#gladiator!azriel
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Ludos Imperiales
Summary: A Princess!Reader x Gladiator!Bat Boys fic that's been swimming around in my head for weeks after watching Gladiator I and II
Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Mentions of Torture, Slavery, and Assault
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āSo good of you to finally join us, cousin.ā The din of the crowd nearly drowns out the words, the feverish cheers echoing off the massive stone pillars that hold the auditorium seats up and away from the stench of death and decay that permeates from the mud soaked pit beneath the plush outdoor auditorium. There are rows of decadent booths along the pit's edge, each box set with plush chases and golden edged pillows. Slaves with palm fronds fan ornately dressed royals, their faces obscured by gold lined veils. The auditorium oozes wealth and luxury, offers decadent food and drink and deep enough betting pools to make the strictest penny pinchers among the elite crawl out of their caves to try their luck.
The altar for the Mother gleams golden in the afternoon sunlight, the carved statue standing with arms and feathered wings outstretched in welcome. Beckoning those to come and offer a bit of blood in hopes of trading it for some luck. Luck for the gamblers, of course, never the males, and sometimes females, who fight and die in the muddy pit far beneath the first row of booths. My father says they made the Games to punish our enemies, and to reward our soldiers, but both fight and die as equals all the same.Ā
I frown first at the statue, how could our most beloved Goddess reward this kind of brutality? Then at my cousin, who I remember, is still waiting for me to speak. Dagdan sports his military regalia, the glittering medals across his chest all pinned there by my father for his service to our great empire. Service he never actually participated in. Dagdan can wield a sword because of the patience of his tutors, heās never raised it in battle, despite the stories he tells at every possible turn.Ā
āFather said the Games would be impressive this year,ā I reply, trying to keep the bite out of my tone. Mother raised me to be demure, to keep my chin up, to never let an enemy see what I was feeling. She had been good at that, too good, perhaps that was why she had been publicly executed. For all her poise, she had not been able to outmatch my Fatherās paranoia.
Beside him, Dagdanās twin sister Brannagh grins, her pearly white teeth a harsh contrast to her otherwise impassive face. Itās like watching a shark try to grin. āThe Uprising in the Courts made for a lot of candidates this year.ā
My stomach turns. The Empire is vast, spreading across continents and oceans. The Courts in Prythian were the last of the fae to fall in line before Father turned his attention to the Human Lands. Each year, more and more slaves and captives are carted in through the iron gates far beneath the smooth stones we stand on, all tossed into the mud to fight each other for a slim possibility of survival. Some come willingly, chasing fortune and gold; some are sponsors of Fatherās Inner Circle, their armor always pristine, their weapons always sharp. But most of the gladiators are slaves, crammed into dingy cells in the catacombs beneath the arena. Despite the decadence of the auditorium, one visit down into the bowels of this awful place was enough to scar me for life. As Father intended, Iām sure. Our esteemed Emperor had not been shy about his disdain for not being able to produce a son and his paranoia often convinced him that I would one day find a husband crafty enough to steal his Throne before he found a match he thought suitable, he often dragged me to these things to remind me the brutality he was capable of if I stepped out of line. No doubt it was why heād insisted I come out today. I had not been out in public in some time, not after the grief of losing my mother had so thoroughly consumed me. My grief had shamed him; had made some in his Inner Circle suspect I was also plotting against him. My presence here was as much a check into my loyalties as it was to remind me of what fate could befall me if I kept on wallowing away in the dark.
I smooth my hands over my skirts, putting thoughts of my Mother aside. It always feels like a gaping wound in my chest, nerve and sinew exposed and open for every onlooker to see. I must reign it in. For the sake of my future.Ā
āWeāll see a lot of Fae, then?ā There were a lot of elves last year and shifters the year before that. There is no prejudice in the games. Race and gender matter little in a battle of survival.Ā
The twins follow me as I find my way through the bustling crowd to our booth, where I know Father will already be waiting.Ā
āSome humans for the first round,ā Dagdan spits like heās tasted something vile.Ā
āSome half-breeds and mutts for the second,ā Brannagh finishes with far more delight than her brother. Their eagerness from blood is one of the few reasons Father didnāt name their heir in my place. Brutality is necessary, but bloodlust turns a well rounded Empire on its head. Father placates them by giving them titles, parading them around like their important so they remain loyal, but he will never truly give them the power they seek. Theyāre simply not smart enough to see it.
āBut the final round will be entertaining,ā Dagdan says, gray eyes twinkling as the wall of guards at attention in Fatherās booth part for us.Ā
Our esteemed emperor sits on a throne made entirely of gold, a goblet of wine already in his hands. A circlet of gold leaf perches on top of his salt and pepper hair, the sharp edges reflecting the light along the crimson curtains that help keep out the summer heat. We all bow to him as we enter, and Father reaches out a hand for mine without ever looking at us.Ā
āIt is good to see you outside again, daughter,ā he says, chapped lips brushing over my knuckles in a brief display of affection.Ā
āIām sorry it has been so long, Father,ā I keep my voice even, unbothered. I will not let any of them see how much I hate all of this.Ā
He guides me to sit on the couch beside the throne, where I have ample view of the uneven floor below. Yesterdayās rain has filled the giant pit with mud. Mud that could have easily been covered and smoothed out to make the playing field fair for all, but that is not how these Games work. Bones still litter the uneven ground, a rib cage protruding from a mound of dirt, a crumbling arrow still caught inside it. Thereās the skull of an animal turned upside down, a stream of muddy water running out the eye sockets like some sort of twisted water fountain. Old weapons lay scattered around the arena floor; a wagon weaves around boulders and mounds of loose earth to scatter more.Ā
āI trust youāre feeling better?ā The question is pointed, for the sake of my cousins. He has been telling people the shock of my Motherās supposed betrayal had been too much on my health and Iād been bed ridden. Itās not entirely far from the truth.Ā
āYes, Father. The sunlight does me good.ā Not far from the truth either. It is nice to be away from the palace and all the chaos that comes with it.Ā
Brannagh sits beside me, a slave scurrying behind her with a fan, a second not far behind with some wine. She stretches her long legs out in front of her with a sigh, the sunlight drifting through the curtains making her pale skin look translucent. āDo you have a favorite to win today, Uncle?ā
My Father sips from his goblet, a bit of wine caught in his graying beard. āJust a favorite to lose,ā he chuckles. Though he is getting older, the gleam in his slate gray eyes is still sharp and youthful. Even with his bouts of paranoia, his mind is still sharp and calculating.Ā
āDo tell, before itās too late for me to change my bets,ā Dagdan quips. Though I doubt it is all in jest, my cousin is far more in debt than he realizes.Ā
Horns blare from the upper rings of the arena, signalling those still milling about placing bets and finding food to get to their seats. The Games will start soon. My stomach twists itself into a new knot. There is no shortage of ways my Father will have found to torment the poor souls who find themselves in the pit today, I am not eager to see what they are.Ā
āThere was someā¦ trouble in the mountain regions of the Courts,ā he says carefully.Ā
I force myself not to turn and look at him. Trouble for my father usually means rebellion, or outright war, anything else is too insignificant to mention. In my seclusion, I had not even caught wind of it.Ā
āWe have a few insurrectionists Iād like to see fall today.ā
Few are foolish enough to raise a hand against the Empire. It usually means their provinces go without food and aid in the harsher months of the year. I am curious to see who would be foolish enough to risk the lives of their people.Ā
āThose great wings of theirs would make an excellent trophy on my wall,ā Father finishes.Ā
A shiver runs down my spine. It would not be the first gruesome trophy of his, but still, the outright admittance to such cruelty still makes me tremble. My unease is only heightened by the arrival of my Fatherās General, who enters the booth followed by a handful of male slaves, all barely dressed.
āAmarantha!ā It is no secret that my Father has always wished I shared the temperament and constitution of his beloved General. If he had to be cursed with a female for an heir, he wanted ruthlessness, cunning, and a smile that could peel paint. All things the red headed fae oozed in abundance.Ā
All things my Father was convinced I lacked. Iād take it. His disdain was better than being exactly like her. I canāt help the way my nose crinkles at the sight of her. Brannagh moves closer to the edge of the couch, in hopes of ending up in her line of vision, eager to swap stories before the Games officially start. Brannagh wants to be just like her, the gaggle of pleasure slaves included. The two of them would unleash hell on the world if my Father ever put the two of them together.Ā
āYour Highness,ā Amarantha bows, the loose fabric of her nearly sheer gown spilling to give my Father ample view of her cleavage. I stopped allowing myself to question the nature of their relationship long ago; my stomach turns thinking about it.Ā
āIt is a good day for betting, donāt you think?ā She asks. Her voice is like gravel, fitting since its the color of her eyes. A finger bone dangles from her neck, an eye encased in glass sitting atop her finger; though she is lean, she is stronger and more deadly than most people assume at first glance. Everything about her is dangerously sharp.Ā
āI was just telling Dagdan the same thing,ā my Father says.
Those dark eyes flick briefly to my cousin, who puffs up his chest, but she ignores him entirely as her gaze settles on me. āPrincess! I didnāt know youād be joining us today. What a monumental occasion!ā
āI thought the fresh air would do me some good,ā I say simply. What else is there to say to Evil Incarnate? Perhaps I should put more energy into being clever, I know that if Amarantha saw a benefit to cleaving my head from my shoulders, sheād take it--power is all she cares about, so far we havenāt faced each other because she doesnāt think I have enough to steal--but I cannot summon the energy. Ever since the incident with my Mother, I have not managed to find much in me at all. Especially not for Amarantha and her social climbing.Ā
āNothing like a little blood sport to invigorate the mind,ā she purrs as she lowers herself into the seat at my Fatherās right hand. One of her slaves perches on the arm of her chair, bare chest glinting with oils in the harsh sunlight. Another sits at her feet, and her nails, sharpened to points, drift harshly through his thick curls.Ā
I watch my cousin run her tongue over her lips at the sight.Ā
āDid you place any bets, Princess?ā Amarantha continues as someone brings her a goblet of wine. She sniffs suspiciously at it before instructing one of her slaves to test it first. Perhaps poison would be a mercy.Ā
Never admit weakness. Never admit that my solitude has kept me out of the loop and left me ill prepared for whatever is about to happen in the Pit beneath us. Instead, I say, āWe have several days of entertainment, I prefer to observe on the first day.ā
To his credit, my Father does reach over and pat my shoulder in approval.Ā
āClever,ā she says, but thereās enough bite in it to not make it a compliment.Ā
āMy money is on your Attor, as always, General,ā Brannagh says with the eagerness of a child with a crush.Ā
Amarantha huffs in annoyance, as if my cousin is a fly buzzing around her ear, āHeās too good, its almost boring at this point.ā
Brannagh deflates, but before she can come up with something witty in response, the final warning horn blows from the rafters. The Games will begin.Ā
I turn my attention away from my company, watching brightly dressed royals rush to their booths. There are all sorts of creatures here to watch: Elves and Fae and Fawn, a few Goblins and Giants, observing from a standing platform opposite us. There is room for most, save for humans, within the Empire, as long as they prove their usefulness. That is my Fatherās crowning achievement, the Hybern Empire has room for all, if you play your cards right and never step out of line.Ā
The groaning of the gates draws my attention away from the spectators and down into the Pit beneath us, where a whole cart of humans appears from the gloom of one of the entrances. They look small; mud and blood splattered as several Praetorian guards usher them out of the cart with spears bigger than most of their heads. The guards do not remove their shackles, leaving all twelve of them tethered together in the center of the Pit.
The cart rolls away, the guards with it, only once their out does another gate open to let out the challenger: Amaranthaās hulking Attor. The creature is battle scarred, lines criss-crossing over its leathery skin. Its giant wings flutter on the breeze behind it as it stalks into the center, Amaranthaās crest painted in blood red over its chest.Ā
The crowd goes wild as it enters the pit, clawed hands swinging wildly around its hulking body. āATTOR! ATTOR! ATTOR!ā The monster has always been the crowd favorite.
Amarantha yawns. Sheāll make thousands off the creature, but that is nothing to her. Money is trivial, unless it can buy her the power she craves.Ā
I glance at my Father as the Games Maker starts addressing the crowd and explaining the match up. āWould it not be more entertaining to unchain them?ā Theyāre all going to die anyway, surely this gives them a fighting chance to die with some honor. āWe all know the Attor will win, why make it easy for it?ā
Amarantha nearly spits out her wine, a gurgling sound coming out of her as she tries to maintain her composure.Ā
I do not let myself grin at the victory.
Father runs a hand over his graying beard in thought. āPerhaps your solitude did you some good, Daughter.ā
I do not shutter. I cannot save any of them, as pitiful and helpless as they look alongside the Attor. It will give them all gruesome deaths purely for the fun of it. But perhaps the Mother will take pity; may the chance to die fighting grant them peace in the afterlife.Ā
Father stands and motions for the Game Maker to quiet. āLet the humans be unchained!ā
The crowd erupts into varying shouts of surprise and approval.Ā
āLet us test the skill of the Attor!ā
This pleases the crowd, but it makes Amaranthaās cheeks flush crimson. She hides a grimace behind her wine as my Father returns to his seat.Ā
A single guard returns with keys, and the crowd falls into a hushed silence, waiting for chaos to ensue. I force myself not to look away; to face what I have done. One of the humans cranes its head to look up at our box and flashes us his middle finger.
Dagdan bristles in his seat next to his sister. āHe should pay for that!ā
They will. There will be no rescue. There is none to be found. The Empire comes for all of us eventually, best that we can do is go into it with our heads up. I am trying to accept my fate in this, what other choice do I have, lest I end up dead or locked away.Ā
Once the guard is clear, the horns once again blow, telling the Attor he can start his hunt. Those great wings at his back kick up loose dirt as he launches into the air with a roar that makes the arena tremble.Ā
The crowd cheers, leaning forward in their seats to watch as the monster swoops down and gets its great jaws around the head of the first human. Brannagh giggles at the splatter of blood that erupts from the poor creatureās neck.Ā
I clench my hands in my lap.Ā
The second human tries to run, scrambling for purchase in the thick mud. It doesnāt help that theyāre all barefoot. The Attorās claws tear through the humanās back like butter, the poor thing going down with a wail that makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest.
The third manages to find a sword, the blade rusted from the rain; the man gets a good swipe in, nicking the inside of the Attorās palm before it gets shredded to pieces.
Each human tries a little harder than the last, getting further each time. One manages to weave around the debris and avoid being swooped down on like the first, but the uneven terrain catches her ankle, sending her sprawling down with a shout as her leg is left twisted and broken. Another manages to get an arrow into the Attorās back, but not deep enough to do damage. They all go down fighting, and each new one has me saying a mental prayer to the Mother on their behalf, but none survive. Much to the crowdās glee.
āWonderful!ā Brannagh says, clapping as the Attor roars in victory.Ā
Amarantha shrugs. āBoring.ā
The Attor exits the Pit, ever the victor. The bodies it left arenāt even carted away. No one comes to pick up the pieces. No one will bury them. Their bones will rot and decay into the Pit floor.
I ask one of my Fatherās servants for some wine to try and settle the nausea that rolls in my stomach, but even the smoothest of wine does not dull it.Ā
My Father watches me carefully, calculating every move. I do my best to keep my features neutral.Ā
āWhat did you think, Daughter?ā
I take another sip of wine before speaking, giving myself time to collect my thoughts. āHumans donāt make very good gladiators.ā
He laughs at that and my cousins join in, as if it was the funniest thing ever.Ā
āHumans donāt make good anything,ā Dagdan says.
āExcept for a snack,ā Brannagh adds.
āWorms,ā Amarantha spits.
Father raises his cup in salute to me. āMay the next match be more exciting for you.ā
I ignore my revulsion and return the gesture. I cannot wait for this to be over. I shall retire back into my gloomy quarters with the curtains drawn and try to scrub the gory images from my brain. Perhaps my solitude would be more comforting than this.
The horns blow announcing the next match and the Games Maker drones on and on about where these next gladiators hail from. One side are all sponsored by royal families, all males trying to make a name for themselves and some coin to feed their families. Theyāre all well trained and well equipped for the task. Theyāre a filler spot, to give the rest of the Game Makers time to prepare the next victims of the Empireās wrath. Beneath the Pit floor, in the dark of the catacombs, the next round of war captives are likely being hauled out of their cells and prepped. I canāt help but wonder if they can hear the roaring of the Bogges and Gladiatorās alike from down there. Do they understand what is about to happen? Are they saying their final prayers to the Mother?
I canāt help but glance at Her altar. What kind of world is this that we live in? Brutal and cruel and blood splattered. If we are so favored, how could our lives look like this? It is thoughts like these that have kept me sequestered in my room. I do not know what I am supposed to live for, or who I am supposed to be any more. My life feels like it is stretching out before me, and someone else is pulling on the strings, making me a puppet that moves at their will. I no longer have the protection of my Mother. Father will soon throw me to the wolves if I am not smart or careful or cunning. The world is different and dark and I have utterly lost my way.
I am so wrapped up in my thoughts I barely register the fight. One of the males gets eaten by the terrifying Bogge, his screams echoing off the great walls. The crowd eats it up, cheering and screaming and jumping from their seats. The more blood that flows the louder they yell and cheer. These are my people? These are who I am to rule one day? What does that make me?
Dagdan huffs about his losses as the gladiators exit the arena, the Bogge all dead. He drowns his sorrows in his cup as if the solution to his terrible gambling habit might lie in the bottom.Ā
āFinally, now we can get to the part Iāve been waiting for!ā Amarantha declares.Ā
Father grins. āI take it they gave you trouble on the way here?ā
She spits again, a nasty habit that doesnāt bother anybody but me, apparently. āDamned Illyrians! Had to use faebane on them the whole way, otherwise they tore through the damn chains!ā
Father shakes his head. āI have to admit they surprised me-ā certainly a feat few have ever accomplished in his lifetime ā-usually their kind throw themselves on their swords before they get caught. Makes you think, doesnāt it?ā
Iāll chalk that up to his paranoia talking, but I have to admit, I am intrigued by the conversation. Anyone who can surprise my Father must be very skilled. Despite my disdain for these Games, I find myself leaning forward to get a better look into the arena when I hear the grates open for the third time.Ā
āWhat is there to be surprised about?ā Amarantha counters, but her words feel farther away as I catch sight of movement from the dark tunnel behind the entrance of the arena. āTheyāre rebels, their deaths will make martyrs out of them. They want a public execution.ā
The world feels as if it has narrowed into this moment. The din of the crowd starts to fade in and out of focus. I am suddenly very aware of the roaring of my heartbeat in my own ears.
The first male steps out of the tunnel, stripped to the waist, his bronze chest smattered with cuts and scrapes and bruises so dark theyāre nearly black. Dark twisting tattoos trace their way up his broad chest and over his shoulders and back, until they meet great, leathery wings like that of a batās. Long, dark hair, matted with mud and what might be blood, clings to his face, but despite the disheveled state, his hazel eyes remain clear and bright.Ā
The crowd boos when they see him. A few people hurl food at him.Ā
āCassian,ā Amarantha scoffs. āThe rebels call him their General.ā
Father frowns. āAs foolish as their militia was, do not forget how many of our soldiers he killed.āĀ
I cannot take my eyes off him. Heās taller than the guard that leads him by his bound wrists into the Pit. Larger too. Those broad shoulders and defined abs speak volumes about how skilled in swordplay he must be.
āWill you keep his wings when he dies, Uncle?ā Brannagh asks.
The wine threatens to come up at the thought of having to see such beautiful wings pinned to a wall in Fatherās study. The male clearly cares for them. When the guard gets too close he flicks them out of reach. While there are some nicks in the leathery membrane, the wings are the least scarred part of him. He has to take good care of them for someone so battle hardened to keep them looking like that.
āHappily,ā Father says.
Even if I wanted to look at him, I couldnāt, not as the second male enters the arena. Heās a little shorter than the first, his hair shorter, the dark onyx locks curling gently around his forehead. Blood still drips from an open gash across his temple, staining his cheek and neck crimson. Like the first, his chest is bare and marked with the same swirling tattoos, but unlike the first, his great wings hang limp behind him. One drags along the mud like a cape, the leathery membrane ripped open and bleeding, the other is twisted at an angle sharp enough to make me wince at the sight. The urge to run down to him is overwhelming. My hands drift down to the seat cushion and hold tight to keep myself still.
The crowd continues to boo and throw things as he tries to keep his head up and meet the other male in the center of the Pit.Ā
āAzriel,ā Father says to Amarantha, ā was quite a challenge for you, I hear?ā
His beloved General frowns. āThe shadow wielder managed to get a few good blows in, Iāll admit. But surprise only gets you so far.ā
My eyes drift from his broken wings to his hands, covered entirely in scars, like someone burned him. The thought makes my chest heavy.Ā
I donāt know whatās happening to me. I have never been so obviously shaken by the Games, not since the first time Iād come. Father had made me sit through weeks of slaughter, watching as gladiator after gladiator fell prey to a magic storm and a slew of magic beasts. Even then I had managed to hold it together until Iād made it home to vomit, but now I feel as if I cannot keep my body in its seat!
The magic that lives caged beneath my, usually, pristine facade cracks through, a bit of dark mist seeping out from between my fingers. I unfurl my fists and take my hands carefully into my lap, using a bit of my skirts to hide the errant flow of power. Iāve been neglecting my studies, have not given myself an outlet, this is a terrible time for a flare up! I try to focus on my breathing, the pounding of my heart isnāt helping. I need to remain calm. I need to remain in control.Ā
A feat that feels utterly impossible as the third and final male exits the tunnel. Time comes to a grinding halt, every footfall against the Pit floor a drumming, haunting echo in my ears. I have utterly forgotten how to breathe; how to think. The male is by far the most beautiful male Iāve ever seen, violet eyes twinkling with a thousand glittering stars. He sports the same tattoos as the others, the same bronze skin and battle hardened muscle, but it is the expression on his face that gets me. He is as battered and bloody as the second male, cheek split open, a slash mark clean down the middle of his chest; most of his body is a bruise, but he doesnāt wince at all. He keeps his chin high, high enough to look Father right in the eyes with every step he takes into the Pit. Thereās a clear challenge there, unhindered by the chains around his neck and wrists. Those gorsian stone chains donāt often make an appearance, unless the person attached to them is exceptionally skilled with magic.Ā
āRhysand,ā this time Amaranthaās voice is an excited purr and the power trying to escape through my fingers slips faster from my palms. I dig my nails so tight into my palms they bleed.Ā
āI do admit, itās a shame you have to kill him,ā she continues. āHeād make such a pretty addition to my collection.āĀ
It is all I can do to not turn and hurl a blast of dark, obsidian power at her. I keep my gaze on the Pit instead, as the final rebel joins the others in the center. Its only once heās there that something clicks into place in my mind. If Amarantha still speaks I canāt hear her. Time freezes again, the only signal of its passing the pounding of my heart in my ears.
Theyāre my mates!
And Iām about to watch them die.Ā
#rhysand x reader#rhys x reader#Cassian x reader#azriel x reader#poly!bat boys x reader#gladiator!bat boys#gladiator!rhys#gladiator!cassian#gladiator!azriel#acotar fic#acotar au#bat boys smut (eventually)#my writing#my fic
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š«§masterlistš«§
ā¢From (2022)
ā¢Call of Duty:
ACOTAR:
Azriel x reader
- Afterglow
Reader yearns for Az as she feels the bond set in she confesses and takes comfort in Lucien and Az does care. Does he?
āāā
The Boys:
Homelander
-Please,please,please
Heās fucked you over again and heād do anything to make it right, he starts with begging.
-Messy (Please,please,please part 2)
heās back like a cat with a dead bird.
The Deep
-Itch to scratch
itās ovulation week and ļæ½ļæ½ļæ½ you need a heroš¶ sorry himbo, you need a himbo.
āāā
SEND IN REQUESTS!š«µ
Fandoms/characters i wanna write for:
- Vikings
- Billy hargrove/stranger things
- Most House of the Dragon+Game of thrones characters
- Gen V + the boys
homelander x reader one shot request (coming soon)
- Sauron (can you blame me have you seen him in RoP)
- Joel Miller, The Last of Us
- Gladiator 2 (after i see it asap)
- Outerbanks
-Dune
-Grishaverse
āāā
FEEL FREE TO SEND REQUESTS FOR OTHER FANDOMS!!! I might not know them or i couldāve forgotten to add them to the list! worst i can say is no š
#billy hargrove x reader#randall kirkland x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#gen v prime#homelander x reader#sauron x reader#joel miller#joel miller x reader#acotar#azriel x reader#gladiator 2#gladiator 2 x reader#joseph quinn#paul mescal#outer banks#outerbanks x reader#rafe cameron x reader#feyd rautha#feyd x reader#tumblr fyppppppppp#tumblr fyp#ghoap x reader#ghost x soap#ghost x reader#soap x reader#johnny soap mactavish#simon ghost riley
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isnāt that DARIUS AURELIUS ALARIC SKYWARDEN? iāve seen them wearing the crest of VISSAI. i hear theyāre 49, but theyāre also a DRAGONRIDER. theyāve risen up the ranks to become THE CROWN PRINCE KING OF THE VISSAI KINGDOM. they seem to be LOYAL & RESOURCEFUL, but also AMBITIOUS & RASH. if you look closely, you'll see their aesthetics include BLOOD SPLATTERED OVER ROYAL GARB, CALLOUSED HANDS, SAND AND DIRT CRUSTED UNDER SHORT FINGERNAILS, GOLDEN DECOR IN THE FORM OF A PROUD DRAGON ON DARK LEATHER ARMOR.
BASIC INFORMATION
FULL NAME:Ā [ DARIUS AURELIUS ALARIC SKYWARDEN ] NICKNAME:Ā [ DAR, PRINCE, RIDER, LITTLE KING, DARI ] AGE:Ā [ 49 ] GENDER, PRONOUNS:Ā [ MALE, HE/HIM ] TITLE:Ā [ CROWN PRINCE KING ] SPECIES:Ā [ HUMAN ISH ] KINGDOM:Ā [ VISSAI ] HOUSE WORDS:Ā [ ON WINGS OF VALOR, WE RISE ] CASTLE NAME:Ā [ REGIA IGNIS (LOCATED IN DRAKEREACH) ] OCCUPATION:Ā [ DRAGONRIDER ] RELIGION:Ā [Ā THE WINGED BEAST / SPRINKLES OF THE HORNED STEADĀ ] LANGUAGE:Ā [ VISSAIC, DRACONIC, COMMON (ALL DIALECTS) ] ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:Ā [ HOMOROMANTIC ] SEXUAL ORIENTATION:Ā [ HOMOSEXUAL ] SEXUAL TEMPERAMENT:Ā [ BOTTOM-SUB (occasionally a lil dom outside of bed)] SEXUAL POSITION:Ā [ BOTTOM ]
RELATIONSHIPS
SIGNIFICANT OTHER:Ā [ TBA ] CHILDREN:Ā [ NONE ...YET ] PARENTS:Ā [Ā KING ALARIC GAIUS SKYWARDEN (DRAGONRIDER) + QUEEN IGNATIA. (SORCERER)Ā ] SIBLINGS:Ā [Ā DANTE SKYWARDEN, TBA.Ā ] FRIENDS:Ā [ RYKER FEINHALNAAR, KLOGROG, BALTHOR MILEDON, ELENORIUS DRAKNORĀ ]
PHYSICAL TRAITS
FACE CLAIM:Ā [ PEDRO PASCAL ] EYE COLOUR:Ā [ BROWN ] HAIR COLOUR:Ā [ BROWN ] HEIGHT:Ā [ 1.81 METRES / 5'11 FT ] BODY BUILD:Ā [ BIG AND BEEFY WITH A SLUTTY LITTLE WAIST PERFECT FOR GRABBING ] FACIAL HAIR:Ā [ LIGHT BEARD CENTRED AROUND THE MOUTH, EXTENDING TO THE SIDE OF HIS FACE, SUBTLE STACHE. ] TATTOOS + PIERCINGS:Ā [Ā PIERCING TOP OF HIS EAR. VISSAIAN CREST INKED ACROSS HIS BACK, DRAGON'S WINGS STRETCHING AROUND HIS SIDE TO HIS FRONTĀ ] NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: [ NECKLACE WITH THE VISSAIAN CREST AROUND HIS NECK, SIGNET RING OF THE ROYAL FORCE, BIG-ISH SCAR ALONG THE RIGHT SIDE OF HIS FACE (AS PER GLADIATOR GIFS) / ONE ACROSS THE BRIDGE OF HIS NOSE, A HANDFUL OF SMALLER ONES SCATTERED ACROSS HIS BODY ]
PHOBIAS AND DISORDERS
PHOBIAS/FEARS:Ā [Ā NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH/STRONG ENOUGH, ENDING UP ALONE, DISAPPOINTING HIS FAMILY/FATHER, NEVER ACTUALLY BECOMING KING.Ā ] MENTAL DISORDERS:Ā [ LETS NOT GET INTO THAT JUST YET HE HE. ]
PERSONALITY
INTELLIGENCE:Ā [ NOT THE SMARTEST COOKIE, BUT HE'S HAD GOOD EDUCATION + IS QUITE THE STRATEGIST. ] LIKES:Ā [ HIS DRAGON, FIGHTING/SPARRING, NATURE, MEAT, SWEET TREATS, MUSIC, ANIMALS IN GENERAL. ] DISLIKES:Ā [ BRATS, COWARDLY BEHAVIOR, LACK OF HONOR IN OTHERS, LAWBREAKERS, VEGETABLES, HEAT, BEING DISTURBED WHEN HE TRAINS. ] POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES:Ā [ LOYAL, HONORABLE, KIND, DETERMINED, HARD-WORKING, RESOURCEFUL ] NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES:Ā [ RASH, AMBITIOUS, HEART > MIND SOMETIMES, IMPATIENT, GRUMPY ]
AESTHETICS
AESTHETICS:Ā [ BLOOD SPLATTERED OVER ROYAL GARB, CALLOUSED HANDS, SAND AND DIRT CRUSTED UNDER SHORT FINGERNAILS, GOLDEN DECOR IN THE FORM OF A PROUD DRAGON ON DARK LEATHER ARMOR, DARK WINGS SPREAD ACROSS SKIN, VELVETY VOICE ECHOING THROUGH THE HALLS AT NIGHT, THE DIMLIT SHINE OF FIRE MIRRORED IN THE GOLDEN ORNAMENTS ON BATTLE ARMOR. ] INSPO:Ā [ CASTLE BY HALSEY, SOUR CANDY BY BLACKPINK/LADY GAGA, HEAVY IS THE CROWN BY LINKIN PARK, IGNITE BY ZEDD, FLESH BY SIMON CURTIS, ROSENROT BY RAMMSTEIN, SILVERSPOON BY LOUDEN SWAIN, I JUST CAN'T WAIT TO BE KING BY THE LION KING, SEVEN NATION ARMY BY THE WHITE STRIPES, EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD BY LORDE, BELIEVER + WARRIORS BY IMAGINE DRAGONS, TAKE ME TO CHURCH BY HOZIER, THE ARCHER BY TAYLOR SWIFT, RUNAWAY BY AURORA, PRINCESS LEA, ROBB STARK, HECTOR (TROY), GLADIOLUS (FFXV), AZRIEL (ACOTA) ]
KINKS
KINKS:Ā [ POST-WORKOUT/SPARRING MAKE-OUT SESSIONS. BREEDING. FINGERS. IN. HIS. MOUTH. COLLARS. VERBAL FEMINISATION. CHOKING. PUBLIC. PRAISE. WORSHIP. HUMILIATION. DEGRADATION. SOMNOPHILIA. WATERSPORTS. FACE FUCKING. TEASING. AFFECTION. MARKING. TOYS. ] ANTI-KINKS:Ā [ VORE. SCAT. INFANTILISM. ]
BIOGRAPHY
darius alaric aurelius skywarden was born beneath a rare alignment of stars, their golden glow bathing the peaks of vissaiās towering mountains. his birth was heralded as a fortuitous event, an omen of strength & wisdom, fitting for the crown prince of a kingdom revered for its dragonriders & its enduring ties to the skies. the eldest son of king alaric & queen ignatia, darius came into the world with the weight of destiny pressing gently upon him, though he would only come to understand its significance as the years unfolded.
from the moment he could walk, darius was immersed in the traditions & responsibilities of his lineage as a direct descendant of the skywardens. at the age of three, he was presented with a dragon eggāa shimmering sphere of gold & crimson (in his case)āa rite of passage for all royal children of vissai. dariusā egg was notably stubborn, refusing to hatch for years despite his unwavering dedication. yet, this taught him patience & perseverance, qualities that would define him as a leader. when the egg finally cracked & seraphina ā a majestic dragon with iridescent scales & piercing blue eyes, emerged. their bond was immediate & profound. the pair grew together, their connection deepening with every flight above the mountain peaks.
his first flight on seraphina remains one of his most cherished memories. it was a crisp autumn morning, the air filled with the scent of pine & the soft rustle of leaves. darius, barely thirteen, stood nervously at the edge of a rocky outcrop, the vast expanse of sky stretching endlessly before him. seraphina nudged him gently with her snout, as if reassuring him that she would not let him fall. āare you ready, my friend?ā darius had whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of excitement & fear. seraphina let out a low, rumbling purr before spreading her massive wings.
with a deep breath, darius climbed into the specially crafted saddle secured on her back, designed to ensure a riderās stability during flight & adorned with the traditionally vissaian sigils & golden accents. he adjusted the straps carefully, his hands steady despite the flutter in his chest. āletās fly.ā he had said & with a powerful leap, seraphina launched them into the air. the rush of wind stole his breath & for a moment, his heart raced with terror. but as they soared higher, the fear melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of freedom. the world below seemed tiny, a patchwork of greens & golds & the sky around them felt infinite. darius laughed aloud, the sound carried away by the wind & seraphina let out a triumphant roar. they spent hours in the air that day, dancing among the clouds & diving through beams of sunlight. when they finally landed, darius dismounted with shaky legs & a heart full of wonder. āthat was incredible..ā he had murmured, pressing his forehead against seraphinaās. their bond had deepened in those few hours, sealing their partnership for life.
as darius matured, his days were filled with rigorous training. he mastered swordsmanship under the kingdomās most skilled knights, learned the languages of the other kingdoms & studied diplomacy & governance with his father. the young princeās discipline was unmatched, his every action guided by a desire to honor his familyās legacy & meet the expectations placed upon him. though he exuded strength & stoicism, those closest to him knew of his tender heart. he was known to comfort frightened stable boys, ensure his servants were well cared for & protect his younger brother, dante, with a fierceness that belied his calm demeanor.
whenever the royal family of varlinnis visited vissai during dariusā youth, he was tasked with looking after their youngest prince, ryker. what began as an obligation blossomed into a deep & enduring bond. darius became rykerās mentor, teaching him the arts of leadership (even though he knew the chances of the youngest to reign over varlinnis were slim), combat & dragon lore while ryker helped tickle out the magic in darius. their shared moments, from sparring sessions to quiet conversations under starlit skies, forged a brotherhood that evolved into something more profound as they grew older. darius, who had never previously shown interest in romantic relationships, found himself drawn to ryker in a way he didnāt fully understand. the love that grew between them was a secret, hidden from the world. as the crown prince, darius knew his marriage would one day need to serve the kingdomās interests, not his own heart. this knowledge weighed heavily on him & he kept their connection shrouded in secrecy, unsure of whether their love could ever truly be.
in his late twenties, darius undertook a diplomatic mission (his first solo mission with big stakes) to a distant kingdom in the west, a land famed for its intricate clockwork technology & towering crystal spires. accompanied by seraphina, he negotiated trade agreements that brought innovations to vissai while ensuring mutual respect between the kingdoms. the journey deepened his understanding of the world beyond the mountains, solidifying his reputation as a statesman.
for several years after turning thirty & seeing the world beyond the known, darius wrestled with a growing restlessness. the weight of his duties & the crownās expectations began to feel stifling. there were days when he would stand on the edge of the cliffs, gazing out at the horizon & imagine what it would be like to leave it all behind. the thought of taking seraphina & flying far away, to live a life free from obligations, tempted him more than he cared to admit. yet, his sense of duty always won out, grounding him in vissai even as his heart yearned for a freedom it barely knew.
during his forties, darius faced one of his greatest challenges to date: a rogue dragon that had taken residence near the trade routes, endangering caravans & villages. though it pained him to confront one of seraphinaās kin, darius led a carefully planned expedition to subdue the beast. the battle was fierce, with fire lighting up the night sky, but his strategic mind & unshakable bond with seraphina ensured victory. rather than slaying the dragon, he managed to calm it, earning its reluctant respect & guiding it to an uninhabited region in the north where it could live without harm.
now, nearing his fiftieth year, darius finds himself reflecting on a life dedicated to service & sacrifice. though he has not yet ascended to the throne, he is a beloved figure in the kingdom, admired for his unwavering commitment to his people & his family. his relationship with his father, though marked by duty & reverence, carries an unspoken warmth & though a growing impatience has taken root within the cornw prince's heart, darius harbors a quiet hope that he will inherit the crown only when his father is ready to relinquish it, not through loss.
the approach of his fiftieth birthday would potentially spark a kingdom-wide celebration. the peaks of vissai would adorned with banners of gold & crimson (his & vessai's colors combined) & the air would soon be filled with the hum of anticipation. the event already promised to be a grand affair, with dignitaries from across the realm arriving to honor the crown prince - much to his demise, because it would only undermine a worry darius carried within his heart at all times to begin with: that he'd lose his life to duty & the eternal wait for his time on the throne to come.
regardless of his fears & the royal house's plans, darius remains true to himself: steadfast, kind & ever ready to protect the legacy of his house. with seraphina by his side & the love of those he holds dear, he stands as a symbol of vissaiās enduring strength, rising ever higher on wings of valor.
#pleiades.intro#pinned post.#wouldn't be me if i didn't manage to ramble my ass off nghh#pls if u see this on my blog#ignore the fricken vessaian.... instead of vissaian#my brain refuses to put the right one in
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movies i think that the batboys would love š¤
rhysand š¦
labyrinth (1986)
knives out (2019)
taken (2008)
titanic (1997)
cassian āļø
the entire fast and the furious franchise
cars (2006)
gladiator (2000)
mean girls (2004)
azriel āļø
the princess bride (1987)
the lion king (1994)
tƔr (2022)
black widow (2021)
#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j. maas#azriel#rhysand#cassian#batboys#nessian#gwynriel#i love the batboys#donāt be mean#wings#movies#tar#acotar#maybe ill add my reasoning to each one soon#headcanon#modern au
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What do you think the inner circles (ACOTAR) preferences are for a perfect vacation ?
Eg.
Feyre- big city to see art and architecture! (Paris in the spring?)
Hi nonnie!
Such a good question. Okay, let me think about this...
Feyre: Feyre has a bucket list of art museums all over the world that she wants to see, so she picks one to visit and makes a vacation out of it. The Louvre Museum in Paris, The Vatican in Italy, etc.
Rhys: Rhys, much like his mate, has a bucket list of museums for his obsession with space and the universe. He'd go to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, but he really wants to take Feyre to see the Northern Lights.
Elain: Elain is 100% going to the Tulip Fields near Amsterdam. Her dream is to frolic in the flowers and then tour different parts of Amsterdam and the Netherlands.
Azriel: Azriel just wants to take Elain on every adventure her heart desires. He doesn't care where they end up. But his perfect spot is an isolated cabin in the woods, away from the hustle and bustle of the city where he can just relax in peace. With Elain, of course. š
Nesta: Nesta is like a scholar and always wants to explore different ruins and historically rich sites. The great pyramids in Egypt are at the top of her list. She may also tag along with Cassian to check out some of the ancient ruins of Europe.
Cassian: Cassian is obsessed with warriors and gladiators of ancient times, so he spends his vacation time touring the Colosseum Arena in Italy and other similar architectural pieces of Italy and Greece.
Mor: Mor is spending every vacation at fashion week in Millan. Or she's shopping in New York. Wherever she goes, she's always coming home with a new wardrobe.
Amren: Amren is jewel shopping. That's it. That's the vacation. Buying large, ostentatious pieces from around the world.
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I dont care whst snyone thinks sboytvehst i say shout some soic nanee pedro fuck that guy hes orobsbly tiny. Three sploes hogh like denzie abd sll their shrimp ducked cock tails. Im funny Nicola amd sexier than tiny hollywoid theyre all fycon tiny n shoet and nobe if yhem have a decent sense of humour like me. Deutchland eh. Well im sure you might have sonething maybe itslian or doanish blood. Sosnish women i love never ever got slong eiyh yjeir nen and ive hurt yhem hirrubkt iver the years sbd milurdwree msny. Fuck chapo yhat guys a bitch his fsmily usxa bifcg i fuckn ended him. Uiu nnow the chapo i mean oedro you wanna dfyck arpund hollywood. Oll fucking rip that bitch ass sctir yo pieces in front if snykne. Hea a bitch not a fuckn gladiator. Yesh me and dosnish men hsteceach other fuck thise people thats whet i say. But ill take their eomen sny dsy. Eh machismo nooo i di you a bitch punk ass dpanish mother fucked. You aint no hladiator i sm ill shove that gladius up uour ass chump. Nivcola i fund hollywood men are a bunch of raoe hpynd none ass marks, im King Azriel youd be better off dating ne. Sip denzie? My nigga, talk more shut oll bury you and anyone you got. Oprah sny of uou bitch. I said fuck yiu denzie ill find you doin. Nag ur times up time to die.

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Secret admirer elriel!!
A/N: I feel like I don't fulfill enough elriel prompts, which is ridiculous considering how much I love them. Thank you for sending in your prompt! I hope you enjoy. x
I may have to make a part II for this one...
Warnings: language, alcohol
~ Azriel ~
It's Valentine's Day and I'm sitting at home alone, drinking. There was a point when I would have thought such a thing would be pathetic as fuck, but now...
Well, you hit your mid-twenties and you're single long enough, and suddenly drinking at home alone on Valentine's Day doesn't seem so bad. Cassian and Rhys are both out with their girlfriends, leaving me alone in the townhouse we share until sometime tomorrow. So here I am, sitting on the couch in nothing but my underwear. Not that none of us have ever been on the couch in our underwear while the rest of us are home, but it's a little more freeing when you're alone.
I take another shot of whiskey to shut my thoughts up.
10 Things I Hate About You is on the t.v. and Julia Stiles just poured her heart out to Heath Ledger, may he rest in peace, in the middle of a classroom. I turn the station. The Notebook is on, and Noah is building Allie's dream home even though she's already moved on with her life. Imagine loving someone that much.
Imagine.
I take another shot.
My phone vibrates from somewhere in the couch and I'm slightly embarrassed how long it takes me to find it.
Elain's name pops up on my screen. After swiping right, I see her text.
Which awful romcom are you subjecting yourself to this evening?
I chuckle and toss out a lie. Don't do romcoms. Watching Gladiator.
Three little dots pop up and I stare at my phone, awaiting her reply.
I know that's a lie. I'm watching 27 Dresses. Classic.
Too cliche, I reply. At least have a drink with it.
She sends me a picture of a full glass of red wine. I send her one of my half empty bottle of whiskey.
OMG, I can't wait to text you in the morning and see how miserable you are. Drink water.
I send her a middle finger emoji.
She sends me one back.
I grin foolishly to myself. Why aren't you out tonight?
She has options, I know she does. Men follow her around like loyal puppies, fawning over her beauty and bright demeanor.
She doesn't reply for a minute and I suddenly feel like I've pried too much. I take another drink.
My phone eventually vibrates. Thought it was better to stay in. I've spent too many V-days debating all the ways I can sneak out of a restaurant lol
Fair enough. I'd hate to be the guy that bores you that much.
You could never bore me that much.
My thumbs hover over the keypad, wondering how I should respond. It's almost like she's flirting. I take another drink.
Elain and I have been friends for years, since her sisters started dating my roommates, my best friends, my family. We've always just been friends, though. Never anything more. Even though I've always wondered if there could be something more between us.
The fact that she's sitting at home alone on Valentine's Day saddens me. Maybe it's the alcohol. Alcohol always makes me feel more, even though I'm sure it's meant to have the opposite effect.
We'll see about that, I reply, at last, and throw myself off the couch. Even if Elain has vowed to spend the night alone, she should at least know that someone cares about her.
And I do. Care about her.
It takes me about ten minutes to toss on a pair of sweats, a hoodie, my shoes, and grab my wallet. The nice thing about Velaris is I don't have to drive anywhere, and in moments like this where I should never get behind the wheel, I'm grateful for the city life.
There's a floral shop on the corner and not only are flowers the most Valentine's Day-like gift known to humanity, but Elain loves flowers more than anything, so I spend the next half hour walking to the shop and looking around.
The shop is nearly empty, but considering what day it is, that makes sense.
I make it out with half a dozen white roses, two tulips, and a lily. An interesting bouquet, but a bouquet nonetheless.
My phone vibrates the second I'm in the back of my Uber.
Sorry, I ordered takeout and got really into the eggrolls. Didn't mean to leave you on read.
I chuckle, earning a look from my Uber driver in the rearview mirror. Never apologize for the power of eggrolls. Some things we just can't control.
Damn, I'm drunk. The second I hit send, I'm regretting it.
She responds with laughter, though, so I guess I can't complain at my stupidity. I text her back with, Eat one for me. I ate half a box of Cocopuffs for dinner.
Five minutes later, we're stopping in front of Elain's apartment complex. I ask the Uber driver if he has a pen and a piece of paper, to which he gives me an old, crumbled up receipt and a broken pencil.
It works.
Elain texts, Cocopuffs? You're the only man I know that survives off cereal that was made for children.
I reply, Just because you got takeout doesn't mean you can be judgmental about my dietary choices.
I jot down a little note on the back of the receipt before I can think better of it and hurry up to apartment 3b, where I leave the flowers and the note on Elain's welcome mat before I knock on the door and run away, back toward the elevator. I nearly trip as I enter the small, compact room, and nearly fall over once again when the elevator starts moving down.
I didn't stop to see if Elain opened the door.
I feel like I should be nervous, but I'm not. I thank the alcohol coursing through my veins. I can imagine the smile on Elain's face as she opens the door and sees the gift left by her secret admirer. I hope she likes it. I hope it makes her smile. I hope it makes her feel less alone because no matter what she says, I know she's bummed to be at home alone on Valentine's Day.
It's not until I'm back home and back on the couch in my underwear that I realize Elain never texted me back. I can't tell if that's a good thing or not.
I'm thinking not.
Suddenly regretting every decision I've ever made, I take another drink.
#elriel#pro elriel#modern au#valentines day fic#valentines fic#friends to lovers#fanfic#fanfiction#oneshot#drabble#dabble#elain#azriel#elain x azriel#azriel x elain#acotar#acomaf#acowar#acosf#acofas#tara answers prompts
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ACOTAR Characters as Lorde'sĀ Lyrics
Feyre: "but i got my fingers laced together and i made a little prison and i'm locking up everyone who ever laid a finger on me"
Rhysand: "this dream isn't feeling sweet. we're reeling through the midnight streets and i've never felt more alone"
Cassian: "you could try and take us but we're the gladiators. everyone a rager but secretly they're saviors... glory and gore go hand in hand"
Mor: "but lover, you're the one to blame all that you're doing, can you hear the violence? megaphone to my chest, broadcast the boom boom boom boom and make 'em all dance to it"
Azriel: "don't you think that it's boring how people talk? making smart with their words again, well i'm bored"
Nesta: "so i guess i'll go home into the arms of the girl that i love the only love i haven't screwed up [...] we slow dance in the living room but all that a stranger would see is one girl swaying alone, stroking her cheek"
Amren: "i'm little but i'm coming for you. i'm little but i'm coming for the title held by everyone who's up"
Lucien: "alone with the hard feelings of love. god, i wish i believed you when you told me this was my home"
Elain: "the men up on the news, they try to tell us all that we will lose but it's so easy in this blue, where everything is good and i'll never go home again"
Tamlin: "i am my mother's child. i'll love you til my breathing stops. i'll love you til you call the cops on me. but in our darkest hours, i stumbled on a secret power
i'll find a way to be without you, babe"
#acotar#sarah j maas#acowar#acofas#feyre#rhysand#cassian#mor#azriel#nesta#amren#lucien#elain#tamlin#feyre archeron#nesta archeron#elain archeron#feysand#nessian#elucien#sjmaas#smj books#Lorde#lorde melodrama#lorde pure heroine#lucien vanserra#elriel#acomaf
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Ludos Imperiales 8
Summary: Acknowledging the bond between them creates a challenge Reader wasn't prepared for.
Content Warnings: Jealous!Azriel, Slight NSFW; Mentions of Death and War.
Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
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I wish we could stay like this forever: The first rays of sunlight peeking through the drawn curtains, the lightweight comforter warm from the large body at my back. The scent of jasmine and citrus lingers on one side of the sheets, night-chilled mist and cedar on the other. The tether in my chest warms with every steady heart beat against my spine. Sleep threatens to pull me back under, contentment a yawning precipice in which I dangle dangerously along the edge.
I want nothing more than to close my eyes as soon as they open. I wish time would still and there would be no demands, no threats over our heads, no Empire to ruin these precious few moments of peace. But the stomping and shouting of guards outside the door brings all thoughts of bliss and peace to a screeching halt. There very much are threats over our head and an Empire out there doing its damndest to ruin everything that is good in this world.
I force myself to sit up, to throw off the warm comforter and the arm still looped over my waist. Force my body to move, to not linger in the early morning light, to not roll over and trace the swirling patterns of my companionās tattoos over the firm planes of his chest.
There will be other mornings.
Rhys is gone. Cassian still snores from his bed, half hidden in the shadows. Azriel sits up with a grunt beside me. The slight tremor of disappointment that runs down the tether that links usĀ
tells me heās not thrilled about the arrangement either.
If I had more time, Iād be a little more mortified about the drool I feel crusted to my cheek, or the way my hair is sprouting out the side of my head like one of Aniseās vines. āShit! Itās late!ā
Azrielās hazel gaze flicks to the door. āWe wanted to give you as much time as possible to rest.ā
My heart constricts painfully tight in my chest. Last night was an ordeal, yes, but I have no physical wounds, not like they do, and no one has offered them the same luxury. I want to kiss him. Want to crawl back into bed and into his lap, tangle my fingers in the thick locks of his hair and kiss him until we can both forget how awful the last couple of days have been. I want to lose myself in him, let him lose himself in me until there is no longer all this shit between us. I want to know what the bond might feel like if we had the time to explore it properly. Instead, I lean forward and give his scarred hand a squeeze.
āThank you.ā And before he can even respond, Iām sprinting for the secret door.Ā
Rhys already has it open. It looks like heās been watching the door to make sure the guards donāt try to come in before Iām gone. Thereās no time to share anything other than a conspiratorial nod before the darkness of the tunnel envelops me and the door locks shut behind me.Ā
I have to sneak past Cook as he gets the stove lit for the day, his back turned as I sprint from the cellar, the noise of the door opening only covered because he keeps banging logs against the old iron doors to make them fit. The Guards have made collecting the right size firewood difficult, as theyāve been stealing his carefully crafted supply to make fires to keep themselves warm during the night shift.
Thank the Mother and every god of luck we have that no one sees me run down the hall and back into my room.
There is still a little bit of the Ravenās blood on the wall. I find myself shuddering as I race past it to get to my closet. The Senate Meeting is in an hour, maybe less. What I would give to have wings!
I throw on the first dress I can find and dip into the bathroom to fix my hair. Shit Iām going to look awful! At least I can blame some of it on the ride over, but Father will never let me hear the end of it. Hell, if Brannagh and Amarathan donāt beat him to it.
I wrangle my hair into a braid that I wrap around the back of my head and pin in place with a gold clip thatās sharp enough to stab someone with, just in case. I shouldnāt be totally unarmed. Scrambling, I remember my Motherās blade in my vanity drawer, and I lose precious seconds finding a way to hide it in the extra fabric tucked into the gold belt around my waist.Ā
Anise meets me at my bedroom door, looking solemn. āI looked into those other gladiators like you asked.ā
I loop my arm through hers. āWalk with me, please.ā Her stiffness tells me sheās still mad, but she obliges me.
āThe Attor is always top of the list, you know this.ā She says with a sigh. At least for now, she has decided to pretend to tolerate whatever nonsense she thinks Iām getting into. I will take this fragile peace while it lasts.
I shiver. āHard pass. What are their other options?ā
āSenator Thessian has three Elven archers who have never been beaten.ā
Archers leave too many variables. Especially since last time theyād flooded the arena and the Elves had won by finding a perch on some driftwood and slowly picking the competitors off one at a time. They need someone who can match their physicality with a sword, regardless of the obstacles in the arena.
āToo many uncontrollable variables.ā
She sighs again as we inch closer to the front doors, and the Guards that stand waiting. āSenator Kallias just acquired an orc from the Western Wastes. He is untested, but his staff says he paid a pretty coin for it.āĀ
Better. I like those odds a little more.
I kiss her cheek as we reach the front door. āYouāre wonderful, Anise! I will find a way to thank you later.ā
She frowns at me as her weathered hand squeezes my arm. āYou shouldnāt go alone.ā
In earshot now, a young Fae guard says, āShe will have a squad after the events of last night.ā
I fight back the urge to roll my eyes. A squad of males loyal to my Father. Iām just as likely to be dragged off the horse and murdered in the road by them than another Raven. A thought that does make me uneasy. I could, probably, hold them off on my own, but truth be told, now that Iāve been forced to stop and take a breath, I do still feel shaky. Training and muscle memory keeps me composed, but last night was a lot.
It will cost me precious time, but the idea forms easily, and I turn to Anise. āGood thing I have a few gladiators to protect me.ā
Her frown deepens. āI am not comforted by that.ā
I pull free of her and turn to the guard. I canāt bring Rhys with me; bringing the figurehead of a known rebellion into a Senate meeting would be grounds enough for Father to take my head here and now. I canāt bring Cassian either, heāll need every precious second he can get for that leg to heal. āBring Azriel to me.ā
The guard hesitates, clearly taken back.Ā
I keep walking towards the stables. āQuickly, or itāll be your head I throw on the chopping block for making me late.ā
That does the trick.
I bite back a grin as I make it to the stables in record time and instruct Grayson, a wiry, half dryad stable boy, to prepare two horses. By the time the Guard brings Azriel, Iām settled in the saddle.Ā
āThe Emperor will not like this,ā the Guard begins.
āI did not ask for your opinion.ā I state, using my best courtly voice. Mother always used to tell me I sounded just like my Father. It had always felt like an insult, but at least it has its uses.
Besides, the way Azriel grins as he swings into his own saddle is enough to ease the discomfort. I think itās a flicker of pride I feel down the bond from him, but Iām not totally certain. Perhaps Iām imagining it, but I sit a little straighter in the saddle regardless. I want to make all of them proud. I want them to know I can do this, that Iām not some fragile little girl. I can handle what theyāve asked of me.
We head out before the Guard are totally ready, giving us a bit of space between us and them. There isnāt exactly room to talk at the pace we set, but I appreciate the breathing room all the same. At least, for now, it doesnāt look like theyāve been instructed to stab me in the back.Ā
The ride to the Capital is a blur all the way up until weāre in the city once more. The crowds are significantly less than yesterday, but there are still crushed roses and streamers in the streets. Worse, the crucifixes still stand, the Illyrian bodies still pinned.Ā
I nearly bite through my tongue with how hard Iām clenching my jaw. Some of those males were still alive yesterday. None are today. There is no obvious intent to remove them either, to offer a proper burial. People walk past like they donāt notice the carrion coming in to pick the bodies apart.
Azriel remains stiff and silent beside me. I try my best not to look at him, to not make it obvious that I am checking on him now that the Guard have finally caught up.
I do not breathe any easier once inside the Palace. The place feels like it should have heads on spikes posted at every entrance. All the glittering gold pillars and sparkling fountains feel out of place in a spot built upon the blood of so many innocent lives. I never liked it here, but more and more this place is starting to give me the same anxiety Iād have walking into a dragonās lair.
The Guards follow close behind, as I once again hold the chain around Azrielās throat. It feels heavier today, the metal hot from the sun.Ā
āYouāre welcome to leave the brute with us, Highness,ā one of them sneers. āWeād watch over him carefully.ā
Iām still debating how much time it would take me to strangle the male with the chain as we reach the Audience Chamber.Ā
āIgnore him,ā Azriel huffs in my ear. As soon as weād gotten off the horses heād taken his position behind me, close enough that my hip brushed his if I turned even a little. Maybe itās a little too close for the story weāve been selling, but it puts him between me and anyone trying to stab me in the back like a giant shield and he knows it. I donāt like that he doesnāt have armor to protect him, should something happen, but we simply havenāt had the time to find any. A situation Iāll need to handle before we leave the city.
The Chamber doors are still open, by some miracle, and bits of conversation float towards me as I enter. All of which suddenly halt as soon as the gathered group of elites realize who Iāve brought with me.Ā
I square my shoulders, even as the heat of Azrielās withering glare skids across my shoulder. Heās very expressive today, and I have a sinking feeling thatās on me. Our proximity makes the bond relax, not so taut between my ribs any more, but it also heightens emotions. My protectiveness mounts the longer weāre together, I catch myself leaning towards violence anytime somebody looks at him wrong and from what the nymphs used to tell me, itās usually worse for males.
Today will be interesting.Ā
We walk down the center of the room, towards the throne where my Father lounges, being fanned by two slaves with palm fronds. Amarantha already sits to his right, drinking from a goblet of wine, her mood sour. Both their eyes narrow in on me, then Azriel, as the crowd dramatically parts, like we have the plague.
I give a brief curtsy to my Father as I take the seat next to him. A seat that has long been empty and was more for show than use. Nothing my Mother ever said in these meetings came to pass. The rest of the senate seats are filled by males, Amarantha and Brannagh the only exceptions.Ā
āBe seated,ā Father calls out, waving a hand in irritation.Ā
A servant comes with a tray of wine and fruits, and despite the rumbling of my stomach, I wave it away. Iād like to not test my luck today; Iām just as likely to be poisoned as I am stabbed and even Azriel canāt do anything if I ingest arsenic.Ā
The Emperor leans over in his seat, gray eyes sharp, jaw clenched tight. Heād never hit me in front of so many people, but that doesnāt mean Iām safe from his wrath either.Ā
I brace myself, hands folded gently in my lap, even as Azriel tenses from his perch behind my seat.Ā
āSo good of you to show up,ā he snarls.
āI had an interesting visitor last night,ā I say and I hate the way my voice shakes.Ā
āSo you brought a known rebel into my council meeting in retaliation?ā He hisses.Ā
Thereās a heavy layer of wine on his breath and it takes every bit of training to keep myself from trying to scoot further out of his reach. If heās been up drinking, thatās a sign weāre moving in the right direction, heās so off his game heās unravelled, but that makes him dangerous. There is no telling what he could do next and my first impulse is to curl into a ball and make myself as small as possible.
āI questioned my safety in the hands of your guards on the empty roads over here,ā I say, digging my nails into my palms to get the words out.Ā
āBut not with this savage?ā He gestures with his chin towards Azriel.
All I can see is red. If I had not used so much energy to kill the Raven last night, my powers might not be slumbering so deep beneath my skin now. For that I am grateful. I do not need one more thing to worry about today.Ā
āTheir interests are in keeping this deal for their people, thatās hard to do if Iām dead,ā I retort through my teeth.
āWeāll discuss this later,ā he snarls.
My hands shake in my lap as Azrielās shadow makes its way around my ear again, murmuring softly in a strange language as it rubs itself against my temple soothingly. It is an effort to breathe evenly and I do my best to turn my attention away from my Father and to study those in attendance today instead.Ā
Thessian, Kallias and Beron sit on my right. Eris stands behind his fatherās seat, serving as a guard today, and the auburn haired male winks at me when my gaze passes to him. I hope that means he did that research I asked him for yesterday.
Azrielās hand tightens on the back of my seat with just enough pressure I hear the metal groan. Thankfully, no one seems to notice but me.Ā
On the opposite side of the room sits Dagdan and Brannagh, their seats pushed together instead of giving them the five feet of distance all the other chairs have, just so no one is close enough to throw a punch if things get heated, as it often does. Next to them are senators Helion and Tamlin. Helion studies Azriel intently over the edge of his goblet of wine, but I canāt tell if itās genuine interest or the same disdain everyone else has been throwing his way.Ā
Tamlin broods silently in a stack of parchment in his hand, quiet without Lucien to balance him out.Ā
Directly across from us are some of the few Senators who were not previously Lords of Prythian, as it was our biggest conquered province. Theyāre also the only ones on the Council who arenāt Fae. Giais is the only Elf. Ancient and ethereal, heās been on the council since my Great Grandfather, though he doesnāt look a day older than me. Acacius had once held Amaranthaās title, but the Goblin had lost an arm in one of the last battles of the Giant War, and had been given a seat on the Council in his retirement. Maximus, whoās self-proclaimed title is Great Lord of the Dragon Shifters; he wears no shirt, but his entire top half is drenched in gold--gold rings with giant gems atop his long fingers, golden bracelets from wrist to elbow, a dozen gold chains in varying lengths and a belt, all catching the light and nearly blinding anyone who looks too closely at him. Heās the youngest male here, with the exception of Dagdan. The only seat empty is Senator Romuliusā; the Nephilim away dealing with an uprising in his adjoining provinces.Ā
There are no Humans or Giants on the Council. No Nymphs or Dryads. It used to be more diverse, but as Fatherās paranoia grew, so did his prejudices, and the Council became smaller and more segregated as time passed.Ā
āWho shall start todayās session?ā Helion calls out as the chamber quiets and the doors close.Ā
Itās like being sealed in a tomb. I wish Iād said yes to the wine, I think I might risk being poisoned just to not have to sit with the swirling anxiousness in the pit of my stomach.Ā
Father gestures to Amarantha with a grunt that tells everybody weāve found him in the middle of one of his moods. The quiet shifts to something more uneasy, shared glances passing between the senators. They all know this means they must tread carefully.Ā
āTax season is upon us,ā Amarantha says, her voice carrying through the antechamber. āAre there any concerns we need to discuss?ā
Tamlin waves his stack of parchment in the air. āMy province is still recovering from last yearās tax season. Our prisons are full of debtors. My advisors are organizing things as best they can, but rumors ofā¦ā he pauses, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes flick to my Father. ā...unrest are spreading. I would like to request a heavier presence of the Praetorian, just to ensure things go smoothly, if they can be spared?ā
āWhy should your inability to lead your people be our problem?ā Acacius snarls. āEvery other province has managed to reign in its citizens but you.ā
āI would hardly call the situation in Illyria reigned in,ā Helion says over the edge of his goblet.Ā
Azriel tenses, wings rustling behind him. It takes everything in me not to turn and take his hand.
āIllyria is an outlier,ā Amarantha snaps. āOne that has been dealt with.ā
Fatherās head swivels to look at Azriel with the same air of an owl getting its sights on a mouse. A shiver runs down my spine as his eyes narrow in on my mate.Ā
āWas it dealt with, Shadowsinger?āĀ
The chamber quiets, every eye landing on Azriel. He keeps his composure near perfect, save for the hand still gripping the back of my chair with enough force to dent it.Ā
āArenāt the crucifixions testament enough?ā He growls through his teeth.Ā
Father grins wickedly. āSince my daughter is so certain she needed you here with her, why donāt you go ahead and tell this council exactly what happens to provinces that do not comply with our laws? Perhaps Tamlin needs a reminder about why he should keep his people in line?ā
Tamlin frowns, hand tightening around the stack of parchment.
āWhat provinces?ā Azriel snaps. āThere is nothing left of Illyria but ash. It is a graveyard of women and children.ā His voice breaks on the last word and down the bond comes the flash of a memory: A small body crumpled on scorched earth, a blood splattered doll clutched in its too small hand.
My stomach shoots into my throat.
Amarantha grins on the other side of my Father, pleased with my mateās discomfort, pleased with her efforts of destruction in the name of the Empire.
āSons must pay for the sins of the father.ā Dagdan wins more than a few accolades for the sentiment. Beron goes as far to salute him with his wine glass.
āYou must have known this would happen?ā Brannagh counters. āSurely you knew the cost of your rebellion would be their heads? This is the price of rejecting the Empire and its protections.ā
I glance around the room, looking for anyone to argue, anyone to challenge them. Helion shoots me a sympathetic look, but he says nothing. Eris shifts his weight behind his father, but he wonāt look my way. They might be uncomfortable, but not enough to challenge them. Not enough to take a stand. We truly have no allies.Ā
āYou have never been hungry,ā Azriel says, his voice low. The white-knuckled grip on my chair tells me heās trying his hardest to keep his voice down. The shadow curled around my ear moves with the agitation the rest of them have to feel, even in their hidden perch behind his wings. āYou have never been without clothes. Without a roof. You have never gone without clean water, without people to tend to your every need. You have never known what it is to crawl for your basic necessities and then have them ripped from you purely because the people over you could. My people were dying. As are yours-ā
āThatās enough,ā Father says dismissively.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back the growl that threatens to slip past my teeth. How can he be so flippant about it? So careless? I have always known him to be cruel but I hadnāt realized how truly heartless he is. How heartless they all are as they laugh off the dismissal like Azriel is beneath them. As if his story is nothing more than a piece of fiction and he a worthless storyteller.
My hands ball into fists in my lap, power awakening in my chest, bubbling up like a wave, ready to wash over everything in this godsdamned room--
Azrielās hand settles on my shoulder, squeezing gently in warning.
The Council goes back to arguing uselessly, forgetting immediately that Azriel is even here. It is for our benefit in the long run, I suppose, but I canāt get past it. How can they all be so blind?
Azrielās hand slides down my shoulder slowly, rubbing a soothing line down my spine until he feels my breathing even out, until I unclench my fists in my lap and heās sure I wonāt explode. I tamper down on my power like I always do; always trapping it down beneath my skin so that no one notices itās there. My shoulders slump. Why didnāt I say anything when I had the chance? Why do I always sit here uselessly?
Maybe I am no better than they are.
The topic shifts to clearing clogged trade routes. Thesian offers his daughter in a political marriage to Kalliasās son as if bartering items of clothing. The marriage is arranged in a matter of minutes, without either of their consent. Itāll be for the good of the Empire, thatās all they care about.
Helion turns the conversation to imports on wine for a while after that.
I feel myself slipping back into my hollow shell. My voice escapes me, buried with my powers until I feel nothing. Until the words fade in and out of my ears, eyes vacantly held on a spot on the wall. They talk around me like Iām not here, like it doesnāt matter that Iād ever left. Unaware that all of their problems are so petty and stupid when there are bodies of desperate men rotting in the street as we speak.Ā
I want to see this whole damned Empire burn.
My thoughts remain on this one point for so long I donāt notice time slipping away until Father announces the meeting over and waves us all out.Ā
My movements feel stiff as I finally stand. How long have I been clenching my shoulders? My teeth?
Azriel follows, chest against my back, as I move robotically towards the exit, and dart into a quiet adjoining hall. Father will be around shortly, it is not like him to let me escape without further incident, but I just need a moment to take a breath.Ā
āHow do you do this?ā I whisper as the door shuts behind us. āHow do you not explode every time they fucking speak?ā
Azriel puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him. āUsually I imagine how it will feel to drive my blade through Hybernās throat.ā
This close to him Iām eyelevel with his collarbone. I have to look directly at the collar around his neck; the skin beneath pink from being rubbed raw over and over again by the iron. My hands reach for it instinctively, as if I have any power to take the pain away.
āBut latelyā¦ā he shakes his head as one hand leaves my shoulders to catch my wrist as I fiddle uselessly with the collar. Itās not coming off without a key and I have nothing in my arsenal to make it easier to carry.
Useless once again.
āLately I just worry that heād take it out on you, if I stepped out of line, and I canāt risk that.ā
The raised edges of his scars are a stark contrast to the soft, smooth skin of my wrists. I have no battle scars, no obvious signs of my Fatherās abuse; my skin is unblemished and soft in a way that reminds me exactly why Cassian said I was a pampered princess. Iāve never had to do anything this hard. Never had to fight for what I wanted.
āItās not like I donāt deserve it,ā I blurt and he reels back a step like Iād hit him.
āDonāt talk like that,ā he snarls.
āCassian was right about me,ā I return. āIāve never had to work for anything in my life. Iāve never stood up for anything. I always shut up and shut down and look the other way. I should have done something before. I should have done something now!ā
āYou are doing something,ā he says carefully, hazel eyes darting to the door, conscious of where we are and who might be lurking just outside.
āNot enough.ā
He steps back into my space so he can cup my cheek. Damn me and my fragile resolve but I lean into that gentle touch like itās my lifeline. Heās so warm and comforting and that broken, touch starved thing in me leans in like a moth to flame, so desperate for even a hint of affection. I hate myself for it. Hate that this is all it takes for me to take a breath.Ā
āWe have to take it slow,ā he bites out. āWe have to move carefully. We are under so much scrutiny. I know that it is hard, but you did exactly what we need you to do today. You have played your part. The time for action will come later.ā
āI feel useless,ā I confess.Ā
āHate to drag up bad memories, but you killed a guy last night,ā he counters. āThatās far from useless.ā
āThat needed to be done.ā
āSo does this,ā he assures.Ā
I sigh and lean my head down against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and even against my skin. Breath warm against the back of my neck. I wish I could melt into him, let him consume every bit of my being until there was nothing left of me.
Azriel wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his chest. My body short circuits, frozen for a moment as I try to comprehend what heās doing. I donāt remember the last time somebody hugged me. Yes, last night heād slept with an arm around me, but that is different somehow. I donāt immediately know what to do with this. Last night had a purpose, Iād needed the security to sleep. This was in comfort. And no one had comforted me like this in years. Not even Anise when my Mother had died.Ā
His embrace is all encompassing, strong arms tight around my middle. Something in me cracks open and tears pool in my eyes as I slowly work up the courage to wrap my arms around his middle, conscious of where his wings sit in the middle of his spine.Ā
The bond hums in approval, or maybe thatās his shadows, more of them than the one curled around my ear move to caress my arms and back.
A breath stutters out of me, trapped by the lump in my throat.
āWe will beat him,ā he promises into my hair, lips brushing the top of my head. āI can take a few punches on the way to that victory, Princess.ā
I tighten my grip around his waist. āNot if I turn them to mist, you donāt.ā The words are comically muted by his shirt, but they draw a chuckle from him all the same. The sound is rich, like melted chocolate and Iād do anything to hear it again.
āVicious, little thing,ā he tuts.
I work up the resolve to pull my head out of his chest so I can look up at him. āIāll be whatever you need me to be.ā Whatever it takes, no matter the cost, I will see this collar off him, all of them; I will see his people free.Ā
He practically has to duck to look me in the eyes at this angle, but that intense hazel gaze goes straight to my mouth. Heat flashes down the bond, a glimmer of desire so intense Iād think I might have imagined it were it not for the way his tongue darts out to run over his own full lips. It feels as if we share a breath, a heartbeat. I meant the words in a very literal sense, for the sake of this mission, but I think I might mean them in other ways too.Ā
He leans in and I feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest. Or maybe thatās mine. I cannot tell us apart anymore. What is him and what is me is suddenly very intertwined.
In contrast to the firm planes of his body, his lips are sinfully soft as they brush tentatively over my own. I lose all sense of time and reason as I lean up on my toes to close the distance between him, to finish the kiss.
And then the door to the hallway opens.
Time comes in a blazing rush and I suddenly remember where the hell we are as we jerk away from each other like weād been thrown.Ā
Eris saunters in with his thumbs looped in the golden belt around his trim waist, grinning like a cat. Thereās no way he didnāt see us.
āThere you are,ā he purrs. The shadows of this hidden servantās hall suit him, bathe his sun kissed complexion in dark hues that make his amber eyes glow like coals. Thereās a shade of gold dust in his unbound auburn hair. Everything about the Autumn heir seems to glow, even in the shadows of the world. āI had a feeling youād be hiding in one of these secret places. You always did like them better.ā
I donāt know how to explain myself. I just start smoothing my hands over my skirts, trying to find some semblance of control as my head spins. He canāt tell anyone what he saw! Azrielās dead if does.
āJust needed to collect my thoughts,ā I say, voice uneven.
Amber eyes flick to Azriel and roam over him slowly. I canāt tell if itās admiration or that look Eris sometimes gets as he decides how much of a challenge a fight would be. Honestly, both those looks are pretty much the same. Eris has always toed the line between flirting and fighting.
āAnd his?ā Itās teasing, not judgment, that much I can tell, but by the way Azrielās wings open and shut behind him with a snap says he doesnāt share the understanding.Ā
āEris,ā I warn.
He shrugs as he comes to stand in the space Azriel had just held. I donāt miss the snarl that flashes across my mateās features, or the way his hands clench and un-clench at his sides. He canāt do anything to Eris, not without risking his head. He knows it just as much as Eris does, which is why the male keeps stepping into my space, testing what he can get away with.Ā
āRelax,ā Eris tuts. āWho am I going to tell?ā
āYou want me to make a list?ā I retort.Ā
Eris shakes his head, long locks of hair kissing his high cheekbones. āNow now, what fun would that be?āĀ
Fun. Eris might be a bastard, but he is not cruel like his father. Beron would sell out his own mother for a chance at power, but Eris? Eris likes to play cat and mouse. He likes to collect secrets and trade with them. His influence in the court is strong not because heās paid for it, but because he knows enough to get people to move in the ways he wants without having to lift a finger. Crafty and cunning as a fox; heās dangerous, but heās not an enemy, not yet.
āWhat do you want?ā I sigh.
He grins, teeth perfect in his face. āI heard youāre looking for a husband?ā
Azriel actually growls at that, stalking towards, shadows slipping out from behind his wings.
Eris rolls his eyes at him before turning back to me. āHave you decided on one yet?ā
The obvious dismissal, or perhaps the blatant disregard to the danger heās in, makes me pause. Why is he playing with fire like this? Is he really that confident Azriel wonāt rip his head off his shoulders?
āIām not on the decision committee,ā I say, but I keep my eyes on my mate, a hand raised in his direction, silently begging him not to do something stupid.Ā
The gaze that was so focused on my mouth just seconds ago drops to my hand and he stills, teeth clenched so hard I can see a tick in his jaw. A shadow snaps angrily behind him, like theyāre fighting the grip he has on them.Ā
āI should think your word would have some sway,ā Eris muses.
He canāt be serious? āYou want to marry me?āĀ
āMost females swoon under such an implication,ā he starts.
āI thought you preferred males?ā I counter.
He grins at that and I am not so blind that I donāt understand why people swoon when he gives them a few seconds of his undivided attention. āI donāt discriminate.ā
Weāre getting off subject.
Azriel may have allowed me to call him off the attack, but that doesnāt stop him from taking up his position at my back again. The rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing is hot and heavy against me, Iām suddenly very well aware of his size compared to mine. The thin line of his restraint is fraying, worse than it was in the Council Chambers.Ā
āFine, I will pose the suggestion to my Father.ā
The bond flares with an anger so hot it seers my insides. I can practically taste Azrielās rage as it floods down the tether between us.Ā
āGood, then this will be our little secret, wonāt it?ā Eris purrs, smug expression shot in Azrielās direction.Ā
Gods theyād kill each other if I wasnāt physically standing between them.
āYes,ā I concede. How has this day gotten so far away from me?
He slides his thumbs back in his belt and strides towards the exit on the other side of the hall. āOh,ā he throws over his shoulder, āby the way, youāll want to ask for Kalliasās Orc in the arena. Itād be the best match-up for your little pets.ā
Azriel is shaking at my back, shadows unfurling from behind his wings like snakes, bathing the room in darkness as Eris opens the door.Ā
āI look forward to our future, Highness.ā
Azriel explodes as the door shuts behind Eris, shadows lashing against the walls so hard the lights flicker. His wings snap open, apex talon striking the wall and leaving an angry slash in the paint. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breath rasping out of him like he canāt get air in fast enough.Ā
I spin to face him, taking his face in my hands. He has to get this under control or someone else is going to come running down the hallway. āAzriel-ā
āNo,ā he chokes out, scarred hands gripping my wrists like a vice. āYou canāt!ā
Panic floods down the bond so fast it sweeps away all that rage like a tidal wave, ice filling my veins. Iām losing him and fast.
āYou canāt!ā He repeats and the ground shutters beneath his feet.Ā
I panic, worried about who else might be close enough in the hallway to hear, and do the only thing I can think of to get his focus back: I surge up on my toes for leverage and press my lips against his. Itās messy, and not at all how I wanted this to go, but it does the trick. His shadows still, their hissing cut off like theyāre trying to wrap their ethereal heads around what just happened. The ground stops shaking.Ā
Azrielās eyes widen, hands un-clenching. For a moment he freezes, just as I had when heād hugged me a minute ago. And then heās on me, hands tangling in my hair, pushing me back against the wall as his lips slide over mine. His tongue lashes behind my teeth, desperate and hungry. He kisses like a male starved, like heās trying to get the very air from my lungs. He loops an arm beneath me and lifts, a shadow helping guide my legs around his waist as he kisses me again and again and again.Ā
Now weāre going in the wrong direction again. This is not the place for this!
Mother help me, Iām not sure I have the control to tell him that though. Especially not as he pulls away for the briefest of moments, eyes so dark theyāre almost all pupil, nostrils flaring.Ā
āMine,ā he growls, dipping his head to press hot, open mouth kisses along my jaw and neck.Ā
Shit! I knew going into it that our growing proximity, and maybe the fact that weād both acknowledged the bond last night was going to start causing some problems, but I didnāt think it would be this bad this fast. I didnāt think Iād have such a hard time trying to think rationally about it either.Ā
We have to stop. We have to get back out there before this situation gets worse than it already is. But my body doesnāt seem to know that. Hell, the bond doesnāt seem to know that. It purrs and glows between us, warm and bright in the contact of our bodies.Ā
My fingers tangle in the thick locks of his hair as he nips at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. If Iām lucky, the neckline of my gown might just cover any mark heās leaving. Maybe.
āAzriel,ā my body arches into every kiss. My skin is on fire. I need more. I need him everywhere. I donāt know if his name on my lips is an admonition or plea.Ā
His hips rock unconsciously against mine, searching for friction, and holy gods is he hard! My mouth falls open at the contact, even with the layers between us, heās bigger than I imagined he would be.Ā
Azrielās lips trace back up my neck. āMy mate,ā he murmurs into my skin. Iām losing him to the bond, to his instincts, the primal aspect the nymphs warned me about taking over. I want it to. I want to know what would happen if the immaculate control heās held since I met him were to slip, but I canāt. Not here. The door feels like itās suddenly made of paper, as if anyone could walk by and see us through it.
No one will be as forgiving as Eris.
The thought is sobering, like a bucket of ice water in my veins. We canāt do this here.
āAzriel,ā I start and he groans into my neck, hips rocking into me once more as if Iād said something dirty and not simply his name. The sound makes heat shoot right down to my core and I clench my eyes tight to try and ground myself. One of us has to be in control here. I donāt know for the life of me how that ended up being me.
āWe have to stop.ā
His lips find mine again, desperate and needy and he moans into my mouth like this is the best thing heās ever had. āDonāt,ā he begs. āDonāt offer to marry him.ā
I glide my fingers through his hair.Ā
āIām sorry,ā he whispers, kissing my chin, the corners of my mouth, everywhere he can reach like he just canāt stop himself. āIām sorry, I wasnāt paying attention. I should have been listening for the door. I shouldnāt have gotten us caught.āĀ
The words fall like he canāt stop them. āIāll find a way to get around it. Iāll deal with him. Let me deal with him. Donātā¦ā he shakes his head, goes in for another desperate kiss. āPlease. You canāt do this.ā
I cup his cheek in my hand and he tilts his head to kiss my palm. āEris is a snake-ā his gaze darkens when I say his name, shadows hissing angrily. āBut for now, letās not make an enemy of him.ā
His teeth flash angrily, a growl rumbling up his chest. Heat flares between my legs at his outright possessiveness. Still, I force myself to unwind my legs from around his waist and he, begrudgingly, sets my feet back on the floor. The ache between my legs is uncomfortable. The bond feels like it whines at the loss of contact.
āNo decisions have been made,ā I promise. āBesides, hearing me suggest it might turn my Father away from the idea entirely. At least, to that end, I canāt say I didnāt try.ā
Azrielās hands leave my hips to fix my rumbled skirts in an attempt to collect himself. He looks a mess! Hair disheveled, lips kiss swollen, eyes dark. I doubt I look any better. āNothing is happening today.ā
āI wonāt let anybody take you from me,ā he vows.
My heart clenches in my chest and I canāt stop myself from placing one last, gentle kiss on his lips. He chases after me once more like we werenāt just aggressively making out. Weāll have time for more later, when itās safe. When nobody can take him from me.
I grip his scarred hand tight and place it on my chest, over my heart, in promise. āThere isnāt anything I wouldnāt do to make sure no one takes you from me either.ā
I mean it. No matter what it costs, no matter what deals I have to make, this male is mine. No one in this damn Empire is going to take that away from me.
---------------
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#azriel x reader#rhys x reader#rhysand x reader#Cassian x reader#gladiator!bat boys#gladiator!bat boys x reader#poly!batboys#poly!bat boys x reader#gladiator fic#acotar au#gladiator au#gladiator!rhys#gladiator!cassian#gladiator!azriel#princess!reader#poly relationships#fated mates#political enemies to lovers#my fic#my writing
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okay we might need to talk because Iām writing a Carry On-esque queer Acotar retelling and Iād like your opinion. So far Iāve got:
Masc Bi Feyre (Roslin or āRossā)
Femme plus sized (or midsized, Iāll let non-skinny people figure out what label they find appropriate) Rhys (Seraphina or āSeraā)
Possibly keeping Lucien as a guy??? Just because the level of devotion he has for Tamlin has lots of potential behind it
Butch she/they Cassian (still picking a name, possibly Kiera)
They/them Azriel, might sneak in some disability rep here
Obviously Nesta and Elaine are there and queer, not sure how yet
Under the Mountain in a gladiator ring-style place where this version of Amarantha makes her enemies fight to the death for her entertainment
I have a whole plot planned but I literally only have two paragraphs written and my NaNoWriMo is kicking my ass rn
okay here is my pitch for gay acotar if I had millions of dollars to make it, a thing literally nobody wanted:
lucien is a tall hot redheaded lesbian who is exactly the same otherwise
rhysand is openly bisexual
feyre is bisexual too but kind of too dumb to figure it out so all the pages that describe what Morrigan is wearing are all weirdly homoerotic and there's no explanation for why
azriel is also a lesbian. she still does daddy dom roleplays though
elain now has TWO hot lesbian suitors and they all end up in a stable happy polyamorous relationship
nesta has a threesome with the other valkyries and they don't repeat it but they do learn and grow from the experience and I think that's beautiful
cassian is just here for a good time and doesn't care who it's with
amren gets an incredible amount of pussy onscreen
mor has the same messy-ass coming out story because being messy is a lesbian rite of passage BUT she doesn't say shit like "I have sex with men because I like it" during her coming out speech
tamlin is still straight though. sorry timtam
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Are you a elriel shipper?
For some reason this question made me laugh. Yes, I am. I know iām the black sheep because i never had hope for them and after his pov i want to take a step back and i refuse to have hope until sarah says something. I spend years wanting them. Since acomaf i wanted them together, more even than nessian (and look at where we are right now). I felt that it might be a crack ship but i never stop shipping them after acowar. If you ask me about present time, i still want them together but i feel manipulated by sarahās writing because i donāt know where sheās heading and i think she confirmed us we were never wrong about them being into each other just to take a different route and make azriel endgame with another person. I know itās too soon to say but thatās how i feel right now. I really, really hope elriel are canon. Believe me. I want the angst, i want the rejection of the mating bond and i want someone in this damned series not to have a mate. I want people to have a choice, to go against the universe and say listen you want a thing but Iām my own person and this is what i want. The mating bond is primary. The fact that they can fight to death just because of a person shows that thereās a possesion. Azriel having to fight for elain against lucien and kill him shows once again that the mate is just a PRICE. A price you have to earn and if itās taken away from you, you will have to kill that person. Itās sick actually. Itās like gladiators when they went to the ring to fight. Just shows up once again that in the end what happens with the other person that CHOOSE?. Does that person have to see the other DIE?. Isnt that enough? why the universe canāt let two people choose each other? Not to mention how cliche is that EVERY person out there has a mate. What happens with the whole mates are rare and unique. Because so far everyone and their mother has a mate. Right away from book 2 everyone has a pair and now it seems azriel found another mate?. These people have no choice
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Angels
Ā Immortality has its price. When you live for eons, when you watch the universe slowly bloom into existence, everything repeats again and again. It gets boring, so, so boring. Boring enough to make you wish you would just disappear, if only you could.
And then something happens. Something minuscule turns into something bigger, and life is born. A playground blooms before your eyes. And wouldnāt someone who waited for that for hundreds, thousands, millions of years, do anything to get there the second that someone showed them how? Of course theyād do anything. Theyād even fall.
Ā Abasdarhon was the angel of the 5th hour of the night, and they still are. Torn jeans and low cut tank tops have replaced their toga, blue hair shines instead of a halo and the temples they visit pulse with music and moving bodies. They relish in the burn of alcohol rushing down their throats as they line shot after shot, they celebrate life by dancing along with the crowd as the club fills to bursting, drawn by the sirenās call of their power. They worship the night along with their new flock, screaming out lyrics of Ā todayās hymns and anthems.
Ā Ariel was the angel of protection, and he still is. Thereās no more right or wrong for him, he just does his work for whoever is the highest bidder, and the highest bidders pay well, very well. So he protects, though his armor no longer steel, but kevlar hidden under jackets, and his weapon is no longer his sword but a gun tucked behind his belt. He has traded bloodbathed battlefronts to either rundown streets of stylish parties, but the red of the fight is still the same color as he remembers it.
Ā Asteraoh was the angel who thwarted power, and he still does. Anarchist is what they call him as he makes sure that the higher a person rises, the harder they will fall. Itās quite easy, really. A bit of blackmail here, a bit of planted evidence there, and suddenly the highest are dragged down to share their cells with the lowest. Or maybe a whisper here, a suggestion there, and they bring themselves down on their own accord. Heās there to watch them crash and burn.
Ā Azrael was the angel of death, Azriel was the angel of destruction, and the two siblings still do their work. Their work is silent, but its consequences resonate loudly. A missing piece in one place, a small defect in another, then all they have to do is wait for the first domino to fall and set the chain into motion. Nuclear meltdowns, collapsed buildings, car explosions, they celebrate it all. And when that is not enough, they create bombs and weapons and let humanity do their work for them.
Ā Barman was the angel of intelligence, and she still is. In the age of information, her job became considerably easier. The world is connected, and most of humanityās knowledge, good or bad, is at the press of a button. The rest? Thereās a way. Connect, break in, collect, repeat. She's the exhausted girl you see with bloodshot and empty eyes, for she has seen too much and yet has not seen enough to quit her search. Maybe she finds things some people better want hidden, or maybe she finds things too horrible to seek out purposefully. And maybe she clicks share.
Ā Baruchiel was the angel with power over strife, and he still has it. What he says, happens. He asks for peace - he gets peace, he asks for a fight - he gets a fight, and right now he most often asks for the later. Heās a ringleader, yelling into a megaphone and riding the high of the crowd screaming for blood which soon follows. He yells encouragements for the modern gladiators of his choice and watches them win every time. Sometimes he goes overboard, and the bloodthirst rises to a lethal level. Fun has its price, he pays his due in blood and lives.
Ā Israfil was the angel called āthe burning oneā, and they still live up to the name. They remember when people burned sacrifices and offerings for their god, and even now they follow the tradition. Arson is their living. Crossed electric wires or simple lighters, ordinary wood or gasoline, all works, all burns. They watch news where people cry and mourn all the lives lost in the latest house fire, and then the pyromaniac strikes another match.
Ā Nathanael was the angel of hidden things, fire, and vengeance, and he still is. In this age, heās a detective. He sees all things hidden, he finds clues and evidence everyone else has missed. Yet no matter what he finds, all the cases in his charge fall through. But what few people ever notice is that the killers he chases never come back to kill again. Angelic vengeance pays back any wrong sevenfold, and he really doesnāt hold back.
Ā Shepherd was the angel of repentance, and he makes sure that he remains so. He embraces sin as wholeheartedly as he once embraced his belief in god. He drinks, he fucks, he cheats, he fights, he does all that he never could. Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, pride and jealousy, he tries them all again and again. Laws are nothing to him, and the opinions of men are even lower than that. He breaks heart, souls and bodies. He makes sure that he has something to repent for.
Ā Sraosha was the angel who set the world in motion, and she still does her work. Humanity strives on one thing, and one thing only. Chaos. Only then do they truly shine, the times when they have to fight for their survival, when wars rage and earth shatters. Nothing fuels men more to come together or break apart, to learn and create new things, or destroy themselves and their surroundings. So she becomes chaos, creates war, causes crisis. She forces the world to spin.Ā
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Ludos Imperiales 7
Summary: A long awaited discussion is interrupted by a dark visitor.
Content Warnings: Attempted Assassination, Character Death (Unnamed), Mentions of Body Mutilation/Horror.
Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
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āYou know?ā I blurt, head spinning. How long have they known?! Iāve spent all this time agonizing on whether or not thatās a benefit or a hindrance and all the while theyāve said nothing?
Rhysand reaches out to brush a tendril of damp hair off my cheek, while Azriel still keeps his grip on my chin. Both of their touch at the same time makes my knees wobble.
āOf course we do,ā Azriel chuckles, tilting his head down an inch so I can look him directly in the eyes. āIt is my job to know things.ā
The shadow still sitting on my ear makes a sound like a cat purring as it rubs itself against my temple.
āYou donātā¦ā the affection is making my head spin. This all feels like a dream. āHate me forā¦ this?ā I gingerly run a finger along his forearm, careful not to touch the still blistered skin where Iād branded him.Ā
āOr this?ā I motion to the collar around his throat. Stealing the key from the guard when heād given it to me to unchain Cassian earlier had been futile. Theyād made sure to search all four of us before leaving the Palace.Ā
āNo-ā Azriel starts as Rhysand catches my hand before it falls and brings it gingerly to his lips.
My heartbeat is once again very loud in my ears, a blush working its way across my cheeks. Iām suddenly very grateful that the candlelight doesnāt reach far beyond the bathing chambers.Ā
āThe brand was me, Darling, donāt keep blaming yourself for that.ā
As much as I want this with the two of them, there is a notable absence in the room. āCassian doesnāt seem to share the sentiment.ā
āHeāll come around,ā Azriel assures. āHeās just processing.ā
āYou think he can process that Hybern is my father?ā I return. āMost people canāt.ā
Azriel lets go of my chin, scarred fingers sliding across my jaw to cup my cheek. I find myself leaning into his touch like a moth to flame, unable to stop myself from indulging in the warmth the floods through my body. For the first time in days the bond doesnāt feel raw or frayed or broken. Itās warm, glowing like the candles in the bathroom.Ā
āYou donāt choose the family youāre born into,ā Rhysand starts.Ā
āWeāre pretty familiar with shitty fathers,ā Azriel finishes.
This doesnāt feel real. I swear Iām dreaming!
āAnd, if weāre going to stop yours, we need to set some ground rules,ā Rhysand says, bringing the conversation back to the moment at hand. āYou donāt put yourself in harmās way for us.ā
āWe will have to find middle ground, Rhysand-ā
āRhys, weāre not having a dinner party, you donāt have to be formal about it.ā
āWe will have to find middle ground, Rhys, because Iām not ok with putting you in harm's way either. I already have to sit here and watch you fight in the Arena; there is only so much I can take.ā
The way Azrielās eyes suddenly glaze over tells me theyāre having a mental sidebar about what to do, since we seem to be at an impasse here.
Iād take the moment to appreciate our new understanding of each other if the creak of one of the floor tiles in the hall didnāt catch my attention instead. Strange, there shouldnāt be any guards patrolling insideā¦Ā
I incline my head, listening for it again. There are three loose tiles in the hall; I know this because I memorized their placement in order to sneak out into the gardens on the nights both my parents were in the house. One at the end, one under the windows, and one right outside the door. If someone were just checking the hall, I would only hear one. Any more than that, then someone who should not be awake at this hour is coming towards the door.
The second creak sounds just as my mates finish their silent discussion, Rhysās mouth parting to announce a decision and I fling myself forward and clamp my hand over his mouth. āSomeone is coming!ā
The words are barely out when the third and final tile makes a noise, right outside my door.
Azrielās shadow over my ear slithers down to rest on my shoulder with a hiss, writhing in agitation like a snake as it appraises the darkness. Azriel himself is a flurry of shadows as he launches into the corner, where he can grab anything that tries to step into the room.
Someone tests the doorknob to see if it's locked, and Rhys loops an arm around my waist and pulls me behind him with one hand, while the other reaches out and emits a small blast of glittering starlight that blows out all the candles in the bathroom.
He can do that around the gorsian stone?! I know that heās powerful, but just how much? These chains have stolen the powers of some powerful beings over the years, reduced them to basically human, but heās still functioning?
The door opens slowly, inch by inch, as if someone is testing to see if it makes any noise. Definitely not Anise then, she would know that it doesnāt.Ā
Rhys backs up until my back is flush against the wall and thereās several feet between himself and the door.Ā
āSmells like death.ā I flinch, because thatās not Rhys in my head, but the shadow still perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. It can speak?!
One of the staff had closed the hall curtains, leaving nothing but a vague shape in the darkness as something slips silently into my room and shuts the door behind it. In the stillness, there is no mistaking the sound of a blade sliding out of its sheath, but whatever the creature is, it obviously canāt see in the dark. It has no idea Azriel is behind it until one of his shadows lashes out and knocks the blade from its grip.
The creature makes a strange gurgling noise as Azriel pounces, and though I canāt fully see around Rhys, I hear Azrielās fist make contact with flesh, followed by several heavy thuds.
āIt is subdued,ā the shadow whispers.Ā
Rhys can either see in the dark, or is telepathically still communicating with Azriel, because he waves his hand and the candles in the bathing chamber light themselves again. Thereās just enough light for us to see Azriel kneeling on a maleās chest in the center of my bedchamber. The figure is clothed from head to toe in black, a hood slipping off his temples to reveal a bald head covered in swirling tattoos that converge into a half moon right between his eyebrows. The tattoo is enough to tell me what and who this male is, but so would the stitching across his face that keeps his mouth sewn shut.
I shudder as I step around Rhys, or try to, he keeps an arm out to stop me from approaching, as if he thinks the male might just explode.
āHeās a Raven,ā I say softly.
The maleās eyes are so dark theyāre almost black, just like Amaranthaās, and they narrow in my direction. Heās either Fae or Elf, but the pointed tips of his ears have been shaved off, the rounded tips held in place with the same gruesome stitches that seal his mouth. Once indicted as a Raven, race and gender are removed from the equation, everyone in the brotherhood is mutilated to fit the same, rigid and ambiguous uniform their Order demands.Ā
āFill us in, Princess,ā Rhys prompts.
āTheyāre an order of assassins. Usually kids they pick off the street. They undergo rigorous training and body mutilation until the Order shapes them into ambiguous monsters that only know how to kill. The Order was started by my great grandfather, the thought was that they should be able to blend in anywhere, that they would have no defining features, untilā¦ā I know the history of them like everyone in the Capitol because itās part of the school curriculum, but as I recite the information something clicks into place.
Rhys turns just enough to look at me.Ā
āUntil my Father became Emperor and the modifications becameā¦ gruesome so that they could be identified. He wanted people to know that it was him who set them against their targets.āĀ
āHybern tried to kill you.ā Rhys says flatly. Itās not a question.Ā
Azrielās teeth flash in a snarl as his knee moves from the assassinās chest to his throat, but no sound gets past his stitched lips. Only a slight jerk of his bald head indicates that heās choking against the pressure.
My Father tried to have me killed. Not executed like my Mother, he doesnāt have evidence of that, but murdered.Ā
I liked it better when my knees shook because my matesā had their hands on me, not because of the icy terror that fills my veins. My Father tried to have me killed.Ā
I must look shaken because Rhys slides his arm around my waist and leads me to the edge of the bed to sit.
āWeāre not going to get anything out of him,ā Azriel snarls. āSo unless you have any last minute requests, Iām killing him and dumping the body in the river.ā
āDo not anger the nymphs, theyāll eat you whole,ā I say distantly. Today has been the longest day of my life.Ā
Azrielās shadow brushes gently over my cheek as if to comfort me, but it has stopped speaking for the moment. Iām so tired, I wonder if maybe I imagined it.
āIf we kill him, Hybern knows that weāre on to him,ā Rhys returns.Ā
This is enough, at least for the moment, for Azriel to remove his knee from the maleās throat, but he doesnāt move off his chest. His shadows bring him the dagger they knocked from the Ravenās hand, the blade jagged and curved in a crescent shape, reaching nearly eight inches. He would have had a hard time driving that directly into my chest, but it would have carved me up like a turkey with little resistance. A shiver runs up my spine; if my mates hadnāt come looking for meā¦ if I had still been in the tubā¦
āWhat do you purpose we do with him?ā Azriel snarls. āHe canāt walk out of here.ā
The Raven makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle, as if amused by the situation.Ā
Weāre once again caught between a rock and a hard place. If Azriel kills him, then Father will know they were here in the room with me. If they let him go, Father knows they were here with me. We canāt make his death look like an accident either; that will look suspicious, Father will send others to see what kind of security measures Iāve suddenly added to the house.Ā
I take my lower lip between my teeth. What are we supposed to do?
Rhys starts to pace along the length of the bed, trying to plan, agitation evident down the bond. āWeāve clearly hit a sore spot if heās already trying to kill you.ā
Me. Not them. I hit a sore spot. I bet against him and won. I defied him. This isnāt about them at all, this is purely because I threatened his ego.
I glance up at Azriel. If this is about me, then I have to be the one to get us out. āI have to kill him.ā
Azrielās shadow hums approvingly as it nuzzles against my throat, even as its masterās eyes narrow.Ā
āHeās here for me. The only way we get out of this is if Iām the one who beats him.ā Father will not see it coming, he has underestimated me my whole life. He thinks Iām an easy target who got lucky.Ā
āThis is a game to my Father. One he thinks he can easily win-ā
āYou have to play the game,ā Rhys finishes with a frown. āHeās testing you, trying to gauge where your threat level is.ā
āI donāt like it,ā Azriel huffs, even as he hauls the male to his feet. The Raven flails, using his elbows and fists to try to free himself, but Azriel holds tight. āIt puts you directly in the line of fire.ā
Rhys turns to look at me, violet eyes heavy. His shoulders sag, like heās resigning himself to what heās about to say.Ā
āNo more chances to get on that boat from here,ā I quip.
He reaches out to cup my cheek. āI wish things were different. I wishā¦ that it wasnāt impossible choice after impossible choiceā¦ā
āBut itās my choice.ā Thatās why they were in the room in the first place, wasnāt it? āI choose you, all of you, and this. I will do what is necessary. I can live with this choice.ā
He leans in, the heat of him enveloping me and I want more than anything to curl into his chest and stay wrapped up in his arms forever. I wish we hadnāt had to meet like this. I wish there wasnāt so much bloodshed and pain leading up to this. But I cannot change it. All I can do is hope that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and moving in this direction will get us all out of here alive. I can play this game for them.
He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. āThen I will find a way to live with it.ā
I smirk, just a little as I turn to face the Raven. For the first time in months, I actively reach for my power, letting it pulse steadily through my veins until it can unfurl like a whip from my palm. Azrielās shadow slithers down my arm to inspect it.
āYouāll have to leave before I do,ā I say.
āNot a chance!ā Azriel growls.
I draw a breath, making sure my grip is secure, just as Iāve trained to do. The exhaustion of the day and the months of solitude make my grip a little shaky, but I can manage.Ā
āI will have to call for the guards,ā I return as I flick the ether of power out and wrap it around the Ravenās waist.Ā
His beady eyes narrow on the tendril of power before jumping to me with a look of pure venom. We were lucky Father hadnāt sent one of the more powerful wielders, this one canāt be more than an acolyte. The thought stings a little; he thinks so little of my powers he sent a student after me.
I suppose I should be grateful, this will probably be the easiest thing heāll throw at us from this moment forward.Ā
āYou canāt be here when they come, and thereās only one way out of this room.ā
I get a firm grip on my power, making sure the tether around the Ravenās waist is secure before tugging on it, yanking the male from Azrielās grip. Iām ashamed to admit that itās a tremendous effort to fling him against the wall and hold him there. My head pounds under the strain. Goddess am I out of practice! First thing tomorrow, after the Senate meeting, Mother willing we all survive it, Iām getting back into the training field.
The Raven thrashes under my grip like he knows Iām the weak link here.
Azrielās shadows drift around him like snakes writhing in agitation as he studies my grip.Ā
āMy Father has alchemists and mages at his disposal, they will be able to ascertain the time from when I killed him and when the guards took the body away. If there are any gaps, if it looks at all like I waited to call the guards, they will find it.āĀ
He looks torn, bandaged wings sagging behind him. I know they donāt like the idea, there are things that could go wrong, but none of this will work if we donāt start trusting each other to handle our respective duties. Truth be told, Iād rather they be here. Iād rather they know what Iām capable of, but I wonāt risk them just for a chance to show off.
āGo, Iāll be alright. We can talk about everything later.ā
Rhys nods solemnly.Ā
Azrielās jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth.Ā
āBelieve it or not, I have survived my Father without any interference from you before,ā I point out. āIām not some damsel in distress.ā
āDidnāt say you were,ā he growls out.
āThen have some faith in me.ā
Holding the Raven up this long is really starting to hurt, my muscles cramping from keeping my hand outstretched so long. They need to leave and they need to leave now!
Azriel finally steps close enough to press the Ravenās dagger into my palm, scarred hands wrapping around mine to make sure my grip on it is secure. The move is more intimate than it should be, my heart rate picking up.
āA shadow will stay with you.ā The ether rubs against my wrist as it continues to study my grip on my power.Ā
āIāll be fine,ā I promise.Ā
Theyāre gone quickly, maybe because they know if they linger they will talk themselves out of leaving.Ā
I turn to face the Raven. Itās dagger is cold and heavy in my off hand, but it helps to remind me what my fate could have been tonight. I step closer, hand still splayed out in front of me so my power slams him back hard enough for the plaster to crack. Good, it looks like Iād been in bed and tossed him this direction.Ā
I glance down at the shadowy pet that Azriel left behind. āI donāt suppose you could go ruffle my sheets so it looks like I was sleeping?ā
The shadow, much to my delight, moves in a way that looks like a nod before it flies over to my bed and starts yanking the pillows off the top covers. It even goes into the bathroom to start knocking out the candles so thereās no evidence that I wasnāt sleeping during this attack. Iām starting to get attached to the little guy.Ā
I turn my attention back to the Raven, whoās beady eyes narrow in challenge. I can do this. If I donāt, who knows what will happen to my mates.
I break my power into sections, one holding the male in place, a second sharpening it into a giant spike. My hand starts to shake under the strain and I grit my teeth. I can hold it. I can do this. I am not the weak little girl my Father thinks I am. I will not let him win.
The last candle winks out in the bathroom as I pull the spike back and ram it forward so hard the house shutters. And then I start screaming for the guards.
----
Hours later, thereās nothing left of the Raven but my cracked wall and a splatter of blood a couple of the staff are still trying to clean. Iām so exhausted I would have left it for the morning, but Anise had heard the commotion and taken charge of the situation before I could even get a word in.Ā
She still hovers. At some point sheād thrown a blanket over my shoulders like she expected me to start shaking over the ordeal. Honestly, after everything these last couple of days, this feels like itās pretty low on the list of traumatic experiences.Ā
Maybe I will feel the weight of it in the morning. Right now, I just feel exhausted.Ā
āYou should stay in another room tonight.ā Iām pretty sure she hasnāt stopped speaking since she came running in to check on me, but I honestly didnāt hear half of it. āGuards should be posted.ā
āNo.ā
She stops pacing long enough to look at me like she thinks Iāve grown a second head. āDonāt you no me! You were attacked-ā
āBy a Raven,ā I retort.
She knows the history of them as well as I do, and there have only been a handful of other times in my life that Iāve seen her be shocked into silence as she is now.
āThere will be no more attacks tonight.ā There are few things I know for certain about my Father, but I know for a fact he never strikes the same way twice. Tonight was a test. The next will be worse.
Anise reaches out for my hands. āIs this because of those males-ā
āNot tonight, Anise.ā I donāt have the energy to fight her tonight. I just want to get some sleep. āLadies, please return to your rooms. The rest of the cleanup can be dealt with in the morning.ā
The staff sends me sympathetic looks as they pack up their things, but Anise doesnāt budge.
āYou are scaring me, child,ā she whispers.
Her disapproval is sharp as a knife, but I canāt cave now. āI am fine, Anise.ā
āThatās what your mother used to say!ā She hisses.
I flinch despite myself. Azrielās shadow is back to its perch at my ear and it hisses softly beneath my hair.Ā
āThis will blow over,ā I insist, even though I know it's a lie. Tomorrow I will have to consider putting her on that boat I was looking at and getting her out of here before Father realizes she can be used against me. But it is a problem for tomorrow. There is nothing else left in me tonight.
āIf you so insist on playing games with your life, fine! But donāt say I didnāt warn you that this is a mistake!ā She shouts as she storms out.
It couldnāt have been easy for her, caring for me after we lost my Mother. I actively refused her help then too. But this is different. I am different. Eventually I will find a way to show her.
My bed looks as inviting as a prison cell. Iād sooner sleep on the floor than try to sleep here tonight, despite my exhaustion. My body moves on its own accord, following an instinct that feels like it grows more and more every day. Before I realize what Iām doing, I find myself standing in the kitchen cellar, hand on the lock of the secret door.
Azrielās shadow hisses approvingly.Ā
I have thought about enough today; jumped through enough hoops. My brain feels heavy in my skull. I will weigh the consequences of this tomorrow, as with everything else. I turn the lock and slip through the tunnel without bringing a light.Ā
I wouldnāt have needed one anyway. Azriel left the door on his end open, soft light spilling down the tunnel. He sits on top of the altar, sharpening what looked like a knife heād swiped from the kitchen.Ā
Rhys paces behind him until Iām close enough for them to hear me coming, by the time I reach the doorway, theyāre on me. A new shadow roves over my skin, searching for injuries. One of their hands brushes my hair out of my face, checking for injuries. The other asks if Iām ok and all I can do is yawn.Ā
Sleep pulls at the edges of my vision. My body suddenly very heavy. āCan I sleep here tonight? I donāt want to be alone.ā The words come out without conscious thought. They could leave me on the floor and Iād take it, as long as I donāt have to keep fighting to keep my eyes open.Ā
Everything shifts and spins as Rhys easily, and quickly, sweeps me up into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. Heās warm and the jasmine and citrus scent of him is soothing. My head falls onto his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Azriel shuts the trap door behind us as he follows us into the adjoining room. There are enough rooms in the Guest Wing for them to sleep separately, but someone managed to shove three beds into one. Not sure if that was the guardās or them.Ā
I have enough presence of mind to note that Cassian is awake in his bed, bandaged thigh propped up on some pillows before Rhys sets me down in the center of what I can only assume is his bed, because the sheets smell faintly of him.Ā
āRest-ā he moves like he might leave me and itās the first real rush of panic I feel all night as I grab for his hand before he can pull away.
āPlease stay.ā The bed isnāt big by any means but it feels like Iām swimming in nothing but open water, with nothing to shield me from whatever dangers might come if I fall asleep now. Itās all coming in in a rush and if I have to lay here and think about it, itāll consume me.
His features soften as he gives my hand a squeeze and slides in under the covers next to me. I donāt have to try and find Azriel, because he squeezes in behind me. He canāt be comfortable, this bed is barely big enough for two, and his wings are still healing. Yet he gives no complaint, just tentatively slides his arm around my waist.
āIs this ok?ā His breath is warm against my neck, the caress not unlike the ones his shadows have been giving me.Ā
Exhaustion threatens to pull me under as the panic begins to ebb. This is much better.Ā
āYouāre safe,ā Rhys whispers.
I intertwine my fingers with the ones Azriel has resting over my stomach. There are so many things I want to say, so many things we still need to talk about. I have questions and concerns and tomorrow is a promise of threats we need to be prepared to deal with. But it can wait until morning.
āThank you,ā I murmur to both of them, voice thick as sleep begins to overtake me.
Azriel places a very gentle kiss on the back of my head.Ā
It takes moments for me to start drifting, even if I wasnāt exhausted, their combined presence is enough to make the bond and my body relax more than I ever have. Just as I start to go under, in a very hesitant voice, I hear Cassian ask, āIs she ok?ā
The bond between us, broken as it is, swells just a little. Just enough to make me hope the others were right and he might eventually come around, but that too, will be something to deal with tomorrow.
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Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay, I've been a little under the weather! Hoping to be back on schedule now. :) As always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!
Tag List: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam,
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@byteme05 , @art1012 , @the-tummo , @kiwi-mothball, @onthewaytotimbuktu
#rhysand x reader#rhys x reader#azriel x reader#Cassian x reader#poly!bat boys x reader#gladiator!bat boys#gladiator!bat boys x reader#gladiator!rhys#gladiator!azriel#gladiator!cassian#princess!reader#acotar fanfic#acotar au#gladiator fic#gladiator au#my writing#my fanfic#my series
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Ludos Imperiales 5
Summary: A celebration of Amarantha's victories in Illyria reveals just how bad the Empire has become.
Content Warnings: Blood and Descriptions of Injuries; Crucifixions and Mentions of Torture; Slavery
Pt 1, 2, 3, 4
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Sleep is elusive. I find myself staring at the ceiling, watching the cream colored walls change colors as the sun slowly begins to rise.Ā
I have to be the worst mate in history. Well, my Father murdered his mate, so maybe a close second. Even if Rhysand did reach into my head and use me to brand them, Iād still held that iron, hadnāt fought it like I should have. Now, I canāt even say I made it right by getting them the hell out of here! Iām now actively giving them ways to stay, not just in the Empire, or in the arena, but in the middle of a game with my Father they canāt possibly hope to win. I should have pressed the issue harder. I should have ignored their call and waited til morning when Anise had found passage out of here and hauled them onto the ship. I most definitely should not be calling for a tailor as soon as the sun is up to make sure theyāre fitted for clothes for this stupid parade.Ā
Iām tempted to think Rhysand has found a way to make me do this for him, but I know he canāt reach me this far. The tether in my chest that links me to them feels strained from being so far away. Itās as if itās a living thing beneath my skin that knows thereās too much distance between us.Ā
Anise worms her way back into my room as I dismiss the tailor and tell her to send the healer my way for a report on the injuries the Illyrians finally let her treat once Iād left their room last night.Ā
āI found what you were looking for,ā she says as she shuts the door. I expected her to find an excuse not to do what Iād asked, especially after sheād given me the royal inquisition about what Iād been doing once I came back through the secret entrance last night. But her emerald gaze sweeps conspiratorially over my empty room, even as she hands me something that smells like a contraceptive tea.
I try to pass it off on my bedside table. āYou know I donāt need this.ā
āDrink,ā she sits herself on the edge of my bed with a sigh. āCanāt have a boat disappearing into the Wastes while you grow with child.ā
I pinch the bridge of my nose. āAnise!ā
She shrugs, āI suppose your Father would kill it anyway.ā
āGet to the point, Anise.ā
āDrink the tea first.ā
To appease her, I pinch the bridge of my nose to avoid the awful smell and force the amber colored liquid down my throat.Ā
āThereās a merchant ship that takes the long way around the Wastes to reach the Human Lands. Passage can be acquired for a hefty fee.ā
āNot a problem,ā my stomach rises in my throat and I have to take a moment to let it settle before finishing the tea.Ā
āThere is a matter of it only being available for another three days before itās gone for six months.ā
That complicates things. How am I supposed to convince them in the next three days that they need to be on that ship?
āThank you for looking,ā I pass the, now empty, cup back to her. āI will need you on standby. Hopefully, I can find a way to convince them to get on board before itās too late.ā
Anise chews on her wooden thumbnail. āThereās a rumor, around the house, that theyāre insurrectionists, is that true?ā
I push the curtain blocking the bathroom aside. I might as well change and prepare for the parade now. If I give myself enough time, maybe I can slip back into the secret passage and strategize with my stubborn set of mates on how we handle today. I donāt like going into this blind, and I certainly donāt like having to be responsible for their well-being knowing that theyāre just winging it.Ā
How have they managed to get this far?
āMore or less,ā I say as I slip my sleep clothes off my shoulders. I frown at my reflection in the mirror. Too thin. Too pale. I need to get back into training; I need to get some color back into my face. All my clothes hang a little too much off my shoulders. Mother would have never let me hear the end of it if she knew how long Iād wasted away in this house over her. She hated mourners. Hated having an excuse not to be on top of training, in every area of life.Ā
āAnd what-ā Anise comes to stand in the doorway, frowning at the outfit Iāve chosen for the day. She snatches it out of my hands before I can put it on and comes back with something cobalt instead. ā-do they have on you?ā
āI donāt follow?ā
āWhat are they using against you to get you to do this for them?ā She fusses over the loose fabric, lining the seams up along my shoulders, tucking in loose bits of cloth here and there, slipping other strands through a golden belt around my waist.Ā
āYou think they have some kind of leverage on me?ā
āI think this is unlike you. I think youāve been a shell of a person locked in a dark house for months and months and suddenly now you care about parties and parades and those gods-awful Games. It is strange. I think I should send for a Healer to look at your head.ā
I let her fidget and fuss so she has something to take the edge off her anxiety. āI went to plenty of parties and paradesā¦ beforeā¦ā I canāt bring myself to say it out loud.Ā
āYou went for her, because she forced you too, this is different. You keep insisting there is nothing sexual happening, yet you drink the tea and sneak into their rooms and wonāt tell me whatās going on.ā
I turn away from the mirror to look at her, reaching for her gnarled hands. āTheyāre good males, I just want to help them, is all. Father doesnāt exactly smile on simple favors.ā
She huffs, āYour heart has always been bigger than your head.ā
āI feelā¦ kind of like Iāve been asleep for a long time and when I woke up I didnāt recognize who I was in the mirror. Iām just trying to find myself again.ā Itās the closest to the truth as I can get. āIām sorry that Iāve worried you.ā
She frees herself from my grip to touch my cheek gently. āJust promise me that you will be careful. If anything were to happen to youā¦ā
āI promise.ā
She nods then takes my shoulders and spins me back to face the mirror. āGood, then letās fix this awful hair of yours!ā
Better to have her focusing on making me presentable than all the possible dangers we have to face just by leaving the room. I feel terrible, leaving her in the dark about it all, but I canāt tell her the truth, not yet. It is too soon; it leaves too much to chance. I still have hope that I can find a way by the end of the day to convince them to get on that boat and then she will never have to think about it again. The worst will be behind us.
--
I may have underestimated just how bad this was going to be.
For one thing, I didnāt anticipate Amarantha showing up at the front gates before I had a chance to slip into the Illyriansā room. Let alone bring a whole entourage of slaves and guards, all painted in her colors and dressed for the parade. The sight of her in my sanctum makes me want to start hurling things at her head, but I manage to keep a poker face as she dismounts from her chariot, pulled by a white horse with a speckle of gray across its glossy coat. One of Fatherās prized war horses; a gift from a battle years ago.Ā
āGeneral, you honor me with this surprise visit,ā the words taste like bile. Why is she here in my place of refuge? Sheās never bothered to venture this far away from the Capitol before.Ā
She glances around warily, like something might pop out of the sprawling gardens and bite her. āI came to check on your progress.ā
āHow kind of you.ā I intentionally donāt draw attention to the path that leads to the guest house. āWould you like some refreshments? You must be tired from your journey.ā The last thing I need is her poking around.Ā
āNo. We need to be on our way. I assumed youād need help leading your new pets out.ā
āNot at all. I have everything under control.ā Bitch.
She grins but it doesnāt reach her eyes. āGood, then letās get moving, shall we? Donāt want to keep your Father waiting.ā
This is all happening a lot faster than I anticipated, but I will have to make the most of it. Her being here means they were right last night, I really had thrown Father off his game. Now heās trying to compensate by sending her to feel out how Iāve managed this far. I keep my shoulders back as I tell one of the guards to bring the males out. I must remain in control.Ā
I must keep my well-trained mask of courtly manners in place.
Thatās a lot harder when the second curveball of the day comes hurling my way: Iād sent my tailor with an order to find my mates suitable pants, boots, and tunics. We werenāt going to have the time for anything fancy. With a few more hours I might have been able to find armor suitable for a Gladiator to wear out in public. A moot point one way or the other, because they wouldnāt have worn it. Not one of them is wearing the outfit I selected. In fact, Iād barely call the swatch of fabric adorning their bronze skin clothing. Itās closer to a toga, one half of the beige fabric pinned over their left shoulders, draping down in gentle waves down their waists, where it eventually falls to their upper thighs, one side slit nearly all the way open. It leaves half their tattooed chests bare, the swirls of tattoos on stark display. Thereās so much open across Rhysandās ensemble that I can very clearly see the curvature of his ass if heās standing in any direction thatās not looking at me directly.Ā
It is an effort to keep my jaw off the floor. What the fuck are they doing?
I donāt know if the guards attached leashes to the gorsian collars around their throats or if they did that themselves; at this point, it wouldnāt surprise me.
āIāve underestimated you, Highness,ā Amarantha says.
The words might as well have been spoken by a fly, they donāt even register. I canāt stop staring at them, at the miles of bare skin and muscle on display. Ember did a good job putting them back together last night, the bruises fading, the smaller cuts and scrapes nothing more than a swatch of fresh skin. Rhysandās arm is still bandaged, as are Azrielās wings, but they do not drape on the floor today. They all stand ready, heads high. The posture feels like a challenge; they should be defeated, they lost the battle, theyāre chained here to me, but they donāt look it. They command the space around them.
I feel a flash of pride when I look at them. Even with all my training, Iād never be able to be this confident. Despite all their losses, they havenāt given up.
āI might have to challenge your claim on them,ā Amarantha says, her gaze lingering too long on Rhysand for my liking.
Something ugly and possessive rears its head inside me and all I see is red. My hands ball into fists at my sides as my powers flare in my palms. Keep it together! Keep it together!
āAnd miss the parade in your honor?ā I say as sweetly as I can. āMy Father would be so disappointed.ā
She sneers at me, perfectly white teeth flashing, āWouldnāt be much of a challenge for me, would it, Highness?ā
Iāve never shown anyone the full extent of what Iām capable of; it would be too dangerous to unleash that much power on the world. It wonāt do me any good now to try and boast about what I keep hidden beneath my skin. āYouāve done enough fighting, save the challenges for your Attor.ā
She huffs as she climbs back into her golden chariot.Ā
Itās not really a victory, but it is the best I can hope for. Time will be the only thing keeping her in check today. If it wasnāt for the parade, she might be tempted to keep pushing the issue, and as much as Iād love an opportunity to shove a blast of obsidian power through her chest, I have bigger issues to deal with. I canāt let her get in the way of the plan.Ā
My mates watch the exchange closely. Azriel hovers a little closer than someone supposed to be shackled to me should. His shadows are missing. Hidden somewhere, maybe behind his wings to avoid detection, or the sunlight, but the intensity in his gaze reminds me that there isnāt anything happening he isnāt aware of.Ā
Rhysand gives me the subtlest of nods as the stable boy brings my own horse out. Anise must have sent them for me; sheās undoubtedly watching from the window. I have never been more keenly aware of how many sets of eyes are watching my every move, which is saying something, considering Iāve never left this house without a squadron of guards or some form of chaperone. Every breath I take feels like itās being monitored, which is unfortunate, because the next issue of the day becomes the moment I realize the guards left with the wagon yesterday and I donāt have any other horses. How am I supposed to get them all the way across the Capitol?
Iām out of my element. Itās one thing to freeze in front of some guards who donāt know me well enough to see the panic in my eyes, itās entirely another to in front of Amarantha, who can smell fear like a fucking bloodhound. She wonāt stop grinning at me either, like sheās a cat watching a mouse creep slowly up to a baited trap. Weāve just started this, I canāt already fail!
The invisible force that is Rhysand slips right into my mind again as panic freezes me in place. My body moves for me, tethering the leashes in my hand to the saddle of my horse.Ā
Amaranthaās grin falters.
I am not making my mates walk behind me the entire time! This, somehow, feels worse than the brand!
Ā But I canāt fight his grip on me. My shields were low enough, Iād forgotten to enforce them, heād slipped right in and taken control just like he had yesterday. I canāt do this!
āYou can,ā that silky smooth voice is like a caress against the inside of my skull as he moves me into the saddle of my horse.Ā
I can feel Cassianās glare between my shoulderblades, as if heās imagining exactly where heād drive his sword. The tether that links us feels even more frayed than it had yesterday, as if someone is taking a knife and swaying it away fiber by fiber. Worse, that someone is me.Ā
Rhysand brushes a mental hand down my spine and my whole body trembles as if it had been physical. āItās all right. Youāre just doing what we asked you too.ā
Amarantha starts moving, the grin now a full scowl. This is not at all how she thought this morning would go. Iām grateful sheās so distracted by the failure that she isnāt paying attention to the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. This is beyond cruel and unfair!
āWeāve endured a lot worse than this,ā he explains as he uses me to get my horse moving.Ā
The collars around their throat rattle as they get yanked along behind me and I think I might never get that godsdamned sound out of my head as long as I live.
āWhen we lost that battle in Illyria, they kept all of my soldiers chained together, naked and bleeding in the snow. They made them watch as they burned our cities to the ground, with their families locked inside the Temple.ā
Revulsion rolls its way through my stomach, as I flick my gaze to Amarantha; sheās always been a monster, sheās never bothered to hide it, but Iād never known the gory details. Father praised her for doing whatever was necessary to win, I knew that involved a lot of shed blood, but Iād never seen the true cost of her victories.
Maybe Iād never wanted to see. It had been easier to just keep my head down and accept that this was how the world I lived in worked. Iād been too terrified of what might happen if I challenged it; hell, Iād been too terrified of what would happen to even look at it. It had always been easier to turn and hide from it, withdrawing into myself where the monsters couldnāt reach me. How many people have I hurt by turning a blind eye?
āAmarantha made Cassian pick which of his men would live. Five out of every group of ten to be taken as slaves. The other five to be crucified. She did it in waves, five for every city we stopped at for supplies. Five to be a warning to the other Courts. Until we came to the Arena; then the question became which of us would fight and die. He chose us, so that, at least, the rest of his men may find a chance to escape.ā
Rhysand wonāt loosen his grip on me enough to let me turn in the saddle to look at them. He probably thinks Iāll lose my nerve if I do. My chest aches for them and what theyāve had to endure on the way here.
āIf you hadnāt stepped in yesterday, Hybern would have killed Cassian and Azriel.ā
āBut not you?ā His hold on me is not so strong that I canāt, at the very least, talk back to him. The connection soon becomes soothing, instead of like fighting against adamant. As time goes on, I can begin to feel the distinction in the tethers that link our souls. While they are still thin, and tangled in the heart of it, there is a glittering, starlight lined piece that leads me to him, and the connection feels like it builds on top of itself little by little as we go. Maybe the bond is not, totally, unsalvageable.
āI caught a glimpse in Hybernās head. He was too far away for a good look, but I saw enough. At least for a little while, he wants me alive. I donāt know why. I assume to make a bigger display of my failure than Amarantha has already made, but I canāt be sure. I think that he might have let me live yesterday and killed them as punishment for speaking out. Judging by the way Amaranthaās acting today, I think that she expected to get me as a prize afterwards.ā
My teeth clench involuntarily at the thought.
āI know that what Iāve asked of you is uncomfortable. It will be a hard role to play, but it is not without advantages.ā Despite Cassianās misgivings during their argument last night, him and Azriel had seemed to be in agreement that they needed me for this. If I cannot spare them entirely from pain, at least I can keep them out of Amaranthaās claws. A tiny victory, but still a victory.Ā
The road ahead of us is long, physically speaking the trek into the city is several miles, and figuratively because thereās a lot of hoops to jump through and masks to wear and angles to work. This will not be an overnight endeavor. That ship with their freedom quickly feels like its slipping out of my reach.Ā
āBut are there not advantages to leaving while you have the chance?ā There is nothing but a long, winding road lined with hills of rolling wheat between us and the outskirts of the city, I might as well make my attempt now.
āNot if it means abandoning my people.ā
Stubborn male.Ā
āThis will be your Empire one day, do you not feel responsible for the people within it?ā
As the sun continues to climb, so does the temperature. Sweat begins to bead its way across my hairline.
āIt will not be my Empire,ā I counter; especially considering what I had bargained to ensure their freedom. āMy Father doesnāt think I know it, but he added a clause to his will that states, in the event of his death, my husband will take the throne.ā
Through the mental connection, I feel him stiffen behind me.
And maybe because Iām desperate for any possible chance to push them towards that ship, I add, āAnd make no mistake, my Father has already chosen which male to pawn me off to.ā
Anger flashes its way across the bond. A sign, I should think, that he at least knows thereās something there.Ā
āHe would leave you no choice?ā
The question is laughable. For all the terrible things my Father has done, he truly thinks heād still care about my consent in any aspect of my life? āHe pretended for a while that I did, but his displeasure was always made clear. Not that it matters, now. Iāve already agreed to marry whoever he wishes.ā
A growl works its way down the bond between us. āWhy?ā
āDid you think he would spare your lives for free?ā A low blow and I know it, but I havenāt been able to stop thinking about how Cassian had called me a spoiled little princess whoād never felt the effects of this Empire. My suffering has been nothing compared to theirs. No life time could ever compensate for that kind of torture. There is no contest here. But I am not immune to my Fatherās whims either and I need them to understand that this is not the better option. They need to be on that ship. And if they feel the bond at all, if there is any push to be near me, I need to use it to get them to see how dangerous it is to be around me. I can shield them a little bit. I can stand between Amarantha. I can stay my Fatherās hand on occasion. But it will not last. Nothing lasts long against them.Ā
Rhysand is silent for a long time. Long enough that I feel his grip on me slip away, allowing me to turn my head and watch the three of them. Theyāre keeping pace easy enough, even with the bandage around Cassianās thigh and the added weight of the bandages around Azrielās wings. But itās their eyes that catch my attention: Glazed over like theyāre not seeing me at all. Iāve seen that look before, when the twins reach into someoneās head. The collar must limit his ability to reach out to more than one person at the time. Heās withdrawn to speak with them instead.
I keep my shields down, waiting for him to come back, praying to the Mother that it worked, that theyāre at least, reconsidering this foolhardy notion of theirs.Ā
Amaranthaās men must have cleared the streets on their way down here, usually, the twisting pathways of hard packed earth are crowded with carts and beasts of burden as they tend to the budding wheat stalks, but there are none. It is a strange silence, there are usually workers singing in between the rows as they weed and water and remove pests from the grounds. No birds sing. Itās as if the whole area knows a red-headed predator walks among them.
I find myself studying her, careful not to let the rage I feel at the thought of what sheād done to my mateās rises back to the surface. Silence has always been dangerous for me, it gives me too long to think. And right now, all I can think about is how easy it would be to blast her in the back of the head with the dark ether that prowls beneath my skin. One of her slaves carries her helmet, the dark horse hair plume billowing in the warm summer breeze. None of her guards rides close enough to block the blow. Sure theyāll be an issue afterwards, but they wonāt be able to save her.Ā Sheād be nothing more than a blood stain in the rode.
And then what? What would it help? It canāt erase what sheās already done to them. Even if I could take out the guards and we all made a break for that ship, Father would never let it go. Heād blame them, probably lie to the people and say Iād been kidnapped or brainwashed into doing it, and then he and everyone in the Empire would hunt us down until we were dragged back or killed. Theyād never have any rest. No, I need to get them to get that ship and I need to find a way to make sure that no one comes looking.Ā
My head hurts. This is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. Thereās a lot more pieces to play than just moving them onto a ship. I resist the urge to rub my temples. How could someoneās life become so incredibly complex in less than 24 hours?Ā
Rhysand finally returns, his arrival a brush of night kissed shadow that contrasts the summer heat. āWhy did you agree to help us?ā His voice sounds farther away, it must be a tremendous effort to keep this up for so long around that collar.
āBecause I didnāt want to be like him.ā That is as close to the truth as I will allow myself to admit to anyone.Ā
His mental hand brushes down my spine, caressing, soothing. I close my eyes for the briefest of moments to savor it. I should not let myself indulge it. I should push it away before he has time to understand why it means so much, but I canāt. I really am a broken, selfish thing, but I canāt push him away like I should.
āHas he given you a time frame for the marriage?ā
āNo, but Iām sure he will soon.ā
As we crest a hill, the walled edges of the capitol finally come into view, Fatherās crimson banner billowing from the parapets. As we draw closer, I can start to see another banner hanging from the great, stone walls: Amaranthaās familial crest, emblazoned on a black banner, the great beast in the center, edged in crimson. The shape of the crest always bothered me. The edges were never smooth and even, like someone had put too much ink on the pen, letting it bleed. Maybe that was the point. Amaranthaās whole family line had clawed its way to power by shedding someone elseās blood.Ā
Itās jarring to see her banner hang next to my Fatherās. No one has that kind of power in the Empire. Not even my Mother had the sway to earn a banner in her name, no matter the exploits sheād brought within the Capitolās walls.
My stomach twists.Ā
āThen we may need to rush our plans a little.ā
I pretend to fiddle with something in the saddle so I can look back at him. Sweat drips down his forehead, trailing lines down his exposed chest. There is nothing short of sheer determination etched into every line of his face.
Beside him, Azriel keeps pace, shadows peeking out from behind his wings in agitated waves. A look that would be intimidating on its own, but only worsened by the promise of violence in his eyes.
So much for making the ship.
āDonāt be rash and do something stupid,ā I retort, as the sound of trumpets draws my attention off of them. Thereās a cluster of horses and people waiting up ahead. As we draw nearer, I can start to make out the familiar faces of Fatherās Praetorian Guards. Then Brannagh and Dagdan, atop their auburn steeds, bought at a hefty price from the Autumn Court. And finally, in his own golden chariot, pulled by a prized war horse, a golden laurel wreath atop his salt and pepper hair, stands my Father.
I swallow the lump in my throat.Ā
āI mean it, Rhysand,ā I snarl when he doesnāt answer me. āIf you do something stupid now heāll kill all of you. No pleading on my part will save you.āĀ
Iām suddenly not sitting on the horse anymore, the world around me spinning and twisting and the trumpets and horns starting to play along the roadside sound like execution bells. My stomach rises in my throat; heart echoing to an octave that sounds like beating drums. I canāt see them, I canāt see the parade of people assembling all I can see is my Mother in those awful, dull gray robes, stripped of all the finery she always adorned herself, walking right to the executioner's block in chains.
āBreathe.ā I must have been holding my breath because the memory comes to a grinding halt before I can rewatch her head roll off her shoulders and Rhysand is back in my head, gently shaking the memory from my grip.Ā
āItās over. Youāre all right. Take another deep breath for me.ā
My horse wonāt stop moving and I swear my Father doesnāt blink the entire time he watches us approach. That slate gray gaze, so similar to my own, is empty and cold and it pierces through me like an ice pick.Ā
āWeāre not doing anything today, remember? Just observing. We need to see what weāre up against.ā
I have to fight every instinct not to turn and look at him. I need to keep my head up, I need to not look like Iām going to throw up all over the floor. I cannot ruin this.Ā
Fatherās mood shifts when he turns his attention to Amarantha, and smiles. āGeneral,ā he calls out, the horde of people surrounding him parting so he can move to greet her. āI see you had no issues on your way here.ā
āDick,ā Rhysand hisses as I sit there getting ignored.Ā
āPlease, just stick to observing. I canātā¦ā I shake off the memory as best I can, embarrassed that I showed him in the first place. āI canāt lose anyone else.ā
The bond flickers with understanding, a moment of shared grief passing between us. I donāt know what else he has lost, but the emotion that flits between us is enough to show me itās not mere pity. āDonāt worry, thereās not going to be room to do anything in this crowd,ā he assures.Ā
And heās right, starting at the open gates is a whole crowd of people, all waving flags and streamers and cheering. The whole city is packed against the main road, held back by a thin barrier or red tinted magic. Every house in the Capitol has to be empty. Someone has thrown roses down onto the road, the perfume so strong I can smell it from here.
Behind us, more beings begin to arrive. I note some of Amaranthaās commanding officers and a few Senators. A couple of the Lords who have bent the knee and submitted to Fatherās reign follow.Ā
Amarantha stands a little straighter as they approach, preening under all the attention.Ā
A steward with a very long scroll shuffles around in the chaos, trying to organize everybody into rows, his shrill voice echoing above the crowd with a little help from some lesser magic. Drummond has been in the service of the Empire since my great-grandfather was Emperor, heās gotten pretty good at getting people to listen to him.Ā
Weāre quickly organized into sections, with Father and Amarantha in the front and everyone following in line behind them by rank and station. There is a large gap in between where Father and Amarantha ride and where I sit with my mates, just ahead of the other nobility. My birthright keeps me close to the front, but the gap between me and them is noticeable. I am not a part of their inner circle, Iāve only ended up ahead of theyāre favored elites because I have the face of the Illyrian rebellion chained to my horse. It is not as if I want to be close to them, in fact, the distance helps me breathe a little easier, but the space between my Father and I has never felt so visible. We are two ships on opposite sides of an ocean. Mother used to whisper, when she thought I couldnāt hear, that the Goddess had cursed him by giving him me. Not only was I not the son heād prayed for, I was not even a daughter he could benefit from having. Heād tried to hide that from his closest confidants, itās why he allowed the River House. It kept me close enough to not become a problem, and far enough away to hide his shame. It used to bother me, now I canāt help but wonder if perhaps there was a reason Iād never belonged here. Maybe the distance had given me the eyes Iād needed to see my mates for what they were. If I had been born different, if I had become someone like Brannagh or Amarantha, would I have ended up here?
My musings are interrupted by Dummond as he side-steps Cassian, giving the General a far wider berth than necessary as he looks back and forth between his scroll and us. āHmmm, should be a enough room I suppose?ā He mutters, pen furiously scratching in the margins of what looks to be a very well filled out list.Ā
Cassianās wings suddenly unfurl behind him, as if heās stretching his arms, the great, leathery membrane catching the early afternoon sun, as the spiked tip catches Dummond in the back of the head hard enough to make him drop the scroll.
The aging elf gives a yelp of surprise as he skitters after it like itās made of gold. āGods-damned Illyrian brute!āĀ
āCass,ā Rhysand warns as the guards shift in our direction.
āWhat? My wings were cramping,ā Cassian counters, looking smug, even as he snaps his wings shut behind his large body. I could watch him do that all day. If Iād had the supplies, Iād attempt to paint the way the sunlight reflects the hints of red and blue, highlighting all the scars that map their way across his wings. How many battles do you have to fight to have scars like that?
Dummond scurries past us to intercept a caravan of wagons, keeping his precious scroll clutched tight to his chest this time. Heās always been a little skittish--who isnāt around my Father?--but today looks like itās worn down his nerves. I can practically hear his knees shaking as he directs the wagons down the little path that converges on the mainroad. The closer it gets, the louder the sound of rattling chains becomes.
Grief consumes me, so hot and heavy the three of them might as well have screamed themselves hoarse down the bond simultaneously. It is an effort not to grasp at my chest, as if theyāre pain is a physical wound I can hold in my hands. I donāt need to see what comes our way to know what it is, but their arrival plays out in slow motion ahead of us. The wagons are all built to be moveable cages, walls of gorsian stone bars holding in too many bodies to count. Thereās a padlocked door at the back of each and when a guard swings it open, a jumble of winged bodies tumble outward. Chains clank and rattle and male after winged male gets shoved into even lines ahead of us. Theyāre all a mess of blood soaked bandages and dirt; the number of wings more twisted than Azrielās had been is too high to number. Once a wagon is empty it is directed out of the way and another takes its place, just as full as the last. There has to be at least a hundred Illyrians, all shackled and beaten ahead of us.
Dummond stays a healthy distance from them, counting down the numbers on his list to ensure theyāre all in place. Not that it would be necessary, none of them fight it. Most stand with their heads to their bare chests--gods above half of them are still naked!Ā
Rhysand has withdrawn himself from my head again, but I can still feel his pain down the bond just as well. These are his people, and he canāt save them from this.
Cassianās pain soon turns sharp as a blade, rage pulsing down the bond.Ā
I wish I had the words to comfort them; the power to make this all stop, but I am as helpless as I always have been. No words will soothe this offense.
How could Father do this?Ā
Dummond carries on as if he is organizing cattle. The guards use the butts of their spears to keep any male that moves too far from the group back in line. Their force is excessive. The blow knocks the already beaten males into each other, causing a domino effect that brings a third of the Illyrians down into the dirt. I canāt make out the words, but I can hear the whimpers of pain; hear the coughing and wheezing that comes from untreated injuries and illnesses that only come when too many people are crammed together for too long.
There isnāt enough time to process the full scope of whatās happening before a set of trumpets starts blowing from the cityās outer walls. Shit itās starting!
Itās like a bad dream as the procession begins to move, Father and Amarantha first. There are mages positioned down the fairway, their hands outstretched towards the sky as they weave colorful ribbons of magic like streamers above our heads. The bands move in time to the music, flashing in Amaranthaās colors first, then Fatherās. Small children throw more roses into the street as the Emperor and esteemed General make their way into the city.
āAll hail the Emperor!ā Roars the crowd. āAll hail Amarantha the Conqueror!āĀ
Conqueror. The Illyrian captives are forced to follow after them, shuffling on bare feet and boots that are falling apart across cobblestones that have to be burning as the sun continues to rise across the cloudless sky.
There are small children in attendance, sitting on their parents shoulders, waving miniature versions of Amaranthaās crest. This feels like the most heinous part of the whole ordeal; are we to encourage this brutality in our children? They let their toddlers throw roses and dance along to the music, enthralled by the light show that flashes overhead as the procession moves through the city.Ā
Dummond makes sure to leave plenty of room between the last row of Ilyrians and us, as if theyāre scared to let them get too close to Rhysand. As if, the mere proximity of him might incite an uproar all over again.Ā
At this point Iād welcome it. Iād happily watch the whole procession go up in flames.
Power rumbles through my veins and Iām forced to tear my gaze away from the crowd to keep anything from escaping out of my skin.
āSteady,ā Rhysand warns as we inch closer to the front gates. The crowd continues to cheer and celebrate ahead of us as the procession follows the path to the Imperial Palace several miles into the city. It will be a long road ahead of us, yet it feels like itās been happening for ages.
āIām sorry.ā Sorry is not strong enough an emotion. No sorryās will ever be enough.
āDo you see why we need your help?ā He counters as a wisp of Azrielās shadow crawls up my shoulder and dives beneath my hair. The little ether of power slithers like a snake up around my ear, hidden under my hair, observing with a gentle hiss. I wonder if heās using it to see whatās coming ahead of us.
The road up ahead makes me wish he wasnāt here to see any of it at all. Being on the horse gives me a vantage point, lets me see around the corner we take to get to the heart of the capitol. The crowd has thickened even further here, bodies pushing up against the magic barriers, chanting and shouting to be heard. Except, the closer we get, the clearer the jumbled words become. As Amaranthaās chariot passes through, the noise soon turns from cheers and celebration to boos and curses. Itās the first hint that something is about to go terribly wrong and I feel my powers once again flair in defence.
The shift in the crowd is not the worst of it, even when they start hurling rotting vegetables and rocks at their captive entertainment. Blood splatters as someone gets hit in the head, nearly knocking down a whole row of males in the chaos.
I donāt even have time to flinch before Rhysand is once again holding me in place in the saddle. This time Iām not sure if itās my nerves or his. The bond bleeds like an open wound between us, agony dripping into my consciousness.
More of Azrielās shadows cluster beneath my hair, sitting like a snake, coiled and hissing as we go deeper into the city. This crowd will easily become a mob given the slightest provocation.
āTraitors!ā The crowd shouts. āSend the Illyrian dogs back where they belong!ā
The guards keeping the Illyrians in line donāt do anything to quell the crowd, letting rotting tomatoes and hearts of moldy lettuce get hurled like projectiles at a group of wounded males too beaten to fight back.
My stomach sits like a rock in my throat.
The deeper we get into the city, the worse it gets, and not just because there are more people here, but because, as we draw up to the center of town, there are crosses along the walkway, all holding a male with wings nailed to the cross beams.Ā
The males in the front of the line freeze at the sight. One of them wails and falls to his knees, only to be forceable hauled up by the Praetorian.Ā
āCrucify the lot of them!ā The crowd roars.
āSend the bastards back to the arena!ā
A rock comes hurtling towards my head so fast I donāt even have time to shield, my only saving grace Azrielās shadow that goes flying out in front of me to catch it and let it fall to the ground beside me. Rhysand wonāt turn to let me thank him; wonāt let me do anything but keep my eyes straight ahead of me. Not even when I hear the sound of something hitting one of them.
Iād cry if I had the ability, but he seems to have locked that away from me too. I feel like a statue as we continue forward, slowly crawling towards the Imperial Palace, unable to move or react. Even as we pass closer to the bodies, blood still dripping from open gashes across their tattooed chests. Some of the males are, mercifully, already dead, but the street is long and the number of them soon becomes hard to track when you can just make out the ones still gasping for air. This is by far the worst thing Iāve ever seen the Empire do.
I tear my gaze away from the carnage to find my Father, waving cheerfully to the crowd ahead of us, as if this is some sort of game. How could one man be so cruel?Ā
āRemember how I said you could ask me about that boat today?ā Rhysand says, but his voice is strained. I can feel his pain as if it is my own and I donāt know how he, or any of them, is even upright. Itās debilitating. I feel it crawl into every crevice of my being. My muscles fight the hold he has on me to try and curl up into a ball to avoid it.Ā
āStill think itās a good idea?ā
Like he can feel my gaze, the Emperor turns to catch my eye, one brow furrowed as if in question. For the first time in my life, I donāt shy away from the appraisal. Pain has walked alongside me my whole life, it has been a companion I have learned to hold hands with. But this? Having to live with the knowledge that these are wounds inflicted on my mates because no one has stood up to the Empire?
Iāve accepted a lot of shitty things in my life. I looked the other way when I couldnāt. But no more.
This ends.Ā
And it ends with me.
āNo. I donāt.ā I snarl.
I can feel Rhysandās grin through the bond. āThen welcome to the Rebellion, Princess.ā
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#rhysand x reader#rhys x reader#azriel x reader#Cassian x reader#rhysand acotar#Cassian acotar#azriel acotar#bat boys x reader#gladiator!bat boys#gladiator!bat boys x reader#poly!bat boys#poly!bat boys x reader#acotar fic#acotar smut#gladiator fic#my writing#my fanfic#gladiator!rhysand#gladiator!cassian#gladiator!azriel#gladiator au
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Ludos Imperiales II
Summary: Princess!Reader makes a deal with the Emperor to try and save her mates.
Content Warnings: Violence, Blood and Gore, Gladiator Tournament, Physical Abuse.
Part One
---------------------------------
I canāt breathe. The world spins in dizzying swirls around me. Mates.
Not one.
Not two.
Three!
All of them enemies of the Empire. Rebels scheduled for execution. Fate has always been a cruel bastard in all matters concerning me, but this feels like a personal attack on my existence. Someone in the Celestial Plain is laughing at this twisted attempt of a joke. How could I be so close to happiness and be forced to sit here and watch it be ripped from me one blood splatter at a time?
The Game Maker starts speaking again, his voice booming across the arena. I canāt make out any of the words; theyāre all muddled together in my ears. This cannot be happening to me! Itās not fair! Iāve been the perfect daughter, even when it shattered me; I was a model student; Iāve upheld the law to the very letter; I make weekly sacrifices to the Mother; I built my own lararium to offer nightly prayers to the gods. I have been devought and loyal to both the gods and the Empire and this is the thanks I get?
I canāt tear my eyes away from where the three of them stand in the center of the Pit, waiting for the gates to open again. The violet eyed one, Rhysand-- gods even his name is pretty--wonāt stop staring at my Father, challenging him to speak, to fight, to do something other than sit there like a coward while someone else kills for him.Ā
My Father must understand the challenge in that gaze, because he finally stands and goes to the edge of the booth, weathered hands splayed out against the worn stones bearing a flag with his crest embroidered upon it. āCitizens of the Empire!ā
The crowd gives a raucous shout.
I simply scoot a little closer to Brannagh to be able to see around Father.
My movements do not break the silent battle happening with Rhysand, but it does draw the eye of Azriel, whoās bloodied head tilts to the side quizzically as he takes me in. I feel a blush creep its way up my cheeks, the booth suddenly too hot as I try to meet his gaze. That hazel gaze bears an intensity that keeps me in place, but I cannot help but feel like Iāve been stripped bare, as if he can see straight into my chest, where my heart still pounds an uneven beat.Ā
āBefore you stands that which threatens our peace, our security, and most importantly the prosperity that our people hold so dear.ā
The tall one, Cassian frowns at that, but Rhysand grins, as if he has won whatever silent battle heās been having with my Father. He tips his head back and bellows, so that not a single soul here misses it, āThere is no prosperity or peace in the Empire! There is only enslavement and death!ā
The boos that had started coming from the crowd die, as if someone had collectively cut off their air supply.Ā
The muscles in my Fatherās back tighten as he realizes what is happening.
āOutside these walls we all starve! Supplies to every corner of the Empire have dwindled to single bags of grain, meant only to feed the soldiers that terrorize us in every corner of the world. You do not hear from your families in the far reaches because your mail is censored. Your loved ones have been dragged from their beds and crucified without trial. The only prosperity in this Empire is for Hybern himself.ā
I finally tear my gaze away from Azrielās silent study to look at Amarantha for confirmation that it is true.Ā
āYou should have slit his throat on the battlefield,ā Dagdan snarls in her direction.Ā
The power seeping from my fingers tears a hole through my skirts, singing across my thighs. The errant strand only hidden by the way I keep the fabric bunched in my hands. I do not allow myself to wince against the sting and give myself away.
āThose were not my orders!ā Amarantha snarls, her teeth flashing as she stands. Her slaves jump out of her way, cowering against each other for safety. āYour Highness, silence him before he incites a riot!ā
No! No! No! This canāt be happening to me! Not again. It is like watching my Mother be taken away all over again. I had just stood there. Unable to cry or scream or fight. I could only watch. That was what she trained me to do. She had even nodded her approval to my stillness as theyād dragged her away, as if it had been right. None of it was right. None of this was right!
āYour Master will tell you pretty stories but we are all his slaves in the end. Illyria has had enough! We will not sit by and let our women and children starve! If that makes us rebels and traitors to the crown, so be it! But what would you do if it was your children in the streets? Your wives being carted off to service foreign elites? Your sons forced to kill and die for an Empire that canāt even feed you?ā Rhysand screams.
My Father, silently, motions to one of his Praetorians, a crossbow already swinging from the clip at his back.Ā
The pounding of my heart in my ears will swallow me. Everything in the world slows and narrows into the motion of an arrow being fit into the crossbow.
Move! Move! Move! A dark ether of my power slithers up my wrists, catching Brannaghās attention. She must make some snide remark about it, because I, distantly, see her lips move but no sound ever reaches my ears. I have to stop this. I have to do something!
Iām on my feet without conscious thought of what Iām doing. āFather, wait!ā My hands reach for him, the sizzle of pain as my power skitters across his skin enough to make him turn and face me. I donāt know what Iām doing, or what Iām saying, the words spew as if they have a mind of their own.
āIf you kill him now like this you will incite a riot!ā
His face twists, a snarl slipping past his clenched teeth. I have royally pissed him off, disgraced him here in front of his Inner Circle, where they watch from nearby booths. The thought would usually send me cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs, but the fear I feel for him is nothing against the fear I feel for them. The thing that links our souls together burns and rattles beneath my rib cage, needing to defend, to fight.
āCall off your guard!ā I hiss, reaching out a hand and letting that dark power that lives inside me show. Iāll strike him dead if he so much as moves a finger towards the trigger. āLet us be diplomatic about this.ā
āWho are you,ā Father snarls, taking an advancing step towards me. The booth shakes as his own dark power rises to meet mine. āTo challenge me, child?!ā
I hold my ground, even though my body trembles. It is only the dutiful teachings of my Mother that keep my chin up instead of bowing it to my chest as every muscle screams for me to do. āI am not challenging you, I am trying to think about our people.ā
I clench my fists again, dimming my power in feigned submission. āGo about this a different way. Show the people that ruthlessness is not always the answer to our nationās problems.ā
āAre you suggesting I spare an enemy?ā Father snarls.
I honestly donāt know what my plan is here. Iām just throwing things against the wall and hoping something, anything, sticks, otherwise my only option is to fling myself down into the Pit and hope the power thrumming in my veins is enough to save my mates.
āNo,ā if I am to keep all of our heads, I must be crafty. I must play the games my Father plays. My gaze flicks to where Amaranthaās slaves remain huddled together, a desperate thought forming in my head. My stomach turns at the mere idea, but if it can save themā¦?
āYou mean to entertain the people and quell all possible chances of further rebellion, but we have seen time and time again that no execution or crucifixion has done that. We merely make martyr after martyr. We encourage others to take up the cause.ā
āLet them fight,ā Iām going to be sick! It feels like thereās a knot forming in my chest. āAnd if they survive, let them live, let them be gladiators.ā Itās unthinkable, it puts them in danger time and time again. āThe betting will be astronomical. The people will return time and time again in hopes of seeing them fall. That money can provide support to the edges of the Empire. Prove him wrong by sending extra aid to those outside our walls.ā
To his credit, my Father does listen to me ramble. The Mother has smiled on me for once, if he had been in one of his fits today he would have had Amarantha kill me where I stood. It is a miracle the Praetorian didnāt take me out for wielding so close to him in the first place.
Ā āAnd you would have them what? Live in the slave quarters where they can incite a riot with all the dregs?ā Amarantha hisses.
Iāll lose him if I let her forked tongue keep whispering in his ear. I am not blind, I know that she has more favor with him than I ever have. āNo. Leaving them free to whisper with the other gladiators would be a mistake. Let someone claim responsibility for them.āĀ
The plan forms in my mind as I speak. I donāt like it. Iām not sure that itāll even work, but I have to try and save them. I cannot let them die while I stand here uselessly watching as I did with my Mother. I will never be useless or silent again. āGive them to me.ā
Brannagh chokes on her wine behind me.
Amaranthaās jaw actually drops in shock.
āI will take responsibility for them. They will be monitored by my guard. To our people it will lookĀ like you mean to humiliate three great warriors, by shackling them to me. It is no secret what our people think of me.ā
Dagdanās snort is proof enough how weak I look in the eyes of our people. I am nothing but a sheltered, pampered princess to them. Up until today they didnāt even know that Iād inherited my Fatherās powers. Good, let them all think me weak and useless and meek, they will never know the claws and fangs that hide beneath my skin until it is too late. Father included.
āShe is not strong enough to keep them in check,ā Amarantha hisses. āIf you are to do it, give them to me.ā
I barely reign in my powers, barely keep my teeth behind my lips. They are mine and I will be damned before I let her put her grubby little paws on them!Ā
āYou may monitor them as often or as random as you wish, Father,ā I speak over her instead, fighting to keep his attention. āI will move back into the Palace. I will sit in every meeting. Iā¦ā There is one sure thing that will guarantee his approval of this awful plan of mine. āI will marry whoever you choose for me.ā
His dark brows raise in surprise. āAnd what would prompt this sudden loyalty to me, child?ā
I raise my chin. āI have sat too long in the dark, and I could not see it untilā¦ā I have already bartered my soul, what will some more empty words mean in the end? āI could not see it until you removed that traitor and her poisoned tongue from the house. I see it now. I have failed our people and I mean to make it right.ā
He flicks his gaze over his shoulder, down into the Pit. āThe gorsian stone should keep Rhysand in line. And with enough guards, you might be able to keep them locked up. If they should survive the fight.ā
āSometimes death is a mercy,ā I say, the words tasting like bile.Ā
He takes a step closer, so weāre nearly nose to nose. āAnd if you fail to keep them in line, it will be you that dies in this arena, do you understand?ā
Better me than them.Ā
āYou cannot be serious, Your Highness!ā Amarantha squeaks, her voice shrill.
I nod, trying not to gloat in my victory over her. āI understand.ā
Father grins, pleased with himself as he snags my hand and brings me back into view of the arena. āPlease forgive the delay, the Princess and I were just discussing what our guests had to say about the state of our Empire.ā
I feel three sets of eyes settle on me like a brand. The bond, still so new and raw in my chest, feels like chains rattling against my ribcage. I cannot tell if it is their anxiety or my own.Ā
āLet it be known that this Empire is a democracy, and that I, as your Emperor, care about the state of affairs that all of our people live in.ā
Ā I try to meet the gaze of the senators and highly decorated soldiers sitting in the booths that line the upper ring of the arena. These will be the most upset by the news. The next ring of wealthy merchants and shopkeepers, tradesmen and fleet keeps will be the ones that take what they hear here back to the streets. Word will spread. The people will know what happened here, how the Emperor suddenly decided to care about them. It will be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I try to not look down at the Pit; try not to think about the life Iām condemning them to.Ā
āOur beloved Princess is very concerned about your well-being,ā Father continues and thereās a collective cheer from the lower levels. āAnd so, we have decided not to execute these rebels today.ā
The tone immediately shifts to one of confusion.
āThey will compete as gladiators. Should they prove resourceful enough to survive, they will be branded as gladiators, and sponsored by our Princess.ā Great, not only do they have to survive the damned arena, they have to survive any threats from other gladiators who will seek to take out well-sponsored competition.Ā
Even from our vantage point I hear Cassian curse in disbelief.Ā
āShe has so graciously decided that all their winnings will be sent to any hurting corners of the Empire, should there be any to be found.ā
The crowd takes a moment to process what he says. It even takes me a minute to comprehend the last part. Heād really send all the money that Iād earn as their sponsor to the poor? Thatās a hefty bit of charity, even for him. There has to be some sort of catch?
āSo, let these males fight! Letās see how far they are willing to go for their people.ā
There it is. They could choose to sit down and die in the arena, making themselves martyrs as Amarantha thinks they intended, and then, instead, they would look like they were not willing to make sacrifices for their people. If they fought, competed for whatever earnings were bet on them, then they would be heroes. A symbol of strength only the great Emperor Hybern could make. Father really is the best at these political games.
The crowd roars as trumpets blow three times.
Father motions me back to our seats.
āYou donāt really think they can win, do you, cousin?ā Dagdan questions.
The ground shakes as a giant strolls out of the tunnels. The creature is so large he has to bend over nearly double to fit. When he stands to his full height, his bald head is practically even with the edge of our booth. Terrible scars crisscross over his body like spiderwebs. Hybern went to war first with the land of Giants, the war had lasted decades. My Grandfather had taken many giants as slaves and forced them to kill each other in this arena. Some gladiators were able to earn their freedom, but the devastation that the Giants had wrought on our people made my Grandfather declare that no Giant could ever be made free. The poor creature had probably been chained here, fighting in the Pit long before I was even born.
āThey survived Amarantha,ā I retort.
The General bristles. āI thought you didnāt place bets on the first day?ā
I reach for another glass of wine, trying to settle my nerves. āThereās a first time for everything.ā Perhaps making an enemy out of her is unwise, but the bond chafes against my ribcage at the thought of her being anywhere near any of them. Better to keep her attention on me than on them.Ā
Another horn blows, prompting the giant to move and I hold my breath as he reaches a meaty hand down to grab one of the Illyrians. The males scatter, Cassian going into a roll between the Giantās legs, using the blind spot to his advantage while Rhysand drags Azriel out of the way with an arm around his waist. Heās practically carrying Azriel now, whoās broken wings seem to be getting heavier by the minute.Ā
Cassian roars as he stretches out a hand, a wave of red tinted energy blasting from his palm. The arch or power slams into the Giantās calf, blasting away a chunk of skin and muscle, splattering blood across the nearest wall.Ā
The Giant roars as he falls to one knee.
Cassian sprints behind him, out of reach of the hand that comes sweeping down at him. This time, heās the distraction as Rhysand uses the hand not holding Azriel upright to unleash a blast of dark, obsidian power.Ā
My own magic flares in response. It is a darkness so like my own, the sight of it a siren call that has me leaning forward in my seat. If he can unleash a blast powerful enough to leave a gash across the Giantās bare chest with those gorsian chains around his neck, how much damage can he do without it?
The Giantās cries of pain echo throughout the amphitheater; using the distraction, Cassian continues to blast away at itās leg while Rhys throws blow after blow at itās chest. They fair far better than I anticipated they would, but I know better than to let hope get the better of me. It is far too easily ripped away in this arena.Ā
As if on cue, the gates open again and a pack of wargs come sprinting into the arena.
The crowd erupts in cheers, and my heart once again thunders in my chest. What have I done? It takes all my training to not start chewing on my thumbnail. How am I supposed to save them from this?
Amarantha claps gleefully as one of the wargs breaks away from the pack to lunge straight for Azrielās throat.Ā
No! No! No- Azriel raises a scarred hand to blast the beast backward with a wave of blue tinted magic. There isnāt enough time to sigh in relief, not as the rest of the pack splits in two, one circling Rhysand and Azriel, the other taking a shot at the Giant. Those rows of razor sharp and needle thin teeth sink into the Giantās already bleeding leg, momentarily distracting it as it swings wildly around the arena, arms pinwheeling as it fights to balance on one leg while the other flails in an attempt to shake the beasts off.Ā
āTheyāre not supposed to attack the Giant!ā Brannagh whines.Ā
I gulp down my wine, hoping it will push the wave of nausea that rolls through me down. Iāve signed their death warrants. Iāve gotten my mates killed.Ā
Cassian, in the chaos, has managed to find half of a spear, the blade rusted from the recent rain, but he hurls it with acute precision nonetheless, piercing through the oddly shaped skull of a warg snapping at Azrielās wings.Ā
Rhysand and Azriel have moved to stand back to back, their varying shades of magic weaving between their fingers as they prepare to strike the snapping beasts that circle them.Ā
The Giant topples over as the three wargs held tight to itās wounded calf find a nerve. Thereās not enough room in the arena to let him fall without incident. The poor creature topples right into the wall opposite us, knocking away a section of stone and nearly dragging a Senator and his mistress into the Pit.
The Praetorians launch from our booth to aid the screaming couple.
It might have been funny under different circumstances, but I cannot peel my eyes away from my mates as the blast beast after beast away with their magic. Even wounded, even stunted by the chains, they are the most powerful wielders Iāve ever seen. Even if Cassianās and Azrielās magic sprays with less precision than usual without the siphons Illyrians are known for, every blow is calculated. They do not miss. Warg after warg falls, their leathery skin blistered or blasted away from multiple blows. Even wounded, the males remain in perfect sync, filling in any gaps the other might lack. They manage to kill five of the eight beasts, the other three still mercilessly tearing through the Giantās leg, even as the guards try to push him off the wall.
Brannagh laughs at the tears that fall from the Giantās eyes as he swats uselessly at the beasts. No matter how many times his massive fists slams against them, they will not let go. His blood runs like a river through the center of the Pit.
Many of the crowd laugh too.
These are my people? This is what I am to inherit? This misery and suffering and apathy towards the suffering of others? We are monsters!
As soon as I can get my mates out of this godsforsaken Pit, I will find a way to get them far, far away from this place, where it can never hurt them again. And then, when I know they are safe, I will make sure that this place burns.
Rhysand seems to take pity on his opponent, as he steps away from Azrielās back to blast one of the remaining wargs off the Giantās calf. From the distance across the arena, the blow is not a killing one, and aggravated, the warg turns its attack to Rhysand.
My breath hitches in my throat as he lowers himself into a crouch, hands splaying in the damp earth. There is a sword a couple feet from him, if he runs, he might make it there first. But he doesnāt run, he waits until the beast gets close before hurling dust in itās eyes. While itās distracted, a rope of star studded magic unfurls from his palm and wraps around the beastās throat. Instead of killing it, he hurls it back at the others, knocking all of them free from the Giantās leg.
The crowd boos.
My heart clenches in my chest. He could have let them end this fight now, could have let those beasts tear clean through the Giantās leg and won by default, but he didnāt. He chose to fight fair, to do the dirty work himself.
The three beasts turn on him as he sprints for the sword. Thereās just enough time for him to get a firm grip on the hilt before the first lunges, its claws tearing through his forearm as he fights to get the angle he needs to win. Blood splatters, those handsome features twisting in pain as he adjusts his stance. Cassian runs towards him, but he wonāt make it in time.Ā
Thereās no more wine to distract me, Iāve fully bitten through my lip now. Please if there are any gods left to hear me, donāt let him die here!
Rhysand moves with the grace of a well-practiced swordsman, each step flowing into the next like a dance as he cleaves through one beast's head, and severs the paw of a second. In mere seconds, he manages to dispatch the rest, leaving the mangled bodies at his feet. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and under different circumstances I might have been too distracted by his beauty to notice the Giant move.Ā
Rhysand might have been the better male, but that didnāt save him from the Giantās hand as it swatted him across the battlefield like he was a pesky fly. I bite deeper through my lip to keep back a scream as his body bounces across the muddy floor until he meets a wall.Ā
Cassian and Azriel roar in outrage and the tether that sits in my chest rattles so hard against my rib cage I think it might rip right out of me. This canāt be happening!
The Giant rises on shaking legs, then falls back onto its knees, using its meaty fists to bash against the arena floor, in what looks like the worldās deadliest game of Whack-A-Mole. Red and blue magic flashes across the arena as the Illyrianās throw blow after blow, leaving bleeding gashes in the Giantās fist. Across the arena, Rhysand rolls onto his back, forehead covered in blood as he struggles to get upright. Heās alive at least. Barely. But alive.
I vow to the Mother and any other god that can hear me that if they survive the fight I will find somewhere safe for them. I will do whatever it takes to keep them out of this arena for good.Ā
āThey are persistent, Iāll give them that,ā Dagdan muses.Ā
I feel rather than see my Fatherās frown as he takes in all the chaos with the experience of a seasoned strategist. I know that he is calculating their odds, mapping out every possible outcome. I wonder if Cassian launching into the air, wings beating so hard to get him airborne that I feel a gust of hot air on my face, was part of his calculations? If he could have foreseen the blast of energy Cassianās hurls into the Giantās eyes, blinding him?
The Giant abandons his attempts at smashing them to grab at his eyes, large hands clawing at his sizzling flesh. The whole arena can smell burnt skin, but Cassian doesnāt let up, he aims blow after blow at the Giantās head, until he finally falls over backwards, neck slamming hard against the already broken stone.
I look away, stomach in my throat as the resounding crack fills the amphitheater.Ā
The crowd roars in disbelief as Cassian tucks in his wings and descends back into the Pit. He hits the ground running, footfalls heavy in the mud as he rushes to Rhysandās side. Azriel is not far behind him. With their combined strength, they manage to get Rhysand back on his feet.Ā
I pinch myself to make sure Iām awake. Theyāre alive!
Father stands and makes his way to the edge of the booth again. āFor whatever reason, the Goddess has smiled upon you three today! Today, you will live. Let us hope you remain in Her favor.ā He doesnāt sound super thrilled by the prospect as he turns his back to the crowd, slate gray eyes pinched as they fall to me.
āWalk with me.ā
I stand, trying to keep my singed skirts in my hands so he cannot see the damage Iād done. Or the blood from my palms. If he suspects I was at all nervous for the outcome, I could ruin everything. I must keep my composure.
And not run down the stairs to the gates and throw myself at my mates like every fiber of my being screams at me to do.Ā
The guards follow as we exit the booth. In moments there will be chaos as beings scatter to find the Games Keepers and collect their winnings, or pay their debts, but for a moment, the crowd lingers in their seats, watching as the Illyrians are led out of the Pit.
āYou embarrassed us today,ā he hisses once weāre out of Amaranthaās earshot. The anger in his tone is enough to make me try and take a step away from him, but he throws an arm around my shoulders to keep me against his side. To any onlookers, we are just father and daughter having a chat. His voice is low enough that no one will hear the threats he hisses in my ear.
āYou hide away in the River House for months, mourning a traitor who was plotting to overthrow me and now you make a spectacle of yourself! I should have you cast out into the streets!ā
My only way out is to placate him. āI am sorry, Father.ā
āSorry,ā he snarls, fingers digging tight enough into my shoulder to bruise. āYour apologies mean nothing! I swear, if you do not do everything you promised to do today, I will throw you into this arena! And I will use your own advice to keep you alive long enough to ensure you have a couple matches to prolong your suffering.ā
I swallow the lump in my throat. āI meant what I said, Father.ā Mostly. Perhaps I can secure passage for all of us out of here and we never have to think about the Empire again. The more I think about it, the more pleased I am with the idea. Yes, I just need to make it look like I am taking them as slaves, and once weāre out from the watchful eye of my Father, we can all run far, far away. Maybe I am more clever than I thought.
He leads us down the steps to a door that will eventually lead us to the gladiator cages and a guard swings open the heavy iron for us. Once weāre out from under the eye of the people, the rough stone walls closing in tight--a means to ensure none of the larger gladiators can make a run for the door and escape--he releases his grip on me.Ā
Torches line the walls casting his face in near shadow as he pauses at the bottom of a second, smaller, set of stairs. I shiver despite myself as the door slams shut, sealing me in. I suppose at this point I should be prepared, but Iām not, and when his open hand slams across my cheek I lose my balance and slip down the last two steps of the staircase.Ā
āDonāt ever question me again!ā He hisses.
The guards pretend to not notice, as they always have.
I grit my teeth against the ringing in my ears, against the hot tears that threaten to escape me, focusing instead on carefully getting back on my feet. Stay down too long heāll kick in my ribs like he used to when I was a child. Get up too fast and heāll assume he hadnāt hit me hard enough. I put over emphasis into finding a handhold in the wall, making sure I keep my stinging cheek against my shoulder. The tremor in my hands is not feigned fear, Iāve been terrified of him my entire life, but I do exaggerate it just as my Mother taught me.Ā
āSpoiled brat!ā He grumbles as he stalks forward into the tunnel. āI coddled you too much.ā
I glare at his back once Iām sure heās no longer looking at me. I hate him! Iāve hated him my entire fucking life. Heās ruined everything. Taken everything from me. Everything Iād ever loved heād wiped off the face of the earth, all because I had the misfortune of being a female. All because he couldnāt have a precious son.
I grit my teeth so hard they hurt as I brush my skirts off and follow after him. I will be glad when I am finally out of his sight. Far, far away from this stupid Empire. At least I have mates; someone out in this Mother forsaken world who will care about me; who wonāt hate me just for existing. At least there is one thing he canāt ruin for me.
I am too distracted with my thoughts to note the paths we take. I distantly hear the sound of injured men groaning, catch a whiff of filth and animal waste, but itās all a blur. This will all be a bad dream soon. Soon I will have my mates and I will never have to deal with him again. I can be happy. I will be happy.
By the time he finally stops walking, Iāve schooled my features into a perfect mask; have brushed a few loose strands of hair in front of my face to hide the red mark across my cheek. He will suspect nothing until it is too late. Then he can have his precious Empire. It will be the only thing left he can control.
A guard opens what looks like a cage door, the iron old and rusted, and the guards that have been trailing behind us step in first.
āAgainst the wall!ā They bark.Ā
Thereās no light in the cell, just the flickering of the torch on the wall behind us. I donāt know what to expect.
āFuck you, Imperial Pig!ā Cassian.
I bite my tongue to keep back the grin that threatens to escape me, my mask slipping. Heās not so hurt that he canāt put up a fight. The thought warms something in my chest. Headstrong, stubborn, if the sound of scuffling coming from inside the dark cell is anything to go by, and sarcastic--everything I need to counter my reserved nature. I need that energy. I need him. The surety of that makes me square my shoulders.Ā
āEasy, Cass.ā Rhysand. His voice is smooth as silk, even if the words are a little slurred. āWe donāt want trouble.ā
āThe fuck we donāt!ā Cassian shouts. āIām no oneās fucking pet!ā
The guard at the door, once sure the others inside are secure, steps away to grab the torch off its perch in the hallway, and sets it into an old rung on the inside of the cell, bathing the room in its soft glow.Ā
Father steps in first.
For a moment, I hesitate, heart in my throat. I need them. I need that strength I saw in the arena. Need that fire Cassian spews. The surety that Rhysand carries himself with. I need them. And if I show any sign of that, they're dead.
The guard, now back at the door, eyes me quizzically.
I draw a shaky breath and school my features back into a perfectly bored mask.Ā
I can do this.
I will do this.
I wonāt let Hybern take anything else from me, no matter the games I have to play.Ā
I tell it to myself over and over as I step into the cell.
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Ludos Imperiales III
Summary: Saving your mates may cost more than you bargain for, but how far are you willing to go to save them?
Content Warnings: Branding; Mentions of Slavery/Abuse; Vomiting
Pt 1 / Pt 2
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Fables had largely been forbidden in the Empire, starting in the early reign of my Great Grandfather Hybern II. Fables and fairytales had no use in the practicality of his Empire. Stories and fables gave people ideas, it made them hope and dream of better worlds than this one. The Empire could not thrive on the backs of dreamers. And so books burned in the streets, and the oral traditions of many people died in the following years. Schools taught with books written by Imperial Scholars, all edited and fact checked by the Emperor himself. The world became what he saw fit to shape it as.Ā
To him, the fairytale idea of mates was a weakness. He declared all mated pairs cursed by the Mother. A bond was a manifestation of a weak will. If you could not thrive on your own without needing another to carry you, then you were not fit to be in the Empire. He removed all mated pairs from service, both within the palace walls and in military service. Mated pairs were not allowed to own land within the Empire, Temples were not legally allowed to recognize or perform a marriage ceremony. They were shunned as lepers and regarded as subpar beings. The bond made them loyal to each other first and foremost, and that was an allegiance torn in his mind. He made sure everyone else saw it that way too.
Father would not have such an obvious weakness. In his earlier years, heād scoured the Empire, searching every village he ravaged and town he conquered for signs of that supposed weakness. Heād felt a pull, to a small ocean village in Elfhaven, and that pull had led him to a healerās cottage, tucked into the ocean cliffs. Heād stood on the threshold of her doorway, cursing the Mother, cursing whatever weak will he had managed to leave unchecked, and then, heād tossed her into the sea. His father had thrown a city wide celebration in his honor. Finally, a son who could master himself and his weaknesses. He used to tell me that story at bedtime, when my Mother tucked me in. Love was for children. Mates were for lesser beings. Mother had never argued with him about it either, this was simply a fact in their marriage. Theirs was of convenience, a mutually beneficial contract, and I often wondered if that story was also a means to remind her that she too could be disposed of if a weakness revealed itself.Ā
But, I had been a lonely, and curious child and would often sit with the Nymphs that lived in the bubbling brooks and streams around the River House, and would ask them all the questions I was afraid to ask my Father. They whispered their own tales of mates between the bubbling rocks and rolling waves and Iād latched onto their ideas of a bond so strong it could bridge a soul together. Perhaps it was my loneliness, my need for affection I couldnāt easily find at home, but I clung to that little piece of what everyone else swore was fiction like my life depended on it. It became my lifeline. Iād pray to the Goddess every night for something like that; for someone who could love me beyond reason.
A dream that slips through my fingers as I step into that cell.
Cassian, chained against the wall with a gorsian collar around his throat, spits at my feet as I enter. Iāve seen hatred enough in my lifetime to understand the fire that blazes in those hazel eyes.
All the air in my lungs leaves in a rush, as if heād thrown a fist directly into my stomach. He hates me. Hates me for what Iāve done to him; hates me for what I allowed to happen in that arena. Hel, judging by the way he sizes me up next to Father, he hates me purely because I look like him in the eyes.
My chest aches like it just might crack open and spill my heart out onto the floor.
For the slight, one of the guards slams the butt of his spear directly into Cassianās gut, knocking him to the floor.
Despite the obvious malice, I have to physically lock my knees to keep myself from moving towards him; have to bite the inside of my cheek to not tell them to leave him alone. Maybe itās not his fault he hates me. Maybe I deserve it.
āCharming as ever, Cassian,ā Father says.
Cassian glares through the locks of sweat slicked hair falling over his forehead, āFuck you!ā
The butt of the spear slams into his temple and it takes every ounce of training not to let the dark, obsidian power trying to unfurl from my clenched fists turn the guard to ash. It would be so easy, a mere flick of the wrist and the only evidence that heād ever lived a bit of dust left to mingle in the dirt coating the floor. I want to. Damn me, I want to splatter all of them across the dingy walls; hear the last, sharp intake of breath gurgle out of their chests for putting their hands on my mate. Thereās a possessive, ugly thing that rises in my chest, threatening to choke the life out of me if I donāt move, act, on this base instinct. The bond rattles against my rib cage, a beast in its own right. It demands action, swift and immediate. It demands blood.
āYou sure you can handle this beast, daughter?ā Father sneers.
Cassian regards me with the disdain of someone who stepped in shit while wearing new boots.Ā
āIām sure,ā I say with more confidence than I feel, but Iām too much of a coward to look him in the eyes when I say it. My gaze flicks to the others instead, hoping against reason that I will not see the same hatred on their features.Ā
Azriel remains tucked in the corner, where he can use his body to shelter his broken wings. There isnāt the same malice in his own hazel eyes, but there is a cold indifference that cracks me open just the same. His earlier appraisal must have told him enough, because there is no lingering curiosity, only apathy. I am not asking him to throw himself into my arms; hell, I donāt even need him to smile, I just need something, any hint that my name alone hasnāt ruined this before it even starts! But there is nothing.
I try to keep my shoulders back, try to stop my body from curling in on itself. I want to curl up on the floor and wait until the old stones absorb me.
āI am curious,ā Rhysand says, the s slurred like he bit his tongue when he hit the wall. āWhy keep us alive?ā
āWhy let you be a martyr?ā Father counters.
Rhysand studies me, violet eyes--glassy from whatās certainly a head injury, especially with the blood still flowing freely from an inch wide gash across his temple--rove over me slowly, starting at my hairline and working down. His head tilts quizzically when his gaze reaches my cheek. He shouldnāt be able to see anything in this light, but I find myself shifting my stance just enough to block the view all the same.
He frowns as his study goes lower, to the singe across my skirts, and the dirt stains from my stumble down the stairs.Ā
āIād rather be dead than dragged around like a dog!ā Cassian spits.
Rhysand wonāt stop looking me over, like heās calculating something. Not exactly the acknowledgment I want, but I will take the intrigue of his study over apathy and hatred as if it is. Curiosity is better than nothing.Ā
āYou will honor your word, and send aid to my people?ā He asks.
āIf anyone is stupid enough to bet on you,ā Father counters. āAnd if it makes it past the highwaymen and looters that have been waylaying my caravans. Your people might have more food if they werenāt attacking supply lines.ā
My stomach twists. So Rhysand hadnāt been lying then, things have truly become that bad? Or have they always been that bad, and the sheltered nature of my upbringing had kept me from truly seeing it?
āDo you have supply lines that run through Illyria?ā Rhys counters, not rising to the bait. āI canāt recall.ā
āYou will be branded,ā Father says, jaw ticking as he doesnāt get the results he wants. āYou will remain in chains and fight when called to fight. Any attempts at escape, and I will drag your people into the arena in droves. They canāt all be as adept at fighting wargs and Giants as you.ā
Azrielās gaze darkens at the threat.
Cassianās lips pull back in a sneer, teeth flashing.
But Rhysand nods, gaze still on me, like heās deciding something. I canāt, for the life of me, figure out what.
āKeep your end of the bargain, Highness, and we will keep ours.ā He says.
āRhys!ā Cassian seethes.Ā
āQuiet,ā Rhysand returns. Briefly, his gaze leaves me to go to Azriel, and the other male nods, just barely.Ā
āHow noble,ā Father sneers.
āWe will do what we must to save our people.ā
Father waves the guard at the door in. Another follows, holding a glowing hot branding iron in his gloved hands.
āOn your knees!ā The doorman barks.
The contents of my stomach rise in my throat. I canāt let this happen! I canāt let them do this to them!
Rhysand kneels first, well technically, Cassianās still down from the blow to the stomach; Azriel follows, grimacing against the pressure it puts on his wings.
I cannot beg for them. I will give myself away. I will doom all of us.
I canāt let this happen either. I canāt stand here uselessly!
āYouāll do it,ā Father says to me and my panicked train of thought slams to a screeching halt. What?!
The guard holding the iron snorts out a chuckle. āDoubt she can hold the damn thing.ā
Father turns to fully look at me and I do my best to keep my chin up. I have to keep the mask up; I cannot let him see.Ā
āYou wanted this. Youāll do it.ā He doesnāt think I have it in me; that much is obvious. He thinks me weak and spineless and meek, unable to do what is necessary. I have always known it, but I have never felt it so clearly as I do now.
And maybe he is right. How can I do this, even for the sake of protecting them? How can I raise a hand to my mates?
I swallow the lump in my throat. If I reach out to take that iron, my hands will shake and give me away. If I stand here and refuse, I give myself away. There is no winning; how did I think I could play a game like this? He wins; he always wins.
Not today, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. My body moves without my consent, as if Iām a puppet on a set of strings, being moved by an invisible hand. When I reach out for the iron, my hand doesnāt shake, even though it feels like every part of my body is trembling. The iron is heavy and warm in my hands, I have to use both to lift it, and though I should struggle to keep a grip on it, the invisible grip on me holds it steady.
Two guards move to grip Rhysand by the shoulders, pinning him in place, even though he offers his right arm willingly. His right arm thatās shredded from elbow to wrist from the wargs, blood still trickling onto the floor. The wound is deepest on the outside of his forearm, with enough space above the inside of his wrist to mark. This is cruel enough as is, but to add further to the injuryā¦
One of the guards grabs the torch to reheat the rapidly cooling metal and my stomach is once again back in my throat. I canāt do this to him!
Donāt let him win, the voice whispers again.
My body is still not my own, still moving despite my best efforts to not. It feels like Iām watching myself from outside my body as the iron is pressed to his skin. I canāt even gag against the horrible smell of burning flesh, like someone locked the ability to react behind a wall of adamant.Ā
Rhysand, to his credit, doesnāt even wince, just draws a sharp breath in through his nose. He holds eye contact with my Father the whole time in another silent challenge and I cannot decide if he is the bravest or stupidest male Iāve ever met.Ā
The guards reheat the iron as my body moves away from him, and Iām sure they make some sort of snide comment, but it sounds like Iām hearing it from underwater as I take in what Iāve done to him. The blistering skin forms a perfect circle, with the Imperial emblem stamped in the center. It will be a crude scar and hard to hide. My heart clenches painfully in my chest. What have I done?Ā
The guards move to hold Azriel next, and if I was unsettled before, Iām downright ready to throw myself on a blade now. The apathy has left his eyes, replaced now with barely concealed panic. He pinches his lips together, trying not to make a sound as I approach, but his chest rises and falls rapidly, scarred hands clenching and unclenching in front of him. Shit those are burns on his hands and Iāve got something on fire held out to him.
āWhatās the matter?ā One of the guards leans down to hiss in his ear. āScared of a little fire?ā
āYou motherfucker!ā Cassian shouts, trying to stand to get to Azriel. Heās quickly knocked back to the floor with the butt of a spear again.Ā
āDo it!ā Azriel hisses at me.
My body is still not my own as it moves to comply. The whole cell reeks of burnt flesh and it is by the sheer force of whatever will moves my limbs that I havenāt heaved up the contents of my stomach on the floor. What kind of mate am I?
Gods I am as bad as my Father! Cassian knows it too; when itās finally his turn, the look he gives me is one Iāve seen thrown at the Emperor a thousand times. There is nothing but venom and hatred there and the bond in my chest feels raw and thin, like it has been scraped and worn down to a single, solitary thread. And yet my legs still move and my hands still hold the iron steady.
He wonāt ever forgive me for this. Even if I can get them out of the Empire, even if I can save them from dying in the arena, it will never be enough. Iāve ruined my chance before it even had a chance to start.
Cassian growls when the brand touches his skin, but he doesnāt scream. None of them did. This displeases my Father, who frowns, even when itās done. At least he is not proud of me; that would be the final nail in the coffin.Ā
The invisible hand still wonāt let go of me, I feel it holding me upright, like it knows, given the chance Iāll crumple to the floor and never get up again. How could I have done this?
Father turns to the guard closest to the door, āGo ahead of her to the River House, make sure the place is secure. Post extra guards.ā
The elven male bows with an exaggerated flourish and disappears. I suppose I should feel relieved that we are almost out of this godsdamned arena, but dread settles in my stomach. It is not like my Father to make this quick, not for a convicted rebel, and not for anything Iāve shown an interest in. Taking them home now feels too good to be true and I am not inclined to believe luck or mercy have ever been on my side.Ā
āThe arena will have to be fixed before we can proceed with the Games,ā Father muses. āI expect you to bring your new toys with you to entertain our guests at Amaranthaās celebration tomorrow.ā
Theyāre throwing her a whole parade for her exports over Illyria, of course sheād want them there to see it. I doubt theyāll be the only Illyrians in attendance.
Cassian growls at that. Iām inclined to share the sentiment.Ā
āAs you wish,ā I say instead. Hopefully, if I can manage to not let the guilt clawing its way up my insides to consume me, I can remain upright long enough to find us all passage out of here by the morning. This will all be a terrible dream. Even if we have to part--the bond roars in my ears at the thought--at least I will have saved them. It might be the only thing I have to give them.
Father leaves first. I donāt let myself look at my mates as I follow. The guards untether them from the wall and push them out after me, keeping a guard in between us, just in case they attempt to attack while my back is turned. I wouldnāt blame them if they tried; Iād attack me too.
I canāt get the smell of their burnt flesh out of my nose. Every time I blink I can see their blistered skin behind my eyelids. I branded my mates.Ā
The way out of the tunnels beneath the arena is a blur, it doesnāt even register that weāre out until the sudden flash of harsh summer light sears my eyes.Ā
There are horses waiting, and a wagon. At least heās not forcing them to walk behind my horse, as some of the lords and councilmen make their sponsored champions do.Ā
I donāt remember swinging into the saddle. I donāt remember urging the horse forward, or when my caravan of guards split off from my Fatherās. We rode together until we didnāt. Starlight, my childhood horse, does all the directing, taking me home on instinct. The house I grew up in, the house I sequestered myself in with the curtains drawn for months and months looks foreign. The staff coming out to greet us swim in and out of my vision. I must answer their questions, because they move things around for our new guests, instructing the guards to take the wagon around to the back of the house, where thereās a guest wing turned into a cell for them. All this sounds like it happens under water.Ā
I hear the wagon roll that direction, and even though I feel eyes on my back, I donāt allow myself to turn. I cannot bear what I will see.
Someone helps me to my rooms, holding me by the elbow, telling me I look pale and sick. I feel like Iāve stepped outside my skin. The tether in my chest feels raw. What have I done?
The sizzle of the iron on skin echoes in my ears. I canāt stop seeing the smoke. Canāt stop thinking about the panic in Azrielās eyes. I hurt my mates.
I hurt my mates.
Whatever invisible force had been holding me together in the cell gradually releases me. Inch by inch I become aware of my body again. And I make it to the toilet just in time to hurl the contents of my stomach up. Itās the wine first. Then breakfast. And the acidic burn of bile out my throat and nose.Ā
After Motherās execution I hadnāt been able to stop crying for days. Iād laid in my bed with the covers over me, hiding in the dark where no one could hear the ugly sounds of my wrenching sobs. Iād thought Iād never weep that hard again. I was wrong. This is far worse.
When I no longer have the strength to hold myself up over the edge of the toilet, I curl into a ball on the floor, the tile cool and smooth against my flushed cheeks. The tears wonāt stop flowing and the thing in my chest coils and tightens until it feels like a rock. What have I done?
Eventually the tears run out. The thin slit of a window in the wall bathes the room in varying shades of orange, then pink, then purple as time passes by, uncaring to my turmoil. I still canāt bring myself to get up, even as the heat of the day turns to a cool, evening chill. No amount of cold could move me now, a little suffering is what I deserve.Ā
Someone knocks on the bedroom door. I donāt remember closing it behind me.
I shut my eyes against the noise. All this crying has given me a headache, the echo of the door against the tile makes my head throb. Good. I deserve that too.
Another knock, more insistent this time.
Why should I answer it? I should just lay here until the earth swallows me.Ā
Another knock, followed by a muffled, āHighness?ā Anise, my maid. Anise had come with my Mother, a gift from her father as she travelled here for the wedding. Mother had freed her from her servitude and Anise had asked to stay as part of the staff. She loved my Mother like she was her own; I have always thought of her like an Aunt.
āDonāt make me kick the door in!ā A grumpy Aunt, granted, but her temper is always warranted.Ā
Shakily, I manage to maneuver myself onto my knees. She really will kick the door in and her joints are old and worn, sheāll likely break an ankle, or a hip, trying. Itās for her health that I manage to get up and get to the door, not because I feel well enough to get up.
She pushes her way in as soon as I turn the handle. āYou look awful!ā
I feel awful. āThanks.ā
āWhat the hell is all of this?ā She demands, waving a hand towards the hallway. Sheās half Dryad, her skin like tree bark, her graying hair made of vines and leaves. Though she is old and weathered, her emerald eyes are still bright and shining. āAnd why are you so distraught over it?ā
She paces as she speaks, not letting me get a word in as she wrings her gnarled hands together. āWhatās with all the guards? And thoseā¦ winged males? They are strange and gruff and I donāt like the looks of them. Which reminds me, why the Hels are they asking for you?ā
My heart skips a beat in my chest. āWhat do you mean, Anise?ā
She stops her pacing to come take one of my hands, a gesture for a Dryad that is closer to a hug. Her other hand pushes some hair off my cheek to see the yellow tint of a blooming bruise. āDid they hurt you?ā
Iām going to be sick again. āNo, Anise, they didnāt.ā
āYou promise?ā
āTrust me, if anyone did any damage, it was me.ā And Iāll never forgive myself for it.Ā
She nods. āOk, then, I will tell you.ā Dryads, like Ents, are known for their long winded conversations. They never know when to get to the point. I am used to her extra long pauses and rambling tangents.Ā
I am not, however, prepared for her to say, āWell they were brought food and a medic, as the guards ordered, but they refused it.ā
Why the hell would they do that?! Was this some kind of hunger strike? By the Mother did they think I was trying to poison them?
āThey said they wouldnāt touch it until theyād spoken to you.ā
I think the heat has gotten to me. Did she just say they asked to speak to me?
āItās very strange,ā she continues. āMales in that bad of shape usually fight for a chance to see a medic, but they said they wouldnāt let anyone touch them until theyād talked to you alone.ā
Alone? They wanted to talk to me alone?
āAre you sure thatās what they said, Anise?ā
āThey were very adamant about needing to see you. Rude if you ask me. Who demands to see the head of a household like that? Theyāre trouble, Iām telling you now.ā
āThey didnāt say why?ā I ask.
āNo. They wouldnāt say it around the guards either. I donāt like this, Highness. Itās a bad omen if you ask me. The winds have been whispering all day. Bad, very bad things will come of this, mark my words.ā
Bad things had already come, couldnāt she see that? They were not the issue; I was the issue. This whole damn Empire was the issue. We ruin everything we touch. They knew that better than anyone, so why ask for me? What did they want? It certainly can't be the bond.
I absently rub my knuckle against my breast bone. The bond feels like a bruise. No, they canāt be asking about the bond. If they know itās there, theyāre not tugging on it. There is no curiosity, only pain. Iāve ruined the chance for anything more, of that I am certain.Ā
This has to be something else, but how can I face them? There is only so much I can bear.
āYouāll make them wait, wonāt you?ā Anise continues. āYou certainly should. Itās improper for a host to be asked for this late into the evening.ā
They need medical attention. Their wounds have to heal. And they need to eat. They have to be starving, I doubt they were given a last meal before being thrown into the arena. Raw and damaged as it is, the bond still prompts me to move, even if Iād rather hide from it for the rest of my life.
āNo,ā I might as well rip the bandaid off. Maybe they need to tell me to my face that they hate me and never want to see me again. It can be arranged for us not to interact, even with me sponsoring them.Ā
If that is their wish, I will honor it. Whatever it is they need, Iāll find a way to make it happen. I owe them that. āIāll go see them.ā
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