord appeared peeved at her for stealing the young lady away, but offered no interference, “Why of course.” He paused to kiss Y/n’s knuckles, “I hope you might save me a dance, Lady Y/n.”

Rhaenyra snickered as she led her friend away from the lords, “I’ll accept your thanks later. You truly mustn’t keep such dull company, dear friend.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “That is why I accompany myself with you, Princess. Never a dull moment. Though, I’m afraid my father won’t be happy with you dragging me away from yet another potential betrothal.”

Rhaenyra glared, “You and Jason Lannister? He is hardly worthy.”

Y/n sighed, “I’m starting to think that you believe that no one is worthy.”

“Because no one is worthy of you,” Rhaenyra grasped her hand within her own. “Nor will they ever be, and I promise I will feed any man who claims otherwise to Syrax.”

Rhaenyra was serious with her threat, and though she knew better than to think that she could just feed anyone to her dragon for simply glancing in her lady’s direction, it did not stop her from releasing the wrath of her own inner dragon on them.

Over the next four weeks, Rhaenyra made sure to have lords embarrassed or sent away from court as they began to interrupt her time with Y/n, few of them brave enough to make propositions to both of them. Rhaenyra was growing suspicious of Y/n’s father, who never seemed to be too far from his daughter these days and always seemed to be peeved with the amount of time that the two young girls often spent together. 

During the fifth week, Rhaenyra set her sights on Lord Robert Crane, the heir to a northern house. It had happened during one of their many strolls through the gardens, Rhaenyra had stepped away from the beaten path for a moment as she spied a small red flower with dark black blooming around the edge of each petal, plucking it for her dearest lady only to find that the young lord had taken her place, offering her an even larger flower of gold and amethyst–the colours of his own house. 

“Lord Robin, how lovely to see you,” She greeted him with a sickly smile.

“Princess,” He bowed his head to her, then shrugged as he corrected her, “Apologies, but it’s Robert.”

“Oh, how foolish of me,” Rhaenyra smirked, “I have a hard time remembering names of those who are scarcely mentioned at court.”

Y/n widened her eyes at her as a silent sign to stop speaking, though the young lord did not seem to even understand the insult, or if he had, he did not allow her to see the fact that he had been so affected by her words. 

“No offence taken, Princess,” He shrugged once more, “My family does not come to court often, as we are so far away.” Robert glanced over to hold Y/n’s uncertain gaze, “My father and I have come to find me a suitable match, I’m to inherit the seat of Denmerhell someday. My home is the source of more than half of the realm’s rubies, and I would hope to someday shower my bride in jewels just as precious as she.”

Rhaenyra sneered at him, then at her lady who seemed to be soaking up every ounce of attention that he was offering her. 

“Yes, well we usually prefer even more precious materials here in the capitol, isn’t that right, Lady Y/n?” She turned to her friend, reaching to lift her hand to show him the dainty ring that sat on her finger, “Valyrian steel. I had a second made so that my lady and I could match.”

“Valyrian steel?” He puckered his lips in thought, “Now that is hard to come by, though I suppose it is quite a waste to melt it into jewellery rather than weapons. Beautiful as it may be, this ring could be a dagger–I could make you one, my lady, and encrust the hilt with as many rubies as you please.”

Rhaenyra could not help the slight drop of her jaw. He could not have just offered to take the ring that she had made for Y/n to make it into a dagger–How bold could he be? She was the princess, for gods’ sake, and someday would be queen. Though, at least she now knew who her first war would be waged against.

“Thank you, my lord, that is a very kind offer.” Y/n smiled politely.

“We must go, I’m afraid,” Rhaenyra took Y/n’s arm, “Womanly duties, I’m sure Lord Reginald understands.” 

“Of course,” He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s knuckles, “My lady.”

He sauntered off without even acknowledging the princess once more, leaving both of the young ladies to watch his back as he disappeared around one of the many long walls of hedges. Rhaenyra was baffled to find somewhat of a dreamy glaze coating her friend’s eyes as she stared after the young lord, and grasped her arm tighter within her own in order to return her attention to her. As the sole child of the king, Rhaenyra was more than accustomed to being spoiled with goods and attention, and while many suitors have cut in on their time together in search of her own hand in marriage, she did not appreciate having Y/n’s attention stolen away–sharing was not something she was ever required to do. 

The weeks that followed had plagued Rhaenyra. Y/n’s father had been hard at work to find his daughter a match, and as hard as she tried, Lord Robert Crane did not scare as easily as the others. To be quite plain, the man was boring, sure he had titles and wealth, and perhaps he may be an accomplished knight, but he was selfish and spoke solely of his own accomplishments rather than inquiring about Y/n. It was clear that he was quite taken with her, and he would be incredibly glad to take her as his wife, and for some unknown reason, Y/n was just as taken with him. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, Y/n was the only confidant that she had remaining, and Robert Crane was a clear threat.

The princess began taking extreme measures, requiring her lady’s attention to be entirely on her for most hours of the day, while also requesting that she break her fast and eat her dinner with her each day, and some nights she even asked her to lie next to her, claiming that she was having trouble sleeping. These nights would be spent in quiet whispers, gentle touches of fingers beneath the sheets, and soft giggles as they struggled to remain quiet enough to avoid being heard by Ser Criston from his post outside the door, though nothing could prevent the gleeful snickers from escaping the room. It was a way of keeping her close, keeping her loyal to her and only her.

The silver-haired princess was less than pleased one evening, upon crawling beneath the sheets of her goosefeather bed only for her lady to turn over and curl into herself. Curious, Rhaenyra took in the sight of her figure beneath the covers, and scooched closer so that she may reach around her and grasp her cool fingers within her own. Curling into her, Rhaenyra rested her chin on Y/n’s shoulder to be able to see her face.

“Are you angry with me?”

A small sniffle left Y/n before she spoke, voice wavering, “Angry? I could never be, princess.”

“What is the matter?” She asked, “Are you harmed?”

“No, princess,” Y/n turned to lay facing the princess, allowing her to peer at her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, “My father has betrothed me.”

Rhaenyra gulped, her gaze hardening as she spit out, “To whom?”

The young lady paused before she whispered her answer, “Lord Robert Crane.”

The princess laughed humourlessly, “Your father is a fool to believe that he is worthy of you.”

“Worthy? Rhaenyra, House Crane is much wealthier than my own, and they are a powerful force in the north, second only to House Stark. I am marrying well above my station.”

“And yet, here you are. As my lady, you are in the highest position any lady could dream of, save for queen. You are among the most precious beings in this realm, much too precious to be wearing his rubies.”

Y/n giggled sadly, shaking her head, “I wish we could stay like this; Neither of us would need to marry or have children. We could simply be together.”

Rhaenyra flushed at her words, “I would like that, too. I long to keep you at my side, and I can imagine you at the side of no one except myself. I would take you as my own wife to keep you near.”

Y/n furrowed her brows, “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“I am serious,” Rhaenyra sat up, “I do not understand why I must marry a man. If it is for the sake of children, I would take a husband simply to provide heirs, but you would be my consort. Aegon the Conqueror took two wives, so why can I not?”

“You are not meant to take any wives, Rhaenyra,” Y/n noted, “In truth, I understand it as little as you, and I cannot say why it is wrong, only that the world would not allow it.”

“The world is mine to claim,” Rhaenyra smirked at her, “When I am queen, I can change the law and do as I please.”

“Careful, Nyra,” The young lady told her, “You begin to sound like a tyrant.”

“I would be,” The princess moved to straddle the girl, “for you.”

“Rhaenyra–”

“Do not speak,” The princess crouched to hover over her, nudging her playfully with her nose.

Carefully, Rhaenyra lowered her face and gently laid a quick kiss to her friend’s own li[ps. She pulled back enough for the young lady to make any sort of refusal to the union, though after receiving none, she pressed even closer.

She moved to press her kisses along the expanse of Y/n’s collar bones, fingers carefully tugging the neckline of her nightgown so that she could access even more of her supple flesh. Y/n whimpered under her touch, one hand reaching to tangle her fingers in the long silver locks of the princess, while her other palm pressed into her waist. 

Pulling away, Rhaenyra sat up once more and quickly tugged her own silk nightdress over her head, leaving her bare to the world and to her young lady, who had seen her in such a state many a time before, though it was always during her bathing or when Y/n was helping her dress, and never in the sense that she was exposing herself to her lady in the sexual manner that she had been now. Y/n’s eyes widened, taking her time in actually admiring the princess’s form as she hovered over her. She whimpered her name as Rhaenyra began to trace her breasts through the sheer gown, pinching her nipple gently until it hardened into an erect peak.

“Shh…” the princess whispered, “Allow me to perform my wifely duties, my sweet.”

The nights over the next few weeks followed suit. Some nights they simply lay side by side and talked until exhaustion would take over, sharing sweet kisses and gentle touches. Other nights, Rhaenyra would waste little time ridding herself of her nightgown and they would bring each other to the edge as many times as it took for each of them to be satisfied. Y/n understood this to be lust, something that her mother had always warned her against, though she had strictly mentioned that she needed to be careful of the lust brought on by the influence of men–that falling pregnant prior to marriage would ruin her reputation, and by association, her life. This, however, was not a threat with Rhaenyra, it was harmless fun that may or may not have provided her with some comfort in the feelings that were beginning to flourish in her chest each time that she crawled into bed next to her. For Rhaenyra, it was different. She hadn’t been joking as much as her friend had believed her to be, and fully intended on keeping her at her side for the rest of her life. She understood that most wouldn’t accept Y/n as her consort, but she would certainly be the love of her life while whatever man would be held responsible for helping her bear heirs would be just that and free to do as he pleased as well. 

And then she heard the news. It was announced at a small feast one evening–scarcely thirty people in attendance–that Y/n and her betrothed would be leaving the capitol in a fortnight and were to be wedded once they arrived in Denmerhell, which was thousands of miles from King’s Landing. 

Y/n knew from the glare that she received from the silver-haired princess that she would not soon hear the end of her anger. The atmosphere in the princess’s chambers was not as calming as usual when she arrived that night. She called her name twice before she found her curled into herself beneath her silk sheets. 

“Rhaenyra,” she sighed, rounding the bed to sit on her knees behind her, “Please speak to me.”

The princess rolled onto her back, icily staring up at her friend, “What do I have to speak about? I could tell you that he is not worthy of you, that I would take you as my consort, that I would let them all burn for you. I’ve told you all of this before and yet your father hopes to send you away. Tell me, what did his face look like when you refused?”

Y/n’s bottom lip quivered, “I would not know.”

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“Rhaenyra, you know that I cannot–”

“You can. You can refuse him, stay with me until I take the throne and become a queen. You can, and you will, just as I have said no to countless men so that I can have you.”

“You know it isn’t the same, Rhaenyra.”

“Do I?”

“You are the heir to the Iron Throne, men are throwing themselves at your feet in hopes of being chosen.  I am the youngest child of a lord who just so happens to be in favour with the king, I have three older sisters who have already wed powerful lords, and I am simply lucky enough that my father cares for the station of the man I marry. In the last year, I have had three potential suitors, all of which you have chased away, and one man who managed to propose before you could. I do not have the same luxuries as you, Rhaenyra, and this is one of them.”

“Do not speak to me of responsibility, remember which of us is in line to inherit the Iron Throne.”

“Don’t think I have ever forgotten. You have been praised for the mundane and promised things I could never even dream of, you wear the finest of clothing and are gifted the most beautiful of jewellery in the realm, you get to do things that would ruin anyone else without consequences, and you don’t even take into consideration of what others give for you.”

Rhaenyra sneered, fingers grasping at Y/n’s wrist before she could clamber away from her, “So it is jealousy, then? You cannot spare to see me with fine things or hold my birthright?”

Y/n wiped her cheek, pulling away from her iron grasp as she began to pull her robe over her shoulders, “You have been granted great things, Rhaenyra, but you cannot begin to know what it means to not be the royal heir. The lords scarcely accept you as heir, do you truly think they would accept me as your wife?”

“Where are you going?” 

“My own chambers.”

Rhaenyra stood from the bed, “No. You will sleep at my side as you always have. You will tend to me, as you always have, and if you still wish to be a northerner’s whore, then I am powerless to stop you.”

Y/n’s spine visibly stiffened, “Is that an order, Princess Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra sniffled, “Yes.”

Rhaenyra did not find sleep that night, nor many of those to come. A fortnight passed seamlessly, leaving her to watch from afar as a wheelhouse was prepared for the long trek north. She had yet to speak to her friend about that night, scarcely speaking to her at all beyond orders. 

“Princess,” One of her handmaidens appeared behind her, “Do you wish to bid farewell to Lady Y/n?”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze back down to the sight below her, catching the gaze of her friend from hundreds of feet below. Tears welled at her waterline, begging to be freed as the young lady raised a hand to her. 

Wiping at her cheeks, the princess turned to march back into her chambers, “I would not.”

She disappeared within the palace walls in a flash of silver, leaving Y/n’s final glimpse of her to be one of utter betrayal.

[simpingland]

Never Pretending// Jace Velaryon x Fem!oc. Part 1.

Anon request:Major fluff and angst and jealousy- I’m thinking childhood best friends into enemies after the driftmark fight and through episode 8 when they meet again.

Summary: Gaella Targaryen (Alicent's kid) and Jace Velaryon were friends long before they understood what green and black meant. When they meet again six years later, they realise that there was always something more to both the court and their own friendship. Part 2 , part 3, part 4.

A/N: This will continue. This request was beautiful but had spoilers, so I won't post it completely. Stay tuned for part 2!!!

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

There was a time when Gaella had dreamed of being betrothed to Jacaerys Velaryon, and though she had never told her mother, her childhood was a happy one because of him. Born in the same year, the servants could always see the little blonde and brown heads wandering around the castle. Jace likes to wake her up early to explore corners that they were already starting to see too much, but Gaella's imagination helped her to see everything in a new way. And so the years passed, walking side by side, while the girl told him the legends of the kings and princes before them. He was the one who dared to cross the areas forbidden to them by the adults, and she was the one who knew the stories forbidden to them by the adults. Everyone knew of this friendship, but few approved of it. Gaella was aware at an early age of the rumours about Jace and Luke, her brother Aegon told her plainly one day when no one was around.

She never had the courage to tell Jace the truth. His love for Harwin was tender, but he also admired Leanor, and he loved to show off Vermax. The last thing Gaella wanted to do was to dispel that happiness, to pull him abruptly out of the limbo his mother had put them in to protect them. What Gaella did dislike was that the Prince was never confused by his appearance, never asked questions, and participated so actively in Aegon's jokes, unaware that Aegon was one of the greatest spokesmen for his illegitimacy. A rift started when Jace began to feel confident enough to make fun of Aemond. Prince Aemond wasn't particularly nice to Gaella, but they shared a taste for studies and could hold entertaining conversations. So when they laughed at his desperation to get a dragon, only Gaella understood how cruel the joke had been.

"There was no need to make fun of something that is not his fault," Gaella said to Jace as they walked back to the castle.

"It was Aegon's idea," he tried to justify himself.

"You're not much better if you follow him after..."

That night, Jace didn't want to apologise to Aemond. But the next morning, knowing that he had irritated his dearest friend, he woke her up with a piece of cake hidden in a napkin. He gave it to her as an apology, and the girl couldn't stay angry much longer. Such was Jace, as sweet as he was unruly, much quieter than his brother Luke, but both had inherited the mischievous side their mother had been known for.

King Viserys might be the only one who smiled at the thought of seeing Gaella and Jace together. He loved to hear their daily scurrying on the other side of his door, reminding him that life was beautiful and innocent for some still, and that the enmity between his wife and daughter was being offset by the friendship between their children. But her mother, Alicent, despite trying to connect with her, always ended up scolding her. She scolded her when she found her disobeying her orders, yelled at her when she stained her clothes, and of course, always pulled her away from Jace every chance she got. At first, Alicent let her be. She was so small, and she could control her. But as she grew older, the arguments were no longer about rules or dresses. Some day, which would come sooner rather than later, Gaella would be a woman, a woman who must marry, and whose company must be kept from men. Whatever Gaella's feelings for Jace, what mattered was that no one should suspect anything more than friendship. The night Jace and Gaella made peace, the two of them left the castle, escaping to an abandoned tower where they spent the entire day playing and talking. She kissed him goodbye with a kiss on the cheek that left his face flushed, and Gaella went into her room thinking that this would be the end of the best day of her life. But when she saw her mother waiting for her, she knew it wasn't true.

"How is it that you are so smart, Gaella, and at the same time, be so dumb?" she asked. The girl made herself small before Alicent.

"I'm sorry, mother. It's just that we didn't have lessons today and we got distracted..."

"I don't care where you went, what I care about is who you went with," she interrupted her, raising her voice.

"It's Jace, mother. Nothing bad can happen to me being with Jace."

"Oh, how innocent you are, my love." She walked over and knelt down to be at her level, holding her hands lovingly. "I was close friends with your mother a long time ago, too... but they don't love us. Not really."

"Jace does love me, mother," tears began to well up in the girl's eyes, confused and hurt.

"You know well that Jace is not a Targaryen like you. That he who claims to be their father is not telling the truth. It is not right in the eyes of the Seven, and it is not right for the throne. And Rhaenyra knows it too, and soon Jace will. And all of this, Gaella, do you know what this means?"

The girl shook her head.

"It means we are in danger. Your brothers, me...you. Those with sense will refuse to bow the knee to Rhaenyra and her bastards and she will seek to annihilate any other option the people may have. And that other option is us."

"But Rhaenyra is my sister...and Jace is my friend and would never hurt me."

"That's what they think now. But when your father leaves us, Rhaenyra will want to keep you trapped, and she'll end up with us. Everything Jace does now is to try to use you in the future. He'll make you live a life in captivity, while he kills Aegon and Aemond, and any children they may have. And then you will see that this is all a big lie. They want us to cover for them while they lie to others. The only scenario in which you come out alive is the one where they use you to have platinum-haired heirs. Is that the future you want?"

Gaella didn't know what future she wished for yet, she just wanted to worry about her dinner and her soft pyjamas. But she also knew she didn't want to see her family die, no matter how long she might still be alive.

"No, mother," she whispered.

"Then you must resist, stay away from Jace."

The next dress she wore the next day was still blue, like the previous ones, but the headband that held her hair back was green. And that day she told Jace that she would rather go with Helaena to sew. It was a lie, and during the long hours of sewing, Gaella thought constantly of how much she missed Jace. Then she heard her mother's voice, and it all made sense again. Days passed, and Jace kept calling her, but she gave him little more than a smile. The prince made the most of the little time he allowed her, accompanying her wherever she went before he strayed, telling her a summary of the things that had happened in her absence. Lessons with him were still fun, but Jace became aware of Gaella's newfound ignorance of him. He said a secret farewell to the Prince as they left for Dragonstone. She wore no green anywhere and gave him a big hug in secret. She wept silently for days, only Helaena could see her.

By the time they were reunited at Driftmark, Jace's absence had become routine, and she bonded with Aemond. Still, he never wanted to go out beyond the library and would get angry when Gaella insisted on mischief. When she saw him at Laena's funeral, she was immediately happy. He looked sad, and the news of Ser Harwin's death had reached all the lords. And she went to comfort him when she found him holding hands with Baela Targaryen.It was silly, but the pain in her chest was so great that Gaella turned away, trying not to cry. Remembering the one time they had hold hands like that, she recognized the affection and curiosity in the grip between Baela and Jace.

Aemond was eyeing Vhagar, not paying attention to anything else, so when he told his sister he was going to claim her, she couldn't stop him, he was determined. Then the worst happened. Holding Aemond's hand as his eyelid was sewn shut, Rhaenyra deflected attention to the fact that someone had told the truth, that Jace and Luke were bastards. That night, she could see everything her mother explained to her and how lonely they could be. The next day, Jace tried to win a hug from Gaella, but Gaella, dressed head to toe in green, turned her back on him, without a word.

Six years passed, and Jace had sent a few messages that Gaella refused to answer. Every day, more and more locked up in her castle, more and more still, for the walks took her back to those precious evenings with her friend Jace. The only words she began to hear were those of Alicent and Aemond, Helaena's sadness when they sewed, Otto's speeches, and the unpleasantness of Aegon's presence, made an impression on Gaella. Rightly so, she was deeply saddened, but she was at ease with the routine and felt tremendously annoyed when they arrived back at court. Of course, it was Rhaenyra's first accusation of her children's origins, and it would not be a pleasant visit.

She could see him when she looked out the window. How much he had changed...Gaella never imagined that Jace could have been so handsome and that indeed, with his Strong features, his mother's genes made him look like a true prince. He could see her then, and Jace didn't know what to do, for he had long since given up on their friendship, yet there she was, peering out, dressed in green and not daring to approach. He could see her slip back inside within seconds of connecting glances.

Over the years, Jace could get a sense of what had happened, and his mother had never told him otherwise. And he would not be ashamed to be the son of a man as brave as Harwin, but he had a right to his throne because he was ready for it. Still, it couldn't stop him from dreaming at night of winning back Gaella's smile. And he could not help but feel anger when he thought that she had already chosen sides in such a cowardly way. Now he saw her and did not know if he really recognised her in all that harshness. He searched the castle slyly for her, with Lucerys at his side. It was in the night time, prowling the gardens, that he could see her enjoying the cool wind.

"The castle has changed so much since I was here," Jace told her. The girl only gave him a sidelong glance.

"You've changed a lot too," she replied dryly.

"No, not really." He looked down at her green dress and the lack of smile on her face. "You have changed, even if you still have the same face as when you were little."

"You can not talk about what I am like when we haven't spoken for six years."

"It's not because I haven't tried to avoid it." Jace bristled, but she only stood up straighter in her place. "I've written to you and you never answered."

"I didn't say I disliked the lack of contact. I know very well what I have and haven't done over the years. And I'd like to keep things the same."

As Gaella turned to leave, Jace stepped in front of her, blocking her path and forcing her to look him in the eye.

"Do you really think I don't have a say about you? We were friends, thick as thieves." Jace was trying to recognize something in her face to keep faith.

"We were children together, but we've grown apart."

"We haven't grown that far apart, Gaella. Tell me, do you still enjoy stories about Nymeria? Do you still drink orange juice with honey biscuits in the evenings?" Jace watched as his friend's sparkle returned to her eyes for a moment. "You're certainly still sitting on the yellow rose bench in the garden. That hasn't changed."

Gaella did not know what to say. She shook her head and looked at the Prince before her. His broad shoulders and brown eyes looked at her with an affection she needed, genuine affection, not the familiar kind.

"You don't understand, Jacaerys. You cling too tightly to something that existed for too short a time. We can no longer be children, and we can no longer pretend that all will be well. Tomorrow you will be robbed of an inheritance you clearly do not deserve. So I'm not going to lie to you. I don't want to... I don't want to lie to you."

And with that, Gaella tried to walk away, leaving Jace behind, whose last words she heard echoing in the garden, leaving her heartbroken for the entire night.

"I've never pretended, Gaella. I've never had to do it with you."

~

The next day, Gaella's gaze didn't travel far from Jace. She couldn't help it, though he was good at it, only glancing back at her from time to time, not getting flustered, knowing that Gaella was caught between her brothers. But he would not let her have the satisfaction of knowing how much he cared for her. He'd already tried, and he'd already wasted his time. Besides, now he had to worry about Luke and about honouring his future wife, Baela. When the call ended bloodily, the night came slowly and stormily. A forced dinner, to please the old king.

Jace was talking to Baela, of whom he was somewhat fond, when Gaella came through the door. In a green dress, of course, but so beautiful that Jace lost the thread of his conversation. Her curves stood out, reminding him that indeed, much time had passed and she had begun to become a woman. A woman who gave Jace a rather dirty look, not really understanding why. Gaella almost left when she walked in and saw them together again. A beauty like Baela who made Jace smile and who would spend the dinner by his side. She instead sat next to her brother Aemond, who was silent and disgusted by the happy ending of the boy who snatched his eye. When their mothers apologised to each other, Jace pointed his glass discreetly at Gaella and immediately wanted to cry. He still didn't understand. Life was never that fair. And every time he and Baela smiled at each other, Gaella felt like throwing herself between them. As her mother had told her, Jace had only wanted to use her, and now that she would not be his wife, his attention was elsewhere. And when he asked Helaena to dance, she could see him glancing sideways at her, as if he felt the same pity for her as he did for Helaena. And as it now costum with the family, the scene ended violently.

Gaella walked to her sister's room to help her put her children to sleep, as always. She had put on her blue sleep dress with woven clouds. When Jace couldn't sleep, his shoulder sore from the fall he walked across the hall, where he recognized her voice. Gaella was telling stories with the passion that had entranced him as a child. And he waited for her to finish, enjoying the scent of his old friend. Little did she know that he was there, listening and smiling.

"You should go to bed. They'll put you on the ship early tomorrow," Gaella told him when she found him half asleep outside the room.

"Your voice has put me to sleep. As I suppose it has put the children to sleep."

Gaella tried to suppress a smile. She blushed as Jace ran his eyes down her dress.

"And now it's my bedtime," she informed him, still in her seat. Jace just smiled.

"Goodnight then."

She didn't move, she couldn't because he wasn't moving. She watched as he clutched his shoulder.

"Does it hurt?"

"Quite a lot. But I just need to move it a bit...forget that the bump is there." He moved his shoulder slowly, and his face couldn't hide the pain.

"That's not how you fix things. I think you learned that lesson today."

Jace just sighed, watching her face, the one he had missed so much.

"I should have asked you to dance too. You're a better dancer than Helaena."

"That's a lie... I was always stepping on your feet."

Jace laughed.

"True, true... but I liked you better. I liked dancing with you because I had an excuse to touch your hands." He could see Gaella remember and smiled slightly. He didn't know that Gaella felt electricity when they had danced as children." I see you, Gaella. And I'm more than willing to help you get out of here, where they have you trapped in green and sat with a man who barely speaks a word to you. Sometimes I see you so clearly... I know you are in there, beneath all that."

She stared at him, her eyes glowing with unwanted tears about to fall. And then Gaella shook her head, returning to his dark gaze.

"You should have asked your future wife to dance."

Jace watched again as her curly white hair moved as she turned her back on him once more, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. The pain in his shoulder returned to Jace immediately.

[roxiezsxx]

~ hopeless devotion ~

Y/n is DreamXD's hopelessly devoted follower

Y/n was well known around the SMP for their loyalty towards the main God, DreamXD. If not in their house, they were in the temple, praying towards the Deity whether it be for prosperous wealth or a long lasting harvest they were there. Now DreamXD knew exactly who they were and to say the least he was interested with them whether it be infatuation or just a natural curiosity that he had always had towards humans, he himself was unsure and yet- he always made sure your prayers never went unanswered. To Foolish it had began to become bothersome as he was never around to help him in times of crisis and need, he was always beside you, was he happy his brother was off his back, well of course! but he needed help running the SMP. Foolish had nothing against you at all. "Again, Dream? let the mortal live in peace!" Foolish snapped. He had become overtly angry within the last few days, frustration boiling through his teeth and falling out into words. Hoping DreamXD could understand his current dilemma. "Im sorry Foolish, but arent they just captivating! look at them- isnt it just wonderful of mortals can have so little and still feel blessed?"

He smiled softly at your figure which was tending to your small chicken farm- your voice could soothe him to sleep if you talked for all eternity. He found you extravagant no not extravagant, calming and gentle. You treat no other animals different than you treated others. "And how could I stay away? look at them- they're angelic." His voice softened as he spoke of you, never letting you out of his sight. He sighed gently. "What next, your gonna betroth them to you?" DreamXD perked up at Foolishes comment, however foolishes face arose in fear "Oh no! no, no no! we cant be with mortals XD, you know that better than ANYONE else."

XD looked away anger chipping away at him "Dont you dare speak of her, you know she was our mother." Foolish scoffed, rolling his eyes as he walked out of the room of which DreamXD was watching you in, sick of it already. "You never listen XD. And one day you shall regret." He spat, the hatred and resentment towards him seeping into his words and body language. With that he left the room- slamming the door behind him a loud thud. "Useless. I don't need you," XD snarled, gripping the gold embezzlements upon the throne of which he sat upon. He pondered for a moment of what he should do, he held his chin within his right hand, soon enough he got an idea. "I shall just visit them, and court them to show him wrong, yes that shall do!" Soon enough the man teleported down to you- well not exactly on you, but near you, near enough so he could see you but you couldn't see him. He wearily walked closer towards you- his soft white wings dragging on the floor beneath him, he let out a cough to signal someone was there not sure on how to start the conversation. Y/N turned around, not fully looking up at him. "Yes, how may I help you-" Y/N'S voice was cut off as they stared at XD in utter shock and disbelief- immediately they fell to their knees and began to pray to him, an awkward yet smug smile. "Come now my follower, no such actions are needed." He spoke, his voice softening- he held his hand out for Y/N to take it . And they did their eyes sparkling in disbelief as they looked at him- he was much taller than them he appeared to be ten foot? maybe more? they were unsure and yet they stared at him with such hope. "My lord, may I ask why are you here?" Y/N inquired curious as to why DreamXD was stood infront of them, holding them with such care as if they were a porcelain doll that had withered with age and was close to shattering. XD did not have an answer to that, he stared down at them unsure of what to say- he tried speaking and yet nothing elicited from his mouth so he just stood in silence hoping you would too. He knows exactly what he came here for but it does not sound the best, he cannot just say "Oh my devoted follower i am here to ask you hand in marriage" he has only just met them. And yet he feels like they have met before like they were destined and designed for the other. -------------------------------------------- Foolish stared down at the interaction, nothing but disdain and disgust was painted upon his face. It would be different if it were him. he knew that because it was once him- once XD found out he forbade him from seeing him. His sam, it was not fair how when it came to DreamXD second standards were held up. "I shall make your life a living hell XD."

Word count-839 time spent on this- 3 hours HI GUYS AUTHOR HERE, I WOULD LIKE TO SAY I AM WORKING ON HATRED PT.2 I JUST HAVE WRITERS BLOCK SO IM TRYING TO HELP THAT WITH THIS!! :^ CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[xreaderbooks]

Always (2)

Pair: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Language (?) and angst

Summary: Y/n takes some time to reflect on the decision she needs to make and confronts Azriel.

A/N: Ask and you shall receive, I tagged those of you who asked for a part 2. Let me know what you think &lt;3

Also available on Wattpad and AO3

Masterlist - Part 1

You were gone. No one had heard from you for a whole 2 weeks and to say they were confused was an understatement. One second you were laughing along with them, wine drunk with Azriel by your side helping you stay steady enough to watch the stars fall, and the next you had given them no sign of life. Azriel could feel from the bond that you were in fact alive, you just needed your space and so that was what he told the others.

He left out the part that he had royally fucked up in his delivery but you hadn't given him the chance to explain himself, you had always known when something was wrong and as closed off as he might be, you were the only one who could read him like a book.

You closed yourself off in your apartment, and when you were in need of fresh air you went out for a walk by the sidra, you tried out new places that were opening up around Velaris. Everything and anything to keep your mind off of him no matter how much you needed to way out your options.

You were engaged. To Eris of all fae. Eris was your sister's fiancee once upon a time too, not that you wanted him in the first place. You couldn't help but think that Mor's tragic history was now your plot line.

You and Eris worked together to infiltrate Keir's secrets in the court of nightmares, your father trusted him and because you allowed yourself to be under his control, the result was your betrothal to the heir of the Autumn Court. It worked in everyone's favor, though when you had told the rest of your family it had not gone over so well. Mor couldn't be in the same room as you- much less you and Eris- for months.

Eventually, you had opened up on the advantages it would serve, Eris was already allied with the night court privately now no one in the court of nightmares could suspect your deception. It was a whole twisted mess of double-crossings.

You and Eris teamed up as a couple pretending to be spying on the inner circle and feeding false information to the enemy while in reality, you were spying on your father, giving Rhysand everything. It was enough to give you a headache. Now adding Azriel into the mix- Would ruin everything you worked so hard to build.

All these years of faking your loyalty and devotion to your father with everything he has done to you and your sister so that you can be the eyes and ears in places your high lord cannot, the one goal in your ruse was to be free of him without breaking what you built. Eris was the way to do that, he was technically on your side and you've spoken of the past, he was a handsome male that could please you just fine.

It didn't matter that he wasn't the one you wanted because, for all you knew at the time, the one you longed for's heart, beat for someone else.

You had never known Azriel to be selfish but lately, he had made it a new habit that you weren't so sure about. How dare he? How dare he do this to you!

The audacity of this man! Azriel would cost you everything and you would pay for it, willingly. He hadn't needed to speak for you to know what he wanted from you.

What you would have given to have him reach for you the way he did that night. The way you pined for him, in your 500 years of living your heart beat for no other male. Fae, Illyrian, both, human, even High Lord at one point. No one could compare to Azriel. Your mind, body, and soul were are his. However, it was time you gave up your unofficial claim on him he wasn't yours nor you his- or so you thought.

Nothing would become of this childish infatuation you grew accustomed to. And so you worked to keep your thoughts on your future without him, a future you knew where Azriel would find someone who would love him.

A century later and here you were, clutching your chest to keep from the panic crawling up your throat.

If only this had happened sooner-

Before it got so messy before you accepted Eris' proposal and appeared before your father claimed your hand. He so eagerly accepted, his hunger for power clear in his eyes, so blind for it that he's unaware of the upper hand you and your soon-to-be husband have.

If only he had loved you when you didn't have all these responsibilities that a relationship- mateship with him would tear down.

After a week of shutting yourself out, you spoke to Eris. He knew all about your feelings for Azriel and though he was jealous, you were his- at the time. When you told him you needed to speak to him he already knew. He gave you one last kiss before making a smartass remark about how he'd be there when you got bored.

You didn't know how you were going to deal with your father just yet but you would clean up one mess at a time.

Days later you finally gathered up the courage to speak to him. It was almost dusk when you had opened up the bond and willed him to come to you. The wind brought him to the middle of your sitting room within a minute.

His head was bent, he looked like a little boy who was caught in the pantry. You sighed and took his hand leading him to your couch and pushing down his broad shoulders for him to sit in the middle. His brows furrowed in confusion as you backed away and intertwined your fingers.

"I am going to talk and you are going to listen," Your eyes flickered between both of his hazel ones. "Got it?"

He nodded eagerly, though he wouldn't meet your gaze.

"I cannot accept the bond-" From your side of the link, you felt his heart clench, "Not yet at least. I need to know this is real Az."

You could tell he wanted to speak but you knew that he wouldn't, not until you've said your peace. Tears begin to well up at how hard it was to say this out loud, "I will always love you. More than you will ever know Azriel, but I will not be a replacement for all the women you could not have. For all, I've known you never showed the slightest bit of interest in me prior to Starfall. Now I'm going to ask you- and I want the truth Az- Do you want this?"

His eyes were glossed over as he looked up at you through his lashes, "Do you want me?" Your voice broke.

He stood from his place on your couch, sauntering over to you, and he reached a hand out. Fingertips softly brushed fallen strands of your hair from your face, behind your ear, tracing a finger from your ear to your jaw. Slowly and painfully he dragged his finger to the tip of your chin forcing your eyes to meet his and you are weak.

"I have been so blind Y/n," He whispers.

"That's not an answer," You shake your head, and he drops his hand. Your voice was like stone though your nerves were on fire, "Do you love me Azriel?"

"I love you, Y/n L/n."

You wanted so badly to believe him. The thought of the mating bond forcing him to make him feel this way made you sick. "What about Elain?"

Azriel winced but spoke cooly, "An infatuation that is over and done."

"And Mor?"

"I loved her," Your stomach turned. "But the love I had for her, in that way, is gone and it does not compare to how I feel for you. The bond does nothing but intensify the love I have for you, the love that I have hidden away long ago."

"How am I supposed to believe that?" You scoff. "You forget that I've been there Az, throughout everything. You are not shy with your love, I should know, I've seen the way you love."

He shakes his head in denial, "I love you Y/n."

"What happens if one day Mor decides she loves you?" Something you knew would never actually happen but you needed to know.

"I love you-"

"Azriel-"

"I love you."

You playfully push him away from you, "You can't keep saying that when you have nothing to back it up with." He takes a hold of your waist with one hand and grabs the back of your neck, attaching his lips to yours. He kisses you with an intensity you've never felt from any other male, you melt into the kiss wrapping your arm around his shoulder and running your hands through his hair. Your body was pressed against his, adding heat to a situation you weren't sure you wanted to add to. His lips were intoxicating, you didn't want to stop but your mind wouldn't stop thinking about all the unanswered questions.

You broke away from the kiss, pushing him an arm's length away. "You said I talked too much."

He barked out a laugh, "What?"

"You told me that a couple of years ago," He took a step toward you but your arm held strong.

"I love you Y/n."

"I snore-"

"No you don't," Azriel snorted and removed your hand from his shoulder, bringing you into him with an arm. He pressed kisses up and down your neck, "I thought you wanted me to prove my love and here you are trying to give me reasons not to love you."

Azriel added his tongue to his kisses and began to suck on one spot in particular that had your knees weak.

"You said it yourself that I'm too much for you."

He paused his attack on your neck holding your face in his large hands, "Because I love you and you deserve better. Besides, I've dealt with you for well over two centuries I think I can deal with you for the rest of my life."

"I need you to prove it."

"I'll prove it to you for as long as I live," Azriel bent his neck down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Taglist: @mulansaucey - @jadepearsonn - @benbarnes-supremacy - @seppys-return-to-madness - @azriel-luvr - @marina468 - @zealousballoonfox

[velidewrites]

Feysand drabble prompt: Rhys gets hurt, Feyre gets a "Who did this to you?" moment

I Belong To No One But You

When the High Lady of the Night Court finds her guest — a stolen groom from Spring — badly injured, she does not hesitate to exact her revenge.

Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: Somewhat graphic depictions of injury

When she returned to the Moonstone Palace, the entire structure reeked of blood.

His blood, she quickly realised, her nostrils flaring—half in alarm, half in anger, already building up in the pit of her stomach. Her long, arched ears perked up, listening out for any signs of struggle. What had he gotten himself into this time? An accident, no doubt, since no one would dare to climb all the way up to the property—her property—especially with the impenetrable wards she’d put up.

Right?

Just to be sure, she would check. He didn’t like her—of that, she was more than certain. She had scented it Under the Mountain, and she’d scented it when she’d ripped him free from Spring. An intense hatred, mixed with terror that made her gut twist back then—until she’d realised it was not her that he feared, but another. Someone she would deal with later.

Unless, of course, it was Tamlin who’d decided to break into her lands, wrapped up in his beast-like fury after she’d taken the human from him. No longer human, she mentally corrected herself. Made.

But Tamlin wouldn’t dare. He was livid, yes, but not stupid. He would sit out the rest of the week in his manor like a patient little pet until she returned his betrothed to him. The fact that she had to return him at all made her stomach clench.

But such was their bargain—one week in the Night Court, one week with her, forever. Truthfully, forever was not enough—would never be enough, not when it meant most of it would belong to another.

That her mate belonged to another.

Rhysand didn’t know. Being Made Under the Mountain had not immediately sharpened his Fae instincts, it seemed. She could tell it that day, the day they’d separated on the balcony under the stars, that he had not felt what she had—a snap of the universe, or perhaps just the two of their souls, as they stood opposite each other with nothing but a golden, gleaming bridge between them.

She’d almost crossed it that day, consequences be damned. The need for him, the need to claim him, had overridden her senses entirely—as though nothing else had existed in that moment but them, but that bridge, tempting her with its eternal light. 

That was the truth, painful but unchanging—Rhysand was her mate. And he did not belong to her—he probably never would—but that didn’t mean Feyre could not belong to him.

It was why she couldn’t simply ignore the tangy scent of his blood, weighing on her tongue. It would have been so easy to just stride past his chambers and move towards her own, wishing their rooms stood closer to each other so that she could at least feel his beating heart and know he was okay. It would have been easy, and at the same time, it would have been the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

But mate was hurt, his blood the very evidence of his pain, and so she had to see for herself.

The sound of her heart thundering in her chest accompanied her right to the large, ornate doors of polished wood, carved into the moonstone walls. She made herself count to three, then to ten, then finally to fifteen after deciding none of it helped ease her nerves one bit. Why was she nervous? He didn’t know what he was to her, what she was to him. Even if he did, she doubted it would mean anything to him. The thought made her heart pick up its pace even more viciously, as if the very idea thrust it into panic.

Was she supposed to knock, or simply barge in as if she owned the place? Well, she supposed she did—but she liked to think of his quarters here as his own, indulging in the—perhaps delusional—thought that he shared this home with her. Maybe she could call out his name and wait for him to invite her in—but it was too dangerous a tactic, for it would involve having to taste his name as it fell from her lips again. The first time she’d said it—quietly, the sound barely above a breath in the depths of the corridors Under the Mountain—she’d nearly sank to her knees. Rhysand. He tasted like the warmth of a midnight breeze, of the ocean ruffled by its gentle touch. He would fit right in here, Feyre realised, then quickly shut off her imagination before it ran wild with the idea. He would never stay here with her—would never choose such a fate after everything she’d done.

“I can hear you standing outside,” came his voice, still rich and silky even muffled through the walls.

Feyre stopped breathing entirely.

“Are you ever going to come in?” he asked.

No, she wanted to tell him. I can’t be sure of myself when I’m with you. She would do something stupid—like tell him what he was to her. What they were to each other. And then, she would get her heart shattered, irreparably broken so that she wouldn’t even be able to pick up the pieces in her solitude.

Instead, she placed a shaky hand on the handle and opened the door.

The scent of it hit her first—harder now that she was inside. Rhysand was injured, and badly, the crimson liquid sapping through his dark jacket and dripping onto the stone floor in a slow, nearly silent pace. A cut slashed down from his rib—as though whoever had cut him had been aiming to slice his navel, but he’d turned just in time to avoid the impact.

It wasn’t an accident.

Feyre’s tattooed fists tightened at her sides, nails digging into her skin as if to keep her limbs from shaking. It worked, her body freezing into place instead—a lethal kind of stillness she’d only launched into when even in the darkest of nights, her vision was flashing white.

Someone attacked him.

Someone had attacked her mate.

“Who,” she managed to say, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth buried into the inside of her cheek. “Who dared?”

Rhysand’s eyes widened. “How…”

“Who,” she repeated, the words no more now than a snarl. Her magic whirled around her, dark and all-consuming, readying to take her wherever she commanded, to help her exact her vengeance. She only needed the name.

“Feyre,” Rhysand breathed, and Cauldron damn her, hearing her own name on his lips only spurred that primal part inside her that wanted to right all the wrongs they’d done to him.

Her left fist eased, letting her raging blood flow through her once again, and she stepped closed toward him, raising a hand.

Rhysand started, “What are you…”

The question died on his tongue as a shadow curled around her open palm and reached out to him, brushing against his open wound. Violet eyes watched in amazement as the flesh contracted, binding itself back together painlessly with her magic, not a gleam of fear in them—not even for a second. Something deep in her chest purred at that, a sense of self-satisfaction and pride that was so entirely Fae she wanted to let go of her simmering rage only to reach out and touch him again.

But then his eyes flickered back to hers, and she knew he saw it—saw that she would not rest until he gave her what she wanted. Until he let her belong to him, even if he couldn’t belong to her.

“Keir,” he whispered, his palm covering the wound and meeting only smooth, golden-brown skin.

Feyre let her gaze trace the movement for only a moment before she winnowed away.

[black-queen-rising]

I love my sister more than anything in this life, I would choose her happiness over mine every time

14 Years Ago...

There was a fine line between anger and rage for Rhaenyra Targaryen, she was infamous in her ability to slip from one into the other in the span of a single heartbeat, but that day she had already crossed it halfway through the flight over the Blackwater Bay that separated Dragonstone from King’s Landing. The Crown Princess had been invited to a betrothal ball, a formality laced with the sentiment that she need not come, and was now returning to her childhood home for the first time in several moons—forced to leave all three of her young sons and her husband of only half a year, Prince Daemon, behind on their home—with the singular purpose of ensuring the union this ball was being held to celebrate did not occur for another three years at minimum.

Rhaenyra entered the castle in a whirlwind of jewels and finery, as her every attendance of court during her family’s remandment to Dragonstone was to be nothing less than unforgettable in those years; lest anyone try to fool themselves as to who steadfastly remained the King’s heir. Her presence greeted with the half adoration and half ire it always elicited from her father’s court for as long as she could recall. The weight of the matter even tied Rhaenyra through biding both her tongue and time during court proceedings, a small council meeting, and a performatively polite family dinner. Once it was late, however, when night had fully come, and her father finally summoned her to discuss her arrival privately, she wasted no time in initiating her plan of attack while his guard was low. After their expected pleasantries and updates were exchanged, the twenty-three-year old, newly widowed, even more newly wed, Crown Princess decided bluntly.

"You know, I cannot decide if I am more disappointed in you for such an insult to my mother's memory or ashamed of myself for believing in the fantasy you still considered it at all." "You dare to accuse me of such--" "Five dead babes. Wedded and bedded at three and ten, to give you five dead babes, and me, that is Queen Aemma's memory; made to produce your heirs so young, and for so long, that it killed her. I truly believed you mourned that, regretted it, even, only to come to learn by raven that you wish the same fate on my sweet sister, on your own daughter."

Viserys was quiet for so long that Rhaenyra began to fear this time she had finally, truly overstepped. She knew, however, that if this was the line, Helaena was entirely worth it, her youth, her fertility, her life was worth even more. "I have found...few reasons to deny the Queen anything as of late," Her father sighed, it was equal parts a confession and an accusation; this is my position, this is the position you have put me in.

She scoffed, why am I not surprised? and nearly responded with the thought on instinct, but instead rebuked, "You may punish me, reduce my position in your court, jeopardize my sons' futures, all to appease your wife, to provide recompense for a four year old's accident. Perhaps I even deserve it, and even if not, a quieter kind of peace within your court is worth whatever damage it does to the future you still claim to wish will come where I am Queen. But you will not punish your daughter, my sister, a maid, a child, by acquiescing to such an inane request as to wed a Princess of the Realm, while our family is far from wanting in spares, at the age of three and ten."

The King put his head in his hands for another long moment before looking back at Rhaenyra in genuine surprise, "You fear for her life?"

All she could do was sneer at him, "You look at me as if I ordered your son's eye cut out myself."

"Your concern is admirable, and understandable, especially after all that has happened over the last year," His tone has all at once turned gentle, but with a condescending edge better suited to calm a wailing toddler, "But all the same, the idea that what happened to your mother was anything more than a tragedy of circumstance, that her age had the least bit to do with it...you're allowing your fears to be dictated by nothing more than pure speculation by those whose very job it is to speculate on what we do not, and cannot, know."

Her father's attempts at comfort had only angered her further, however, causing her to spit back, "So you wish to bet Helaena's life against my mother's mother, and your mother, and my mother, and all of them succumbing to the birthing bed before they even had a chance to watch their babes grow up?"

"But look at yourself, Rhaenyra, and your boys, you have--"

"I have been lucky!" She finally shouts, her rage pushing her back to her feet to glower over Viserys, "I have nothing to thank except luck and time! And you cannot give Helaena my luck anymore than myself or your Queen, but you can give her time. Allow her to wait until she comes of age, as you did me, as is the least any girl whose family is secure deserves. Allow Aegon the same, allow him at minimum what our "Good Queen" allowed your brother before selling him off out of spite. And perhaps luck will hold, and my sister will find a better fate than my mother, and your son won't be put through all the same pain as your brother."

"Your husband," The King shot back.

Rhaenyra simply smiled, "Yes."

The silence that followed was the longest yet, but this time she did not allow herself to indulge in fear nor anxiety, standing with her hands leaned on her father's desk, daring him to provide a reason why her sister's life was not worth three short years. "I ought to make you my Hand for this."

"Is that so?" She laughed wryly, "I heard you've still refused to name one, tell me, does your indecision extend to everyone except your children, or only to matters that you anticipate will anger others when you finally have to make a choice."

Viserys laughed too then, though his seemed genuinely amused, "And that, my dear, is precisely why. Few else in The Realm could criticize me as you have since you could speak, and unlike the rest, you come to me with solutions. The Lords would never accept you in the role so young, with this marriage so fresh in everyone's minds, so," His voice turned to the business-like formality it always had when he was finally forced to make a decision, "In three years Aegon and Helaena will wed, and once they have, you may become my Hand, Grandmaester Munkun can shoulder the role until then. A deal to benefit our whole family, a remedy to the sacrifices you and Queen Alicent have had to bear."

The King left the room only a few minutes later, satisfied, and set in his decision after Rhaenyra's gracious conclusion and masterful ego stroking. As she stood to leave as well, she knelt sharply by a grate in the wall, behind which was a secret passage the Crown Princess and her Consort both knew of, but the King did not. A pair of large, purple eyes framed by messy silver hair blinked back at her in astonishment, and she simply smiled once more, "Never let there be any doubt that even when it seems I do not like you all, I will always love you, we're blood, remember that this is what that means. Now get back to bed, protecting you from our father is work enough, I don't need you setting off your mother's temper anymore than I already have."

There was a sound that could easily be mistaken for rats scurrying in the walls as the passage behind the grate was vacated. Then Rhaenyra walked off to bed herself, pleased with her accomplishments and ecstatic in her power.