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aisiedaisie · 6 months ago

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hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Royal Flush

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests�� especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize.

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers.

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these.

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household.

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make.

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

Was the etiquette the same?

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

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fishbonex · 6 months ago

Text

Sharp thoughts 1/2

Mel Medarda x fem!reader

Summary: Your friendship with Mel slowly begins to crumble.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, suggestion of sexual acts.

Word Count: 1K

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

Mel was easily the best person you had ever met in your life. She was a spectacle in every way. Having her as your friend was comforting and opened many doors for you as an scientist and researcher.

Life seemed good for you, using a high-tech laboratory, with access to everything a scientist could want and thanks to Mel, contacts with several investors who might be interested in your work.

Unfortunately, Mel Medarda was too much for you.

You didn't notice when your heart started to swell when you thought about her, before you realized it, you could no longer think about her without letting out a sigh. Everything about her was... too much.

The delicate face, the graceful way she moves, the constant tinkling that is present due to her gold jewelry, the voice that seems to embrace you when she speaks to you.

You began to find yourself looking forward to her visits to your lab, or to going to see her in her luxurious quarters. This was why you worked so hard, because you loved your research, and so you had something interesting to show her. A reason to see her.

With that in mind, you stayed late in the lab, finishing a report on your latest research. You were going to show it to Mel and as a councilor, she was supposed to read it and debate whether or not to take your study to the next Council meeting.

Scanning quickly to make sure everything was okay, you stood up with a satisfied sigh. Mel's quarters weren't that far away.

You left the Academy building and walked quickly until you reached the large building where Mel's apartment was. Elora wouldn't be there at this time, and Mel had once said that you were welcome to visit her at any time. You entered the elevator and soon arrived in the lobby of the luxurious apartment. Feeling strange about the silence, you thought about calling her, but stopped when you thought you heard something. A sigh.

A moan.

You turned your head, towards where you knew Mel's suite was. You could have heard wrong, you were almost sure of that when you heard it again.

It was her voice. You were sure of it. Then she moaned again. A name this time. Jayce.

Jayce. Jayce Talis.

Your heart sank and your breath caught for a moment, until you realized you were invading her privacy. You turned and left, trying to do as little noise as possible.

You didn't see Mel for the next few days, not because you were trying to avoid her, but because you were busy working on something for Heimerdinger, and she was also working a lot, apparently.

That's why you were slightly startled when the door to your lab opened and the click of her heels was heard, followed by her melodious voice.

"Working so hard that you didn't have time to come see me?" she asked with a slight laugh in her voice. It irritated you.

"What do you mean?" you tried to focus on the project on your desk.

"I heard about the research you did, and that you gave it to Heimerdinger. Why didn't you bring it to me, like always?" she walked over to you and leaned against the desk.

"He was the first counselor I met when I finished, then." you lied, feeling the bitter taste in your mouth.

"Oh, so that's how it is." she let out a playful chuckle. "I thought we had an alliance."

Her presence felt too close, but you swallowed hard and lifted your face, meeting hers.

"Sorry, I just don't have much time to look for you." you sounded more irritated than you wanted.

Her relaxed expression faltered and she straightened her posture. "Hey, I'm just kidding." she brought one of her manicured hands to your forearm.

"Sorry." you shook your head and looked back at the notes on your desk. "I'm just... really annoyed with work."

"We all are. When you have some free time, why don't you come over to my place? I painted something new, I think you'll like it." she offered softly.

You nearly melted at her offer, the earlier irritation almost forgotten, “Sure, I’d love to.”

So that night you took the path you knew so well. The surprise this time wasn't as unpleasant as the last. Jayce was there again, lying down, his head in Mel's lap. She was comforting him about something. An intimate and tender moment. You turned around and left again.

Well, this time you were avoiding her. Leaving the lab at times when you knew she would visit you, avoiding the council building and staying away from her apartment. Elora even came to you, notifying you that Councilor Medarda wanted to see you, but you politely said that you were very busy.

Your irritation worsened when she appointed him as an advisor. It was at that moment that you knew you would never reach her level, no matter what you did.

Your favorite place to be away from the lab was the fountain in the park, with the purple leaves blowing in the wind. That's where you found yourself at the moment, absentmindedly playing with a pen in your hand, waiting for the time to pass.

"You told Elora you had too much work to take the time to see me." the velvety voice spoke from behind you, slightly irritated. "You don't seem very busy right now."

You turned your face to see her standing there, close to the bench where you were sitting.

"Counselor Medarda." you greeted politely. "Forgive me for the misunderstanding-"

"What joke is this?" she said more irritated than before, her serene face distorting into an angry expression. "What's gotten into you?"

"I have to work, Councilor, I'm afraid I'm not the richest woman in Piltover." you hinted. "I can't afford to lose my sponsorships."

"I work too, and at work I don't have many friends. That's why I value the few friendships I have." she walked up to you. "Like yours."

"Oh, you don't have any friends?" you scoffed. "And bed partners?"

"What?" she took a step back, her expression faltering.

"That's exactly what I witnessed when I went to you to deliver my research, counselor." you replied irritably. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Mel was silent, standing there as you walked back to your lab.

#writers on tumblr #writing #arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fanfic #mel medarda #mel arcane #mel x reader #wlw #arcane netflix #mel medarda x reader

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callsigns-haze · 2 months ago

Text

Greatest treasure part 2

Summary: Eris, has been High Lord of Autumn for quite some time now, his son Azer who basically started his alliance with the Night Court is not an adorable three year old anymore but a minature version of him at the age of seventeen. Not only that but you two have a daughter now who is the flame in every situation. Eris keeps his alliances close to hear causing future meetings and drama.

Warning: Contains alcohol, cursing, teasing, mentions of smut, kissing, court politics, mentions of war, distress.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

English is not my first language

18k words

This will be continued into a part 3

PART 1

14 Years Later

The Autumn Court had changed in ways no one could have predicted. What was once a kingdom shrouded in fear and cruelty had flourished under Eris’s reign. The court, though still sharp-edged and strong, had softened in places—particularly where its High Lord’s family was concerned.

Everyone knew now that Eris Vanserra had a soft spot. It wasn’t something he would ever admit outright, but the evidence was undeniable. His people had witnessed it in the way he looked at his wife, his unwavering devotion written in every lingering glance and fleeting touch. They saw it in the way he ruled—with a balance of fire and fairness, always ensuring his court’s prosperity. But more than anything, they saw it in his children.

Azer, now seventeen, was the perfect blend of his parents. He had Eris’s sharp features, his golden eyes, and his burning ambition. But he had your heart—the steady kindness you’d nurtured in him since he was small, the ability to wield fire not just with power, but with control. He was already well-known within the court, training among the finest warriors, his magic nearly as refined as his father’s. But his love for his family remained his greatest strength.

And then there was Avey. Seven years old, with her father’s striking hair and your soft smile, she had Eris wrapped around her little finger. While Azer had been kept secret for the first years of his life, Avey had been introduced to the court as soon as she was born—her presence a symbol of the new era Eris had brought. She was fierce, stubborn, and far too smart for her age, often found trailing after her brother and demanding to be included in whatever he was doing.

Tonight, the Vanserra family stood at the edge of the ballroom once more. Another gathering, another political affair—this one a celebration of Azer’s upcoming formal initiation into the court as its heir. It was a mere formality, as everyone already knew Azer would one day take his father’s place, but still, it was tradition.

Eris stood tall, his crown gleaming in the candlelight, his hand resting at the small of your back. Across the room, Lucien stood beside Helion, both watching the night unfold with an amused sort of ease. Avey, dressed in a deep autumnal red, clung to her brother’s arm, her face scrunched in frustration.

“This is boring,” she declared, crossing her arms over her chest.

Azer snorted, glancing down at her. “Did you come just to complain the whole night?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

Eris smirked, watching their exchange with quiet amusement. “She gets that from you,” he murmured under his breath to you.

You raised an eyebrow. “She gets that from you.”

Before he could argue, Avey tugged at Azer’s sleeve again. “Can we go now?”

“You can go,” he said with a shrug. “I have to stay.”

Avey pouted, looking up at you. “Mama?”

You shook your head with a smile. “Not this time, love.”

She huffed dramatically before turning to her father, her eyes big and pleading. “Daddy?”

Eris sighed, ruffling her curls. “You’re lucky I like you,” he murmured, bending down so they were at eye level. “Go find Lucien. He’ll take you to get something sweet.”

Her entire face lit up, and she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before darting off toward her uncle, who caught her easily before she could barrel into him.

You leaned into Eris’s side, watching her go. “You really are soft.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t spread that around.”

Azer, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, took a sip of his drink. “Everyone already knows.”

Eris shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “Just wait until you have children,” he muttered.

Azer choked slightly on his drink. “Let’s not talk about that.”

You laughed softly, taking Eris’s hand in yours. The room was full of people, of noble houses and political figures, but here, in this small circle of warmth, it was just the four of you. The High Lord and Lady of Autumn, their fiery heir, and the little girl who had softened them all.

Yes, everything had changed. But for the first time in a long time, it was exactly as it should be.

As the night stretched on, the ballroom buzzed with energy. Laughter, conversation, and the occasional clash of goblets filled the air. Azer stood at the centre of it all, the young heir of the Autumn Court, poised and commanding in a way that was almost eerie. He wore his title well, just as Eris had trained him to. But beneath the weight of expectation, there was still the boy who had once clung to your gown and declared balls to be “boring.”

You watched him from the sidelines, Eris standing beside you with a goblet in hand. “He carries himself like a High Lord already,” you mused, eyes following your son as he engaged in polite conversation with one of the noble families.

Eris hummed, tilting his head slightly. “That’s because he’s been raised for this. But he’s still got fire in him—just like his mother.”

You smirked, nudging his side. “That fire got me in plenty of trouble.”

“And yet,” he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips, “it’s the reason I fell for you.”

Before you could reply, a flash of red darted through the room—Avey, running full speed toward Azer. You barely had time to open your mouth before she jumped onto a chair beside him and tugged on his sleeve.

“Azer,” she hissed, attempting to whisper but failing miserably.

Azer sighed, turning toward her with an amused expression. “What?”

She cupped her hands around her mouth dramatically. “Uncle Lucien let me have three pastries.”

Azer blinked. “And you came all the way across the room just to tell me that?”

She nodded sagely. “Yes.”

He fought back a grin, shaking his head. “I hope you get a stomach-ache.”

Avey gasped, smacking his arm. “Mama! Azer’s being mean to me.”

You stepped forward, arms crossed. “Maybe he wouldn’t be so mean if you weren’t interrupting an important conversation.”

Avey pursed her lips, then turned to the noble family still standing nearby. “Was it an important conversation?” she asked sweetly.

The lady blinked, thrown off. “Um… yes?”

Avey turned back to Azer with a victorious look. “Sounds boring.”

The entire exchange had Eris pinching the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “We cannot take her anywhere.”

Lucien appeared behind you, grinning as he leaned against a pillar. “Oh, come on. She keeps things interesting.”

“You let her have three pastries?” Eris shot him a glare.

Lucien shrugged. “You let her wrap you around her little finger, so I figured, why fight it?”

Avey, thrilled by the chaos she was causing, looked between the adults and took Azer’s hand. “Come on! I wanna dance.”

Azer groaned. “No—”

But Avey was already pulling him toward the dance floor.

You leaned into Eris, laughing softly. “She’s going to rule us all one day.”

Eris sighed, but there was a proud smile tugging at his lips. “I fear she already does.”

Azer let out a long-suffering sigh, but he didn't fight it when Avey yanked him toward the dance floor. Her little hands gripped his much larger ones as she practically dragged him between the other dancing couples, weaving through nobles who stepped aside with amused glances. He towered over her, his formal attire sharp and crisp, a stark contrast to Avey's tiny form in her autumn-red dress. She was beaming, her excitement palpable.

Azer looked down at her, shaking his head. "You're too small for this."

"I'm not small," she huffed. "You're just freakishly tall."

His lips twitched, but he crouched down, gripping her waist and lifting her onto the tops of his boots. "There," he muttered. "Now you can actually keep up."

Avey gasped in delight as he straightened, her feet now resting firmly on his. She gripped his hands tighter, already bouncing with excitement. "This is so much better!"

Azer rolled his eyes but started moving, guiding her into the rhythm of the music. It was slow, steady, nothing too complicated—he wasn’t about to spin her around like their father did with their mother. But it was enough to make her giggle, her curls bouncing with every small step.

The ballroom had grown quieter, people pausing to watch. Not in judgment, not in ridicule, but in something softer. Something fonder. The heir of Autumn, the sharp and poised young warrior, dancing with his little sister like it was the most important thing in the world.

Avey, unaware of their audience, tilted her head back and beamed up at him. “This is way better than sitting around listening to boring people talk.”

Azer scoffed. “You’re the one who wanted to come.”

She grinned, utterly unapologetic. “And now I want to dance.”

He rolled his eyes again, but he spun them both in a slow circle, her laughter ringing out like bells. She clung to his hands as he picked up the pace, letting her lean into his movements, her feet never once touching the floor. She was weightless, free, like a little flame flickering in the breeze.

Across the room, Eris watched with unreadable eyes. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, and when you looked up at him, you found a softness there—one he rarely let show.

“She’s going to be trouble,” he murmured, voice rich with something almost affectionate.

You smiled. “She already is.”

Lucien, standing beside you both, let out a low chuckle. “That one will bring this court to its knees one day.”

Eris exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Let’s hope it’s not anytime soon.”

But despite his words, his gaze never left his children. The son who had grown into a leader before his very eyes, the daughter who had him wrapped around her little finger. And for all the fire and power he wielded, this was what he had built. This was what he had fought for.

Azer, utterly defeated by his sister’s relentless enthusiasm, lifted her up entirely, spinning her once before setting her down again. Avey squealed, her laughter unbridled, echoing through the grand hall.

Avey was still giggling when Azer finally set her down, her tiny hands gripping his sleeves as she tried to regain her balance. Her curls were a wild mess from all the spinning, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Azer steadied her with a sigh, his hands still resting on her shoulders.

"You good?" he asked, arching a brow.

Avey grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Again."

Azer groaned. "Absolutely not."

She pouted. "But—"

"Nope." He tapped her nose, smirking as she scrunched her face. "Go bother Uncle Lucien or something."

Avey gasped, whipping around to find Lucien across the room. "That’s a great idea!" And just like that, she took off running, dodging between nobles without a care.

Azer exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face as he turned back toward the main table. He spotted you and Eris still watching him, both of you with expressions he didn’t quite like—proud, knowing. His scowl deepened.

"What?" he muttered as he strode up to you both.

You tilted your head, sipping your wine. "Nothing."

Eris hummed, swirling his drink in his hand. "You’re a good brother."

Azer huffed. "Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."

Lucien returned then, looking mildly exhausted as he held a very squirmy Avey in his arms. "She caught me," he sighed. "How do you two keep up with this one?"

"We don’t," you said flatly. "She keeps up with us."

Avey wriggled out of Lucien’s hold, landing with a small hop before throwing herself at Eris, wrapping her arms around his waist. He barely budged at the impact, glancing down at her with an arched brow.

"Tired already?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

Avey clung tighter, peeking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "No," she chirped. "But I need a break before I challenge Azer to a rematch."

Azer groaned, throwing his head back. "You have to be joking."

Eris snorted, ruffling Avey’s hair before looking at his son. "I think she’s serious."

Azer shot him a flat look. "You let this happen."

Eris only smirked, sipping his wine. "And I’d do it again."

Lucien clapped a hand on Azer’s shoulder, grinning. "Welcome to the rest of your life, kid."

Azer muttered something under his breath, but there was no real frustration in his tone—just exasperated fondness.

You watched them all—Eris, your son, your daughter, Lucien. The family you had built. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, filling every part of you with something unshakable, something eternal.

Azer crouched down beside Avey, his sharp golden eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned in close. His sister, still catching her breath from all the dancing, barely noticed at first—until he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, “Do you wanna ditch?”

Avey’s head snapped up, her curls bouncing as she turned to him, eyes wide with curiosity. “Ditch?” she echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

Azer smirked, nodding slightly toward the open balcony doors, where the cool night air drifted in. Outside, the gardens stretched into the dark, a maze of trees and lantern-lit paths just waiting to be explored.

“You’re always complaining about boring parties,” he murmured. “Thought you might want a little adventure.”

Avey bit her lip, glancing between him and the ballroom. Their parents were now engaged in conversation, Eris watching the room like a hawk, their mother speaking quietly to Lucien. No one was looking their way this very second.

Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her dress. “Where would we go?”

Azer’s grin widened. “Anywhere but here.”

Avey hesitated—only for a second. Then, with a sly little smile, she nodded.

Azer didn’t waste another moment. In one swift motion, he scooped her up, one arm locking around her waist as he rose to his full height. She barely managed to stifle a squeal, gripping onto him as he adjusted his hold.

“Shhh,” he hushed, his voice laced with laughter. “Do you want to get caught?”

Avey smacked his shoulder lightly. “I am perfectly capable of sneaking, you know.”

“Sure you are.” Azer shot her a knowing look before glancing toward the exit again, scanning the room for any watchful gazes. When he was certain they were in the clear, he whispered, “Hold on tight, little fox.”

The moment Azer stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air wrapped around them, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and the lingering embers of the torches lining the garden paths. The storm had passed, leaving behind a dampness that clung to the stone beneath his boots.

Avey wiggled in his arms, her small hands clutching his shoulder as she whispered urgently, “Put me down! We’ll be faster if I run too.”

Azer huffed but complied, setting her gently on her feet. The moment her toes touched the ground, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the steps leading into the garden.

“Come on!” she urged in a hushed giggle, her bare feet barely making a sound as she darted forward.

Azer kept pace easily, letting her think she was leading him as they weaved through the lantern-lit paths. The hedges were still dripping from the earlier rain, the scent of damp leaves and flowers heavy in the air. Their footsteps were muted against the softened ground, blending into the rustling of the trees overhead.

“Where exactly are we going?” Azer finally asked as Avey pulled him through a narrow archway covered in autumn-coloured vines.

She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Anywhere but here, remember?”

Azer rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “If you get me into trouble—”

“Oh, please.” Avey waved a dismissive hand. “I’m the youngest. You’d get in trouble, not me.”

Azer let out a short laugh. “Unbelievable.”

They slipped deeper into the gardens, the warm glow of the ballroom fading behind them. The air was still damp, the scent of wet stone mixing with the crisp freshness of the night. Avey twirled ahead of him, arms outstretched as if she could catch the remnants of the storm in her fingertips.

For a moment, they were just two shadows moving through the night, laughter barely contained as they ran through the maze of hedges and stone paths. No court, no politics, no expectations—just freedom.

Just them.

Avey let out a breathless giggle as she grabbed Azer’s hand and yanked him toward the deeper part of the gardens, where the trees grew thicker and the paths turned uneven. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light over the damp leaves as they ran, their feet barely making a sound against the softened earth.

“Faster!” she whispered, shooting him a mischievous grin.

Azer groaned dramatically but picked up his pace, his longer strides easily keeping up with her frantic energy. She was quick—quicker than most would expect—but he’d always been faster. Still, he let her drag him along, her small fingers gripping his wrist like she was leading some grand escape.

The scent of rain still clung to the air, mingling with the rich, earthy scent of the lake as they neared. The closer they got, the louder the water became—calm but steady, lapping at the edges of the rocky shoreline. The path opened up suddenly, the last of the hedges parting to reveal the lake stretched wide before them, smooth as glass beneath the moonlight.

Avey skidded to a stop at the edge, her toes just shy of the damp stones lining the shore. Azer nearly crashed into her, catching himself at the last second as he ruffled her curls.

“We’re soaked already,” he muttered, glancing down at the mud clinging to the hem of his pants. “I don’t know why I let you think of this.”

Avey grinned, stepping onto the nearest flat stone jutting out into the lake. “Because you love me.”

Azer rolled his eyes but said nothing.

The water shimmered, reflecting the night sky like a fractured mirror. Avey crouched, dipping her fingers into the cold surface, sending tiny ripples across the lake. She looked over her shoulder at Azer, her smile turning sly.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he warned.

Avey’s grin widened.

And then—she splashed him.

Azer stared at the water droplets now dripping from his sleeve. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her, feigning betrayal. “Oh, you are dead.”

Avey squealed, scrambling to her feet just as Azer lunged. She barely managed to dodge, her laughter echoing through the trees as she sprinted down the shore, her older brother right behind her.

-----

The warmth of Eris’s arms wrapped around your waist before you even saw him coming. His presence was unmistakable—the heat that always radiated from him, the scent of cedar and smoke clinging to his skin. He pulled you flush against his chest, his grip firm yet lazy, as if he had all the time in the world to simply hold you.

His lips found the curve of your neck first, the kiss slow, lingering, before trailing up to just behind your ear. The heat of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt the ghost of a smirk against your skin.

“You disappeared on me,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, meant for you and you alone.

Your hands covered his where they rested against your stomach, fingers idly tracing along the veins of his wrists. “I needed a moment. The wine was helping.”

Eris chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. “Drinking to survive my company, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head slightly, giving him more access as his lips brushed just beneath your jaw. “Drinking to survive this entire night.”

He hummed in amusement, his fingers pressing a little firmer against your stomach as he rocked you gently in place, swaying slightly in the dimly lit ballroom. The music played on, couples dancing in elegant circles, but in this moment, with his arms locked around you, the rest of the world felt distant.

His nose grazed your ear as he whispered, “You’ve been so patient, putting up with all these strangers, all these dull conversations. Should I reward you for your suffering?”

Your lips twitched. “And what exactly do you have in mind, my love?”

Eris pressed one last slow kiss just beneath your ear, then murmured, “Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Eris didn’t wait for your answer—he simply took your hand, spinning you in one smooth motion before pulling you onto the dance floor. His other hand found the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly into the rhythm of the music.

The ballroom’s golden light flickered in his sharp amber eyes, but his focus was entirely on you. His grip was steady, his movements precise, as if he wasn’t just dancing but claiming you in front of everyone. You let yourself sink into the moment, into the warmth of him, the way his fingers pressed lightly against your spine, the way his thumb traced idle circles against the back of your hand.

“See?” he murmured, his voice nothing more than a low hum between you. “Not all of tonight has to be dreadful.”

You let out a soft huff, though your lips twitched. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Eris smirked, leaning down just enough so that his breath ghosted across your cheek. “Dancing with my wife? I’d be a fool not to.”

His confidence was infuriating—and devastatingly effective. You let him lead you across the floor, the two of you moving as if you had done this a thousand times before. His warmth, his scent, the way his fingers tightened just slightly around your waist when you moved too far—it was enough to make the rest of the ballroom blur into nothing.

But then—something itched at the back of your mind. A sense of wrongness, an absence that shouldn’t have gone unnoticed for so long.

You blinked, pulling back slightly to glance around the room. Your gaze skimmed over the crowd, searching, searching—

And then it hit you.

“Azer and Avey,” you said suddenly, your voice sharper than before. “Where are they?”

Eris barely faltered, but you felt the way his grip tightened just a fraction. His expression didn’t change immediately, but you knew him well enough to see the flicker of realization in his eyes. He turned his head slightly, scanning the ballroom as if he could will them into appearing.

Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t seen them in—how long had it been? Too long. A sick feeling curled in your chest as you whispered, “Eris—”

“I know.” His voice was calm.

-----

Avey let out a high-pitched shriek as Azer’s arms finally locked around her waist. She had tried to escape—kicking, twisting, even scrambling onto the rocks at the lake’s edge—but her older brother was faster, stronger, and far too determined.

“Azer! No—no, no, no—”

Her protests were cut off by a triumphant laugh as he lifted her off the ground, her legs flailing wildly in the air.

“You’ve been asking for this all night, little fox,” Azer teased, his grip firm despite her desperate attempts to wiggle free. “What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t give you what you wanted?”

“I don’t want it!” she screeched, grabbing at his wrists, but it was useless.

Azer stepped into the water, the cold sending a brief shudder up his spine as it rushed over his boots. Avey, sensing her doom, clung to him like a cat avoiding a bath.

“Azer, NO, I will—”

She never got to finish her threat.

With a sharp twist, Azer spun and dropped her into the lake.

Avey hit the water with a splash, the sound echoing through the quiet night.

For a second, there was only silence. Then—

“You absolute—” Avey’s head broke the surface, her soaked curls plastered to her face as she gasped. “You are dead!”

Azer howled with laughter, doubling over as his sister splashed furiously at him. Her small hands sent waves of water sloshing against his legs, but he barely flinched.

“I warned you,” he taunted, stepping back just as Avey lunged for him.

She missed, sputtering as she pushed her soaked curls from her eyes. The water was up to her shoulders now, her dress clinging uncomfortably, but that wasn’t about to stop her.

Azer grinned down at her, hands on his hips. “You look like a drowned kitten.”

Avey narrowed her eyes. “You,” she seethed, “are the worst brother in the entire world.”

Avey, soaked to the bone and shivering, let out an ear-piercing squeal as she kicked forward, sending a wave of lake water straight at her brother.

Azer barely had time to shield himself before the cold water splashed against his chest. He gasped in mock offense, shaking out his arms as he glared at his little sister. “Oh, now you want to play dirty?”

Avey stuck her tongue out at him, her small hands pushing against the water as she tried to wade toward him, her movements clumsy but determined. “You deserve it, you big, mean bully!” she huffed, still struggling to get her soaked curls out of her face.

Azer crossed his arms, smirking. “You say that now, but you’ll be laughing about this by morning.”

Avey puffed out her cheeks, her big, golden-amber eyes narrowing into a glare. “No, I won’t!”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t!”

“Yes, you—”

Avey let out another high-pitched shriek and lunged at him, arms flailing. She barely reached his chest before slipping beneath the water again with an undignified sploosh.

Azer snorted, watching her pop back up a second later, sputtering and furious. “You need to work on your sneak attacks, little fox.”

Avey stomped her foot—or at least, tried to. The water made it more of a splash than anything else. “You ruined my dress, you horrible, evil, big—” She fumbled for the worst insult her seven-year-old brain could think of. “Goat!”

Azer barked out a laugh. “A goat?”

“A smelly goat!” Avey added, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Oh no,” he deadpanned, placing a hand over his heart. “Whatever will I do with such a brutal insult?”

Avey huffed, crossing her arms in the water as she glared up at him.

Then—suddenly—her lips twitched.

Azer caught it immediately. “Ah-ha!” He pointed a triumphant finger at her. “You’re smiling!”

“No, I’m not!” she squeaked, lips pursing again.

“Yes, you are. And I told you—you’d be laughing about this soon.”

Avey groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “I still hate you.”

Azer only grinned. “Love you too, little fox.”

Avey scowled, but this time, there was no real fire behind it. With one last glare, she lunged for him again—this time, managing to grab onto his arm, holding on tight.

Azer chuckled, easily hoisting her up until she could wrap her arms around his neck. “Come on, let’s get out of the water before you turn into an icicle.”

Avey sniffled, resting her wet cheek against his shoulder. “I won’t turn into an icicle,” she mumbled.

Azer smirked. “Maybe not, but you are freezing.”

Avey only hummed in response, her small fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he waded toward the shore, carrying her as if she weighed nothing at all.

-----

Back in the ballroom, you barely had a moment to savor the warmth of Eris’s embrace before a chill ran up your spine—a mother’s instinct. You had been swaying in his arms, your head tucked beneath his jaw, enjoying the steady rise and fall of his breath against your temple. But something gnawed at you, a feeling that whispered—your children were up to something.

Eris must have felt the shift in your body because he hummed low in his throat, his lips grazing just beneath your ear. “Relax, my love,” he murmured, voice like embers burning low. “You’re too tense.”

You sighed, your fingers twisting against the fine fabric of his tunic. “Eris…” You lifted your head slightly, peering up at him. “Where are the children?”

He stilled for half a second—a fraction of hesitation, but you caught it. His fingers curled more firmly around your waist, his free hand coming up to brush over your jaw, coaxing your attention back to him.

“They’re fine,” he assured you, though his tone was more amused than convincing.

You narrowed your eyes. “Eris.”

He exhaled through his nose, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “Avey is with Azer.”

You stared at him. “And where is Azer?”

He hesitated. Just for a moment.

Your stomach dropped.

“Eris Vanserra,” you said, stepping back slightly. “Tell me they’re not up to something.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, tilting his head back slightly. “Would it make you feel better if I lied?”

“Eris!”

His smirk widened, and before you could shove at his chest, Lucien came striding toward you both, eyes sharp. “You might want to go find your son,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “And your daughter.”

Your heart kicked. “What happened?”

Lucien lifted a brow. “Oh, nothing much. Just Azer being… well, Azer.”

Eris ran a hand through his damp hair, rubbing at his temple. “I swear, that boy…” But there was no real frustration in his voice—only exasperated fondness.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, lifting the hem of your dress to make your way toward the open doors leading into the stormy gardens. Eris fell into step beside you, his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back.

“We’re never hosting another ball,” you muttered, your pace quickening.

Eris let out a deep chuckle. “You say that now.”

You shot him a sharp glare. “Your son is a menace.”

His grin was entirely too pleased. “Yes,” he agreed, voice dripping with pride. “Yes, he is.”

The moment you stepped outside, the cold bite of rain met your skin, soaking through the fine fabric of your dress. The storm had worsened since you and Eris had last been out here, the wind howling through the trees, carrying the scent of wet earth and embers.

You shivered slightly, but you barely noticed, too focused on the distant sounds of laughter—one deep and rich, the other high-pitched and full of glee.

Your gaze flicked to Eris. He had already pinpointed the source, his sharp amber eyes narrowing toward the lake.

With a groan, he started forward. “If they’re in the godsdamned water…”

You picked up your pace beside him, your heart hammering. “Avey better not be in the lake.”

“She wouldn’t.” But even as Eris said it, you could hear the doubt creeping in.

And then—

“I HATE you, Azer!”

Avey’s furious, tiny voice echoed across the stormy night, followed by Azer’s uncontrollable laughter.

Eris sighed heavily. “I knew I should’ve locked that boy in his room.”

You broke into a run, following the sound of their voices. Eris was right beside you, muttering under his breath about how his son was nothing but a walking headache, though you caught the glimmer of amusement in his tone.

By the time you reached the shore, the sight before you had you stopping dead in your tracks.

Avey stood in the shallows of the lake, drenched from head to toe, her tiny fists clenched at her sides as she glared up at her older brother. Water dripped from her curls, her lower lip wobbling, but her eyes burned with the kind of fury only a little sister could muster.

Azer, standing just out of reach, was still laughing, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “Come on, little fox,” he teased, wiping at his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Avey stomped toward him, slipping slightly in the mud. “You’re the worst, Azer Vanserra!”

Azer grinned. “You’ve said worse.”

“I mean it this time!”

“You always mean it.”

Before she could tackle him, you cleared your throat loudly.

Both children froze.

Slowly, they turned their heads, catching sight of you and Eris standing just beyond the treeline.

Avey’s face paled. Azer’s grin faltered.

Eris crossed his arms. “Would either of you like to explain why my daughter is soaking wet at the edge of the lake in the middle of a storm?”

Silence.

Then—

Azer scratched the back of his head, offering a sheepish smile. “Uh… bonding?”

Eris’s eye twitched.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Azer.”

Avey wasted no time, spinning on her heel and pointing an accusatory finger at her brother. “He dunked me!”

Eris exhaled sharply. “Azer.”

“She wanted to ditch,” Azer defended, raising his hands in surrender. “I just… made it more exciting.”

Avey splashed at him again, glaring daggers. “I hate you.”

Azer only laughed.

Eris ran a hand down his face, looking seconds away from dragging Azer into the lake himself. But before he could, you stepped forward, reaching for your shivering daughter.

“Come here, sweetheart,” you murmured.

Avey sniffled dramatically but rushed into your arms, wrapping her soaked limbs around you. You smoothed a hand down her wet curls, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re freezing.”

She sniffled again, nuzzling into your warmth. “Azer’s mean.”

“I know, baby.” You sent a look at your son. “Azer, you’re mean.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Wow. Betrayal.”

Eris finally pinched the bridge of his nose. “Both of you, inside. Now.”

Azer groaned. “But—”

“Now.”

Avey smirked as she let you lead her toward the house. “Hah. Loser.”

Azer rolled his eyes but trailed after you, still smirking. “Oh, shut up, little fox.”

Eris fell into step beside you, muttering, “I’m going to strangle that boy one day.”

You chuckled softly. “No, you won’t.”

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “No,” he admitted, glancing at his son. “I won’t.”

By the time you stepped back into the manor, the storm had picked up, the rain lashing against the grand windows. The warmth of the ballroom was a stark contrast to the damp chill clinging to your skin. Avey shivered in your arms, her small hands clutching at your dress, while Azer trailed behind, shaking out his soaked curls like a wet dog.

Eris shot him a look. “Do that again, and I will throw you back outside.”

Azer grinned, completely unbothered. “Worth it.”

Avey, still bundled against you, let out an exaggerated sigh. “Mama, I need a bath. A warm one. With bubbles.”

You kissed her temple, smoothing a hand down her damp curls. “We’ll get you one soon, love.”

Lucien had been standing nearby, talking to Helion and Arlene, but at the sight of the four of you—sopping wet and clearly having just returned from whatever disaster Azer had orchestrated—he made his way over, brow arched.

“I don’t even want to ask,” he muttered, raking his gaze over his dripping niece and nephew.

Eris exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple. “Then don’t.”

Lucien chuckled. “Azer, what did you do?”

Avey immediately pulled back from your hold, pointing an accusatory finger at her older brother. “He threw me in the lake!”

Lucien turned to Azer, unimpressed. “Really?”

Azer smirked. “She wanted to ditch the ball. I made it fun.”

Avey huffed, crossing her arms. “You threw me!”

Lucien sighed, shaking his head. “You’re lucky your mother’s here to keep your father from strangling you.”

Eris shot his brother a glare. “Don’t tempt me.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting Avey more comfortably in your arms. “Alright, enough. Avey needs to get warm, and I need to get changed before I catch a cold.”

Avey perked up immediately. “Can I have extra bubbles?”

You smiled, brushing a damp curl from her face. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Azer groaned. “She gets extra bubbles, and I get threatened? Unfair.”

Eris turned, eyes sharp. “You dunk your sister in a lake again, and I’ll dunk you.”

Azer only grinned, the picture of unrepentant mischief. “I’d like to see you try, old man.”

Lucien let out a bark of laughter. “You are getting old, brother.”

Eris glared at them both. “Out. All of you. Before I lose my mind.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to Avey’s forehead. “Come on, little love. Let’s get you warm.”

As you turned to leave, Azer leaned into his sister with a teasing grin. “Still the best night ever.”

Avey stuck out her tongue. “Hate you.”

Azer just laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “No, you don’t.”

And despite her dramatic grumbling, Avey leaned into her brother’s warmth as you all disappeared up the stairs, leaving the remnants of the storm—and the ball—behind.

-----

Later that night, after the manor had settled into a quiet hum of flickering candlelight and distant laughter, you found yourself standing by the window of your chambers, gazing out at the darkened forest beyond. The rain had finally eased into a soft drizzle, the world outside bathed in silver moonlight.

Eris was behind you, his presence a familiar warmth as he pulled you into him, arms wrapping securely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, his breath fanning over your damp hair.

“They’re in bed,” he murmured, voice laced with exhaustion.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly against his. “Both of them?”

“Avey knocked out in the bath. Azer had to carry her to bed.” His lips brushed just beneath your ear, a smile in his voice. “I think it made up for the whole lake incident.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “He’s lucky she adores him.”

Eris sighed, holding you a little tighter. “He’s lucky we adore him.”

You turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. There was something softer in his expression tonight, something only you ever got to see. The High Lord of Autumn, so ruthless to the rest of the world, so completely undone in the quiet moments he let himself have with you.

“Are you alright?” you asked, brushing your fingers over his cheek.

He exhaled, his hands settling at your hips. “I should be asking you that.”

You raised a brow. “Eris.”

A smirk ghosted over his lips before he shook his head. “I keep thinking about tonight. How different everything is now.” His thumbs traced absentminded circles against your waist. “There was a time when I never thought I’d have this. A family. Peace. You.”

You softened, sliding your hands up to cup his face. “But you do have it, Eris. And you always will.”

His grip tightened as he kissed you, slow and deep, like he was trying to commit the feeling of you to memory. When he pulled back, his eyes burned with something unspoken.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, though you both knew it wasn’t a question.

You smiled, leaning into him. “Always.”

And as the rain faded into nothing, as the world outside stilled, you let him pull you towards the bed, towards the warmth of his touch, towards the life you had built together—one that was yours to keep, always.

Eris’ lips found yours again, slow at first, savouring, but then something shifted—something more playful sparking in his touch. His fingers skimmed along the curve of your waist, featherlight, making you shiver as he deepened the kiss just enough to leave you wanting more.

Then, just as you leaned further into him, he pulled back.

You blinked, dazed, only to see the smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “What—”

Before you could finish, he brushed his lips over yours again, barely a ghost of a touch. And again. And again.

A frustrated sound caught in your throat as you tried to chase his mouth, but he only pulled away, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Patience, darling,” he murmured, voice rich with laughter.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Eris chuckled, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, his fingers now tracing slow, teasing circles over the small of your back. “And yet, you adore me.”

You huffed, though the warmth pooling in your stomach betrayed you. “That’s debatable.”

He grinned against your skin. “Liar.”

Then, in one smooth motion, he dipped you backward, catching you securely in his arms. A surprised laugh escaped you as you clung to him, the world tilting. His eyes, molten with mischief, locked onto yours.

“I should leave you like this,” he mused, pretending to consider it, “make you ask for it.”

You let out an indignant scoff. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Eris merely hummed, as if the thought truly tempted him. Then, finally, finally, he kissed you properly—deep and slow and claiming. His hand cradled the back of your head, tilting you just the way he liked as he swallowed the breathless sound you made.

By the time he pulled away, you were sure your legs would have given out if not for his hold. He studied you, smug and satisfied, his thumb brushing against your kiss-swollen lips.

“See?” he murmured. “Patience does have its rewards.”

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the heat in your gaze. “Shut up and kiss me again, Eris.”

His grin was wicked as he obeyed.

Eris didn’t waste a second. His lips crashed onto yours again, this time with none of the teasing restraint from before. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you deep, hungry, like he’d been waiting all night for this.

A pleased hum vibrated against your mouth when your fingers tangled into his fiery hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. His grip on you tightened, one hand sliding up your spine, the other slipping lower—possessive, claiming.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he broke the kiss, only to nip at the soft spot just below your ear. “You taste like wine,” he murmured, voice husky as he kissed a slow path down your throat.

“And you taste like trouble,” you shot back, though the breathless edge to your voice ruined the effect.

Eris chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Funny, I was about to say the same about you.” His hands skimmed lower, fingers pressing into your hips. “Dragging me out into the rain. Ruining my perfectly tailored suit.”

You gasped as he suddenly lifted you, hoisting you onto the nearby table in one swift motion. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, but he pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over yours.

“What am I going to do with you?” he mused, his smirk utterly wicked.

You arched a brow, fingers still tangled in his hair. “I could give you a few ideas.”

His gaze darkened, molten heat burning in those amber eyes. “Oh, I bet you could.”

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, until all thoughts of the ball, the rain, and everything else melted away entirely.

-----

Two months later

Azer barely stirred when his bedroom door creaked open. The early morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. His bed was warm, the blankets a tangled mess around him, but he was still deep in sleep, his face half-buried in his pillow.

That was, until a small set of hands shoved at his shoulder.

“Azer,” Avey whisper-shouted, her seven-year-old voice laced with urgency. When he only groaned in response, she huffed and tried again—this time climbing onto his bed, her knees digging into his side as she shook him harder.

“Azer, wake up!”

He let out a dramatic groan, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes. “Go away, Ave.” His voice was rough with sleep, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood for whatever chaos his little sister was about to unleash.

But Avey was nothing if not persistent.

She flopped down onto his chest with all her tiny weight, making him grunt in protest. “Wake up,” she whined. “It’s important!”

Azer cracked one eye open, only to find Avey’s face inches from his, her big autumn-coloured eyes wide with excitement. Her curls were a wild mess from sleep, and she was still in her nightgown, her little feet tucked under her.

He groaned again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Ave, if this isn’t life or death—”

“It is!” she interrupted, bouncing slightly on his chest. “Mama and Dad are up, and I heard them talking about something big.”

Azer sighed, already regretting this conversation. “What kind of ‘big’?”

Avey’s grin stretched wide. “I think we’re going on a trip!”

That got his attention. Azer’s brows lifted slightly as he finally pushed himself up onto his elbows, making Avey slide off his chest and onto the mattress beside him. “A trip where?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed, flopping onto her stomach and kicking her feet. “But I heard Mama saying we have to pack, and Daddy said something about ‘preparations’ and ‘not causing a diplomatic disaster.’”

Azer blinked, then smirked. “That definitely sounds like Dad.”

Avey giggled, nodding enthusiastically. “So come on,” she urged, tugging at his arm. “We have to find out where we’re going!”

Azer let out a long-suffering sigh, but he was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He knew there was no getting out of this—not when Avey was determined.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “But if this is some boring meeting in another court, you owe me.”

Avey beamed, hopping off the bed. “Deal!”

Avey practically skipped down the hall, her nightgown billowing behind her as she rushed ahead. Azer trailed after her at a much slower pace, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.

The Autumn Court palace was quiet this early in the morning, save for the occasional flickering of flames in the wall sconces and the faint rustling of servants already beginning their day. But Avey’s hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, her excitement impossible to contain.

“Avey, slow down,” Azer grumbled, running a hand through his messy hair. “If you wake up the whole palace, Dad will—”

He was cut off as Avey skidded to a stop in front of their parents’ study. Without hesitation, she pressed her ear against the heavy wooden door, eyes gleaming.

Azer sighed, crossing his arms. “Really?”

Avey shushed him, waving a frantic hand for him to join her. He rolled his eyes but stepped closer, leaning against the wall beside her.

“…we need to make sure everything is in place before we leave,” their father’s voice came from inside, calm but firm.

Azer frowned. Before we leave?

“We should tell them soon,” their mother replied, her voice softer but no less decisive. “Azer especially. He’ll need time to prepare.”

Avey turned to him, practically vibrating. See? she mouthed excitedly.

Azer ignored her, listening closer.

“We’ll tell them at breakfast,” Eris said. “And we’ll remind them to be on their best behavior—”

“Especially Azer,” their mother added, amusement clear in her tone.

Azer scowled. What was that supposed to mean?

Avey giggled into her hands.

Then, suddenly—

“I know you two are listening.”

Avey gasped, her eyes going wide as the door swung open to reveal their father standing there, arms crossed, an unimpressed expression on his face.

Busted.

Avey immediately threw Azer under the metaphorical carriage. “It was his idea!” she blurted, pointing at him.

Azer scoffed, looking down at her in betrayal. “Seriously?”

You appeared behind Eris, shaking your head but clearly amused. “Come inside,” you said, stepping aside. “Since you’re so curious.”

Avey brightened, all traces of guilt gone as she skipped into the study. Azer followed with far less enthusiasm, dragging a hand down his face.

“Good morning to you, too,” he muttered as he stepped past his father.

Eris merely raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be less pleased when you hear where we’re going.”

Azer frowned, but before he could ask, his mother gestured for them to sit.

“Children,” you said, a knowing smile on your lips, “we’re going to the Night Court.”

Azer groaned the moment the words left your mouth, dropping his head back against the chair like the weight of the world had just landed on his shoulders.

“The Night Court?” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “So that means…”

“Yes,” Eris confirmed, clearly enjoying his son’s misery. “You’ll be seeing Nyx and Annavella.”

Azer let out another louder groan, tilting his head to glare at you like this was your fault. “Mama, do we have to?”

Avey, sitting beside him, perked up immediately. “I like Nyx and Annavella,” she chirped, swinging her legs beneath the chair. “They’re fun.”

Azer shot her a betrayed look. “That’s because they baby you.”

Avey stuck out her tongue.

You tried—tried—to keep a straight face, but Azer’s suffering was far too entertaining. “Since your father and Rhysand formed an alliance, yes, we do have to go,” you told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And you will behave.”

Azer slumped further into his chair. “Nyx is so annoying.”

“He’s twenty-one, Azer,” you sighed. “I doubt he’s changed that much since the last time you saw him.”

“Exactly,” Azer huffed. “He’s worse now. He acts like he’s so mature and wise just because he’s the heir to the Night Court. And don’t get me started on Annavella.”

Eris raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with Annavella?”

Azer let out an exasperated laugh. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe the fact that she thinks she’s better than me at everything? The last time we sparred, she practically tried to take my head off!”

“She won that sparring match,” Avey reminded him sweetly.

Azer scowled. “She cheated.”

Eris chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like you’re afraid of a little competition.”

“I’m not afraid,” Azer grumbled, crossing his arms. “I just don’t want to deal with her smug face for an entire trip. She and Nyx are so full of themselves.”

You patted his arm, barely holding back a smile. “You’ll survive.”

Azer only slumped further, muttering something about Night Court arrogance under his breath.

Avey, meanwhile, was practically bouncing in her seat. “When do we leave?” she asked eagerly.

“Tomorrow,” Eris answered.

Azer groaned again, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Kill me now.”

Eris smirked. “Now, now, little firefox,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’ll be good for you.”

You watched as Azer slumped deeper into his chair, rubbing his temples like this trip was going to be the end of him. It was so tempting to drag this out just to watch him suffer, but you decided to be merciful—for now.

“And,” you said, drawing out the word, “Kallias and his wife will be there as well.”

Azer barely reacted.

You smirked. “With their son, Edur.”

That got his attention. His head popped up, eyes slightly less miserable. “Edur’s coming?”

“Yes.”

He nodded approvingly. “Alright. That makes it slightly better.”

Eris snorted, shaking his head at how quickly Azer’s attitude shifted. You knew he and Edur got along well—both of them were skilled fighters, and Azer actually respected him, which was rare for anyone outside of his own family.

But you weren’t done yet.

“And,” you added, enjoying this a little too much, “Tarquin is coming as well.”

Azer frowned. “Okay…”

“With his daughter.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Azer’s entire body stiffened. He slowly turned to look at you, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Noelani?”

You smiled sweetly. “Yes.”

Azer let out the loudest groan yet, dramatically flopping his head back against the chair.

“No,” he whined, dragging a hand down his face. “Not her.”

Avey, who had been swinging her legs beneath her chair, perked up at this. “Oooooh,” she hummed, grinning. “Azer likes her.”

Azer bolted upright so fast it was a miracle the chair didn’t topple over. “I do not like her, I want her existence to end.”

“You totally do,” Avey singsonged, giggling as she leaned toward him.

Azer turned his glare to you and Eris. “Why is she like this?”

“She’s seven,” Eris said simply.

“With a seven-year-old attitude,” you added, ruffling Avey’s curls.

Avey giggled again, clearly enjoying every second of Azer’s torment.

Azer groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “This is awful.”

“Oh, come now,” you teased, nudging him. “Noelani is a very nice girl.”

Azer scoffed. “She’s obnoxious.”

“You’re obnoxious,” Avey shot back.

Azer ignored her. “She’s always smiling and talking and trying to act all charming, like she thinks she’s so clever.” He rolled his eyes. “And she flirts with everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”

Azer gawked at you. “What? No! Why would I be jealous? That’s—ugh, forget it.”

Avey smirked. A perfectly mischievous smirk that looked far too much like Eris’s. “I think Azer has a crush.”

Azer groaned again, shoving away from the table. “I’m done with this conversation.”

Avey giggled, leaning into your side. “He totally likes her.”

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around your daughter. “He’s in denial.”

Eris merely shook his head, clearly amused. “This trip is going to be interesting.”

Azer, now standing with his arms crossed, scowled at all three of you. “I hate this family.”

Avey beamed up at him. “We love you, too!”

Azer moved before Avey even had the chance to scramble away. One second, she was grinning up at him with all the mischief in the world, and the next—

“AHH!”

Avey’s delighted shriek filled the room as Azer lunged, grabbing her around the waist and tackling her straight onto the plush carpet.

She wriggled and kicked, but Azer had years of training on her, easily pinning her down with one arm while using the other to mercilessly tickle her sides.

“Take it back!” he demanded over her squeals.

Avey screeched with laughter, thrashing like a wild thing. “Never!”

Azer grinned wickedly. “Wrong answer, little fox.”

His fingers moved faster, digging into her ribs, and Avey shrieked again, gasping between giggles as she tried to kick at him.

“Mama, help!” she cried, still laughing so hard tears pricked her eyes.

You crossed your arms, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I don’t know. You did say Azer had a crush.”

Avey cackled. “Because he does!”

Azer groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back beside her. “Why do you exist?”

Avey immediately rolled onto him, sprawling across his chest in a way that made it impossible for him to move.

“Because you’d be so boring without me,” she declared, grinning as she poked his cheek.

Azer huffed, scowling at her. “You’re the worst.”

Avey batted her lashes. “And you love me.”

Azer sighed, letting his head fall back onto the carpet. “Unfortunately.”

Avey giggled, curling up against him like a satisfied little fox kit. Azer sighed again but let her stay, draping an arm around her like he always did.

Eris leaned toward you, murmuring, “Seven going on seventeen.”

You laughed softly, watching your children—so different, yet always drawn back to each other. “Tell me about it.”

Azer lay sprawled on the carpet, letting Avey practically nest on top of him. She had her arms tucked beneath her chin, peering up at him with a triumphant little grin, clearly very pleased with herself.

He huffed. “You’re ridiculously smug for someone who just got tackled.”

Avey wrinkled her nose at him. “You still didn’t win.”

Azer raised a brow. “Oh?”

Before she could react, he flipped them, rolling her onto her back and pinning her wrists to the floor.

“Who’s winning now?” he teased, grinning down at her.

Avey scowled. “You cheated!”

Azer barked a laugh. “I taught you this move, little fox. You should’ve been ready.”

Avey thrashed, trying to break free, but Azer easily kept her in place, smirking as she let out an exasperated groan.

You and Eris watched from the side, both of you thoroughly entertained.

“I give it a minute before she bites him,” Eris murmured.

You hummed, considering. “Thirty seconds.”

And then—

“OW—Avey!”

Azer jerked back, grabbing his arm where Avey had actually bitten him. Avey used the distraction to scramble free, cackling as she bolted across the room.

“I knew it,” Eris said, shaking his head.

Azer glared after his sister, rubbing his arm. “You are feral!”

Avey only stuck her tongue out at him. “You deserved it!”

Eris chuckled, stepping forward and ruffling Azer’s hair. “That’s what you get for underestimating a little fox.”

Azer grumbled something under his breath, still glaring at his sister, but he didn’t argue.

You just smiled, watching them—knowing that no matter how much they bickered, no matter how much they teased and tackled each other, Azer would always protect her, and Avey would always adore him.

Seven going on seventeen, indeed.

Avey kept a safe distance from her brother, practically vibrating with smugness as she rocked back on her heels. “What’s wrong, Azer?” she taunted, her little hands on her hips. “Didn’t think your baby sister could outsmart you?”

Azer rolled his eyes, still rubbing his arm where she’d bitten him. “You didn’t outsmart me, you cheated.”

Avey just grinned. “You should’ve been ready.”

Eris let out a low chuckle beside you, clearly enjoying this far too much. “She is your sister,” he reminded Azer. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

Azer let out a long suffering sigh, running a hand through his unruly hair. “She’s a menace.”

Avey beamed, taking it as a compliment. “I am!”

Eris shook his head with a soft smirk, then glanced at you. “How do you feel about giving her to Rhysand as a diplomatic gift?”

Avey gasped, utterly offended. “Mama!” she cried, running straight to you and wrapping her arms around your waist. “Tell him he’s not allowed to give me away!”

You smoothed a hand over her wild curls, barely containing your laughter. “I don’t think Rhys could handle you, little fox.”

Avey nodded fiercely. “Exactly!”

Azer snorted. “He’d return her in a day.”

Avey whipped around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I am a delight, you meanie!”

Azer just smirked. “A delightful menace.”

Avey huffed dramatically, but instead of arguing, she just turned back to you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Mama, can we please go now?”

You smiled down at her. “Go where?”

She groaned, bouncing on her toes. “To the lake! Azer promised!”

You raised a brow, glancing at your son. “Did you?”

Azer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I might have.”

Eris chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Then you’d better take her before she decides to bite you again.”

Azer grimaced as Avey giggled, clearly thrilled by the idea.

“Fine, fine,” Azer muttered, grabbing her hand. “But if you splash me in, I swear—”

Avey just cackled as she dragged him toward the door, already knowing she would.

As Azer and Avey disappeared through the doorway—Avey practically bouncing on her toes, Azer grumbling but following nonetheless—you felt Eris’ arm tighten around your waist, keeping you close.

The warmth of his body against yours was familiar, steady. Even after all these years, after all the chaos and change, there was something constant in the way he held you.

You glanced up at him, and his gaze was already on you—amber eyes soft, lingering, filled with something deep and unspoken.

“You’re looking at me like that again,” you murmured.

His lips twitched. “Like what?”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Like you’re trying to memorize me.”

Eris huffed a quiet laugh, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached up, fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your face slightly toward him.

“I already have you memorized,” he murmured, voice lower now, softer. “But I like to remind myself anyway.”

Your breath hitched, caught in the way his thumb traced over your cheekbone, the way his gaze flickered over every detail of your face—as if he were savouring the moment, as if he wanted to keep it forever.

You smirked, placing a hand over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Sentimental, aren’t we?”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, leaning down just enough that his lips almost brushed yours. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You grinned, tilting your chin up slightly, closing that last bit of space. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

And then, just before his lips could fully claim yours—

A scream echoed from outside, followed by a loud splash.

You both froze.

Then—

“Avey, I swear!” Azer’s furious voice rang through the halls.

Eris let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why did we have children?”

You laughed, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door. “Because you love me and your dick always used to end up between my legs.”

Eris sighed dramatically, but he followed—because he did. More than anything.

The two of you stepped outside, the warm breeze carrying the scent of damp earth and pine from the gardens. The moment your feet hit the stone pathway leading toward the lake, you knew what you were about to find.

Sure enough—

Azer stood at the edge of the water, dripping wet, clothes clinging to him, curls a soaked mess as he glowered at his little sister. Avey, who was still standing knee-deep in the lake, had her hands clasped behind her back, lips pursed in an attempt to contain her laughter.

“You little monster,” Azer seethed.

Avey giggled, her shoulders shaking. “You should’ve seen your face!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, but beside you, Eris had no such restraint. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and when you turned to look at him, he was smirking.

“You did say she couldn’t push you in,” Eris mused. “Not that she couldn’t pull you.”

Azer shot his father a withering glare. “Not. Helping.”

Eris merely shrugged, unbothered, as his attention flicked back to Avey. “You’re lucky I like you, little fox.”

Avey grinned, positively beaming. “I know.”

Azer groaned, pushing his wet curls back from his face. “I hate all of you.”

You snorted. “You don’t.”

Azer exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath, but before he could start his inevitable rant about how much of a menace his little sister was, Avey let out a squeak—

And promptly ran straight for you.

You barely had time to react before she leapt into your arms, soaking you in the process. The cold water from her clothes seeped into your dress, making you gasp as she nuzzled into your neck, giggling.

Eris smirked at your expression, stepping forward to ruffle Avey’s soaked curls. “You are soaked, little fox.”

Avey hummed. “So’s Azer.”

Azer grumbled something incomprehensible.

Eris exhaled through his nose, then turned to you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Shall we retrieve our chaotic children and return before we cause any more scandal?”

You sighed but smiled, adjusting Avey in your arms. “I suppose.”

Eris smirked, then reached for Azer’s shoulder, clapping a hand against his wet clothes. “Come, my drowned heir. Let’s get you dried off before your mother disowns us all.”

Azer groaned, but followed—because, despite the theatrics, he wouldn’t change any of this for the world.

-----

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of wine between his fingers as he looked around the room. Feyre sat beside him, one arm draped over the back of her chair, her expression calm but observant. Across from them, Cassian was sprawled lazily on the couch, his wings draped over the sides, while Nesta sat beside him, her usual unimpressed stare locked on her mate’s attempt at looking relaxed.

Azriel stood near the window, arms crossed, his shadows curling idly around his shoulders. The room was warm, the soft glow of the chandelier reflecting against the polished wood floors, but there was an edge to the atmosphere—an unspoken weight in the air as they all waited.

Seated in the center of it all were the next generation—Nyx, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and Annavella, who was perched on the arm of a chair, idly twirling a strand of dark hair between her fingers. Cassian and Nesta’s sons sat beside them—Andros, the eldest at nineteen, with his father’s broad shoulders and wild grin, and Evander, who was eighteen and a perfect balance of both his parents, sharp and steady but with Cassian’s penchant for trouble lurking beneath his composed exterior.

“You’re making it sound like we’re preparing for war,” Nyx finally said, raising a brow at his father.

Rhysand exhaled a slow breath, setting his wine down on the table. “Not war. But there will be tensions.” His violet gaze flicked toward Andros and Evander. “It’s your first time meeting them all at the same time, and I want you to be prepared.”

Annavella rolled her eyes. “It’s a gathering, not a battlefield.”

Nesta scoffed, taking a sip of her own drink. “Clearly, you’ve never been to a court gathering.”

Cassian grinned, ruffling Evander’s hair, much to his son’s annoyance. “There’s a lot of pride on the line when you throw High Lords and their families in one room. You’ll want to keep an eye on everything—and everyone.”

Evander frowned slightly. “Who exactly is coming?”

Rhysand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Eris and his family, obviously. His son Azer is around your age, along with his younger sister, Avey.” His gaze flicked toward Nyx and Annavella. “You two have met them, but this will be the first formal gathering since they’ve become fully recognized within Autumn.”

Nyx nodded, his expression unreadable. “Azer’s fine. A bit high-strung, but fine.”

Cassian snorted. “Can you blame him? Look who his father is.”

Feyre shot him a look, but Rhysand only smirked before continuing. “Kallias and Viviane will be attending as well, along with their son, Edur. He’s twenty now.”

Andros perked up. “He’s the one that trained in Winter’s army, right?”

Azriel nodded. “He’s skilled—one of their best.”

Evander raised a brow. “So he’ll be fun to spar with?”

Cassian grinned, nudging his son’s shoulder. “Maybe. If Kallias doesn’t mind you breaking his alliances.”

Nesta sighed, shaking her head before turning to Rhysand. “Who else?”

“Tarquin,” Rhysand replied. “And his daughter, Noelani.”

Nyx groaned immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not her.”

Annavella laughed, tossing a cushion at her brother. “Oh, come on, Nyx. She likes you.”

“That’s the problem.”

Cassian laughed loudly, and even Azriel smirked slightly. “She’s persistent,” Rhysand admitted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “But you’ll survive.”

Nyx grumbled something under his breath.

Andros glanced at Evander, who was trying to stifle a grin. “This is going to be interesting.”

Rhysand exhaled slowly, glancing around the room, making sure they all understood. “Just remember—this is about alliances, about maintaining the peace that’s been built over the years. Whatever personal feelings you have about the others, put them aside.”

Cassian stretched, flexing his wings. “And if it does come to a fight—”

Nesta smacked his arm.

Cassian grinned. “What? Just saying. Wouldn’t be the worst way to spend an evening.”

Rhysand sighed, rubbing his temples. “Mother help us all.”

Nyx groaned again, leaning back in his chair. “I still don’t get why we have to be the ones dealing with this. Shouldn’t this be a High Lord thing?”

Rhysand gave his son a pointed look. “You’re the heir to this court, Nyx. One day, you will be the one managing these relationships.”

Nyx muttered something under his breath, but Annavella smirked. “I think it’s fun. Maybe Azer and I can make a game out of it—see how long it takes before someone snaps.”

Evander chuckled. “You say that like you’re not going to be the first one to start something, again may I add.”

Nesta sighed, rubbing her temples. “Please, for once, can we get through an evening without one of you causing a scene?”

Andros grinned at his mother. “No promises.”

Cassian laughed, clapping his eldest on the back. “That’s my boy.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes before turning back to Azriel, who had remained silent, simply listening to the conversation unfold. “What do you think?”

Azriel shrugged, his shadows curling around his shoulders. “Eris is smart. He knows the importance of tonight.”

Nyx scoffed. “Yeah, but Azer?”

Azriel hesitated for half a second before exhaling. “Azer takes after his father in ways that matter. He’ll keep himself in check.”

Annavella grinned. “I hope not.”

Rhysand shook his head, but before he could respond, Feyre cut in. “We also need to be aware of the political weight of this night. It’s not just about alliances—it’s about history. The Autumn Court has been in shadows for centuries under Beron’s rule. This is one of the first times Eris is fully opening his doors to others.”

Nyx tapped his fingers against his knee. “So what? We’re supposed to act like everything’s perfect and ignore the fact that everyone has some kind of grudge against each other?”

Nesta arched a brow at him. “That’s called politics.”

Cassian smirked. “That’s called bullshit.”

Feyre sighed. “Just try not to let your emotions get the best of you.”

Nyx let out a long breath before finally nodding. “Fine. I’ll behave.”

Andros snickered. “That makes one of us.”

Evander grinned. “Two.”

Annavella just winked.

Rhysand closed his eyes for a moment before muttering, “This is going to be a disaster.”

-----

You sighed as you knelt in front of Avey, carefully wrapping her in a thick, warm towel. Her curls clung to her face, damp and tangled from her latest adventure—one that had ended with her completely drenched, yet again.

"Avey," you murmured, gently squeezing the towel around her shoulders. "This is the third time today. Do you enjoy making me chase you down with a towel?"

Your seven-year-old daughter giggled, her little nose scrunching as she rocked slightly on her heels. "Maybe," she admitted, mischief glinting in her bright amber eyes—the same ones her father had.

You shook your head, unable to suppress a small smile as you rubbed the towel over her curls, trying to absorb as much water as possible. "You're going to catch a cold at this rate."

"Nuh-uh!" she protested, puffing out her chest. "I'm strong!"

"You're soaked," you countered, pulling the towel from her head and moving to dry her arms next. Her skin was still cool from the lake, and you hurried to warm her up, rubbing her down with firm, steady motions.

Avey sighed dramatically, letting her head tilt back. "You're like Azer."

You arched a brow, moving to dry her tiny legs. "Oh? How so?"

"He always says I’m trouble," she grumbled, crossing her arms.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "That’s because you are trouble."

She gasped, eyes going wide with faux betrayal. "Mama!"

You winked at her, then reached for the fresh clothes laid out on the bed. A simple cream-colored dress with delicate embroidery along the edges—something soft and easy to move in.

"Arms up," you instructed.

Avey obeyed, lifting her arms so you could pull the dress over her head. It fell into place around her small frame, and she wiggled her fingers excitedly before spinning in a little circle.

"Pretty?" she asked, peering up at you.

You brushed her curls back from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Very pretty."

She beamed, then suddenly gasped. "Oh! Shoes!"

You barely had time to react before she sprinted across the room, slipping slightly on the rug as she grabbed a pair of tiny slippers. She shoved her feet into them, grinning triumphantly as she turned back to you.

"Ready!" she announced.

You stood, smoothing out her dress one last time before taking her hands in yours. "No more lakes tonight, understood?"

Avey bit her lip, clearly debating.

"Avey."

"Okay," she relented with a sigh. "No more lakes."

You arched a brow. "Or fountains. Or ponds. Or any water that isn't a bath."

She huffed. "You sound like Daddy."

You smirked. "Good. Now, let’s go before he realizes how much of a mess you made."

Avey giggled, gripping your hand tightly as you led her toward the door—warm, dry, and looking every bit the little princess she was. For now, at least.

You scooped Avey up into your arms, pressing a quick kiss to her damp curls as she giggled, her little arms wrapping around your neck. She was warm now, her fresh dress soft against your skin as she nestled into you.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice lilting with curiosity.

"To my room," you murmured, shifting her slightly in your arms. "So I can braid your hair before you go running off again."

Avey let out a dramatic sigh, flopping her head against your shoulder. "Braiding takes forever."

You chuckled, carrying her through the halls of the Autumn Court’s grand estate. The flickering faelights cast soft golden glows along the walls, the distant hum of the evening carrying through the corridors. Avey tapped her fingers against your shoulder as you reached your chambers, pushing the door open with ease.

The room was warm, the fireplace crackling gently in the corner. You set Avey down on the cushioned stool in front of your vanity, her little legs swinging as she looked at herself in the mirror, making faces.

You grabbed a wooden brush from the vanity, running it gently through her curls. "Hold still, little fox."

Avey pouted but obeyed, only fidgeting slightly as you worked through the tangles. Her hair gleamed under the light, the soft waves slowly smoothing out with each careful stroke.

"You have so much hair," you murmured, brushing it all to one side.

"Daddy says it’s wild like me," Avey said with a grin.

You smiled, gathering three small sections of hair near her temple. "Well, let’s see if we can tame it a little."

You started twisting the strands together, weaving them delicately as your fingers worked with practiced ease. Avey hummed under her breath, her hands resting in her lap as you continued.

"Are you making it fancy?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"A little," you admitted. "But not too fancy. Just enough to keep it out of your face."

She seemed satisfied with that, watching in the mirror as the intricate twist braids formed, wrapping gently around the side of her head.

"I like when you do my hair," she admitted softly.

Your hands stilled for a moment before you pressed another kiss to the crown of her head. "I like doing your hair, baby."

She smiled, leaning into your touch. You finished securing the braids with a delicate ribbon, tying it neatly before running your hands over her hair one last time.

"There," you said, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. "Now you’re ready."

Avey turned in her seat, reaching up to touch the braids before beaming at you. "Thank you, Mama!"

You brushed your fingers along her cheek. "Always, my love."

And as she hopped off the stool, twirling once in front of the mirror, you swore you saw the same wild spirit in her eyes that Eris carried—bright, untamed, and full of fire.

The door creaked open just as Avey finished her twirl, and a familiar voice filled the room.

"What are you two up to?"

Azer leaned lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, the usual sharp amusement dancing in his eyes. His red hair—so much like Eris’s—was slightly tousled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed or had been roughhousing with someone, which, knowing him, was highly likely.

Avey gasped dramatically, whirling around to face him. "Look! Mama braided my hair!" She grabbed the ends of the delicate twist braids, her little fingers fumbling to show them off.

Azer pushed off the doorframe, sauntering into the room with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly how much space they took up. He stopped just beside Avey, reaching down to flick one of her braids lightly.

"Not bad," he mused, tilting his head. "Mama’s got some skill."

You raised a brow at him, folding your arms. "Are you just figuring that out now?"

Azer grinned. "I mean, I guess I could have better ones, but—"

"You have better ones," you interrupted, rolling your eyes. "I’ve been braiding your hair since you could sit still long enough for me to do it."

Avey giggled, stepping closer to her brother and grabbing the hem of his tunic. "Are you gonna get braids, too?" she asked, looking up at him with wide, mischievous eyes.

Azer scoffed. "No way."

"Why not?"

"Because I have style, little fox," he teased, ruffling her hair and promptly messing up a few strands you’d just secured.

Avey let out an indignant squeal, swatting at his hand. "Azer! Mama just fixed it!"

You sighed, already stepping forward to smooth her hair back into place. "Honestly, do you have to torment her all the time?"

"It’s part of my job," Azer said matter-of-factly, stepping back before Avey could retaliate.

Avey crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. "You should get braids, then I’ll forgive you."

Azer chuckled, but something in his gaze softened as he looked at her—his little sister, his shadow, the only person who could truly bend him to her will. With an exaggerated sigh, he turned his back to you, lowering his head just enough.

"Fine. One. One braid," he said, pointing a warning finger at you. "And if anyone sees, I’m blaming you."

Avey cheered, bouncing on her toes. "Yes!"

You just smirked, already gathering a few strands of his unruly red hair. "I think I’ll make it fancy."

"Not too fancy!" he quickly protested, but the way he stayed still—the way he let you do it at all—said more than words ever could.

You ran your fingers through Azer’s thick, unruly red hair, smoothing out any tangles as he knelt on the floor in front of you, his back to you. He was tense at first, his pride making this harder for him than it needed to be, but as your fingers worked methodically, he relaxed, exhaling slowly.

Avey sat cross-legged beside him, watching with rapt attention, a grin tugging at her lips as if she couldn't believe her big brother had actually given in.

"You know," you murmured, carefully sectioning a small strand at the nape of his neck, "for someone so dramatic about this, you sure have nice hair. You should let me do this more often."

Azer groaned. "Don't push your luck, Mama."

You smirked, weaving the first few strands together. "Oh, don’t worry. Avey will make sure this isn’t the last time."

"I will," Avey confirmed with a firm nod.

Azer sighed, but you could feel the way he was holding back a smile.

With steady hands, you continued braiding, the rhythm of it as familiar as breathing. His hair was soft, silky despite his reckless nature, and it took to the braid easily. You made it neat but not too intricate—just enough that it wouldn’t unravel too quickly, but still subtle enough that he wouldn’t feel like a walking target when the others inevitably noticed.

As you reached the end of the braid, you grabbed a small leather cord from the table beside you and tied it off, securing the strands in place. You let your fingers linger for just a second before sitting back, admiring your work.

"Done," you announced, patting his shoulder.

Avey clapped her hands excitedly. "Let me see!"

Azer reached up, running his fingers over the small braid at the base of his neck. He turned his head slightly, catching your expression—your barely contained amusement, the fondness in your eyes.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, standing up and shaking his head, as if trying to see if the braid would just come undone on its own. When it didn’t, he let out another sigh, but there was something softer in his expression as he turned back to you.

"Happy now?"

Avey grinned. "Very."

And despite himself—despite all his protests—Azer smirked, giving you a look that was so much like Eris’s, full of reluctant amusement and deep-seated affection.

You reached out, fixing the collar of his shirt. "You?" you asked, tilting your head at him.

Azer rolled his eyes. "Don’t push it," he muttered, but the way he nudged Avey’s shoulder—the way he didn’t immediately take the braid out—told you everything you needed to know.

Eris strode into the room, his presence as commanding as ever, though there was a rare ease in his expression. He glanced around, expecting movement, maybe the usual last-minute scrambling before departure. Instead, he found the three of you huddled together, suspiciously still. His sharp amber eyes flickered with confusion as he took in the scene—Azer sitting on the floor, Avey perched beside him, and you kneeling behind your son with your hands suspiciously close to his head.

“What exactly is going on here?” he asked slowly, crossing his arms. His gaze zeroed in on Azer, who immediately tensed, sitting up straighter as if caught doing something scandalous.

Avey, on the other hand, had no such reservations. She beamed up at her father. “Mama braided his hair!” she announced proudly.

Eris’s eyebrows lifted, his gaze flicking down to the small, subtle braid nestled at the nape of Azer’s neck. His lips twitched as he fought a smirk, though the glint of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

Azer groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is not a big deal.”

Eris hummed in mock consideration, tilting his head. “No, I suppose it’s not. But it is rather… unexpected.”

You sat back on your heels, wiping your hands on your skirts. “You say that like I haven’t done this to you before.”

Eris gave you a knowing look, one that sent warmth curling low in your stomach. “Yes, but I married you. Azer here still has his pride to think about.”

Azer scowled. “Are we done? Or are we going to analyse my hair?”

Eris chuckled, finally taking a step forward. “I came to check if everyone was packed, but clearly you’re all too busy playing dress-up.”

“I am packed,” Azer shot back.

Avey, of course, had no such claims. She gasped dramatically, grabbing your arm. “I forgot my stuffed fox!”

Eris sighed, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.” Then, looking back at you, he arched a brow. “And you, my love? Or were you too occupied tormenting our son?”

You smirked. “I’m ready. Just waiting on these two.”

Eris exhaled through his nose, clearly holding back a laugh as he ruffled Azer’s hair—a deliberate move to mess with the carefully woven braid. Azer swatted his hand away with a glare, and Avey giggled.

Eris grinned. “Hurry up, little foxes. We leave soon.”

Azer groaned as Eris left the room, muttering something under his breath about insufferable parents while Avey scrambled to her feet, suddenly remembering all the things she needed to bring.

You stood, brushing off your skirts, watching as your daughter darted around the room in a flurry of energy, grabbing her stuffed fox, a book far too heavy for her to actually read, and a small bundle of miscellaneous trinkets she had deemed essential for the trip.

Azer, still seated on the floor, rubbed a hand over his face before looking up at you. “Do we really have to go?”

You sighed, walking over to him and nudging his shoulder with your foot. “Yes, you really have to go.”

He groaned louder this time, tilting his head back against the edge of the bed. “Nyx and Annavella are so annoying.”

“You say that like you’re not just as bad.”

He scowled at you. “They’re worse.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for his wrist and tugging him up to his feet. “Come on, stop sulking. It won’t be that bad.”

He gave you a flat look. “You do remember that Noelani will be there, right?”

Avey gasped dramatically from the other side of the room. “She likes you!”

Azer looked horrified. “She does not!”

Avey smirked, hugging her stuffed fox. “She does.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Azer threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is actual torture.”

You patted his cheek fondly. “Oh, you’ll survive.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I’d rather not, but he didn’t argue further, which was a miracle in itself.

Eris’s voice echoed down the hall. “Are you three coming or am I leaving you behind?”

Avey gasped again, clutching your arm. “No! Don’t leave me!”

You laughed, hoisting her up onto your hip. “Let’s go before your father actually considers it.”

Azer trudged after you both, muttering complaints all the way down the hall.

-----

The carriage rocked gently as it moved through the Night Court’s mountainous terrain, the familiar scent of crisp night air seeping through the cracks. You could already see the glow of the palace ahead, the elegant structure nestled into the cliffs of Velaris, its towers piercing the dark sky.

Inside the carriage, Avey sat beside you, kicking her feet restlessly against the seat, while Azer slouched on the other side, arms crossed, staring moodily out the window. Eris sat beside him, watching his daughter’s movements with an arched brow.

“Avey,” Eris finally said, his voice calm but firm.

She froze mid-kick, blinking up at him innocently. “Yes, Daddy?”

Eris gave her a pointed look. “What are the rules?”

Avey huffed, tilting her head back dramatically against your shoulder. “Be polite, don’t interrupt, don’t challenge people to fights—”

“Especially not Cassian,” Eris added, rubbing his temple as if already anticipating disaster.

Avey grinned. “But he always accepts!”

Eris sighed. “That is not the point, little fox.”

Avey giggled but quickly straightened her posture when Eris narrowed his eyes at her. “Fine, fine. Be polite, don’t interrupt, no fights, and no climbing on anything.”

“Or anyone,” you added, thinking of the last time you were here when Avey had quite literally scaled Azriel’s leg like a tree.

Avey pouted. “He didn’t mind.”

Eris pinched the bridge of his nose. “Regardless, I minded.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll try to be good.”

Azer snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Avey turned and stuck her tongue out at him.

Eris exhaled sharply. “And you,” he said, looking at Azer now. “I don’t want to hear any complaints about Nyx, Annavella, or Noelani tonight. Understood?”

Azer scowled but grumbled, “Understood.”

You reached over, patting his knee. “Thank you for at least pretending to behave.”

Azer muttered something under his breath, but you chose to ignore it as the carriage slowed, signalling your arrival.

Eris straightened his jacket, casting one last glance at his children. “Be on your best behavior.”

Avey beamed. Azer rolled his eyes. And you—well, you just knew this night was going to be interesting.

The carriage door swung open, revealing a familiar stone courtyard bathed in the soft glow of faelights. The crisp night air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and blooming jasmine.

Avey was the first to scramble forward, but Eris caught her before she could leap out. He shot her a warning look, and she huffed but obediently let him lift her down with practiced ease. Azer stepped out next, landing with a heavy thud, shoving his hands into his pockets. You followed last, smoothing out your attire before taking Eris’s offered hand as he helped you down.

Velaris’s grand palace loomed before you, dark and elegant, the open doors revealing the warm glow of candlelight inside. At the top of the steps, Rhysand and Feyre stood waiting, both dressed in their court’s signature shades of deep midnight and starlight silver.

Feyre’s lips twitched as she looked between your children. “They’ve grown.”

Rhysand smirked slightly, eyeing Azer’s unamused expression. “Some more than others.”

Azer gritted his teeth, clearly already preparing himself for a long night. You nudged his side in warning.

Eris stepped forward, inclining his head slightly in greeting. “Rhysand. Feyre.”

Rhys nodded back, his expression unreadable. “Eris.”

It was a tentative truce between them, one that had taken years to forge. But despite their alliance, an air of tension always remained—a deep-rooted wariness that neither High Lord would ever fully let go of.

Feyre, ever the diplomat, smiled at you warmly. “It’s good to finally host you properly.”

You returned her smile. “Likewise.”

Before anything else could be said, a flurry of movement caught everyone’s attention as Nyx and Annavella appeared, walking down the steps toward you.

Nyx, now twenty-one, moved with an easy confidence that he’d inherited from his father, his cobalt siphons gleaming against his black leathers. Beside him, Annavella, the same age as Azer, was dressed in a flowing gown of deep violet, her golden-brown curls cascading down her back.

Nyx’s lips curled into a smirk as he clapped Azer on the shoulder. “Miss me?”

Azer gave him a deadpan look. “Like a hole in the head.”

Annavella rolled her eyes. “And yet you never change.”

Before Azer could retort, another voice cut in.

“You made it.”

Cassian’s deep, amused voice carried across the courtyard as he and Nesta descended the steps. Azriel followed a few paces behind them, his shadows curling slightly in the cool air.

Avey’s face lit up, and before Eris could stop her, she bolted straight for Cassian.

“Cassian!”

Cassian barely had time to brace himself before Avey launched into his arms. He caught her effortlessly, laughing. “There’s my favorite little Vanserra.”

Eris sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

Cassian grinned unapologetically, ruffling Avey’s hair. “Come on, Eris, don’t act like she doesn’t get it from you.”

Eris muttered something under his breath, but Avey just giggled, clinging to Cassian like a koala.

Nesta crossed her arms, eyeing her mate. “Put her down before she starts thinking she can get away with anything.”

Cassian smirked. “Oh, but she can.”

Eris looked like he was deeply regretting every life choice that had led him here.

Meanwhile, Azriel’s shadows curled toward Avey, brushing against her arms. She gasped, twisting to look at them. “Hello again!”

Azriel’s lips twitched slightly. “You remember them?”

Avey nodded eagerly. “They’re my friends.”

Azer groaned, rubbing his temples. “Mother above, this is going to be exhausting.”

You just smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “Welcome to diplomacy, my dear.”

A rush of footsteps echoed through the courtyard as two more figures appeared at the top of the stairs—Andros and Evander, Cassian and Nesta’s sons.

Andros, the older of the two at nineteen, had the same broad build as his father, his wings tucked neatly behind him. His dark hair was tousled, as if he had just flown in from training, and his golden-brown eyes gleamed with mischief. He had inherited Nesta’s sharp features but wore Cassian’s signature cocky grin.

Evander, only a year younger, had a slightly leaner build but carried himself with the same easy confidence. His hazel eyes flicked over the gathered group, his mouth twitching as he took in Azer’s unamused expression.

“Well, well,” Andros drawled as he descended the steps, wings flaring slightly. “Look what the wind dragged in.”

Azer groaned, already regretting everything about this visit. “Is it too late to turn around and leave?”

Evander smirked, clapping a hand on Azer’s shoulder. “Afraid so. You’re stuck with us now.”

Avey, still in Cassian’s arms, wriggled excitedly. “Andros! Evander!”

Cassian huffed as she all but launched herself at Andros. He caught her easily, spinning her around before setting her down with a dramatic bow. “Princess Avey, looking as ferocious as ever.”

Avey puffed up proudly. “I am ferocious.”

Evander ruffled her hair. “You’re definitely something.”

Eris sighed, crossing his arms. “This is exactly why I warned her about manners.”

Andros grinned. “She has excellent manners. Just… selective use of them.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “That’s the problem.”

Azer, meanwhile, had taken a half-step away, clearly prepared to avoid whatever chaos his sister and the two Illyrian males were about to cause. But Andros, never one to let an opportunity pass, draped an arm around Azer’s shoulders.

“You know, I think I missed you, Vanserra.”

Azer shot him a deadpan look. “That’s unfortunate for you.”

Evander laughed. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Azriel, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, his shadows curling lazily around him. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that by the end of the night.”

Azer muttered under his breath, “Cauldron, save me.”

The group made their way through the grand halls of the Night Court’s palace, footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. The towering ceilings, carved with intricate constellations, seemed to glow under the soft faelights lining the walls. Despite Azer’s reluctance about this visit, even he had to admit—the place had style.

Rhysand led the way, walking with that effortless grace that spoke of his power. “Your rooms have been prepared in the guest wing,” he said smoothly, glancing over his shoulder at them. “I assume you’ll find them comfortable.”

Eris, walking beside you with Avey’s small hand in his, gave a slow nod. “We’ll see.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it held that natural edge, that careful reservation he always carried outside of Autumn.

Avey, meanwhile, looked like she wanted to touch everything. She twisted in Eris’s grip, her wide amber eyes darting to the draped tapestries, the sparkling chandeliers, the darkened garden views beyond the windows. Azer nudged her as they walked, whispering, “If you break something, I’m not covering for you.”

Avey just grinned, whispering back, “You always cover for me.”

Rhysand led them up a spiraling staircase, gesturing down a long hallway. “Azer, your room is here,” he said, opening a door to a spacious chamber with deep sapphire accents and a view of the mountains. A large bed sat in the centre, draped in plush, midnight-blue blankets, and a small seating area was arranged near a balcony.

Azer glanced around, nodding slightly. Not bad.

Before he could step inside, Avey tugged on his sleeve. “Where’s mine?”

Rhys smirked, leading them a few doors down to another room. This one was lighter—rich purples and silvers, a few plush pillows scattered on the bed. Avey gasped and immediately ran inside, flopping onto the bed like she was testing its bounce.

“It’s so soft!” she exclaimed.

Eris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Avey.”

She grinned up at him. “What? You said not to break anything. I’m not breaking anything.”

Rhysand chuckled, turning to you and Eris. “And yours is just ahead.”

He led you both to a grand chamber at the end of the hall. It was elegant but understated, done in deep, romantic hues. A large fireplace flickered in the corner, the carved wood furniture polished to perfection. The balcony doors were slightly ajar, allowing a cool breeze to drift inside.

Rhysand gestured inside with an amused smile. “If anything is not to your liking, feel free to send a complaint directly to my mate. I won’t listen, but Feyre is far more accommodating.”

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh. “Noted.”

Eris simply exhaled through his nose, stepping inside and surveying the room. “It’ll do.”

Rhysand placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Such high praise, Vanserra.”

Eris didn’t dignify him with a response, instead turning toward you as Avey’s delighted giggles echoed down the hall. “Do you think she’ll last ten minutes before getting into trouble?”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Five.”

Azer, still lingering in the doorway of his room, called, “Two. At best.”

It was less than two minutes before a loud crash echoed down the hallway.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply before turning toward Eris, who already looked exhausted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath, while Rhysand just smirked.

“Well,” Azer sighed, leaning casually against his doorway, “that didn’t take long.”

Eris shot him a warning look before pushing past you, striding down the hall toward the sound of what was probably destruction. You followed quickly, heart already sinking as you turned the corner and saw Avey standing in the middle of her room—innocently—while a large, ornate vase lay shattered at her feet.

Avey, to her credit, at least looked a little guilty. “It was an accident,” she said quickly, hands clasped behind her back.

Rhysand, standing beside you, let out a low chuckle. “That,” he murmured, “was an expensive accident.”

Azer sighed dramatically. “Told you.”

Eris’s jaw tightened as he crossed his arms. “Aveline.” His voice was low, measured.

The use of her full name made Avey straighten. “I didn’t mean to!” she protested. “I was just—spinning, and then I tripped, and then the table wobbled, and then boom.” She spread her arms for effect.

Cassian, who had wandered in with Nesta and Azriel behind him, snorted. “Gotta say, that sounds a lot like how Nyx used to be at that age.”

“I never broke anything that expensive,” Nyx muttered from the doorway, arms crossed as he took in the damage.

Nesta let out a long sigh before turning toward you. “Would you like some wine?”

Eris cut in before you could answer. “No. She’d like an explanation from our daughter about why she can’t stand still for one minute without causing a scene.”

Avey, still standing there with wide, innocent eyes, tilted her head. “Because I’m seven?”

Silence.

Azriel made a choked sound that might have been a laugh before turning away, shoulders shaking slightly.

Eris ran a hand down his face. You, on the other hand, took a long breath and crouched down to Avey’s level. “Sweetheart,” you said gently, “this isn’t our home. We have to be respectful of other people’s things, okay?”

Avey shuffled her feet. “I was being respectful. The vase got in my way.”

Nesta exhaled through her nose. “Oh, I like her.”

Rhysand, ever the amused host, simply waved a hand. The shattered pieces of the vase lifted from the ground, reforming smoothly before settling back onto the table, completely whole. He smirked down at Avey. “Try not to destroy my house before dinner, little Vanserra.”

Avey beamed. “No promises.”

Eris let out a slow, measured breath. “We are never visiting again.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples before glancing at Rhysand. “We’ll cover the cost,” you said, exasperated. “And anything else she manages to break before we leave.”

Rhysand chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Consider it a gift.”

You arched a brow. “A gift?”

He smirked, tilting his head toward Avey, who was now whispering something to Evander, her wide grin telling you she was already plotting her next grand adventure. “Yes. A gift for the sheer entertainment she’s about to provide.”

Eris let out a long breath beside you. “I don’t find it very entertaining.”

Cassian clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “That’s because you’re the poor bastard raising her.”

Avey perked up at that, turning toward her father. “Poor?” She gasped dramatically. “Are we poor now?”

Azer, from his place against the doorway, howled with laughter. “No, but you might be by the time we leave.”

Eris shot him a sharp look, but before he could speak, Avey was already looking up at you, big-eyed and curious. “Mama, if we’re poor, does that mean I can’t get a pet?”

You groaned. Rhysand laughed. Azriel, standing in the corner, only shook his head.

“I’ll set up a damages account,” you muttered, half to yourself.

Eris pinched the bridge of his nose. “Make it a large one.”

Rhysand, still grinning, waved a lazy hand. “Oh, don’t bother. I’ll just send you the bill when you leave.”

Eris shot him a deadpan look. “How generous.”

Rhys chuckled, but before he could retort, Avey tugged at your sleeve. “Mama,” she whispered conspiratorially, “if we are poor, maybe Uncle Lucien will buy me a pet instead.”

Azer, barely holding in his laughter, leaned down. “Go ask him. See what he says.”

Eris pointed a warning finger at him. “You encourage her one more time, and I’ll—”

“What?” Azer challenged, smirking. “Throw me in the lake? Again?”

Avey gasped. “You threw him in the lake?”

Eris exhaled, long and slow. “I’m going to throw myself in the lake.”

Cassian, grinning, slung an arm over Eris’s shoulder. “If you do, at least make it entertaining for us.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Alright, enough.” She glanced down at Avey, then at you. “Dinner’s in an hour. Maybe keep this one occupied until then.”

You glanced at Avey, who beamed innocently up at you, hands clasped behind her back.

Occupied. Right.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Come on, troublemaker.” You took her hand, guiding her down the hall toward your rooms.

As you walked away, Azer called after you, voice full of laughter. “Don’t forget to set aside extra for the damages bill!”

You didn’t look back, but you did send a sharp glare over your shoulder. He only grinned.

You led Avey through the dimly lit hallways of the Night Court’s palace, your hand wrapped gently around her much smaller one. The echoes of chatter and laughter from the others faded behind you as you walked toward the guest wing.

Avey’s steps were light, nearly bouncing with each one, her seven-year-old energy never seeming to wane. She swung your hand back and forth, humming under her breath, her mind clearly still buzzing with whatever mischief she was planning next.

When you finally reached your room, you pushed open the heavy wooden door and guided her inside. The Night Court’s guest rooms were just as grand as you expected—deep purples and blues woven into the tapestries, the furniture dark and rich with elegant carvings. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering golden light against the walls.

Avey plopped herself onto the edge of the large bed without hesitation, kicking her feet back and forth as she looked around. “It’s pretty,” she admitted, tilting her head. “But our home is better.”

You smiled softly, sitting beside her. “Of course it is. Your father made sure of that.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “I still don’t get why we have to stay here so long.”

You brushed a loose curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s important. These alliances—”

“—are important for the court. I know.” She sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “But it’s boring.”

You laughed, smoothing a hand over her wild red hair. “You sound just like your brother.”

Avey perked up, her sharp little fox-like grin appearing. “Maybe Azer and I should ditch again.”

You gave her a look. “Absolutely not.”

She giggled, rolling onto her stomach and propping her chin on her hands. “Fine. What can we do then?”

You tapped a finger against her nose. “Well, for starters, I can fix your hair. It’s a mess.”

She gasped, swatting your hand away with an exaggerated scowl. “It is not!”

You simply arched a brow, reaching over to pluck a leaf from her curls. Her eyes widened slightly before she let out a sheepish giggle.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

You shook your head with a smile and patted your lap. “Come here, little fox.”

With a dramatic sigh, she scrambled up and settled herself in front of you, small and warm against your legs. As you reached for her hair, she leaned her head back to look up at you, grinning.

“Can you make it fancy?”

You smirked, already separating the strands. “Of course.”

You gently combed your fingers through Avey’s wild curls, smoothing them as best you could before you began weaving the strands into a proper braid. The firelight cast a soft glow over the room, warming the deep blues and purples around you.

“Alright,” you murmured, sectioning her hair with practiced ease. “But you have to sit still for this, Avey. No squirming.”

She sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, her little hands settling on her lap. For a few moments, she stayed perfectly still—until, of course, she didn’t.

Her foot started bouncing first, tapping lightly against the floor. Then she wiggled her shoulders, twisting slightly to look up at you. “How long is this going to take?”

You pressed a hand to her shoulder, turning her forward again. “It takes as long as you let me work.”

She groaned, but you felt her settle again, at least for a moment. As you began braiding, she suddenly whispered, “I am being calm.”

You snorted softly, fingers continuing their steady work. “Avey, you have not been calm a day in your life.”

She gasped, twisting again to look at you. “I have too!”

You lifted an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? When?”

She blinked, mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of an answer. “Um—yesterday.”

You tugged lightly at her braid, a teasing correction. “Yesterday, you and Azer stole one of your father’s hounds and tried to race it through the halls.”

Avey giggled, completely unrepentant. “Okay, fine. The day before yesterday.”

“The day before yesterday, you convinced a servant that the kitchens were on fire so you could sneak extra pastries.”

She burst into laughter, tipping forward slightly. “Oh yeah! That was a good one.”

You shook your head, exasperated but smiling. “You see my point?”

She huffed, dramatic as ever. “Fine. Maybe I don’t like sitting still.”

“I noticed,” you teased, giving her braid a final twist. “But you can learn. And tonight, I need you to at least try to be patient.”

Avey groaned, slumping slightly. “I hate patience.”

You chuckled, tying off the braid and running your fingers over the woven strands. “I know, little fox. But I also know you can do it.”

She turned slightly, peering up at you with bright, mischievous eyes. “Maybe if I try really hard…you’ll let me ditch again later?”

You flicked her ear, making her squeak. “Absolutely not.”

You turned Avey gently by the shoulders so she was facing you, her bright, mischievous eyes still sparkling with the remnants of her laughter. But you gave her a look—a serious one—and the smile on her face dimmed just a little.

“Avey,” you started, smoothing your hands over the tops of her braids, “I mean it this time. You really have to behave tonight.”

She groaned dramatically, tilting her head back. “Ugh, why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because we know you,” you said simply, tapping a finger against her nose. “You and Azer are two sides of the same coin, and if I leave you to your own devices, I know you’ll get into trouble.”

Her lips pursed in a pout, arms crossing over her chest. “That’s not true. Azer gets into way more trouble than me.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “You lit your curtains on fire last month because you wanted to ‘see what would happen.’”

She flinched, eyes darting away. “That…that was an experiment.”

“Avey,” you said, voice patient but firm. “This isn’t just any visit. This is an important meeting between courts, and I need you to try to be calm and well-mannered. I know it’s hard for you to sit still, but you have to be polite.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back slightly. “But it’s so boring.”

You held back a smile, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “It doesn’t have to be. You’ll have Nyx and Annavella to keep you company. Even Andros and Evander will be there.”

Her face scrunched up. “Evander is mean.”

“He is not mean, he just likes teasing you because you react.”

She huffed, looking away. “Maybe.”

You tilted her chin back toward you, waiting until she met your gaze again. “Avey. I need your word. No tricks, no sneaking off, no setting things on fire.”

She blinked at you, silent for a long moment, before muttering under her breath, “That last one is very specific.”

“Because I know you,” you repeated, trying not to laugh.

She sighed again, but after a moment, she straightened her spine and looked you in the eye. “Fine. I promise.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because if you break that promise, your father will be the one dealing with you.”

Avey froze, eyes going slightly wide. “... You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

She swallowed, then nodded vigorously. “Okay. No sneaking. No tricks. No fire.”

“Good girl,” you murmured, smoothing down her dress one last time.

-----

Rhysand’s office was dimly lit, the warm glow from the lanterns casting flickering shadows across the mahogany desk and the deep violet curtains that framed the massive windows. Outside, the Night Court’s sky was inky black, stars glimmering like shattered diamonds, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and crackling firewood.

Cassian leaned back in one of the plush armchairs, his boot propped up on the low table between them, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “So,” he drawled, eyes flicking toward Eris with a smirk, “how long until one of our kids tries to kill each other?”

Azriel, standing near the window, gave a soft huff of amusement but said nothing, simply taking a slow sip of his drink. His shadows curled lazily around his shoulders, as if even they were relaxed in the presence of old friends.

Rhysand, perched behind his desk, arched a brow at Eris, who was sitting opposite Cassian, fingers tapping against his glass in thought. “Azer and Annavella in the same house?” Rhys mused, his violet eyes gleaming. “I give it two days before something catches fire.”

Eris scoffed, lifting his drink to his lips. “If we’re being honest, I’m more worried about Avey.” He took a long sip before lowering the glass. “She’s seven, but she’s clever—and she’s the one Azer indulges the most.”

Cassian snorted. “Sounds familiar.” He shot a glance at Azriel, whose shadows rustled in what could only be amusement.

Azriel finally spoke, voice quiet but edged with dry humor. “Sounds like she gets it from you.”

Eris smirked, swirling his whiskey. “That girl was born scheming. I blame her mother.”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned forward to pour himself another drink. “Speaking of, how is your mate handling all this? I imagine she’s already trying to keep Azer from fighting anyone before the night is over.”

Eris exhaled sharply through his nose. “She’s trying, but Azer…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He has my temper. And your son has yours.”

Rhys’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was a knowing glint in his gaze. “He does. Which means we’re in for quite the next few days.”

Cassian clinked his glass against Azriel’s, grinning. “We should place bets.”

Azriel shot him a look, but there was amusement there, lurking beneath the usual shadows.

Eris simply groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. “If my son sets something on fire, I am not taking responsibility.”

Rhysand only laughed, lifting his drink. “We’ll see about that.”

BUT i think i might make this a series of the events of their kids growing up to be leaders....

#eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #autumn court #eris fanfic #eris imagine #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #acotar x reader #acotar #acotar x you #a court of thorns and roses #eris vandaddy #eris fic #acotar fics

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novaursa · 8 months ago

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Cregan Stark Masterlist

main list

- NSFW Alphabet - explicit 18+

- The Silent Game - When your family took the side of King Aegon II, the usurper, you felt the need to support the rightful Queen and your husband, the Warden of the North. No matter the cost. - mature 16+

- The Weight of Ice - You try to lift Cregan’s ancestral greatsword which he wields with ease. It doesn't go as planned. - mild 13+

- The Wall - Cregan takes you to see the Wall, and Silverwing comes with you. - mild 13+

- The Wolf's Desire - After the Dance, Cregan took position as the Hand of the King until the realm under your younger brother’s rule is stabilized. But Cregan's thoughts today are far from establishing order and justice to the capital. - explicit 18+

- Fox in Wolves Den - You were instructed by Larys Strong to spy the northerners, to thin their ranks. But today you faced the Warden of the North himself. - mature 16+

- Winterfell's Warmth - Cregan takes you to be his wife, a fire to his ice. And it's not long until smallfolk notice just how much Lord Stark is devoted to his Targaryen bride. - mature 16+

- Daisy - Heavy with your and Cregan’s first child, you get suspicious when your husband starts to sneak out to see Daisy. - mild 13+

- The Cold Embrace (1/2) - When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to the Warden of the North as an alliance offering, your world crashed. Because you knew one thing: dragons die in the North - and not even honorable Lord Stark could change that fact. - mature 16+

- The Cold Embrace (2/2) - As time passes, snow begins to melt. - explicit 18+

- Valyrian Bride - When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon. - mild 13+

- Valyrian Bride (Continuation) - mild 13+

- Valyrian Bride (Final Chapter) - mature 16+

- Valyrian Bride (dragon eggs) - Cregan was expecting a quiet day. But nothing is ever truly quiet with his dragon-blooded children. - mild 13+

- Valyrian Bride (dragon's bath) - You invite Cregan to join you in a warm bath. - mature 16+

- Valyrian Bride (nameday) - Cregan notices his wife and children doing strange (well, stranger than usual) things for him throughout the day. - mild 13+

- Winter's Solace - Specters of the past came back today once more to hunt you, but Cregan holds them back. - mature 16+

- The Cycle - Cregan leaves with his duty to the Wall and you are left alone with a choice Larys Strong brings. - explicit 18+

- The Cycle (one for the price of two) - alternative scenario - Explicit 18+

- The Cycle (justice) - Cregan delivers justice for your son and Grey Ghost. - explicit 18+

- The Frozen Throne - You and Cregan win the Dance. - mature 16+

- The Gullet's Price - The day you received the news about the death of your brother, another life was lost. - explicit 18+

- Dreams of Fire - You brought gentleness to the harshness of the North, and Cregan finds himself warmed by your presence. - explicit 18+

- The North's Fiercest Catch - You challenge Cregan to hunt down a dragon. - mature 16+

- Fire meets Ice - A short story about how you challenged Cregan to bring more fire into your bedchamber. - mature 16+

- Winter's Eve - A short story for Christmas Eve. - mild 13+

Works (velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark) below are listed in chronological order:

- The Dragon and The Wolf - Rhaenyra sends her daughter instead of her son to fly North. You. - mature 16+

- A Union of Ice and Fire - After your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, approves of the marriage between you and Cregan Stark, you marry under watchful eyes of gods of old. And one week later, a raven arrives carrying dark news. - explicit 18+

- The North Remembers - You return to Dragonstone, where you mourn with your family as you receive the message from Cregan. - explicit 18+

- The Heir of Ice and Ash - A little less than a year into your marriage with Cregan, you give birth to your first child. - mature 16+

- Fires That Never Freeze - You receive the news about Rhaenys' death at Rook's Rest, before Jace arrives as he secures the Twins. - explicit 18+

- The Wolf's Flame - When you take your son flying, Cregan keeps fires warm for your return. - mature 16+

- Hour of the Wolf - Cregan keeps his promise to you, and delivers Northern justice to the South. - mature 16+

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

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batsovergotham · 5 days ago

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CHAPTER 1 PART 1

you agreed to spar and now you’ve basically dry humped in front of the royal guard

pairing - emperor!mark grayson x reader

summary - you were supposed to form an alliance. instead you slept with him three days in and now you have no idea what’s happening.

content notice: 18+. dry humping, accidental voyeurism.

a/n: this chapter is mostly expository, other chapters will be a lot more nasty ;)

This is a kind of quiet you’ve never experienced before.

It's not the type that drapes over the palace gardens in the early morning, when the fountains are quiet and the mist hugs the marble balustrades. It's not the quiet reverence of the Temple of Light when everyone’s deep in prayer at noon. It's like the quiet before the storm on a battlefield, just waiting for that first scream to break the silence. No, this is a different thing altogether. Something from the past. Feeling hungrier. The kind of silence that seeps into your bones and makes you forget what warmth feels like.

This is the silence of space.

And you hate it.

Not because it frightens you, fear isn’t what twists in your chest. You’ve stared down warlords, led charges into enemy territory, stood alone with your sword drawn against odds that made the palace scribes pray behind their hands. But this… this is different. This is distance. From your people. From everything you’ve ever known. From the world that made you who you are.

Swift Wind flies steady beneath you, his wings catching solar wind like sails. You can feel his frustration in the way his muscles tighten, the way he occasionally tosses his head even though you haven’t tugged the reins once. He doesn’t like this any more than you do. There’s nothing for him out here. No world to gallop across. No wind to play with his mane. No scents on the air. Just artificial gravity and stars that don’t sing.

You shift in your saddle and reach down, smoothing a hand over his shoulder. “Just a little longer,” you murmur. Your voice sounds strange in your throat. Too small. Like someone else is speaking.

You’re the Princess of Eternia. Second-born heir. Trained in all the rites, every weapon, every form of diplomacy and war known to your people. You were leading strategy meetings before your voice had even settled into its adult register. When you speak, kingdoms listen. When you fight, armies follow. You’ve bled for your planet. For your family. For the idea of peace your ancestors built temples to protect.

And yet right now, you feel like a single, ridiculous dot against the backdrop of an empire that has swallowed entire civilizations.

The Viltrumite flagship looms ahead now, just a silhouette at first, but it's growing larger. Closer. The shape of it is aggressive even at a distance. Smooth, sharp lines. No unnecessary parts. No aesthetic flourishes. No welcome. It doesn’t even look like it was made by people. More like it was forged in the belly of some god of order. Everything about it feels foreign. Antiseptic. Unfeeling.

Your jaw tightens. Not in fear. Not even in anger. But in resistance.

They asked for a diplomatic envoy. They’ll get one. But they’ll also get the weight of Eternia’s legacy riding straight into their cold, silent kingdom. Not because you expect to intimidate them. You’re not that naive. But because you refuse to arrive looking like a guest. You are not here to be inspected like merchandise or coddled like some glass heir.

You are here to see the Emperor. To look into the eyes of the man who rebuilt a bloodstained empire and decide for yourself what kind of ruler he really is.

Mark Grayson.

Even his name sounds strange in your mouth. Part-Human. Earthborn. Raised among people who live in wood houses and pave their streets with black tar. A world that thinks flying is for machines and still uses combustion for transport. And yet he rose from that place, half-Viltrumite, half-Human, and tore Thragg off his throne. Some say it was vengeance. Others say it was mercy.

You don’t know yet what you believe.

But you know this. You’ve met monsters before. And you’ve met men who wear crowns like excuses. You’ll know which one he is the moment you stand in the same room.

You’re getting close enough now that the ship's gravity starts tugging at Swift Wind’s path. You let it. The transition is smooth, mechanical, efficient. Another reminder that nothing here is natural. Everything about the Viltrumite Empire is sharp and deliberate. Their war was long. Brutal. You remember hearing about it even in the palace, whispers carried by offworld traders, fragments of footage buried in restricted archives. Eternia never took a side. Your world remained neutral, untouched. But you remember the images of the blood. Of planets reduced to dust. Of what a single Viltrumite soldier could do when given orders.

And now you’re flying toward the man who commands them.

You reach down to touch the flower on your wrist. Gold, red, and white, your family’s colors. Your mother tied it for you in the royal chamber, her fingers steady even as her voice trembled. She didn’t cry. She never does. But when she kissed your brow and whispered, “Be more than what they expect,” you felt her heartbeat echo in yours.

Your father had fewer words. Just a long look, a soldier’s nod, and the placement of his hand over your heart. “You speak for all of us now.”

No pressure, of course.

You square your shoulders and straighten your posture. You always do this before a new campaign or royal engagement, center yourself physically before your thoughts can spiral. You were taught to control your breath before your words. Stillness before action. Even now, that training holds. Your body moves into perfect form, as if it remembers the weight of your crown even when you’re not wearing it.

The ship’s docking bay begins to open.

A wide, glowing mouth spilling warm, artificial light into the dark. You narrow your eyes. You half-expect a formal reception. A landing platform. Trumpets, perhaps, or at least a guard waiting at attention. But the space beyond the gate is empty. No fanfare. No visible soldiers. No welcome at all.

You’re not sure if that’s meant as a power play or a sign of trust.

You adjust your grip on the reins.

This isn’t how Eternia would treat a foreign royal. But then again, the Viltrumites don’t operate by the same customs. You were briefed on that. Their culture is built on strength, but not always honor. They don’t value pageantry. They value results. That much, at least, you can understand.

Swift Wind slows his wings as you approach the entrance. His breathing is calm but alert. You lean forward slightly and pat his side, soft, but firm.

“No matter what happens,” you say, mostly to yourself, “we don’t bow first.”

You ease him toward the gate, eyes locked ahead. Whatever waits inside, whether it’s Mark Grayson himself, or just a long hall of silver metal and cool stares, you’ll walk into it standing tall.

Because you’re not just here to observe.

You are the Princess of Eternia. Defender of your world. Blade and voice and crown all in one. And the stars may not know your name yet, but by the time you leave this ship… they will.

The air inside the Viltrumite docking bay is thin and cold.

Not cold like the high Eternian cliffs in winter, where the snow bites and the wind howls and you can feel your blood pumping just to keep your fingers alive. No, this is colder in the absence of things. No birds. No scent of stone or pine. No breath of weather. Just the kind of temperature that machines choose, precise, efficient, untouched by anything natural.

Your heels hit the polished metal floor with a quiet finality as you dismount, the echo of your landing trailing out into the vast, cavernous space ahead of you. Swift Wind lands beside you in perfect unison, his wings folding inward with grace that stills the air around you. His hooves clink against the floor as he steps closer, ears flicking. He’s tense but obedient. Alert, but not alarmed. You feel that same tension wound tight in your own spine.

You stand tall. Because that’s what you were raised to do.

Your warrior dress gleams under the artificial light, white and gold, high-belted at the waist, ceremonial but fully functional. It’s a fusion of tradition and practicality, armor that still allows movement, dignity that doesn’t sacrifice readiness. Your sword hangs at your hip, resting easy against your side, the crystal at its hilt catching the sterile light like a living thing. You don’t touch it, not yet. But its weight reminds you who you are.

You are the Princess of Eternia. And this place doesn’t feel like it was made for someone like you.

Everything around you is clean to the point of emptiness. The walls are seamless metal, the light is without warmth, and the hangar doesn’t so much as stir when you arrive. No escort. No horns. No banners bearing your crest. No music to announce your entrance or mark your status. Just silence. Cool, white silence.

You hold your ground anyway.

Then the doors open.

A thin seam in the wall parts with a whisper, and two figures step through. Uniformed. Straight-backed. Viltrumite, by the look of them. One stays just behind the other, likely a junior officer. The one who approaches you first is tall, black-haired, his face a map of long years and longer battles. His gait is unhurried but sharp. Efficient. His presence reminds you of your brother’s war advisors, the ones who spoke rarely but whose words always carried weight.

He stops a respectful distance away. And bows. It’s a small bow, but a bow nonetheless.

“Princess of Eternia,” he says, voice formal, clear. “On behalf of the Viltrumite Empire, welcome. It is an honor to receive a warrior of your caliber aboard the Emperor’s flagship.”

You blink, just once. Not because you're surprised by the civility, but because you recognize the name before he gives it.

General Kregg.

The man who once led the siege on the Syndicate moons. The one they said lost three ribs and his right eye defending the armistice colony during the final battle against the dissidents. You studied him in your briefing. You hadn’t expected him to be the one greeting you personally.

You nod, regal and practiced. “General.”

He straightens. His gaze flicks over you, swift, professional, measuring without condescension. His eyes linger for the briefest second on your sword, then on Swift Wind’s wings. But he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t look surprised. Only intrigued.

“We’ve prepared quarters for your steed,” he says, gesturing slightly to the second officer, who nods and moves forward with a datapad in hand. “Fully gravity-regulated and climate-controlled. No restraints unless you request them. You’re welcome to accompany him, of course, or proceed to your suite.”

You glance at Swift Wind. He’s still watching. Still calm.

“He doesn’t do well in cages,” you say carefully, your voice low.

Kregg doesn’t flinch. “Nor do we, Princess.”

The smallest corner of your mouth twitches. They know how to play the game.

“You may stable him yourself,” he adds, stepping aside. “Or leave him in our care. The choice is yours.”

“I’ll handle it,” you say. “He responds to me.”

Kregg nods once. “As you wish.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then his tone shifts, still formal, but with a note of curiosity now, less rehearsed. “We’ve heard stories of you. Not just of your battles, but of the sword you carry. The Sword of Protection, forged in Castle Grayskull. Passed down only between you and your sibling.”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t like talking about the sword unless you have to. People always assume it’s symbolic. Decorative. They don’t understand the cost of it. The weight of carrying more than just your own strength.

“It’s not passed down,” you say finally. “It’s earned.”

Kregg inclines his head. “Then it belongs exactly where it is.”

He steps aside fully now, motioning toward the corridor behind him. “Once your companion is secured, I will escort you to your chambers. The Emperor is currently in council. He will receive you when his schedule allows.”

You nod once. “Understood.”

You glance down the hall. Smooth metal. No guards. No flourishes. The whole place feels like it was built by someone who values silence over grandeur.

As you begin to lead Swift Wind forward, your armor softly clinking with each step, you feel Kregg’s gaze still on you. Not hostile. Not even skeptical.

Just… interested.

“Is this your first time off-world, Princess?” he asks, keeping pace beside you.

You hesitate.

“Yes.”

He nods again, thoughtful. “You carry it well.”

You glance at him. “Carry what?”

“Being a stranger.”

You say nothing. But the words stay with you. Longer than you’d like.

General Kregg walks a half-step ahead of you, precise and silent, his boots clicking evenly against the metallic floor. The corridor stretches ahead in a gleaming line of polished steel and white-blue lights, the kind of sterile design you’ve only ever seen in offworld intelligence briefings. No guards line the halls. No banners hang from the ceilings. Every surface is stripped of ornament, everything here serves a function.

Including you.

Swift Wind’s hoofbeats echo softly beside you as he follows, wings folded neatly against his sides. He doesn’t like the ship. You can feel it in the tightness of his posture, the way he keeps glancing toward the sealed walls as if expecting them to close in. But he stays close, calm only because you are. Loyal beyond reason, even in a place that wasn’t made for him.

Kregg doesn’t say much as you walk. But when he does speak, his voice is courteous, never casual. “The Emperor instructed that your quarters be suited to your station,” he says, glancing over his shoulder without slowing. “If anything is lacking, it will be corrected.”

You nod once. “Thank you, General.”

It still feels strange to say it aloud. That you are here, in the heart of the Viltrumite Empire. Speaking calmly with the commander of what was once its most brutal arm. Stranger still, that they’ve been… respectful.

Kregg stops at a wide set of double doors. They hiss open soundlessly, revealing a suite that, though minimalist, is spacious. A private chamber with a soft-glow light source, a bed more than large enough to stretch out in full armor, a curved viewport overlooking the stars, and a side chamber with cleansing facilities. No guards at the door. No locked panels. For a place built by conquerors, the trust is unexpected.

Kregg turns to you. “Your steed will be taken to the observation stables. Our handlers were given your specifications. If you prefer to check them yourself–”

“I do.”

He nods once, unsurprised. “This way.”

You follow him through a secondary corridor and down a short ramp that curves inward like the spine of some massive creature. The air smells faintly sharper here, ionized. Cooler. You pass several corridors where Viltrumite soldiers pause to look at you, some subtly, others more openly, eyes tracking the sword at your side or the gleam of the Eternian crest stitched over your heart.

You say nothing. Neither does Kregg.

Finally, you reach a stable unlike any you’ve seen. It’s not a barn, not an open-air structure, but a tall, wide chamber with simulated atmospheric controls. A slice of programmed sky curves overhead, a soft glow simulating dusk. The ground is padded but solid, treated with pressure-sensitive plating. Not dirt, but closer to Earth than the rest of the ship. It's the closest thing to nature you're likely to find in the Empire.

Swift Wind snorts, his hooves clinking once on the floor as he steps into the open enclosure. He lifts his wings slightly, testing the air. Then he looks at you.

You rest your hand on his shoulder, running your fingers once through the side of his mane. “It’s not perfect,” you murmur. “But it’ll do for now.”

He lowers his head briefly, pressing his forehead to yours. You hold still, breathing in the faint, warm scent of him. Of home. When you pull away, Kregg is watching. Not unkindly. Not coldly, either. Just… measured.

“He’ll be guarded, not confined,” he says. “If anyone attempts to interfere with him, they will be removed.”

You nod. “He’ll cooperate.”

Kregg inclines his head. “Then I’ll take you back to your chambers.”

The walk back is shorter. Or maybe it just feels that way now that Swift Wind is settled.

When the doors to your suite close behind you at last, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding since you boarded the ship. Not relief. Not exactly. Just the first breath you’ve taken for yourself in hours.

You unfasten your armor slowly. First the winged crown, then the bracers. The golden breastplate comes last, heavy in your arms as you set it down on the bench beside the bed. Piece by piece, you strip away the ceremonial weight, until you’re left in the simple white battle-dress beneath, a high-cut tunic hemmed in gold, light but tailored, with the golden crest still gleaming faintly over your chest. Your red cape brushes against the backs of your legs.

No one’s here to see you like this. No one but the stars.

You step toward the viewport, bare feet soft against the cold floor. The stars beyond the glass are endless. Quiet. Farther away from Eternia than you’ve ever been.

You rest your palm against the pane and let your eyes trace the constellations. You miss your mountains. The weight of soil. The wind. But you’re not here to long for home.

You’re here for answers. For peace, if it’s real. For a ruler you’ve never met but were sent to judge with your own eyes.

Emperor Mark Grayson.

You wonder if he’ll see you as a diplomat or a threat. A relic or a warrior.

Maybe both.

Kregg waits until you’re in the hall again before speaking. “I’ve just been informed,” he says, glancing at the small communicator clipped to his belt, “that the Emperor has concluded his meeting.”

You pause. Just slightly. A shift in breath.

Your heart kicks once, but your expression doesn’t change. “And?”

Kregg tilts his head, voice precise. “He is prepared to receive you now. If you wish.”

You hesitate, if only for a breath. You’ve barely had time to wash off the weight of your arrival. You’re still in your white dress, your armor discarded back in your suite. But this is how it begins, isn’t it? Not with warning. Not with comfort.

Just a moment, and a choice.

“Take me to him,” you say. Your voice doesn’t waver.

Kregg nods once. “This way.”

He turns, leading you down another corridor, this one narrower, curving in a way that feels deliberate, guiding you somewhere more central. You pass no windows now. No chambers. Just long lines of clean metal, lit from above with pale lights that cast a faint glow against your cape.

Your mind sharpens with each step.

You were trained for first impressions. Not charm. Not manipulation. Presence. Your parents used to tell you the first breath you take in a throne room is the one that defines everything. Even if you say nothing. Even if you bow.

Especially if you don’t.

You draw in that breath now. Calm. Controlled. Your back straightens, your chin lifts, and your fingers curl once at your side before stilling.

Whatever kind of man Emperor Mark Grayson is, whatever kind of Empire he rules, you will look him in the eye and decide for yourself.

The corridor widens. Ahead, a tall doorway flanked by sleek columns stands waiting.

Kregg stops just short of it.

He turns to you, voice quieter now. “He prefers plain speech. No titles.”

“Yes,” Kregg says. “But he didn’t ask to be.”

With that, he taps a panel beside the door.

The doors open with a low, mechanical sigh.

You step into the throne room of the Viltrumite Empire, boots silent on the polished floor. The air is cool, still, almost too still, as if the room itself is holding its breath. The architecture is sleek, practical. It wasn’t built to impress. It was built to last. The walls curve upward in clean symmetry. No tapestries. No flowers. No carved monuments to history. Just quiet gravity and gleaming steel.

At the far end, seated at the center of that long, echoing quiet, is Emperor Mark Grayson.

He’s not what you expected.

The uniform he wears is formal, but not extravagant, sleek red and grey marked by the Viltrumite crest, a long fur-trimmed cloak falling behind his shoulders. The fabric moves faintly with the ship’s hum, regal only because of who wears it. He looks more soldier than king, broad-shouldered and battle-worn, and there’s something about the way he holds himself, grounded, tired, still, that tells you this is a man who didn’t want a throne, but took it because no one else could.

He watches you enter with a silence that’s hard to read. Not cold. But not soft either.

You step forward slowly, letting each movement carry the weight of your station. You’ve been trained for this. You’ve greeted foreign sovereigns before. On Eternia, you would have arrived to applause and ceremonial fanfare. Here, your arrival was quiet. Measured. Observed.

You stop at the base of the steps leading to the throne and, instinctively, begin to kneel, one hand crossing to your chest in the formal Eternian salute, eyes lowered.

But before you can finish the bow, his voice cuts in.

“Don’t.”

You freeze. His voice is quiet but firm. Not unkind. But direct. He rises from the throne, cape trailing behind him as he steps down the stairs, no hesitation, no ceremony, just clean, purposeful motion. He closes the distance between you in three strides, raising a hand and placing it lightly on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to kneel,” he says. His tone is even, but not dismissive. Not casual. There’s weight behind it, like every word he chooses is one he’s already thought through twice.

You straighten slowly, eyes lifting to meet his.

He’s taller than you expected. Close, you can see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, faint, but there. The wear of leadership, of too many choices made under pressure, too many lives balanced on decisions no one trained him to make.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d expect,” you admit, voice low. “On Eternia, greeting a sovereign requires a formal bow.”

Mark’s expression shifts just slightly, more thoughtful than amused. “I didn’t ask to be a sovereign.”

His hand drops back to his side. He steps back, just enough to give you space again. But his eyes stay on you.

“I’m not interested in pageantry. Or reverence. Just honesty. You’ll get that from me, if I get the same from you.”

You nod slowly. “Then we understand each other.”

“Good,” he says. Still watching you. Still studying you, not in the way some rulers do, looking for weaknesses, but with something more complicated. Appraisal. Curiosity. Maybe even caution. “You’re the first Eternian to set foot in this part of space since the restructuring. I wasn’t sure anyone from your system would come.”

You don’t blink. “You weren’t the only one uncertain.”

That earns the ghost of a smile. Barely there. But it softens the edge of his gaze.

He turns then, walking toward the far edge of the throne room where the windows stretch floor to ceiling, revealing the black canvas of deep space outside. Stars flicker against the glass. Beyond them, war-torn systems are still reeling from the collapse of the old Viltrumite regime.

Mark’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I don’t want another war. But I’m not naïve enough to think peace just happens because I say the word.”

You move to stand beside him. The space between you feels neutral now. Not hostile. Not comfortable. Just… new.

“You rule over worlds that remember Thragg,” you say carefully. “You wear the same crest. How many of them believe you’re different?”

He glances sideways at you. Doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t deny it.

“Not enough,” he admits. “But I didn’t take this job because I wanted to be liked. I took it so no one like him ever holds power again.”

You watch him for a beat. “And do your people believe in that?”

Mark leans slightly forward, eyes on the stars.

“They don’t have to believe in me,” he says. “They just have to know I won’t stop.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

“My people sent me here to see if you’re worth trusting.”

His head tilts slightly, just enough to show he’s listening.

“And what do you think?” he asks.

You meet his gaze again. “I haven’t decided.”

That earns a second flicker of a smile. This time a little sharper.

“Good,” he says. “Neither have I.”

“I’ve heard of the warrior they call the Defender of Eternia,” Mark says, his voice steady, warm, but unembellished. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

There’s no posturing in the way he says it. No feigned flattery or diplomatic filler. Just genuine acknowledgment, delivered with the blunt, sincerity that defines so much of who he is. You’d expected formality. Maybe even distance. But not this.

Your cheeks warm before you can stop it. Not from fluster, Eternian warriors don’t fluster, but from something closer to being seen. Not as a symbol. Not as a representative. But as a fighter. As yourself.

You lift your chin slightly, proud and steady. “The honor is mine, Mark. Your victories against Thragg and your efforts to reform the Viltrumite Empire precede you.”

You keep your tone measured, as etiquette demands. But you don’t say it just to flatter. You mean it. You read the war records. You saw the footage from Robot, grainy and brutal, Mark Grayson holding Thragg by the throat inside of the Sun. You studied the political transitions that followed, the restructuring of the council, the negotiations with surviving systems. You know how hard it is to change something that never wanted to bend.

You respect that. Deeply.

His expression shifts, just slightly, but enough to catch.

The faint lines around his mouth ease. One brow ticks up. Then comes the grin, not wide, not cocky, but real. Surprised. Maybe even a little disarmed.

“Wasn’t sure how Eternians felt about me,” he says. “Most off-world reports focus on the bloodshed.”

You match his honesty. “They do.”

He huffs a short breath, more sigh than laugh. “Figures.”

“But I looked further than the headlines,” you add. “Not everyone conquers an empire and then tries to make it better.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, weighing your words. You can see it in his eyes, he’s heard enough false praise from planetary diplomats to spot the difference. But you’re not here to impress him. And maybe that’s why he believes you.

His grin fades, replaced by something quieter. Thoughtful. His arms cross lightly over his chest as he leans back just slightly, still watching you like he hasn’t quite figured you out.

“You’re not what I expected either,” he admits.

You tilt your head slightly. “What did you expect?”

Mark shrugs. “Someone stiff. Polished. All ceremony, no edge.”

A small smirk tugs at your lips. “I left the polished ones back home. They don’t ride winged beasts into orbit.”

He laughs at that, fully this time. It’s a brief sound, but real. Unforced. He glances away for a second, running a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to shake the moment off before it sticks too much.

You take the opportunity to study him closer. His shoulders are tense beneath the fabric of his uniform, but not with aggression. More like a man used to holding tension he no longer bothers to hide. His eyes are sharp, clear, but carry something older behind them. The burden of memory. Responsibility. Regret he doesn’t talk about.

“You came alone,” he says then, quieter now. “That’s rare. Even among envoys.”

“My people trust me to speak for them,” you say. “And to defend myself, if it comes to that.”

Mark nods slowly, something like approval flickering across his face. “You’ll fit in fine here.”

You raise a brow. “Is that your way of welcoming me?”

He shrugs. “It’s the Viltrumite version. We’re not great with warm receptions.”

“No,” you say, allowing the edge of a smile. “But you’re trying.”

That makes him look at you again, longer this time. More searching. Not calculating. Just… curious. As if he’s not sure how you’ll fit into the complicated machinery of everything he’s built. And maybe he’s not sure if he wants you to fit. Or if he just wants you to stay exactly as you are.

Either way, he nods once more and gestures to the archway behind the throne. “There’s a lot to show you. The capital, the council, the things that don’t make it into reports.”

You don’t hesitate. “Then let’s begin.”

He walks beside you, not in front. Not leading. And not quite following either. Just there.

You catch yourself wondering, quietly, what kind of man keeps a crown this reluctantly. And how much longer he’ll carry it alone.

The corridor stretches wide and quiet ahead of you, lit by soft overhead panels that cast a pale glow across the polished floor. The ship’s hum is a distant presence under your boots, deep and constant, like a low heartbeat. You walk beside Emperor Mark Grayson, the silence between you no longer awkward, just full. Considerate. Like you’re both trying to feel out the shape of this conversation before stepping too far into it.

He keeps pace easily, hands loose at his sides, his red and gray uniform fitting him like it was made for motion rather than ceremony. The white fur-lined cloak drapes from his shoulders, regal but not flashy. You realize it matches him, formal enough for a throne room, but nothing about it screams extravagance. Just authority, worn without effort.

“So,” he says, glancing over at you with a faint tilt of his head. “How was the journey?”

You exhale slowly, letting the tension start to slide off your shoulders. “Long. And quiet. Too many stars. Not enough wind.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “That sounds poetic. Or miserable.”

You huff a dry laugh. “A bit of both.”

He smiles at that, barely there, but warmer than you expected. The kind of smile that sneaks up on his face before he can stop it. It fades as quickly as it came, but the ease of it lingers in the air between you.

“My brother, Adam, he’s king of Eternia now,” you begin, voice softer but steady. “He sent me here. Said there might be common ground between our worlds. That our values, honor, strength, discipline, might actually align with what the Viltrumites are trying to become under your rule.”

Mark’s expression doesn’t shift, but something behind his eyes sharpens, attention tightening.

“He asked me to represent Eternia,” you go on, watching the way his shoulders stay square, but his jaw ticks ever so slightly. “And I accepted. Gladly.”

You look ahead as you speak, the words more honest than diplomatic. “It wasn’t a hard choice. I’ve seen the footage. Read the reports. I know what Thragg was. What the Empire was. But it’s what it’s becoming now that interests us.”

Mark’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Most people still think we’re the same. Just with a new face on the throne.”

You stop walking for a second. “Are you?”

He turns to face you, then, really looks at you. Not like you’re a diplomat or a symbol. Just a person. A warrior. One who asked a fair question.

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

He draws in a slow breath, like the words coming next aren’t ones he says often, maybe not to anyone.

“After Thragg, there was a vacuum. The council didn’t know what to do. Half the commanders still thought conquest was the answer, and the rest were too afraid to change anything. So I stepped in. Not because I wanted the title, but because I knew if I didn’t, someone else would, someone worse.”

He speaks like someone who’s already seen too much. Someone who’s tired, but still holding himself up for everyone else’s sake.

“I’ve been trying to lead differently,” he says. “Justice. Mercy. Accountability. I’m not perfect. But I’m doing what I can.”

You’re quiet for a second. Then your voice softens, but not out of pity.

“Eternia respects warriors who fight for justice,” you say, meeting his gaze. “If you lived among us, Mark, you'd be honored for that.”

The moment hangs.

Something flickers in his expression, something almost vulnerable. His shoulders draw back a fraction, but his gaze doesn’t drop. It stays locked with yours, like he’s trying to decide if what you just said is real. If he can let himself believe it.

You didn’t mean for it to hit that hard. But you’re not the kind of person who says things you don’t mean.

And maybe that’s why it lands the way it does.

“You say that like it’s simple,” he says finally, voice quieter now. Almost careful.

“It’s not,” you reply. “But it’s true.”

The corridor is still, but the energy between you shifts, like tension, but not uncomfortable. Just… charged. There’s heat beneath your skin, the kind that has nothing to do with proximity and everything to do with awareness. You notice the way his fingers flex slightly at his side, like he wants to reach for something and isn’t sure if he should.

And he notices you noticing.

He takes a slow step forward, not looming, not close enough to crowd you, but closer than before. The scent of him hits you now, faint but distinct, clean, warm, a mix of metal and something deeply human. The air between you feels thin.

“You’re different from the others we’ve dealt with,” he says.

“Good different?” you ask lightly, lifting an eyebrow.

A corner of his mouth curves. “Dangerous different.”

You raise your chin, letting that land. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

“I didn’t say that.”

There’s a flicker of something else in his eyes now. Not caution. Not wariness.

Interest.

He looks at you like he’s trying to figure out what to do with this…you, this warrior who stepped onto his ship and didn’t flinch. Who praised him without an angle. Who matched his intensity with your own, and didn’t blink when he let the walls slip for half a second.

You take a breath. The tension lingers in your chest, behind your ribs, not uncomfortable, just sharp.

Mark finally exhales, and some of that heat in his expression tempers, though it doesn’t disappear. He nods toward the end of the corridor. “Come on,” he says. “The council chamber’s this way. You should see the view. It’s the only thing out here that reminds me there’s still beauty in the galaxy.”

You walk beside him again, shoulders brushing now and then in the narrow space.

You don't say anything about it.

Neither does he.

But neither of you steps away.

You stop at the edge of the observation deck, the stars stretching wide in front of you, scattered like shattered light across the dark. The ship hums faintly under your boots, but otherwise the room is silent, too silent for a space this big. You and Mark stand shoulder to shoulder, the air between you warm with the kind of tension that isn't hostile. Just full. Quiet. Unresolved.

Mark exhales slowly. Not tired. Just... careful.

“People think I wanted this,” he says. “The title. The power. But I didn’t. I was trying to stop Thragg, not... take his place.”

You glance at him, the seriousness in his voice cutting through the formality that had clung to the edges of the conversation until now.

“But then he was gone. And someone had to keep everything from falling apart. So I stayed. I didn’t have a choice, really. Or maybe I did, and I just couldn’t walk away.”

You understand that. Too well.

“I was raised to fight,” you say. “To protect my people. To carry legacy and command and expectation like it was part of my spine. There wasn’t time for anything else. Not really.”

Mark looks at you then.

“I get that,” he says, his voice low, steady. “I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be a leader. I didn’t even know what being Viltrumite meant until I was seventeen. But now I’m here, and every choice I make has weight. Every mistake I make costs something.”

You nod. “It gets lonely.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It really does.”

There’s a pause.

Then you both glance at each other at the same time, and when your eyes meet, there’s something between you that wasn’t there before. Not exactly trust. Not yet. But understanding. Respect. Recognition.

And something else.

Mark’s gaze lingers, just a second longer than it should. He doesn’t look away.

You don’t either.

He clears his throat a little. “I’ve got two kids.”

You blink, the tone shift catching you slightly off guard. “Really?”

He gives a small smile. Not forced. Just… real.

“Yeah. My daughter, Terra, she’s seven. Lives on Earth most of the time with her mom. She visits when she can. And Marky, my son… he stays here. He’s eight. Smart as hell. Stubborn as hell, too. Which I guess he gets from me.”

You can’t help the way your lips curve. “So you’re not just holding the galaxy together, you’re also doing homework help.”

Mark laughs under his breath. “Basically. Yesterday he asked me why the gravity stabilizers don’t rotate, and when I didn’t have an answer, he told me to Google it. On a ship that doesn’t even use the internet.”

You smile, and it feels… different this time. Not formal. Not diplomatic. Just soft. Human.

“You must be proud,” you say.

“I am,” he says, without hesitation. “They’re the reason I haven’t completely lost it up here.”

He glances sideways again, and his voice drops slightly, lower, rougher, less guarded.

“I don’t really get to talk like this with people. Usually it’s meetings. Reports. Everyone watching their words. But you... you’re just saying what you mean.”

“I’ve had enough of politics,” you say. “I don’t know how to be anything but honest.”

Mark nods slowly. “That’s rare.”

The silence between you stretches again, but this time it’s comfortable. Almost warm.

Then, his eyes on the stars, voice quieter now, he says, “You’re easy to talk to.”

You glance at him. “So are you.”

That gets a small breath of laughter out of him, like he’s surprised. “Not what people usually say about me.”

You tilt your head. “Maybe they’re not listening.”

His eyes flick to yours. And stay there.

It’s subtle. The shift in his expression. But it’s there. Like he’s just now realizing how close you’re standing. Like maybe he’s wondering the same thing you are, that if you both weren’t carrying the weight of entire worlds, this conversation might be going somewhere else.

He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t say anything bold.

But the way his gaze drops briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes? That says plenty.

You feel the moment hover. Real. Unspoken.

And then, gently, Mark breaks it.

“Come on,” he says, his voice back to that low steadiness. “Secondary wing’s this way. I’ll show you the view. It’s not Eternia, but… it’s quiet. Sometimes that’s enough.”

You follow.

And when your arms brush as you fall into stride beside him again, neither of you pulls away.

Mark leads you through a smaller archway tucked behind the main council hall, one you might’ve missed if he hadn’t known exactly where it was. The ship grows quieter as you walk, the walls giving way to wide panes of tinted glass, warm light bleeding in from a carefully simulated sun. The atmosphere shifts here, not colder, not exactly, but gentler. Less imperial.

He taps something on a wall panel, and the doors slide open into a terrace.

The space is open, designed like a garden with precision more than nature, sleek flowering plants in elevated beds, the petals bioluminescent, glowing faintly against the warm metal of the walls. There’s greenery here, soft and cultivated, trimmed into smooth lines. A central tree, tall, wide-branched, arches toward the transparent ceiling. Simulated sky glows violet-blue above it, stars twinkling faintly, as though the ship remembers what the sky was supposed to look like.

Mark gestures to a long bench beneath the tree, then to the open edge of the terrace where the railing overlooks space.

“Council keeps forgetting this place exists,” he says. “I had them build it a year ago, somewhere people could go without talking about galactic disputes or casualty projections.”

You glance around, slowly. “It’s… beautiful.”

He nods. “Not as impressive as flying horses, probably.”

That earns him a look. “Swift Wind is not a horse.”

Mark holds up a hand, mock-serious. “Right. My apologies.”

A Viltrumite attendant steps through a side panel without fanfare, silent and efficient. He bows his head once, then offers a sleek tray with two slender glasses of an amber-colored liquid that glows faintly, like sunlight caught in syrup. Mark thanks him with a brief nod.

You accept one of the glasses, lifting it with a curious frown and sniffing the rim.

It’s sweet. Floral, almost. Faintly citrus and something warmer, deeper, like stone fruit and spice.

“It’s called vireel,” Mark says, watching you over the rim of his own glass. “Traditional celebration drink. Some Viltrumites say it boosts endurance. Others say it makes people too honest.”

You arch a brow. “Which one are you hoping for?”

His grin is slow, careful. “I’ll let you surprise me.”

You take a sip. The taste blooms on your tongue, smooth and vibrant, with just enough bite to make you take a second, smaller sip after.

You smile. “I like it.”

Mark leans against the railing beside you, arm draped loosely, glass in one hand, watching the slow trail of a comet outside the window as it drifts through a curve of nearby stars. He doesn’t press. Just lets the silence stretch long enough that when he finally speaks, it feels natural.

“What’s life like on Eternia?”

You exhale through your nose, the smile still tugging at your mouth even as your gaze grows distant.

“It’s… green,” you say, softly. “Vast. Wild, but shaped by history. The skies are layered, there’s the surface, then the floating plateaus above that, and then the higher temples, where the light breaks like glass when the moons align.”

Mark hums quietly. He’s not looking at the stars anymore. He’s looking at you.

“The cities are made of stone and gold,” you continue. “But not heavy. Everything’s built to breathe. We have libraries carved into mountain faces, rivers that run through entire provinces without needing to be redirected. And the royal court sits atop Castle Grayskull, surrounded by warriors and scholars and advisors who’ve known me since I could walk.”

Your fingers run absently along the edge of your glass.

“I was raised in it. Duty came before everything. My sword was forged before I was given a crown. I led my first campaign when I was sixteen, against an uprising of warlords that had been terrorizing the desert provinces. I haven’t stopped leading since.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. But you can feel his attention like heat. Steady. Grounded.

“There’s beauty there. Deep beauty. But sometimes…” You pause, just for a breath. “It’s easy to forget it when you’re always bracing for the next battle.”

There’s a silence that follows. Not heavy. But honest.

Mark takes a sip of his drink. Then says, “Sounds like you never had much room to be anything but a symbol.”

You glance over, surprised by the accuracy of it. But you don’t correct him. Because he’s right.

“I was taught that sacrifice defines greatness,” you say. “That selflessness isn’t a choice, it’s the requirement.”

He leans forward a little on the railing, gaze softening.

“And is that what you believe?”

You turn your eyes back toward the stars.

“I think… I haven’t had time to believe anything else.”

For a moment, the quiet stretches again. You feel him beside you, close, but not imposing. Just present. The heat of his arm a few inches from yours. The subtle smell of him, clean, warm, the faint spice of the vireel still lingering.

Mark’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. Not uncertain. Just sincere.

“That kind of strength,” he says, “people assume it means you don’t feel the weight. But I know better.”

You look at him again. And this time, you don’t look away. His expression holds no pity. No overfamiliarity. Just… admiration. Quiet and honest.

And something else. Something in the way his gaze flicks to your mouth for the briefest second before returning to your eyes. Something that makes your pulse thrum a little louder in your throat.

You wonder if he notices. You suspect he does.

“Do you ever get tired?” he asks. It’s a simple question. But the way he says it, low, almost intimate, makes it feel like he’s asking more than what’s on the surface.

You nod slowly. “Yes.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that answer for you.

“Me too.”

You don’t touch.

But you both lean just a little closer.

And in the hum of the ship and the glow of the stars and the taste of something sweet and unfamiliar still on your tongue, you know something’s changed between you.

Not fully spoken.

Not yet.

But real.

The light from the simulated sky pours in low and golden across the terrace, casting long shadows under the glowing branches of the central tree. You and Mark lean quietly against the sleek railing, the hum of the ship a faint, ever-present heartbeat beneath your heels. For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

When you finally do, your tone is thoughtful. Uncalculated.

“You mentioned Earth before. What was it like? Your life… before all this.”

Mark lets out a breath, a short one. “Messy,” he says, mouth tugging into something between a smirk and a sigh. “Normal, I guess. I had school, friends, a mom who worked too much. I didn’t even know I was Viltrumite until my powers kicked in. One day I was trying to pass math, the next I was flying through buildings.”

You blink at him. He’s not exaggerating, but he’s not being performative, either. Just stating facts the way someone does when they’ve had to retell their origin story more times than they can count.

“You didn’t want any of this,” you say.

Mark glances sideways at you, then back out at the stars. “No. I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, softly. “That you had to make that kind of choice.”

Mark looks over at you again, eyes steady.

“Don’t be. I made it. And I’ll keep making it. It’s just… not easy.”

You fall into silence again, and it’s natural. Not awkward. Just full.

But the curiosity that’s been lingering at the edge of your thoughts finally escapes before you can think better of it.

“Your people call you Emperor,” you say slowly, politely. “Does that mean… there is an Empress by your side?”

It’s not meant to be a pointed question. Where you come from, a ruler of his status usually has a consort. It's protocol. Expected. The assumption is innocent. But the effect is not.

Mark’s expression stills. Not dramatically. Just a flicker, a pause in his breath, a subtle tightening in the set of his jaw.

You regret it instantly. But his eyes find yours again, and when he sees your sincerity, your open curiosity with no hidden meaning, something in his shoulders eases.

“There was someone,” he says, voice quieter now. Honest. “Her name was Eve.”

He glances down at his glass. Doesn’t drink from it.

“We met in high school. She had powers too. We fought together. Grew up together. I loved her. We went through everything, the worst of it, side by side.”

You place your hand gently on his forearm. Not intruding. Just… there.

Mark doesn’t move away.

“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he says. His voice is calm, but there’s a rawness beneath it, like he’s repeating something he’s practiced how to say without letting it hurt too much.

“But after the war with Thragg, things changed. I stayed out here to rebuild the Empire. She stayed on Earth. And eventually…”

He exhales, gaze drifting out past the stars.

“We stopped making time for each other. Started making choices on our own. And the longer that went on, the more we realized we weren’t on the same path anymore.”

You don’t speak. You just listen.

Mark looks down at your hand on his arm, then back up at you.

“She’s not a bad person. I’m not either. Sometimes you just grow in opposite directions.”

There’s no bitterness in the way he says it. Just a quiet acceptance. The kind that’s taken time to arrive at.

You nod. “That’s… a hard thing to come to terms with.”

Mark’s lips twitch faintly. Not quite a smile. “Harder than any war I’ve been in.”

You both stand there for a while, the quiet between you filling with unspoken thoughts.

There’s a new silence in Mark now. Not the kind that comes from restraint. The kind that happens when someone allows themselves to be seen and isn’t punished for it.

You feel it too.

The heat of his body near yours. The tension that’s no longer political, no longer formal. Just… charged. Present.

He looks at you again, gaze lingering just a second longer than before. You feel it settle behind your ribs.

“She would’ve liked you,” he says, voice low.

“Oh?” you ask.

“She had a smart instinct for people. Especially the good ones.”

Your pulse kicks, and he notices.

But he doesn’t press.

He just stays beside you, letting the silence stretch, close, familiar, maybe even a little dangerous.

And when his hand brushes against yours as he shifts, just barely, he doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

Your hand tightens slightly around Mark’s forearm. It’s deliberate, more than just politeness, less than a declaration. A brave gesture, given how tightly you were taught to keep yourself in check. Your thumb brushes once, instinctively, like your body wants to memorize the heat of him before your mind catches up.

Mark doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense. But you feel the way his body stills. Like something in him has shifted just slightly off balance, recalibrating to this new contact. His eyes stay on you, unreadable in that particular way of his, blunt, but not unkind. Always looking straight through you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “In Eternia, duty often asks us to sacrifice our own hearts’ desires too.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not right away. And the silence he gives you isn’t cold. It’s weight-bearing. Like he knows how heavy this is for you, and he’s giving you room to carry it.

You look down, suddenly aware of the vulnerability in your posture, how open you feel with nothing to hide behind but your own honesty.

“I’ve never had a bond like that,” you admit, voice lower now. More breath than sound. “I was raised for duty above all else. For service. Strength. Everything I am, everything I’ve been, is built around what I can do for others.”

You swallow, gaze fixed on the floor between you. “I don’t fully know what it means to love someone. Not in the way you did.”

That silence again. But heavier now. You can feel his gaze on you. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, rougher, like he’s trying to say something simple without making it sound easy.

“I didn’t either,” he says. “Not at first.”

You glance up. He’s looking at you now, not with pity, not with some hollow attempt at comfort. But with a kind of focused interest that makes your chest tighten. Makes the warmth in your belly start to build slowly, steadily.

“I screwed up a lot,” he continues. “Even when I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought love would just fit around everything else, my powers, the wars, the empire.”

His mouth quirks, but there’s no humor in it.

“It doesn’t.”

You let out a breath. “And yet, you had it.”

“Yeah,” Mark says, quieter. “For a while. I knew what it felt like to be seen. To have someone want you, even when you’re tired. When you’ve bled. When you don’t have anything polished left to offer.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t mean to, but your fingers move again, just slightly, pressing into his forearm like you’re grounding yourself in the heat of his body.

He notices. You know he does.

And when his eyes meet yours again, there’s something new there. Low and steady and unmistakable.

Tension.

It’s not overt. Not theatrical. But it hums in the space between you, coiled and waiting. It’s in the way he doesn’t pull back, in the way his voice drops just enough to slide under your skin.

“I think,” Mark says slowly, “if you’ve made it this far without losing who you are, then you’ve already got the hardest part figured out.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What part is that?”

His gaze flicks down. Once. To your mouth.

Then back up.

“Letting someone get close enough to matter.”

That’s when the air thickens.

You’re still touching him. He’s still too close for this to be innocent. And yet, he hasn’t moved. Because Mark Grayson doesn’t make the first move when the moment’s unearned. He doesn’t need to push.

He just waits. Watches. Stays. Like he knows if something’s going to happen, it’s going to be real. And earned. And worth it.

You pull your hand back slowly, fingers trailing along his arm as if reluctant to let go entirely. The connection breaks, but the heat remains, settled under your skin, in the space between you like static clinging to breath. You take a slow sip of the vireel, letting the sweetness cool the sharp edge blooming in your chest. Mark watches you, still half-turned, still close.

You let the silence stretch, just a bit, before tipping your head toward him, voice light but edged with challenge.

“You know,” you say, “for someone who talks about duty and legacy and responsibility like it’s all that matters, you carry yourself like someone who could split a planet in half.”

He quirks a brow, lips twitching at the corner. “You saying I look violent?”

“I’m saying,” you murmur, drawing the words out, “you’re holding a lot back.”

Mark huffs through his nose. “You don’t want to see what I look like when I’m not holding back.”

You raise your glass again, tilting your head. “I’m not afraid of strength.”

“No,” he says, eyes darkening slightly. “I can tell.”

Your stomach flips.

There’s something in the way he says it. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just observant. Careful. Like he’s trying to decide if he’s imagining the undercurrent here, or if it’s real. If you feel it too.

You lean casually against the railing beside him, glass balanced in your hand.

“So what’s it like?” you ask, a little softer now. “Raising two Viltrumite children while trying to reshape the empire?”

Mark breathes out a laugh, the kind that sounds a little tired but no less real.

“Marky’s a handful,” he admits. “Strong. Smart. Smarter than me, honestly. He’s already asking questions I don’t have answers to. And Terra…”

His voice shifts when he says her name, subtler, more grounded.

“She’s got Eve’s heart. Mine too, unfortunately. Stubborn as hell. But sweet. Loyal.”

You smile, something warm unfurling in your chest.

“Sounds like they have a lot of you in them.”

Mark looks at you, more serious now. “I hope they end up better than me.”

You tilt your head again, teasing gently. “Tough standard to beat. Galaxy-saving Emperor. Former war hero. Probably strong enough to lift a starship.”

He scoffs. “Now you’re just flattering me.”

“I don’t flatter.”

The look he gives you then, half grin, half dare, sends a ripple of heat down your spine.

You let it linger. Then, slowly, you set your glass on the railing.

“Tell me something.”

Mark raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve gone toe-to-toe with Thragg. Led battles across half the known systems. Rebuilt an empire.” You smile, sly now. “But how are you with a blade?”

That gets a real reaction. He leans in a little, not enough to touch, but close enough that you feel the shift in air, the quiet flare of something waking up between you.

“Depends on who’s holding the other one,” he says.

“I’m not just a ceremonial warrior,” you murmur. “I’ve trained since I could walk. My sword’s seen more battlefields than most living people.”

Mark’s eyes flicker. Not in doubt. In recognition.

“And I’ve never sparred with a Viltrumite before,” you continue. “Not properly.”

Mark’s grin is sharp now. Not cruel. Just excited.

“So you’re asking if I want to fight you?”

“I’m asking,” you say, stepping a breath closer, “if you’re willing to see what happens when you stop holding back.”

The tension tightens instantly, like a line pulled taut between your bodies.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer right away.

But his gaze drops, just briefly, to your mouth. Then back up to your eyes. His voice, when it comes, is lower than before.

“You sure that’s the reason you want to spar?”

You meet his stare evenly, your pulse loud now behind your ribs.

“You tell me.”

Mark lets the silence hang.

“I’ll clear the training deck.”

And the way he says it, quiet, calm, already certain, makes your breath catch.

Not because you’re nervous.

Because you want him to stop holding back, too.

Because you're starting to want to see what he looks like when he's not guarding every edge of himself.

The training deck is silent except for the low hum of the containment field overhead and the soft creak of your heels against the reinforced metal floor. You're already moving with purpose, cape trailing behind you, gold boots gleaming with each step. The Sword of Protection rests against your shoulder, humming faintly, pulsing with the quiet, living energy of Eternia itself. You stand tall, chin lifted, body relaxed, though every muscle is ready to spring.

Across the chamber, Mark watches you, not leering, not even appraising in the usual way. No, his gaze is different. Analytical. Focused. The way a tactician watches the moment before battle, measuring the distance between two stars before launching a war.

You don’t shy away from that look. If anything, you meet it head-on.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a light smile. “This isn’t a duel to the death. Unless Viltrumite diplomacy has changed since I read your files.”

Mark doesn’t smile, but there’s a faint flicker of amusement behind his expression. “We don’t kill our guests,” he says, tone flat but not unkind. “Unless they give us a reason.”

You laugh, stepping onto the center mat. “Good thing I’m here to be friendly, then. Think of this as... a cultural exchange.”

Mark steps forward, his cape fluttering faintly behind him. He’s not wearing armor, doesn’t need to. The fabric of his suit stretches tightly over his shoulders and chest, every inch of him built for destruction and survival. His pace is steady, deliberate.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “And you already look strong. What exactly are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing,” you reply, turning your sword once in your grip before lowering it to your side. “But I figure if we're going to talk about trust, we should start with what really matters. Power. Control. How far each of us can go without hurting the other.”

His eyes narrow. That gets his attention.

You hold up your free hand. “Don’t worry. No magic tricks. Just strength.”

He nods once. “Alright. Friendly.”

You don’t shake hands. There’s no countdown. No signal. Just a moment of silence, and then motion.

He comes at you first, no frills, no speed tricks. Just a clean, straight jab aimed at your midsection. You block it with your forearm, steel bracing against his strength. The impact jolts up your spine. He’s holding back. You can feel it.

You push off, driving your shoulder forward to counter, and he steps aside with a short, efficient pivot. His movements are tight, experienced. There’s no wasted motion. You’ve sparred with knights, sorcerers, even demi-gods, but this is different. Mark fights like someone who’s been training since he was a kid, someone who’s seen the cost of losing too many times to accept it now.

You slash the blade upward, not to cut, but to test his speed. He ducks, pivots around you, and you feel the rush of air behind your back as he circles close.

“Faster than I thought,” he mutters.

“Careful,” you say, spinning, sword back in guard position. “Flattery makes me want to win more.”

He chuckles once, a dry sound. “Good. I want to see what winning even looks like for you.”

This time you both move at once.

Your sword meets his forearm with a sharp clang, and he grabs the flat of the blade, stopping it with sheer strength. The force of the collision sends a ripple of vibration down your arms, but you don’t pull back. You twist, wrench the blade free, and slide forward with a low kick aimed at sweeping him off his feet. He hops it easily, flips back, and lands in a crouch.

You take a breath. So does he. No one’s bleeding. No one’s bruised. Yet.

“I’m surprised,” he says, rising again. “You’ve got finesse. You’re not just swinging that thing around.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I trained with swordmasters. Learned how to disarm someone without leaving a blow.”

Mark straightens, rolling one shoulder. “Viltrumites don’t learn that way. You either survive the training or you don’t.”

You frown slightly. “That sounds... lonely.”

He pauses. “It is.”

There’s something in his voice, quiet, buried under layers of command and duty. But it’s there. You store that away, then flash him a grin.

“Well then,” you say. “Let’s make this less lonely.”

You dart in again, sword high, feinting left then spinning low. He catches the trick, but you still manage to close the distance, the flat of your blade pressing lightly against the base of his throat before he can fully recover. It’s not a win. But it’s a point.

He looks down at the edge of your sword, then back up to meet your eyes.

“Nice,” he says. “Didn’t expect you to close in like that.”

“Part of the charm,” you say, stepping back and lowering the blade. “Care to go another round?”

He straightens, brushing his thumb against the spot your blade had rested. “Yeah,” he says, a slow smile forming at last. “I think I do.”

And so it continues, back and forth, blow for blow, parry for parry. Neither of you looking to dominate, just to understand. Each clash is a wordless sentence, a question and a response. The test of strength becomes a conversation, and in every strike, you learn something new.

About him.

About yourself.

Your heels slide lightly across the polished Viltrumite alloy, the hum of the containment field above now a familiar pulse at the edge of your hearing. The Sword of Protection gleams faintly in your hand, though you haven’t needed to strike with it in minutes. You’re already winning, slowly, piece by piece, without ever landing a decisive blow.

And Mark knows it.

He won’t say it, of course. He’s still standing tall, chin up, posture measured with the ease of someone who’s been Invincible too long to imagine losing. But his attacks are sharper now. Less precise. His counters a fraction late. That slight exhale he just released? Frustration.

You pace across from him again, chest rising and falling with controlled breath, strands of hair stuck to the sweat across your forehead. The high-cut white dress clings tighter now, but you don’t notice. You’re too focused. Reading every shift in his stance. Every twitch of muscle under his royal uniform.

Mark rolls his shoulders slowly, not to loosen up, just to buy time. “You’re not fighting like anyone I’ve sparred with before.”

You tilt your head. “Good.”

“No strategy. No formations. But you’re wanting to trap me, aren’t you?”

You shrug. “I’m aiming to learn.”

He gives you a look, the kind that’s not quite skeptical, not quite annoyed. “You’re baiting me. You know that?”

You blink at him, genuinely confused. “Is that bad?”

There’s a pause, longer than it should be. His mouth opens just slightly, then shuts again. Whatever he expected you to say, it wasn’t that.

You step in, fast, and he reacts late. Just enough. The edge of your sword slips under his guard, brushing the inside of his thigh before you pull back. A clean, disarming move. He tenses, not in pain, but in awareness. You don’t even realize what you’ve done until you see his eyes flick downward.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Was that–rude?”

Mark’s jaw clenches. “No,” he says tightly. “It was effective.”

You back off, uncertain, brow furrowed. “You keep looking at me like I’m doing something wrong.”

“I’m not,” he says. He sounds too fast. Too even. “You’re not.”

You hesitate, sword lowering just slightly. “Then why do you look... distracted?”

He meets your eyes. Dead on. “Because I am.”

You stare at him. The air between you is heavy. Stretched.

“I don’t know what that means,” you admit.

Mark exhales through his nose. “It’s not important. Let’s keep going.”

But it feels important. You’re not sure why.

And you launch forward again, harder, cleaner, faster. His guard is stronger now, focus renewed. But there’s something between your motions now. Something unspoken. Something that flows beneath every feint and step.

You still don’t have a name for it.

But it’s there.

And neither of you lets it go.

ִ ࣪✮♛ ♚✮⋆˙

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sansaorgana · 1 year ago

Text

— DAMAGED GOODS

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Rabban/Harkonnen!OC

SUMMARY — The servants have been telling Baron Harkonnen many times before that the relationship between his young heir and his twin sister is close. Very close. Too close. The Baron only chuckles at that. He couldn’t care less, as long as Feyd-Rautha is a warrior he wants him to be and his sister remains out of his sight.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The Reader is a Rabban/Harkonnen. I've described some of her looks – her skin is pale but not because she is *white* but because they're all pale (due to the pollution and lack of normal sunlight I guess). She has hair but it's white. I didn't describe the structure of her hair or anything and the colour is caused by the lack of pigment. Her facial features are not described in any way. Oh, and she has black teeth, too... 😁 It will be explained in the fic. I tried to make it an x Reader fic but, yeah, quite a lot about her looks is described. On the other hand, I hope it's understandable since she's Feyd's twin. I am very happy that I received this request because I've been itching to write something like that for a long time. 🤍

WARNINGS — INCEST, SMUT, non/dub-con, breeding

WORD COUNT — 6,610

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DAMAGED GOODS

Baron Harkonnen was ready to leave Lankiveil with his two nephews – small Feyd-Rautha in one of the female servants’ arms and teenage Glossu on whose shoulder The Baron was keeping his hand on. He didn’t have any heirs of his own so one day he’d name one of the boys his Na-Baron and give them his Harkonnen surname.

They nearly reached the ship when one of the female servants of Lankiveil ran up to them with a small bundle in her arms.

“My Lord,” she called out and The Baron turned around, irritated. The woman was terrified of him but she still had her duties. “What about the girl, my Lord?” She asked.

The Baron squinted his eyes at the child in her arms. Feyd-Rautha’s twin sister (Y/N) Rabban – he had no use for her.

“Give her to the Bene Gesserit or kill her, I do not care,” he commented as Glossu’s muscles stiffened under his uncle’s touch.

“She is my sister,” his eyes widened at those words. “Please, let her come with us.”

“You will soon realise that women on Giedi Prime hold no significance. A girl…” Baron Vladimir winced. “I do not wish to raise her. She will be a burden.”

“Then I will raise her. I will take care of her,” Glossu pleaded. “And one day you will find her a match, someone to marry to create a powerful alliance. She will be useful,” he kept convincing.

The Baron wanted to be feared even amongst his family members. But he didn’t want to be hated by his older nephew from the first day. Irritated, he sighed and waved his hand at the maid.

“Fine, I shall take her,” he sighed.

Hesitantly, the maid handed the child to Glossu Rabban as his uncle gave him a scolding look.

“You’re responsible for her now,” he reminded.

“She is my sister. Her place is with me and Feyd,” Rabban nodded.

About this one thing he was stubborn and about this one thing he would fight even his own uncle. Baron Vladimir decided it would be for the best to let the boy have it his way.

(Y/N) and Feyd were raised differently – he was raised to be a strong warrior and his uncle’s pet. Relentless in combat, obedient to his Master, an enjoyer of pain. Inflicting it on others but also the pain being inflicted upon him. Psychotic and murderous. His twin sister was kept away from such an environment by her older brother. He wanted her to become a grand lady. Of course Glossu Rabban had no idea about women’s education but he made sure that his little sister had dozens of tutors. The smarter and more courteous she was, the easier it would be to sell her in a marriage union one day. It didn’t mean she was easy to manage. Ever since she was a little girl, she would cause trouble by following her twin brother everywhere and wanting to be as mischievous as him. He was given the Harkonnen surname and the title of na-baron. She was just Countess (Y/N) Rabban. Many thought she was actually Glossu Rabban’s daughter. Despite being raised differently, her and Feyd were inseparable.

They were not identical twins – she was a splitting image of her mother while he remained a mix of both parents. He was born bald like most of The Harkonnens, she was lucky to keep her hair even though it lacked pigment and was snowy white. The only thing in common they had was their sickly pale Harkonnen skin… and their blood.

The servants had been telling The Baron many times before that the relationship between his young heir and his sister was close. Very close. Too close. The Baron would only chuckle at that. He couldn’t care less, as long as Feyd-Rautha was a warrior he wanted him to be and his sister remained out of his sight and out of big trouble that would require him to intervene.

(Y/N)’s chambers were connected to Feyd’s with the tall, black doors. In fact, they resided in the chambers of The Baron and The Baroness Harkonnen. These chambers had not been used in many years before Feyd was given them by his uncle in his teenage years. It was only natural that (Y/N) followed to the room attached to his. But most mornings, the servants would not find her in her bed. She was being found in her brother’s embrace, their legs intertwined, her hands wrapped around his muscular chest. As if they were still two embryos in their mother’s womb.

She could swear, she could feel pain when he was experiencing it. And out of them two, only he enjoyed it. It brought her no pleasure to see his scars from their uncle’s punishments. She would kiss them all better, every thin line of scarred flesh upon his back would be soothed with her lips. She loved to watch him train, following him around like a puppy at first but then she grew to be a fine woman herself and she no longer gave such innocent energy. All the years of trying to be invisible for her uncle had taught her how to slither around the fortress like a snake; always observant, always on guard, always quiet and unnoticeable.

(Y/N) focused so hard on not being a bother for her uncle that she forgot other people might notice her, too.

The Baron was staring at the veiled old woman in front of him with a contemptuous smirk. Of course he would follow the Bene Gesserit's order in the end whether he wanted it or not but he needed her to see that he was not as easy to control as most of the lesser lords.

“What are you asking of me, woman?” He asked as he looked her up and down.

The Bene Gesserit sighed. She knew perfectly well that he had heard her before.

“I want to put Countess Rabban to the test of Gom Jabbar to see if she’s fit for the marriage union that shall be arranged between her and Prince Paul Atreides,” she repeated her words.

“I am not fond of that girl but she is the closest thing to a daughter I have ever had,” The Baron shook his head. “What makes you think I would give her away to an Atreides?”

“Atreides was supposed to have a daughter who would be a match for your nephew Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. His concubine gave him a son instead but it doesn’t have to mean the match cannot be arranged. After all, Feyd-Rautha has a twin sister sharing his genetic material with him.”

“And what do I get of this union?” The Baron snorted.

“Control over your enemy; The Atreides family,” the Bene Gesserit nodded her head.

“Control over them? By sending that girl over there?” The Baron laughed at the idea. “She’s a weak woman. She won’t have control over anything.”

“Paul Atreides is a boy of a gentle nature, I have tested him already. Countess Rabban will easily push him in all the directions you will ask her to,” the woman tried to convince The Baron. He knew that if he’d argue even further she would just use The Voice.

“Alright then,” he shrugged his arms. “Put her to a test. If she dies, you’ll be the one breaking the news to her brothers. I won’t deal with their pathetic tears.”

Feyd didn’t know where his sister was. It was unusual for her not to wait in her chambers in the evening. Either way, he ordered the servants to fill the bathtub with water and then told them to leave as he sank into the warm liquid after a long day filled with combat training.

The doors opened after a while and (Y/N) entered the room. She had an odd expression on her face as if she was bothered with something and he spotted a few beads of sweat upon her forehead.

“Where were you?” Feyd squinted his eyes at her.

“The Bene Gesserit asked me to join her for a while. She did something weird to me,” she answered as she worked on her dress swiftly to take it off as quickly as possible.

“What do you mean weird?” Feyd tilted his head as he watched her undress. The folds of her skirt and bodice fell down to the floor and revealed her smooth skin and all the curves.

He had asked his older brother about their mother only once. His question had been about her looks. “What did she look like?”, young Feyd had asked. And all Glossu had answered was – “Just look at our sister”.

“She put me to a test. You’d like it,” (Y/N) smirked at him as she turned around to face him and join him in the bathtub. “It was painful,” she admitted and leaned her back on the edge, facing him. She let out a relaxed moan at the feeling of the warm water.

“She hurt you,” Feyd’s question was more of a statement as his jaw clenched.

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) let out a laugh at his reaction. “Such a strong warrior you are and look at you, your older sister is your weakness,” she teased.

“Twenty minutes older,” Feyd scoffed as she chuckled at his annoyance. “Age does not matter, I could snap your neck in a second, dear sister. You have no idea how to defend yourself,” he pointed out angrily.

“Grumpy, grumpy, Feyd,” she giggled as she moved closer to him and sat astride him. Her hands caressed his muscular chest. “Don’t be so sure I’m that helpless… I’ve been watching you train my whole life. I’ve learnt a thing or two,” she lowered her face to whisper into his ear.

He felt his cock twitching at the feeling of her body on his; her sweet breath on his ear, her whisper sending shivers down his spine. He knew she didn’t mind. In fact, she was feeding off of his desire; teasing him mercilessly over and over. One thing Rabban had made very clear was that she could not be touched by any man before her wedding. But it did not mean that Feyd hadn’t been fantasising about it many times before.

She was an absolute perfection. She was like a reflection in the mirror. And who could be more beautiful and breathtaking than Feyd-Rautha himself? She was his missing part like he was hers. They completed each other in many ways but in other ways they were exactly the same. Their heartbeats and breaths were in sync, their desires were the same and he could not tell anymore whether he craved her because of the strong resemblance or had he been the one to spoil her. His childhood experience full of violence and cruelty turned him into a hypersexual predator who would fuck anything and anyone. He had been the first one to put the sexual context into their innocent touches and kisses. On the other hand, she had played along very quickly.

In the whole wide world, his twin sister was the only person who knew and understood him. They had no secrets with each other.

“You’re getting too excited, brother,” she pointed out with a smirk as she threw her arms around his neck. He looked up at her face looming over his. She was even more beautiful like that – on top of him, in control.

“You’re mine,” he let out a raspy whisper as she raised one of her white eyebrows at him. “You’re mine and only mine. Forever,” he breathed out.

“That’s an interesting concept, Feyd-Rautha,” she smiled, “but you do know that our brother is raising me to be another man’s lady.”

“You will be my Baroness and if our brother stands in the way of that happening, I will slay him,” Feyd threatened and his sister moved uncomfortably at his words.

“Stop talking nonsense,” she rose up to leave the bathtub already but Feyd grabbed her by her hair and pulled her down again as she hissed out of discomfort. He hated to inflict pain on her out of all the people but sometimes he just… had to.

“I do mean that,” he drawled as her eyes widened at him.

“I know,” she only said and he licked his lips at the sight of her chest rising up and down as she breathed heavily. He let go of her and watched her leave the bathtub and the bathroom without a word.

Feyd left the bathtub, too. He put on a simple black robe and went back to his room. His sister was laying on his bed, completely naked and playing with one of his short knives in her hands. He sighed with relief at the sight. He expected her to be offended and go to her room before locking the doors for the night.

“I’ll be back in a while,” he told her and approached the doors leading to the corridor. She snorted and he froze.

“You’re like a dog, dear brother. You men are so easy to control with your sexual urges and desires,” she commented and Feyd clenched his jaw as he turned his head around to look at her.

“I’m trying very hard not to violate you. Don’t tease,” he warned.

“Your own sister?” She grinned, showing off her black teeth.

As a child, she had insisted on dyeing them just like her twin brother. Glossu had refused – it would make her look less appealing for the future suitors. Even The Baron had told her it had not been the best idea. (Y/N) had not listened. She had sneaked into the medical wing and had done it herself. At twelve years old she had ruined herself for the first time for Feyd-Rautha.

That had been the only time when Glossu had actually punished her physically. Feyd still remembered because he had been waiting for her by the doors leading to his brother’s chambers. She had been screaming and kicking her feet while getting her arse spanked. After leaving the room, she had sniffled all the tears back and grinned at Feyd with her new black smile. “I’ve gotten my arse whooped,” she had told him proudly as if it was an achievement.

Some time later she had been caught wanting to shave her head off but it was Feyd this time who had stopped her – telling her how much he loved it, how it was making her look different than all the other women around. How much power that hair was giving her. It had made her hesitantly put the scissors down.

And now, Feyd did not answer her teasing accusation as he left the bedroom to go to his concubines, leaving his sister alone. He would join her later, when she would already be asleep. He’d pull her closer and she’d open her arms to welcome him. He’d fall asleep caressing the soft curves of her body and feeling her heartbeat pressed to his.

Two weeks later he trained as usual while (Y/N) sat nearby and watched. She would clap her hands excitedly each time he’d succeed and make a boo sound each time he’d lose. There was lots of mockery in her exaggerated reactions but he couldn’t imagine training without her around anymore.

At the sight of his brother entering the courtyard, Feyd lowered his blade and gave him an unpleasant look.

“What do you want? Why are you interrupting me?” He asked Glossu.

“I am not here for you,” his brother extended his hand towards their sister. “(Y/N), come with me. It is important,” he insisted and she whined. “Our uncle requires your presence.”

“Why?” Feyd barked. He did not like the idea of his uncle wanting something from his sister.

“It is none of your business, Feyd,” Glossu snapped at him and a second later he already had his brother’s knife pressed to his neck.

“Everything regarding (Y/N) is a business of mine,” Feyd hissed.

“Leave him alone,” she approached them as she ordered her twin brother. He took a step back and lowered the blade but only because it was her ordering him. She would always defend Glossu in all the arguments between the brothers. Feyd knew why – their older brother had been the closest thing to a father she had. He protected her, too. And that was the only thing Glossu and Feyd had in common. The love for their sister.

But only one of them loved her… so much.

She put her hands around Glossu’s arm and allowed him to lead her out of the courtyard. Feyd waved his hand dismissively at the servant he had been fighting with as he decided to follow them.

“Your presence was not requested,” his brother remarked.

“Don’t tease him so,” (Y/N) scolded him and he shut his mouth.

Glossu led them to the throne room where their uncle was sitting. But he was not alone. He had guests. Feyd and (Y/N) recognised them immediately from the pictures. The Atreides family – dignified and regally looking Duke Leto Atreides with his beautiful concubine Lady Jessica of The Bene Gesserit. Between them there was a young man standing – their son, Prince Paul Atreides. He was visibly trying to put on a brave face but he was scared and his eyes avoided the siblings who had just entered the room.

“Ah, here they are,” The Baron beckoned them over with his hand as he announced them. “My eldest nephew Count Glossu Rabban and his beloved younger sister, my niece, Countess (Y/N) Rabban.”

She let go of her older brother’s hand and stepped out to bow down slightly. Feyd sneered at that. He always would whenever she’d act like a lady – like their brother and uncle wanted her to. Like she had been taught to ever since she was a little girl.

“That insolent young man standing behind her is my heir and (Y/N)’s twin brother, Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” The Baron gave Feyd a scolding look.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my Lords, my Lady,” Duke Leto nodded his head at all of the siblings.

“(Y/N), child, come closer,” The Baron cooed to her unusually. He would often put on such a show in front of important guests as if he wasn’t treating her like air most of the time. But Feyd was glad that his uncle actually ignored his sister. Otherwise it would be more difficult to protect her.

She approached the guests with furrowed brows, visibly confused by this situation. Feyd’s heart already squeezed inside of his chest as he had a feeling what that was about.

“You will be married to Prince Paul Atreides,” The Baron informed her as if it was nothing.

Feyd looked at Glossu first but his brother did not look surprised at all. He had to know already and it made Feyd feel even angrier as he treated it as betrayal. He shot his uncle a furious glance and then he laid his eyes on his twin sister. To his surprise, she was smiling softly at the shy and gently looking young man.

“It is a great honour,” she bowed her head and Paul Atreides flinched a little. She noticed it. “Do not be scared of me, my Lord,” she chuckled delicately. “I am nothing like my brothers.”

Feyd gritted his teeth. Without a word – rudely and risking his uncle’s punishment – he turned around and left the room.

He saw her again in the evening. He had been training intensely for the past few hours, trying to let the frustration go. The doors leading to her bedroom were ajar and he peeked inside. (Y/N) was packing her things into black wooden chests.

“What are you doing?” Feyd asked her as his blood ran cold.

“I shall take a different room from now on. It is inappropriate for us to share one,” she muttered without even looking up at him.

“Since when do you care?” Feyd leaned on the wall and watched her carefully, trying not to show how much he was panicking on the inside.

“Since I am getting married soon,” she shrugged her arms and he snorted at her.

“You really think I’m going to allow this union, dear sister?” He asked and she turned her face around with her brows furrowed.

“You have nothing to say in that matter, brother,” she reminded him. “You are nothing but our uncle’s pet. The psychotic and fearsome Feyd-Rautha… If only they knew that you’re not scary at all,” she remarked as his jaw clenched.

“I will kill him if I must. That boy, Paul Atreides,” Feyd threatened.

“We both know you will not. It would have consequences greater than you and I can even imagine,” she smiled but he noticed the curls of her lips twitching. She was nervous.

“How can you not oppose this marriage?” Feyd let his guard down as he asked genuinely, expecting an answer just as honest.

His sister’s facial expression changed as well. She approached him and cupped his face in her delicate, soft hands.

“I’ve always known I would leave Giedi Prime eventually. I could only hope for a good husband and Paul Atreides is good. He is young and pretty and naive. My life as his Duchess will be easy and pleasant,” she explained softly. “I’ve always known I would leave Giedi Prime and I couldn’t wait for that day. I want to… No, I need to get away from here… from you,” she whispered as his eyes widened at her revelation. “You’re poisonous, Feyd-Rautha. You have spoiled me already, ruined me, stained me. And everywhere I go, our uncle’s sticky spiderweb surrounds me, suffocates me,” she finished before leaning in to place a gentle goodbye kiss upon his lips.

She wanted to move away but he grabbed her cheeks and aggressively pulled her closer once again, kissing her yet again but possessively and hungrily. She didn’t kiss him back this time.

When he finally let go of her, they were both breathing heavily but there was nothing but anger in their eyes.

“Stay away from me and stay away from Paul Atreides,” she warned her brother and he walked out of her room before slamming the doors behind him, furiously.

But Feyd did not stay away. Whenever he was not in the courtyard, training vigorously and slaying his opponents one after another with the ferocity he had not displayed before, he would follow (Y/N) and her husband-to-be around the fortress. He didn’t trust any servant to spy on them for him, no, he had to do it himself.

Paul Atreides was left alone for two weeks on Giedi Prime and after that time he would take the Countess with him to Caladan. He was scared of his betrothed’s planet as he was widening his eyes at everything as she explained to him gently. Usually Feyd was catching them in the maze of countlessly corridors as they walked together. Soft laughter of his sister occasionally filled the cold marble walls.

He was nearly always there; creeping in the shadows, watching, observing, gritting his teeth at her every smile or blush. Paul Atreides, visibly scared of her at first, was slowly starting to get used to her presence. And one day he dared to lean in and steal a delicate kiss from her lips.

Feyd clenched his fists at the sight as he was hiding behind the pillar. His sister’s lips had never been kissed before by any man other than him. His blood boiled when he realised that not only Paul Atreides would kiss her but also claim her as his own and put his weak and pathetic heirs inside her womb.

No, that could not happen. She was made for him, she was his other half. Feyd-Rautha would not let any other man take her away from him.

He turned around and quietly went to the living quarters where he found the room that now belonged to his sister. He barked at the servant girls to leave him and they ran away, startled by his anger. Once he was alone in (Y/N)’s bedroom, he patiently waited.

After a while, he heard her footsteps down the corridor. He would recognise them everywhere. He stood behind the doors as his heart pounded in his chest from the anticipation.

She pushed the doors open and walked inside, looking around for her servant girls. Feyd was standing behind her and observing her carefully, wondering when she’d notice him.

“I know you’re here,” she sighed without looking back. “I can recognise your stench,” she drawled.

He growled at her insolent words as he swiftly moved forward and grabbed her by her hair, pulling it by the roots and making her hiss out of pain. He pulled her closer to him, rested her body on his and smirked while pressing his cheek to hers.

“You’ve never seemed to complain about my scent before, dear sister,” he pointed out.

“I meant that you stink of sweat and blood at this very moment,” she fixed herself, still wincing out of pain he was inflicting upon her. “What do you want from me?”

“I saw you with him,” he breathed out.

“I know. I see you in the shadows every time,” she sneered. “I recommend finding a different hobby.”

“You’re mine. If you think I’m going to let you leave Giedi Prime, carry his surname and bear his filthy Atreides children in your womb, then you are mistaken, sister,” Feyd whispered angrily into her ear before biting on her earlobe.

She did not answer but in her eyes he spotted fear. Real fear, not her usual playful demeanour. For the first time in her life she was truly scared of her twin brother. Perhaps for the first time she understood why others feared him.

Still holding her by her white hair, he walked her to the bed and threw her on it. She immediately tried to crawl away and run away from him but he grabbed her ankle and watched her struggle with a smirk.

“Leave me alone,” she tried to command him. And usually he would listen to her orders but not now, too blinded by jealousy.

In one swift movement he brought her closer by her ankle and tore her dress and underwear open with his small knife. She looked up at him with anger, fear and a dose of excitement that made him smirk. Her body betrayed her – she wanted it, too.

He was rock hard already at the sight of her like that for him. She was like a prey on display for him to feast upon. Feyd licked his lips and turned her around. He took his cock out of his leather pants as she tried to stand up on her shaky hands and legs to get away. Before she’d move too far, he pulled her close once again with a laugh.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he threatened and pressed his blade under her chin.

On her hands and knees with her beautiful white hair resting on her back – he had been dreaming of claiming her from behind this way for years now. She was trembling out of fear and anger but she couldn’t scream for help when his blade was so close to her larynx.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned in closer to her ear. “You’re my other half.”

He felt her swallowing thickly under his blade as he smirked to himself and moved the knife away. Before she could scream, he pushed her head down into her pillow, muffling any sound that would leave her mouth.

“No Atreides will fuck you. No other man will at all, for that matter,” he barked at her, his cock twitching already at the sight of her exposed womanhood. “You’re mine,” he reminded her.

She tried to protest but he couldn’t understand the words she was saying. He pressed her head even deeper into the pillow and with his free hand he ran across her folds, finding her clit and pinching it as she squealed and kicked her feet.

She was so delicate and sensitive, his dear sister. He took a deep breath in as he was starting to get dizzy from the sight and smell alone. He worked his fingertips around her sweet spot and noticed her muscles relaxing as her will to fight him off started to subdue gradually. At the first feeling of her warm wetness, he gathered it and brought his fingers to his mouth. Feyd hummed at the taste.

“Do you know what you taste like?” He asked her angrily and pulled her hair again. She shook her head. “Like me,” he pointed out. “Because we belong together,” he reminded her and she whined.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed her now. He pumped his hard cock a few times before lining it up with her tight hole. Feyd nearly felt bad for his sweet sister, for the pain she would experience now. But no feeling was stronger than his lust.

He entered her in one deep thrust while she yelped and writhed; even the pillow was not able to muffle the pathetic sound leaving her mouth. He closed his eyes at the feeling of her warm and tight walls spasming around his length. She was perfect, she was made for him and him only. They were finally complete again; one body, one soul.

“You will rule with me as my Baroness,” he hissed as his hips began to thrust into her. “We will bring back the old traditions, keep our bloodline pure. And you will give me heirs,” he crooned to her maliciously. “You were made to do that, sweet sister. Made for me. Me,” he kept repeating.

She drooled and sobbed into the soft silky pillow as her hands were clutching on the sheets. She was helpless under him but what she hated the most was that part of her that did not want him to stop. That part of her that felt the same way as her brother – complete at the feeling of him fucking her. Like she was finally connected to the long lost part of her body.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head with each of his thrust, filling her so thoroughly, making her feel full and overwhelmed as he was hitting all the right spots inside of her. She knew that sweet and gentle Paul Atreides would never claim her this way. No one would. Only her twin brother knew how to please her. He understood her more than anybody else.

He spoiled her, he ruined her, he was poisonous. But who said she didn’t want it? Her body betrayed her as it admitted that she craved it.

What she feared were the consequences of this act. The consequences of breaking the fragile truce with The Atreides, the consequences of breaking up the engagement that had been not only prepared by The Baron himself but also plotted by the dangerous Bene Gesserit.

None of it mattered, though. None of it was important with Feyd's cock buried so deep inside of her, his hand pushing her face into the pillow and making her suffocate slightly, which only enhanced the pleasure. His free hand was squeezing her hip and marking it as he grunted and cooed to her all those blasphemous promises about their shared life together, their compatibility, their bodies being made for one another.

She came first; suddenly and without a warning. Her body spasmed and trembled as her limbs went numb. At the feeling of her tight walls fluttering around his cock, Feyd reached his peak right after but he did not pull out for a long time, emptying himself as deep inside of her as he could; straight into her womb.

His sister whined at the feeling of his thick, black cum coating her walls but now, after his release, most of his anger was gone as well, so he just caressed her head and shushed her.

“Shh, dear sister, just take it like you were made to,” he cooed and she didn’t have any strength in her body to fight it anymore.

When he eventually pulled out, he watched her pussy twitching deliciously as a small streamlet of his black cum leaked out of it and stained her grey sheets, mixing with a few droplets of blood.

“Now, when you’ve been claimed by me,” Feyd smirked to himself proudly as he hid his cock back into his pants, “no other man will want you. Not when you’re surely carrying my spawn in your womb,” he added and left the room without a word.

He refused to watch her laying there and sobbing silently, trying to collect her breath and clumsily stand up to go to the bathroom. Some part of him regretted his act and seeing his beloved sister in such a state was bringing him no pleasure. He couldn’t take this back now, though, and he didn’t want to. It just had to be done.

The room was dead silent. Old Bene Gesserit woman was staring at Countess Rabban in disbelief and the young woman held her head down with her hands clasped around her abdomen as if she was protecting her spawn from The Reverend Mother’s gaze.

Both Baron Harkonnen and Duke Atreides looked displeased but only the second one was also visibly disgusted. His son was standing by his side; shocked and scared. Saddened. Disappointed.

Glossu Rabban’s face showed nothing but disappointment and disgust as well. His anger was aimed mostly at his younger brother. He refused to believe his sister could be as rotten as Feyd-Rautha – the only person in the room who actually looked proud as he straightened himself and smirked at everyone gathered inside.

“What are you smiling about, boy?” The Reverend Mother scolded him. “Have you got any idea what you have done?”

“I’ve claimed my sister as my own. It is an old tradition of the Great Houses to practise,” he reminded her.

“Which was abandoned a long time ago for a reason!” The Bene Gesserit snapped at him. “Your sister was supposed to give birth to Paul Atreides’ son and bring Kwisatz Haderach to life!”

“I do not care about your schemes,” Feyd rolled his eyes as he moved closer to his sister.

“Stay away from her,” Glossu barked.

“Or what? She’s already carrying my child inside of her, is she not?” Feyd asked, proudly as most of the room flinched with disgust.

“She can still bear Kwisatz Haderach,” The Baron tried to desperately save the situation. “We can get rid of that spawn inside of her and still give her to Paul Atreides. Obviously, not as a wife anymore,” he assured Duke Leto. “As a whore that she apparently is.”

Feyd clenched his jaw at his words as he took a step ahead of (Y/N) and covered her body with his from the sight.

“Over my dead body any of you will touch my sister or my child,” he drawled through gritted teeth.

“Inbreeding your bloodline might have morbid consequences,” The Reverend Mother informed him. “She’s carrying a demon.”

Feyd snorted at her. Was he supposed to be scared of her words? They only made him even more proud.

At those words, Baron Harkonnen squinted his eyes at the Bene Gesserit woman. He visibly liked the idea of having demonic heirs as well.

“I've changed my mind. We will not get rid of the child,” he decided. “Feyd-Rautha is my na-baron. If he chooses to marry his twin sister, then that is his right,” he said.

“That is plain disrespect!” Duke Leto raised his voice. “We have agreed to this union despite the bride being… not of the best quality. We have brought our son here, to this poisoned planet and nothing but humiliation awaited him here.”

Duke Leto pushed his son lightly in the direction of the doors as they walked out, offended. The guards looked at The Baron Harkonnen questioningly.

“Let them go,” he chuckled. “Soon, their time will come anyway.”

“Not before we secure young Paul Atreides’ bloodline!” The Reverend Mother widened her eyes at him as she ran after Duke Leto. “My Lord, please wait, I have another brides to offer that will suit your son just right…!” Her voice disappeared when the heavy doors closed behind them all.

“So, it’s settled,” Baron Harkonnen took a look at his nephews and niece as he puffed on his pipe and sighed. “You owe me for that, Feyd,” he pointed out and his young nephew bowed down. “I knew that you children would bring me nothing but trouble.”

“I am sorry!” Glossu exclaimed all of sudden as everyone looked at him, surprised. “I am sorry for failing, uncle! I was supposed to look after her, to protect her, to make sure everything goes right…”

“But everything did go right,” Baron Harkonnen laughed contemptuously. “(Y/N), darling, come here…” He reached his hand out and the young woman nodded her head before approaching her uncle, obediently. “When you were a little baby, I wanted to get rid of you,” he admitted as he held her hand. “Your brother Glossu was the one to convince me you would be useful one day. He swore to raise you.”

(Y/N) didn’t react to those words. She only stood there and looked deep into her uncle’s eyes.

“Turns out he was right,” The Baron continued, “you are very useful for The House Harkonnen. You will bear us strong heirs that shall take over the whole Empire…” He hummed and she nodded. “From now on, even before your wedding to your brother, you will be known as Countess (Y/N) Harkonnen. I adopt you,” he announced as her eyes sparkled.

“Thank you, uncle,” she let go of his hand to take a step back and bow her head down.

Feyd stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Glossu was staring at them as if he wanted to kill them both at that moment. Even his baby sister whom he had raised was suddenly more important in the family hierarchy than him.

“You have my blessing,” The Baron told them and dismissed them all with a wave of his hand.

Feyd walked his sister out of the throne room with his hands still on her shoulders. He was as protective as ever with her now when she was in her delicate state.

He took her back to their shared chambers to which she had returned recently. He sat her down on the edge of his bed and approached the vanity table to get a brush before sitting behind her and taking care of her long, white hair. Delicately working on every small tangle, sniffing the scent of her favourite hair oils, smiling to himself at the thought he would have her for himself forever from now on.

“Are you happy, dear sister?” He asked as he gathered her hair to throw it out of her left shoulder and place a kiss on the exposed skin of her neck.

“We belong together,” she answered, her hands still clasped on her abdomen protectively as if that demonic spawn inside of her needed protection. “I was made for you,” she added.

She would not get away from Giedi Prime. She would not be given to any lord and run away from The Harkonnens. In fact, now she was a Harkonnen, too. Her fate was to rule alongside Feyd-Rautha as his sister-wife.

“I asked, are you happy, dear sister?” He repeated the question, squinting his eyes at her.

She took a deep breath in. She knew that he would know if she lied to him but she didn’t feel the need to hide anything from him. Therefore, she spoke the truth:

“I am.”

MASTERLIST

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #lilysfiction #austin butler x reader

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