#hehe dragon scales
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OOOOH the watery ones!! I'm a much lighter blue, although tbh shapeshifter so I can be whatever tf color I want- but the way it almost looks like caustics the way my scales do!!! love that so much.
Which btw I finally learned the fucking word, it's caustics. That's the watery light pattern.
Scales Dividers
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Dividers List
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Oh my gawd Archie!
#draco scaled au#dragon au#pokemon au#artists on tumblr#dragons#digital art#dragon art#dragon!archie#archie pokemon#big boy tiem#tw: scopophobia#wanted to experiment with how i do lineless art here hehe#yeah#that’s all :)#i like archie
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Love it when mages/spellcasters in stories have slightly otherworldly traits. Unnatural eye colors/pupil shapes, unusual skin tones/hues, sharp/animal like teeth, nails, or ears, fur/horns/scales/feathers where they'd normally have none, etc.
#dunno what a normal tag for this would be so#world building#dragon age#bg3#i am adopting this into my dragon age canon btw#i love thé idea of mages in thedas having this extra something that can make it harder for them to blend in sometimes#some of them could be super subtle like morrigan's glinting yellow/golden eyes#or some could be more obvious and harder to hide#like imagine anders having to wear gloves/hand wraps all the time because he has claws/monstrous hands#or an apostate on the run needing to hide their frog shaped pupils from everyone they meet#a circle mage being a pariah because everyone thinks they're half Qunari because of their horns#hehe anyway it can be applied to any world with magic in it#maybe the trait even corresponds to the magic type that's most natural for them to learn/cast#a wizard specialized in water magic who has fish scales/gills#a sorcerer born with owl eyes/feathers finds it easier to cast magic at night#a mage who finds fire magic exceptionally easy to cast has claws and can breathe fire#it's just so much fun to play around with
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hey guys i think theres a dragon flying next to my plane
#hehe saki dragon........#wanted to try out some new digital painting brushes i downloaded and this is what i ended up doing#project sekai#prsk art#project sekai fanart#prsk fa#saki tenma#dragon#dragons#w1f1 draws#realistically she is not this big but i wasnt worried about scale here its just for the vibes
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it’s a bit funny to me when people comment on my wrist braces/ask about my wrists and i’m just confused for a second before i remember i have them on; they’re so normal for me at this point
#i bet others feel similarly about braces/etc!#still want to get a cover for them that looks like dragon scales/mail armor hehe#personal
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Idk if I've ever mentioned this idea before but I want to make one of those stereotypical fics where the MC dies as an adult in our world and gets reincarnated as a child? But then the twist being that the future ML she ends up befriending is actually a grown mage that got shrunk down into the body of a child due to an accident. And then the both of them staying with her loner scholar uncle who has never been in a relationship before.
So it's this random found family of these two de-aged adults trying to use the other as an role model of a stereotypical child and then an exhausted guardian assuming that that these freaking weird kids are just how normal children are nowadays.
#story ideas#mc @ age 7 already brewing complex magic potions: let's break into the dragon's cave to steal a scale eheh!#ml @ age 7 a master at high level spells: okay. let's create a detailed strategy i read in an ancient book. it'll be so cool hehe!#uncle: please stop causing me problems what if i have you both this ancient artifact mystical puzzle box to unlock#*gave#everyone thinks they're doing an amazing job being normal#while all of the neighbors avoid them
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How about monsterfcking with Neuvillette? Him in his dragon form pounding and breeding reader's pussy until his cum leaks out and when Neuvillette saw his cum leaking out he tries to push it back in using his thick fingers but it just won't stay inside, a lot of his cum wasted so he fucked Reader full again with a new batch of cum and cockwarmed him after their down<3
(What if after they have sex, Neuvillette carries Reader to the bathroom to clean both of them and Neuvillette still inside of Reader but ended up fucking when Neuvillette and Reader are inside of the bathtub)
Sorry if my grammar is wrong! English is my third language hehe and I'm still learning
🔞minors dni
warnings: afab reader, breeding, creampie, multiple orgasms, squirting, tummy bulge, size kink, mosterfucking
// note: no worries anon I could understand perfectly <3 thank you for the request this was fun
he's bigger than you even in his more human form, but like this, arms and legs covered in light blue scales, thick horns crowning his head, he's just. huge. straight up huge. he has you in a mating press and your face can barely reach his pecs, your legs can't even hook on his shoulders, they're ramrod straight as he grips your ankles in his big hands.
his cock is a really tight fit too... your pussy is stretched to the limit as he pounds into you, leaving you gaping each time he pulls out before slamming back inside with full force. now you can really understand why he decided to fuck you on the floor this time, putting down soft blankets and pillows so that you'd still be comfortable, but simply refusing to do it on the bed: he would have destroyed it in minutes, his strength and stamina in his half dragon form is insane!
when he finally cums inside you, when you're well on your way to a fourth orgasm, you think maybe he'll calm down a little but nope... he just changes tactics, never pulling out completely again, bc he doesn't want his cum to leak out of you :(
he keeps fucking you with really shallow thrusts, just as fast as he did previously, praising and encouraging you to just hold on for "a little longer" bc he needs to cum again, to claim you fully and stuff your cute little pussy to the brim :(
your eyes are tearing up a lil by then, but it feels so good that you can't find it in you to complain... so you let him pump you full one, twice more, until you hear him grumble and mutter something under his breath, until his huge fingers replace his monstrous cock, trying to fuck the cum back inside you. "what a waste" he complains. in his lustful haze he doesn't understand that your pussy is way too small to hold on to all that cum, so the only solution he can find is to fuck you again...
except this time, after pounding into you so so roughly, making you squirt on his cock for who knows how many times, he doesn't pull out after cumming... he just makes you cockwarm him, thinking that there's no way it'll leak out if he keeps your pussy sealed off like that!
it's hours before he allows you to move, but he still doesn't let you go, carrying you to the bathroom with his rock hard cock still buried snugly against your cervix, an evident bulge in your tummy. he summons enough warm water to fill the tub before lowering the both of you inside, effectively making you straddle his hips as the new position allows his cock to reach even deeper inside your womb.
it'd be relaxing, the warm water soothing your sore muscles, if he didn't grab you by the hips to move you back and forth on his cock :/ he uses you like a fleshlight, bouncing you up and down and jerking off inside your pussy as you desperately clutch to his shoulders, moaning and babbling, and when he doesn't stop even after cumming one more time inside, you just accept that you're going to fall asleep in his arms, and he's probably going to keep fucking you through it until you wake up in the morning🥺🥺
#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#neuvillette smut#neuvillette x reader
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*hides my stacks of plushies behind my back* I am totally normal and have an average amount of plushies . /silly /pos
YAYAY THE BOTTOM RIGHT IS NAMED SHIMMER SCALES!! In lore he's special because he's the first Water Dragon in a long time to also be a serpent >:3 (Serpents are extra magical)
YAYY FOR DRAGON MAGIC (OR MEDICINE)!!!
Ohh wow that's a while!! You're very strong Taavi <333 /gen YAYYY WALKING AGAIN THAT'S AMAZING!!
💙💙💙💙
Me and my many dragon plushies are hoping yer recovery from surgery is going well!! And if it's not we're sending many hugs <333 (and mayhaps,, dragon magic to make everything better >:3c ) (I love you Taavi!! 💙💙💙)
DRAGONS!!!! I didn’t know you had so many!!!!! Very very cool. I love them all… the blue one on the bottom right is a pretty color I think they are my favorite!
The dragon magic must have worked because I am feeling better now… or maybe it was the medicine kicking in…. Hmm idk.
I still have 6-12 months until i will feel normal, but at least the pain is more manageable now :) and I can walk again!
Thanks bestie!!!! I bc love ya too :3
#other dragons in this picture aree (left to right#top to bottom:)#princess seahorse (I think that was her name? she's also a water dragon!)#water (yes he's water the water dragon fgdbdv) (he's twins with Shimmer Scales!!)#Tsunami (from wings of fire!! she's the big blue dragon in the back!)#Friend (big green dragon :3 he's next to me right now hehe)#Flash (purple dragon; she's also special!! One of the only three Flash Dragons in the world) (her name is as creative as Water's ghdbvb)#Star Sapphire (the pretty blue one!! she's extra magical; she's an animus!! that means she can enchant things at the cost of her soul)#(there's only 4 known animus dragons in the world)#this guy doesn't actually have a name as far as I'm aware!! He looks like he should have a silly name though :3#Stormfly!! (from How to Train your Dragon) (but she's slightly different in me and Gray's world! she's one of the fastest Deadly Nadders!)#and then if course Shimmer Scales :D (he's still learning how to fly with serpent magic) (he hasn't quite gotten the hang of it)#taav 💙🐶🐸#mutuals <3#cow talks#love you Taavi <3333
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Monstober 2024
Monster-Enthusiasts, Monster-Lovers, and Monster-Fucker, I call upon thee! This upcoming October is going to be spooky!
It's time for a whole month of delicious monster content! Whether you want them to stalk, to hunt, or to devour your little protagonists (mind you, the monsters are the real protagonists of the story, hehe), I want to see a month dedicated to the beauty of the Ugly and Horrible! All things monster are welcome—art, writing, any kind of showcasing a monster! No matter how cruel or how obscene you like it—now's the time to show it off! ♥
I have prepared a list of monsters & prompts for your guidance, however, if you'd rather do a different monster or a different prompt, that is totally fine! If you prefer to stay private and not have your post reblogged to this blog, that is totally alright, too! This is merely for fun and giggles, and I welcome everyone who wants to challenge themselves this upcoming October to use this list if they want!
How to participate in my Monstober:
- Starting October 1st create something with the monster or prompt of the day! That is all you have to do.
You don't have to do all days or even in chronological order. Feel free to alter the prompts as needed. Your monsters do not have to match the usual descriptions of their kind! Post whenever and whatever you like as long as it is still connected to monsters!
- If you want your entry to be reblogged: @ me yandere-sins in your post, don't forget to put content warnings if any apply (especially Violence & Sexual Content—however, those are very welcome!), and put long texts (once they reach 3k words) under a read more! I'll reblog the posts as soon as I see and have the time to get to them!
Prompts
Day 1: Chimera | Mixed // Misunderstood // Insanity
Day 2: Werewolf/Werecat | Full Moon // Claws // Beastly
Day 3: Alien | Otherworldly // Uncanny Valley // Space
Day 4: Harpy | Cliff // Flying // Illusion
Day 5: Nymph/Dryad/Leshy | Plants // Playful // Nature's Bounty
Day 6: Naga/Lamia | Scales // Wrapping around // Poisonous
Day 7: Sphinx | Riddles // Sand // Giant
Day 8: Merfolk | Water // Singing // Alluring
Day 9: Folklore Creatures | Cautionary Tales // Truth // Naivity
Day 10: Mimic | Treasures // Hungry // Wrong
Day 11: Yuki-onna/Snow Spirit | Snowstorm // Promise // Guiding
Day 12: Witch/Wizard/Magician | Magic // Spells // Towers
Day 13: Shifter | True Form // Unbelievable // Transformation
Day 14: Minotaur | Labyrinth // Bannished // Following
Day 15: Eldritch Horror | Eldritch // Imprisoned // Tentacles
Day 16: "Church" Grim | Graveyard // Protecting // Spirit
Day 17: Dragon | Fire // Hoarding // Fairytale
Day 18: Kitsune | Tricked // Tails // Mystical
Day 19: Elf | Warrior // Swift // Merciless
Day 20: Goblin/Orc/Troll/Oni | Hordes // Village // Brutish
Day 21: Kelpie | Deception // Following // Stuck
Day 22: Skeleton/Zombie | Undead // Loved // Grave
Day 23: Angel | Feathers // Guardian // Watching
Day 24: Ghost | Shadows // Invisible // Coldness
Day 25: Vampire | Blood // Biting // Night
Day 26: Fae Folk | Lost // Fairy Circles // Names
Day 27: Drider | Silk // Cave // Ensnared
Day 28: Demon | Summoning // Contract // Otherworldly
Day 29: Gods | Reign // Glow // Worshipping
Day 30: Human | Real Monsters // Dangerous // Smile
Day 31: Free Choice of your favorite monster or a completely new one!
I look forward to all the monstrous ideas you'll come up with! ♥
#Monstober 2024#prompt lists#monster prompts#october challenge#yandere prompts#writing prompts#art prompts#october prompts
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i know i have already been in your inbox today dear Hana, but based on your recent reblogs….i must ask if you have any thoughts on how the Diasomnia men might enjoy predator play dynamics? 👀💕 hehe
You’re always welcome to my inbox Dear Gray 🫂💞
Absjsjshs I’m giggling in bed while writing these 🥰💞
For the Diasomnia men:
Lilia Vanrouge: The amount of times I thought of this dynamic with him will astound you. For Lilia, it’s the thrill of the chase. The hunt. It’s gets his blood pumping. His demeanor changes. He goes from our preppy peepaw to the General. He’s shadow incarnate, always one step behind you. He’s playing with you, makes you think you got away. But if you actually manage to trick him? Put up a fight? Oh, how surprised he will be. His sweet prize. How he wants to ruin you. I can see blood red eyes in a dark night sky. Color saturated by the bright moon up ahead. Nails sharpened, eyes slits, and fangs sharp; truly the predator. He will catch you and will make you beg. The taste of your fear on his tongue. Just thinking of his voice and the animalistic sounds he’d make as he takes you right where he caught you 🥰
Malleus Draconia: Malleus I think would love the chase as well. He usually has to keep his dragonic nature in check. For him, his bestial nature comes out. The tails, wings, scales, elongated fangs, his voice spoke with a hint of rumble. Depending if he’s in mating season or not, the chase can be long or short given his patience or lack of. I think Malleus would want to play with his prey more than chase. Make you beg, bring you to the brink and then deny you, dress you in his pretty jewels, etc. His precious Little One. Keep you to himself as he lets his baser instincts take you. You will smell like him by the time the night is over.
Sebek Zigvolt: Right away for Sebek, I see him more into the tussle aspect. He wants to show his strength off. He wants to show his abilities. He can protect and he can fight. There’s also power play added to this. He’s stronger than you. He can beat you. Submit to him. You’re a weak prey and he can easily break you, but he won’t. So imagine his surprise when you don’t give in so easily? When it takes more effort. He’s having fun. The end result increasing his gratification when he finally has you by your pretty throat.
Silver Vanrouge: For Silver, I also think it’s the fight part of the dynamic. Not the same way as Sebek where power play comes in, but more of the calculative aspect. There’s the chase he enjoys but it’s more the resistance he likes. Having a tussle and he does his very best not to hurt you but to subdue you. The gentle hand that calms his startled and frightened prey. He loves having you relax into him. He won’t hurt you. His dove. He’ll calm and soothe you before having your submission, but at this point you can’t help but submit to his ways. He makes it so easy to lure you into that blissful state before he takes you.
Thank you for asking Gray 💞 just thinking about this has me in a daydreaming 🥰🌺
#answered#🌺gray🌺#lilia vanrouge#malleus draconia#twst silver#sebek zigvolt#lilia vanrouge x reader#malleus draconia x reader#twst silver x reader#sebek zigvolt x reader#twst smut#deflowered#diasomnia#silver vanrouge
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Hehe dear autor, I don't know what is happening with me but...
Isn't bad that I see Dom Hybrid Dragon Seungcheol x Sub Hybrid Bunny FemaleReader where reader is in it and Seungcheol as a good boyfriend help her, but Reader is already overstimulated and almost pass out when he's plugging his cock on her pushy because he's too big like saying that he won't fit because it's too big but he told her that her body said otherwise...🙃🤭
tw: dragon hybrid!seungcheol, bunny hybrid!reader (fem), bulge kink, dacryphilia, overstimulation, cockwarming, missionary position, mentions of heat, established relationship - minors dni.
"Cheol, please s-stop moving." You plead, consciousness starting to waver.
"Oh? But I thought you wanted me to take care of you?" Seungcheol purrs in your ear, his forked tongue tracing the shell of your ear.
"I know!" You whine weakly, "But....y-you're-"
"I am?" He juts his hips forward, "What are you trying to say, darling?"
"I-I can't- fuck." You weakly hold onto his arms, the dragon scales feeling coarse under your palms.
"Just say it, Y/N. It's okay, no need to be ashamed."
"Y-Your....your cock is too big, Cheol. I can't take it!"
Seungcheol grins, planting his palms on the mattress to give himself easier access between his legs.
"Too big, huh? Cute little bunny can't handle some dragon cock? Is that it?"
You nod furiously, tears rolling down your cheeks. He positions his lips over you cheek and rolls out his tongue to pick up your tears and savour them like nectar.
"How ironic - You were practically begging for my cock not too long ago thanks to your heat and now you won't even let me move.....Such a cruel little bunny, tsk tsk." He mocks you and drags one of his claws over the bulging spot of your tummy, making you shiver.
"C-Cheollie.....please, I c-can't-" You cry harder, your pussy clenching around his cock, more wetness gushing out of your stretched hole.
"Shh, it's okay, bunny." He shushes you with gentle kisses on the corners of your lips, his shaft throbbing almost painfully. "It will fade away, I promise to take good care of you."
Seungcheol throws your legs over his lower back and repositions you to bury himself to the hilt, a loud cry erupting from your mouth.
"T-Too deep- Cheol, you're too deep!"
"Easy now, bunny. I told you, I'll take care of you." He reminds you once more.
"You just have to promise me that your bunnycunt will keep me warm and milk me dry."
#svthub#scoups smut#seungcheol smut#svt scoups#choi seungcheol#svt smut#seventeen smut#seventeen#answered✨#tw hybrid#tw dacryphilia
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Hehe... Now that I have my answer. Mortefi with an S/O that's obsessed with dragons and always fanboys over him. They would constantly be touching his more draconic parts. I can even imagine them rambling about how much they admire jinshi and jiyun because of their connections to dragons which would ultimately make mortefi jealous lol
That's my request if I may :3c
I hope you enjoy this! Have a lovely day :)
Mortefi knew when he got with you that you were a dragon aficionado. You even had a plush toy of a red dragon on your bed that he found sort of ironic and somewhat endearing. Even if you insisted it stayed on the bed when he slept by your side.
But this was ridiculous.
“Did you hear about General Jiyan's success in the field?” You leaned on your hand, sighing softly. “Not to mention how the Magistrate took control of the situation!” You sank in your chair across from your boyfriend who was trying to focus on his lunch.
“Yes, I heard.”
Mortefi bit the inside of his cheek, stabbing his fork onto his salad. “I really admire them so much.” He brought a fork of leaves to his mouth as he listened to you ramble about Jiyan. He was doing his absolute best to not get annoyed.
“And their connections to Jué are so cool… And Jiyan's dragon! I saw it up close while I was at the Riverside Games.” You were completely enthralled with their abilities and personalities and not to mention the connection to-
Mortefi clicked his lighter, the flame shooting upwards, he snapped the lighter closed again. Then he snapped it open. The action served to quell his anger. He knew his was jealous for no reason, but he hated having to sit here and listen to the praise.
Made worse by the fact Jiyan was somebody he considered closer to a friend than a stranger. The lighter clicked again then again. Your eyes lowered to the flame, watching as the man ignited it several times over.
“Are you okay?”
He closed the lighter again.
“Can we discuss other matters?” He set the lighter down beside his plate. You raised an eyebrow at his annoyed expression, watching him push his glasses up further on his nose. Your eyes dropped down to his chest as if to confirm your theory, and he knew he couldn't hide that reaction from you.
His scales extended slightly over his chest, more than usual, but not an egregious amount like when he really got mad. It dawned on you in such a visible manner that Mortefi looked away in shame, picking his fork back up to casually poke at his salad once more.
Your expression of confusion melted into something else, but he still couldn't quite face you. You exhaled a small giggle, reaching your hand out, you covered his free hand still on the table. His scales pokes through his sleeve and glove and you gently rubbed your thumb over the crystalline matter.
The scales were warm and bent only slightly under your touch, they weren't as rough as some animal scales, but they weren't soft or malleable either. Mortefi's fingers spread out, letting you touch the expanse of his hand with free reign. You brushed some of the scales downwards, careful not to hurt him by brushing them upwards against their direction.
“You're still my favourite dragon though.”
He muttered your name, pale cheeks slightly tinged pink while he continued to look somewhat annoyed. Mortefi knew if you weren't in a semi public place, your hands would be slipping into his shirt, massaging his skin and stroking his scales. The thought finally led to him meeting your eyes, returning your smile albeit smaller.
“You're so cute when you're jealous~”
“Jealousy is an unpleasant look on me.”
You laughed, opting to interlace your fingers with his. “You were soo important in saving our nation~” You cooed at him, watching him crumble under the sudden loving attention. “That smart head of yours~ The true dragon that's captured my heart.”
He set his fork in his empty plate, bringing his hand up to cover part of his face. “I'm at work..” But that didn't stop your cooing or the silly petnames you'd given him over the years. “Later…” He lowered his hand just enough to try and wave you off. But you squeezed the hand you were holding.
“I might admire them, but you're the one I love.”
“Love you too. Now eat before your food gets any colder.”
“Eh you'd probably just warm it up for me if I asked.” Mortefi made an annoyed face at you. It was true, but you didn't have to say it to his face.
#wuthering waves x reader#wuwa x reader#mortefi x reader#wuthering waves#mortefi wuwa#wuwa#wuwa imagines#mortefi imagines#wuwa x you#wuthering waves imagine#༻Stygian#༻Tenebris#gn!reader#your method of asking for a request is very endearing :3c to you too
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MY DEAREST MIRA HAPPY 1K 💯🤍 wowow your blog grew sm so quick i literally blinked and boom ur at 1k !?!?!!? congratulations i have and always will be in love with your writing i seriously need to catch up on ur works eheh..
i know the bare minimum about pokemon but google was indeed my friend so… may i request a team consisting of kaiser and arctibax (dragon + ice) 🫡 you know me and angst, plus the fact that i’ve been wanting to read fantasy as of late 🙂↕️
── SWORD OF THE SAINT
Synopsis: Shortly after the death of your mother, you meet a mysterious man in your family’s chapel, and as the days grow colder, you find that he is the closest thing to a savior you might ever know.
Event Masterlist
Pairing: Kaiser x Reader
Word Count: 18.1k
Content Warnings: pseudo-christianity written by someone who is NOT christian, fantasy au with nonexistent worldbuilding #deal with it, death, angst, no happy ending, sickness, killing, reader is kinda delicate but it IS for a reason beyond just “omg women weak” HAHA, kaiser is an angel, kaiser is also kind of a jerk, kaiser is probably ooc idfk at this point, kaiser pisses me off, i don’t like kaiser, this is based on an actual myth but in the way pjo is based on greek mythology (so basically not at all)
A/N: ANGELLLL HI MY DEAR!! omg hehe i know i feel like i was just at 500 it’s crazy that i already managed to hit 1k 😩 you were an og though fr my seventh follower or smth like that LMAOAO we’ve been through it all together!! anyways sorry this actually rlly sucks but uh…kaiser’s in it ig…and it’s a fantasy au…and it’s kinda sad…and it has an angel…because you’re an angel…😭
The winter before the plague broke out, the river spilled over its banks, stealing your stores of grain and leaving serpents to litter your streets. They were vipers of the diamond-scaled variety, with blue tongues and slit eyes and thin teeth, white with venom and red at the tips. Their killing was random and indiscriminate — the trails of blood they left behind them dried on the cobblestones, and no one dared to wash the dark smears away for fear of their retribution, for fear that they would be the next victim.
It was an omen, that much was clear, though no matter how many stars the king turned to, he could never quite understand what it portended. Anyways, before he could divine the significance, the snakes vanished, leaving the city devoid of life, bar the bronze-footed horses and those individuals who had had the sense to remain inside and away from the dark-mouthed beasts.
The harshness of the winter never abated any; you were never given anything resembling reprieve from terrors after terrors, which came in quick succession. The departure of the serpents was followed by a fortnight of storms, raging winds lashing at your tightly-shuttered windows, shards of ice like daggers driving from the sky into the hard, barren ground, and after the storms there was, for a brief week, a time of eerie stillness where nothing grew nor prospered.
That week, your every word turned to fog in the air — at least, when you deigned to speak, which was rare — and even the ermine-trimmed cloak your youngest uncle had gifted you two birthdays ago did little to ward away the cold. Your mother, who was of a delicate constitution, shivered near-constantly, wasting away by the fire which burned at all hours with a forlorn expression on her wan face.
It grew warm again, in time, but your mother’s trembling never did cease. You added your cloak to the pile of furs she was buried in, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing could seem to warm her, to breathe life into the husk of a being that she had become — she was hollow like a rattling cicada shell, her cheeks sunken and her eyes blank.
Right about when your father was at his wits’ end, there was news of the first death: a peasant, one of the farmers in the king’s employ, who had grown unbearably cold and subsequently wilted into a corpse, spending his last few days alive in the same manner a skeleton might.
Your father, the eldest of the king’s younger brothers, had enough power still that he could command every physician in the kingdom to search for a cure. It was obvious that this was the affliction poisoning your mother, who grew worse and worse daily anew. Yet no matter how hard they searched, they could not find any herb nor method of soothing her.
In the meantime, the black-cloaked disease visited homes with even less discernment than the vipers had. There was nary a family who did not have at least one member with the sickness; eventually, the physicians came before your father and the elder of your uncles, the king himself, bowing their cowardly necks and saying there was nothing to be done about it. It was doom. Anyone who had the illness would surely die, and the best thing that could be done for your mother now was to leave her be so that you, too, did not fall victim to her plight.
You stood abruptly at the announcement, which ordinarily would have earned you glares from the surrounding noblemen but today only entitled you to their pity. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you ran towards your mother’s quarters as fast as you could, ignoring your father’s shouts for the guards to stop you.
She was where she always was, and even the slamming of the door did not cause her to flinch. The firelight reflected in her eyes, which shone like mirrors, and when you knelt by the armchair she rarely moved from, she exhaled slightly.
“Mother,” you whispered, drawing her hand out of the blankets and holding it to your cheek. It was bony and thin; already, she was more skeleton than woman, but something in her must’ve prevailed, must’ve rallied and clung to existence, for her heart still beat in her chest, however shallowly. “Mother, don’t — please don’t —”
She sighed softly. You wondered if she could even hear you, or if she was too fascinated with something beyond your vision to know that you were there. You clutched her hand tighter, her knuckles digging into your palm, her fingers like snow on your face.
“Y/N!” It was your father, bursting into the room, guards flanking him as they raced towards you. You pressed closer to your mother’s chair, gazing up at her. To your surprise, her eyes had widened, reflecting a radiance that made even the hearth seem pale. Her lips, once lush and painted, now dry and cracked from dehydration, parted in wonder, and then for the first time since she had grown sick, she spoke.
“Michael,” she breathed out.
“Michael?” you repeated. Even your father paused, tremulous hope brimming in his irises as your mother smiled slightly. Her hand on your face balled into a fist against the bone of your jaw, and then abruptly it loosened. “Mother? Mother, what do you mean, Michael?”
She laughed. It was a wheezing sound, brittle and reedy, breaking off at the end into something painful. For the first time, she tilted her head towards you, and it was as if she were met with a stranger, though eventually recognition did flash across her face.
“Ah, daughter,” she said, her voice hoarse as she smoothed her hand over your hair. “He is here. Right in front of you. Don’t you see him? He is so beautiful. As beautiful as the paintings.”
“There is no one,” you said, your throat thick with tears, your voice barely able to escape it. “No one is here but us.”
The soft motions of her fingers stilled, and she settled back in her chair, suddenly content. You gripped her wrist, willing her to come back, but she was no longer awake, her eyelids sealed shut, a faint smile still lingering on her face.
“You shouldn’t be here,” your father said gruffly, as if waking from a dream. Before you knew it, one of the guards, a handsome boy with hair like marigolds and eyes like autumn, was lifting you from the ground, carrying you out of the room despite your half-hearted protests and depositing you on the ground in the corridor with a bow.
“My father is still in there. You ought to retrieve him, as well,” you said. The guard looked towards the door and shook his head.
“If your father wishes to stay, then it is not my place to stop him,” he said.
“I see,” you said, for there was no point in further argument. Leaning against the stone wall, you wrapped your arms around your torso; compared to the sweltering heart of your mother’s chambers, the corridor was all but frigid. “Do you think this plague is some sort of a punishment?”
“For what, your highness?” the guard said. He was humoring you only because your father, to whom he was sworn, remained in the room even now, so you only shrugged.
“I’m not sure,” you said. “Perhaps the people have committed some wrong, or perhaps it was my uncle, his majesty the king.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “I am not so well-versed in the matters of theology.”
“Only of the sword, I’d reckon,” you said.
“That’s right,” he said.
“My mother mentioned Michael,” you said. “Right before you dragged me out.”
“My apologies for that, your highness, but it was your father’s command,” he said.
“It’s alright,” you said, finding some diversion in the conversation, which at any rate was a welcome distraction. “I do not blame you. Do you know who Michael is?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” he said. “Though I suppose you might know more than I do.”
“Likely it is the case,” you agreed. “He’s the emperor of angels, or so they claim. Perhaps we are biased because he is our kingdom’s guardian; well, anyways, according to the stories and the songs, he is the one who enacts divine will unto us. Supposedly he amongst his peers is the most merciful by far, but there are as many or more poems of his rage as there are of his kindness, so who can say?”
“I didn’t know the last part,” the guard said. You patted his armored shoulder, motioning for him to follow you — he did so hesitantly, with a backwards glance at his broad-backed counterpart, who stayed behind to watch over your still-absent father.
“It’s true, though I doubt rage and kindness are things he can really understand,” you said, weaving through the hallways of the palace until you reached a familiar wooden door.
“What does that mean?” the guard said.
“It’s a personal theory,” you said. “But how can we expect angels to understand the turmoils of humanity when they are so removed from it?”
“I confess I’m lost, your highness,” he said, ducking his head. “I shall continue to pursue the ways of the sword and leave such philosophical questions to you and your ilk.”
“Maybe it is for the best,” you said. “I don’t know that my uncle would be so pleased to learn I am becoming a preacher to the common folk. It’s not the kind of role best-suited to a princess.”
“Certainly not,” the guard said.
“Have you ever been here?” you said as you strode past the tapestry-lined walls of the gallery without pause. The guard shook his head.
“I’ve never had cause to,” he said. Arriving upon the painting you wished to show him, you stopped abruptly, pointing at the gilt-framed portrait, reveling in the shock which twisted his features.
“It’s him,” you said. “The one my mother spoke of. Naturally, the painter has been lost to time, but the subject can never be forgotten.”
The background was plain — a muddy field, gray clouds brewing on the horizon and threatening rain, sunlight breaking through in a halo over his brow. He was tall and regal, a sword in his right hand, pointed at the neck of the viper upon which his left foot was planted. Gold hair cascaded down his shoulders, the shade of the sun at midday, and in his right hand was a rose, the same impossible color of blue as his eyes. The vines of it crept up his arm and curled around his neck, and from his back sprouted a pair of wings, the feathers silver-brown like an eagle’s, unfurled like banners in the air behind him.
“Michael,” the guard said.
“Yes,” you said. “He reveals himself to us very rarely, and only if there is some message which he wishes to impart. I wonder…I wonder what it means that he appeared to my mother.”
“He’s a healer, isn’t he?” he said. “Perhaps with this blessing, she will be the first to recover from this plague.”
“Perhaps,” you said quietly. “Well, I suppose I ought to return to the court and apologize for my misconduct.”
“Nobody blames you, your highness,” he said. “Nor do they think poorly of the reaction.”
“Regardless, it was unruly and childish,” you said. “I do not wish for my father to fall from my uncle’s favor because of my behavior. It’ll be better if I show that I am remorseful. Come, then, let us go. Unless my father has banned that as well?”
“He has made no such demands,” the guard. “After you, your highness.”
“Very well,” you said, and with one final glance at the painting of the severe angel, you led the guard out of the gallery, back towards the throne room you had fled from earlier.
Your father spent the night in your mother’s chambers, though his advisors begged him not to; perhaps it was a form of precognition or intuition, for he ignored their advice and lay at her feet until the next morning, whereupon he exited the room and informed you all, his countenance faded and dull and lifeless, that she was dead.
The carriage ride to your family’s summer estate was silent and awkward. As soon as your mother had been buried in the royal cemetery, your father had insisted you escape to your riverside manor, which had remained mercifully untouched from the winter’s floods. And so, although it was still barely spring and more people fell to the plague by the day, you packed your things and took leave from the castle, at nighttime when there would be no one to see you go. So quickly was it all done that the earth over your mother’s grave was still freshly turned, and you didn’t even have the time to wish her farewell before your father was ushering you into the carriage and whispering to the coachman to hasten his preparations.
“It will be better for us,” your father said again and again. It was such a hollow refrain that he kept repeating, clinging to it like it was sanity, but it didn’t become any more believable the more times he said it.
Yet regardless, you responded with the same thing every time: “Yes, father.”
“Perhaps this plague is a curse on the castle, in which case we are justified in fleeing,” your father said. “And I have already told my brother.”
You pulled your cloak tighter around you to ward away the nip of the nighttime air. “Yes, father.”
“Besides, who can blame us? Not when — not when your mother—” he broke off.
“Yes,” you said miserably. “Father.”
He might’ve ordinarily snapped at you, but today he only sighed and nodded slightly. You supposed you should’ve been grateful that he had enough of a handle on his grief that he could refrain from spitting poison at you, but gratitude was one emotion you could not bring yourself to muster just then, so all you could give him was an exhausted upturn of your mouth which resembled a smile in its barest form.
In the sprawling grounds of the summer estate, it was easy to pretend that nothing wrong had ever happened. There was no sign of serpents amongst the prickly evergreens, for the needly undergrowth was hostile to their pale, soft bellies, and so few servants remained there year round that, of their small number, the majority weren’t even aware a plague had broken out in the first place.
“It will be better for us,” your father said again, this time with finality, helping you down from the carriage and brushing himself off. “This was the right decision.”
You wanted to tell him that there was no world in which you earnestly agreed with that, because you had left your mother behind, and how could that be right? Yet he was so determined that you did not have the heart to, so you only exhaled and shuffled after him, the thought of staying outside for even another moment all but unbearable.
There was much less to do in the lonely manor, where you sat by yourself at all hours of the day, so eventually, despite your reluctance, your thoughts turned to the last time you had seen your mother, replaying that final conversation over and over in your mind until it was all you could see.
On the third day of this self-imposed torture, you dragged yourself out of your bed, trudging to the chapel which your father had commissioned — not for himself, for he was never religious, but for your mother, who often found solace in the marble of its walls and the gold of its altar.
The door, heavy and wooden and large enough to admit a pair of horses at once, opened with a groan and a plume of dust, revealing the inside of the chapel, which was as ornate as you remembered. Your father had spared no expense in its construction, and the floors and walls alike were covered in intricate, patterned mosaic, the high windows rimmed with marble and the ceiling painted with delicate, jewel-colored pigment.
In the middle of the room was a figure, and at first you thought he must be a statue, but then he moved slightly to face you and you realized he was a man; at least, if one could consider someone like that a man, for he bore all the resemblance to the cheerful guards of the palace that a dove did to a common sparrow. His hair was choppy and short and gold, though the ends faded into a blue shade as they trailed down his back, and his bright eyes were lined with something the color of blood that only threw the azure of his irises into greater relief. There was a sort of perfection to the slope of his nose and the curve of his neck, his shoulders held straight and true, his chin high and proud — strangest of all, however, stranger than any of these things by far, was that there was a rusted sword clenched in his fist, the sheath of which sat empty on his hip.
You were quite certain that he did not belong there, but you did not have the wherewithal to question him, so you only shut the door behind you and sat in the entrance, leaning against the walnut frame and closing your eyes, clasping your hands together in front of you and wishing you had something to pray for.
“What have you come here in search of?”
The voice was unfamiliar and keen, like a dagger in your heart or a fang in your calf. You knew without knowing that it must be the man speaking; opening your eyes, you were unsurprised to find him peering at you with no small amount of disdain.
“Whatever do you mean?” you said. He stared at you with a discomfiting intensity, his fingers playing with the hilt of his sword, his eyes wide and endless like the sky, his brows furrowed.
“People don’t come here unless they want something,” he said. “So what is it that you pray for?”
“The things I want are impossible to obtain, so I do not pray for them at all,” you said.
“Hardly anything is impossible. What a limiting way to think,” he said. You narrowed your eyes at him.
“At least it is not an arrogant one,” you said. “Unless you believe that resurrecting my mother is truly something which can be done?”
“Arrogant?” the man said. “Certainly, your mother could be brought back, so for you to accuse me of arrogance is unfounded. The question is whether she should be revived.”
“What a pointless differentiation,” you said. “I doubt you believe she should be.”
“No, of course not,” he said. “Though I don’t believe anyone should, so you ought not to take it personally.”
You swallowed, hugging your knees to your chest, resting your chin atop them and averting your eyes from the strange man. Likely you should’ve felt angry at his callousness, but in the moment, the only feeling you could summon was resignation.
“Perhaps that is the truth,” you said. “Then it is the same regardless. She won’t ever come back. This is her chapel, you know. I thought I might find some reprieve by encasing myself in this place, but I suppose it isn’t so. There is no reprieve. I think of her always.”
The man made no move to offer you any words of reassurance, nor did he drop his sword. He just stood there and watched you with the sort of wary caginess that one might expect from a half-tamed animal, shifting and unsettled and pacing. You found it almost comforting that he did not offer you any platitudes nor condolences, for you had heard enough of those that you were sick of them.
“Who are you, anyways?” you said. “A servant? I don’t recognize you, but then it has been some time since I last came to this estate, so it isn’t a surprise.”
“I am something along those lines,” he said.
“And what business do you have in this chapel?” you said. “As far as I know, only members of my family are permitted entry.”
“Nobody has ever stopped me,” he said. “So why shouldn’t I be allowed? Do you mean to cast me from here?”
He was already shifting from foot to foot, as if he expected you to strike him or throw him from the chapel; it wasn’t an incorrect sentiment, exactly, for certainly if you were your father you would’ve, especially for his earlier impudence. What cause did a mere servant have to talk to the king’s family in such a way? But you could not summon that same indignation, so you only shook your head, standing on legs which had grown sleepy and electric from inactivity.
“No, I have no great desire to,” you said. “If you do not disturb me, then I won’t disturb you. Might we coexist in that manner?”
His eyebrows raised almost involuntarily, and then he shrugged. It was an odd way of doing it, though you couldn’t exactly point out what was odd about it, and then he tapped his sword against his leg.
“I suppose it isn’t a tall order,” he said.
“You should leave your sword at the door, however,” you said. “Aren’t weapons forbidden in places like this?”
“It stays,” he said with finality. You peered at it; it was a comely instrument despite its age, the hilt gold and embellished with roses, dark corrosion creeping up the blue-white blade like vines, the tip as sharp as a thorn. His fingers were wrapped around it like a vice, and you tilted your head when you realized that there was something black drawn on his hand, resembling an emperor’s crown, though you were too far to ascertain if that was what it truly was.
“As you wish,” you said. “It’s not me who you’ll have to answer to, anyways. At least I tried.”
“Your efforts will be appreciated by someone or another, I’m sure,” he said.
“I’m sure they will be,” you said with a scoff. “Ah, wait, sir. Before you leave — can I ask for your name?”
“My name? Why, so you may curse it?” he said.
“So that I may call you by it,” you said. “If we happen to meet again, here or elsewhere.”
“Is it important to you?” he said.
“It’s a courtesy,” you said.
“Since when has the king’s family ever known courtesy?” he said. You thought he might shirk away after the brazen statement, but he only gazed at you levelly, as if challenging you to respond.
“We are trained in it from birth, and must practice it from then on,” you said.
“Courtesy and etiquette are not the same thing,” he shot back.
“Will you tell me your name or not? This exchange is tiresome,” you said. “I shall assign you a name of my own if you do not give it. I doubt it will be to your tastes.”
“Kaiser,” he said. “You can call me that, if you are so insistent.”
“Kaiser,” you repeated, tasting it in your mouth. There was a familiarity and a power to the word, but you could not place your finger on what it meant; deciding it was unimportant, you nodded. “I am Y/N.”
“Yes, I knew that already,” he said.
“It would’ve been rude if I did not introduce myself to you as well,” you said.
“And there is the difference between courtesy and etiquette,” he said.
“Hm?” you said. He did not even look at you, lifting his chin so that he could admire the ceiling.
“What a beautiful scene,” he said.
“Beautiful?” you said, frowning. You had never taken the time to understand it, but now you saw that it was a depiction of Michael killing the hellish viper that was his bane. The roughness of the strokes, however, lended a gruesome quality to it that the painting in the king’s gallery did not have — Michael’s face was twisted into a grotesque leer instead of a gentle smile, and his sword was stabbed through the serpent’s throat instead of pointed at it in warning. Red-glazed pebbles wept like tears along the snake’s body, and the sword in Michael’s hand was made of cruel ivory, his eyes chips of blue glass that twinkled with delight instead of solemnity.
“Isn’t it?” he said, smiling for the first time, not at you but at the mosaic.
“Well, there’s a quality to the workmanship,” you said. “But it’s too gory for my tastes.”
“The truth of things can never be too gory,” he instructed you, and though he had no qualifications in the way of priesthood, you were somehow inclined to listen. “The truth is the truth. If that is how it happened, then you must accept it.”
“Who are we to know how it happened?” you said.
“Who indeed?” he said.
“You speak in riddles,” you said. “It is distracting. I do not mind it, though, because there is much I wish to be distracted from at present, so I am not chiding you, necessarily, but I hope that you know.”
“I know,” he said, amusement in his tone. “It’s something I’ve been accused of many times before, and by men several orders of magnitude more important than you as well.”
“I see,” you said. “Regardless, I believe my father might search for me soon, and as I have found some merriment in you, I do not wish for him to find you here quite yet, so I shall take my leave. But I will return! Please be here when I do.”
“I will be here,” he said, despite the fact that you hadn’t mentioned when you would next visit the chapel. You didn’t question it; he felt like the kind of person that was better left a mystery, or at least figured out slowly, so that no layers were missed.
The next morning, you entered the chapel as the bell rang upon the hour, peering in through the door and smiling slightly when you saw him perched upon a bench made of the same rich walnut as the entryway. He was perfectly still, his back straight, his sword laid across his lap, and he did not turn to greet you, staring straight at the flickering candles of the altar. Your footsteps echoed as you crossed the room, sitting on the bench directly opposite him, facing the candles as well.
“Did you light them?” you said.
“They were already lit,” he said.
“Hm,” you said. “It wasn’t me.”
“Naturally,” he said.
“I suppose someone else visits this place, too,” you said.
“What will you do about it?” he said.
“Nothing,” you said. “If it brings them solace, then who am I to deny them that? The nearest church is a long walk; even this is not so close to the manor. I am weary already.”
At this he did glance at you, his eyes lowering for a moment before he returned his attention to the front of the room.
“You are frail, then,” he said. “The walk is not that long.”
“My mother was the frail one,” you said. “I have inherited my father’s good health, or so I am told.”
“Ah,” he said.
“I will have to come on my horse next time,” you said, only half-joking. Perhaps the distance was not quite long enough to warrant riding, but you really had been winded, and the constriction of your chest was more than a little unpleasant, like there was a stone pressing into your heart.
“If that is what you require,” he said, clearly disinterested in the conversation. You wondered what he saw in the candles, if there was something he could divine from the small, captive flames.
“Was your mother a moth?” you said.
“What?” he said, blinking at you in alarm. “Are you an idiot?”
He said it so genuinely that it felt more like concern than anything. You suppressed a smile, pointing at the beeswax dripping into the golden bowl set there to collect it.
“I’ve only ever seen moths be so enamored by candles before,” you said.
“So you are an idiot,” he said, clicking his tongue. “What a foolish thing to say.”
“It was in jest,” you said. “My apologies. I shall remain serious in your company henceforth.”
“See to it that you are silent as well,” he said, and so you were, sitting across the aisle from him and watching the candles until they burnt out. Even then, he stayed facing the wisps of smoke, tracking them with his eyes as they fluttered into the air with the briskness of a wasp, so eventually you left him behind, him and those blackened stumps marring the air and the altar alike with their crumbling, papery ash.
“There is news that the plague is worsening,” your father said one day at dinner. The news of the plague brought to the forefront of your mind your mother, who you had done so well at ignoring until then. It was easy to pretend that the sickness had never existed, that those days of flooding rivers and viper-lined streets and shivering women had been nothing more than horrible dreams in quick succession.
“I suppose it shouldn’t come as a shock,” you said. “Winter has come early this year.”
“Do you think so?” your father said. You gulped, pushing at your food with your fork.
“Already, there is a chill in the air,” you said.
“What horrible luck,” he said. “We’ve hardly had time to recover and replenish our stores of grain. If frost comes to the fields early, then we are doomed.”
“I am surprised it has not yet bitten the earth,” you admitted. Your father, who had always trusted you more than most men would trust their daughters, groaned, dragging his hand over his face.
“There is still time?” he said.
“We can hope,” you said.
“I will order the fiefs to begin their harvesting at once,” he said. “By all rights, summer is still yet to fade into autumn, but even if it is premature, the crops should be serviceable, and the fields can be replanted at once. If it goes well, then our yields may nearly double.”
“A sensible decision, father,” you said. “That should be more than enough to last us all until the next spring.”
“Thank you for your counsel, my girl,” your father said, and if you were not seated at the table, he would’ve patted your shoulder or kissed your cheek or shown his pride in some other such affectionate manner. “I will be lost without you.”
“I am not going anywhere,” you said. “Am I?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But one day you will leave this manor for your husband’s home, and then I shall be on my own.”
“That is still some years away,” you said.
“As many years as possible,” your father said. “There are no suitors in this kingdom worthy of you, anyways.”
“I will trust you when you say that, father,” you said. The lines around his eyes deepened from the force of his grin, and it heartened you to see, for he hadn’t smiled much since your mother had died. Setting your cutlery down, crossing them over your plate as was neat and expected, you placed your hand over his, the skin of his hunt-worn palms rough against yours. “For now, I am content here.”
“And here you shall stay,” he said, firm and sure in the way that only the brother of a king could be. What he said was what happened. He commanded things into existence and so they did occur; it was the kind of power that very few were afforded, and hardly ever in a greater quantity than him, so when he spoke, it was always with the weight of expectation behind it.
You really did ride your horse to the chapel after that dinner with your father. Now that you had mentioned it to him, you could not help feeling the signs of the impending ice of the dead season, and only hugging the warm neck of your little bay palfrey as she trotted along could ward it away. She was gentle and game enough to not mind it, nuzzling you when you got off and dropping her head to graze where you tied her. You pulled your gloves off and tucked them in your pocket, rubbing the whorl of a white star on her forehead before ducking into the chapel.
It was later than you had been the other times you had come, but Kaiser was there anyways, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his forehead pressed against the altar. Never had you seen such misconduct, but you thought he must be sleeping, so you did what you could to be as silent as possible, tiptoeing over to stand behind him, reaching out your hand to jostle him.
“Don’t,” he said, flinching back and glaring at you over his shoulder.
“You were awake?” you said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I thought you were not,” you said. He squinted at you.
“Your powers of discernment are frightening,” he said.
“Because of their uncanny strength?” you tried.
“The opposite,” he said. “You are fumbling and blind. I do not know how you have made it so far in life.”
“Maybe it’s a miracle,” you said, sitting beside him, mirroring the arrangement of his legs, your elbows digging into your thighs so that you could rest your chin in your hands. “My birth was one. Why not the rest of my life?”
“I assume you want me to ask what you mean by that,” he said.
“It’s not that I want it,” you said, swiveling eagerly so that you could face him. He snorted, not offering you the same dignity, the gold of the altar reflecting on his cheekbones. “But I’ll tell you if you’d like!”
“I wouldn’t,” he said. You waited, but he did not budge. The sword was at his side, his one hand placed over it, so instead of telling him any stories, you bent so that you could inspect the weapon.
“Where did you get this, anyways?” you said. “It’s of a make I don’t recognize.”
“And you are well-acquainted with every blacksmith in the entire kingdom, I expect?” he said.
“The ones of note, yes,” you said. “The ones with the talent to make something so fine. Don’t you remember whose daughter I am? I was loved by knights long before my father laid eyes upon me. They taught me a little.”
“What use does a princess have for smithing?” he said, though he did not make any moves to pull the sword away, allowing you to inspect it. You dared not touch it, lest he yank it back, but it seemed the lingering of your eyes was permissible, so you were unabashed in allowing them to rest upon the gleaming metal.
“Not much,” you said. “But a knight has very many uses for the matter.”
“You are no knight,” he said with a sneer.
“Of course not,” you said. Now that you were closer, you saw that the centers of the roses blooming on the hilt were sapphire, and what you had thought was rust had a different shade to it, something dried and burgundy that you could not identify. “But they were. The ways of the sword were all that they knew, so I was raised on such tales instead of the more typical stories.”
A gust of wind blew through the windows, and you shuddered, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Kaiser gripped his sword tighter, the veins of his hand standing out blue and angry, but otherwise he did not react.
“One blacksmith brands his work with a bull,” you said. “Another with a dog, and a third with laurels. Many and many things, yet the rose has no place on the list. It’s too sacred. Nobody would dare carve Michael’s symbol into a mere mortal weapon. Who are we, anyways? To compare ourselves to someone who does such grand things?”
“You said grand,” he noted. “Not great.”
“Great implies an antonym,” you said. “But I don’t think such concept really exist to him and those of that kind — good and bad and all. There are different scales, different evils, but the ways in which the angels impact our lives can only be grand or minute. It’s unfair to assign morality to it.”
“Yet if these acts, whether grand or minute, change your life for the better, or alternately for the worse, then can you not judge them to be either good or bad?” he said.
“I can, and indeed many do, but they are not my concern. I speak only of Michael, and I maintain that it is impossible for him to turn that judgment unto himself,” you said. “You know, my mother saw him right before she died. Everyone thought it was a stroke of good fortune. He’s a healer, so he must’ve been there to heal her — yet they forgot, in their desperate hope, that he also comes to escort us to our final resting places. As he had come for my mother.”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s true.”
“Well,” you said. “That’s it, then. Is he evil for taking my mother? Can I liken him to a villain for what he did? I would like to. It would be easier…if there was someone to blame, then it would be easier. I wish I could hate someone for it, but I cannot. There is no one. Michael did not take her to hurt me; that is just what he does. I can point my finger at that ceiling and curse him, but what good will it do? It won’t change his nature.”
Kaiser was silent. You must’ve bored him, and you wished you could disappear into the floor, melt into a mosaic, and freeze in place before he could mock you.
“Angels are above humans,” he said after a while.
“Everyone knows that,” you said.
“So how can humans do something that an angel cannot?” he said. “How is it possible?”
“I suppose it’s not unique to them,” you said. “Asking an angel to understand a person is like asking you or I to empathize with a dormouse. The best we can do is impartiality; it’s the same for them, I’d say.”
“Dormice?” he said. “I don’t think it’s the same at all.”
“No?” you said. “I’m not that learned. I don’t take offense. There’s as many theories about these obscurities as there are stars in the sky; I pass the time by coming up with more by the day, for I have little else to do when I am not here, but of course they would not hold under examination. I’m hardly a priest.”
There was another gale, this one howling and accompanied by your horse huffing anxiously outside. You doubted it was anything more than an oncoming squall, and ordinarily you’d wait for it to pass, but you did not want to leave the mare alone in the rain, so reluctantly you stood, dipping your head at Kaiser in the politest farewell you could muster.
“Wait,” he said when you reached the door, his voice still a dull, quiet monotone that you had to strain to properly listen to. “Next time.”
“Next time?” you said.
“Tell me the story of your birth,” he said, and then he was glowering at you again, demanding and haughty and piercing all in turn. “I will understand you.”
“Who said you won’t?” you said rhetorically. “Farewell for now. Please be safe in returning to your quarters.”
Your mare pranced the entire way back to the stables, her ears pricked towards the sky, her tail held high and the whites of her eyes showing. You tangled your fingers in her mane, the coming storm seeping through the fabric of your cloak as you urged her forward, hardly making it to the stable before it began to pour, ducking under the stone lip of the roof and holding onto her reins with sweat-slicked hands, trembling from the relief of the near-miss and leaning against her muscular neck to regain your bearings.
At the end of that week, you were met with a visitor — the youngest and dearest of your uncles, who loved you as if you were his own eldest daughter. He had set out from his own manor as soon as he had heard the news, and such was his haste that even now, the grit of his travels lined his clothes and features, but that did not dampen his jovial spirit any.
“You must rest, uncle!” you said, wincing as he regaled you with a story about the strange twins he had met while riding to the manor, with faces like crocodiles and mouths that only spoke lies, right up until he cut their tongues out, after which they could no longer speak at all.
“My, my, how you fret! Lovely niece, you are more and more like your mother every day,” your uncle said. “You must be so proud of her.”
This was accompanied by a good-natured punch to your father’s arm; anyone else would’ve been reprimanded, but at his brother’s antics, your father could only roll his eyes and cuff him on the ear, just as good-natured and half-heartedly.
“I don’t think it’s possible for a man to be prouder,” he said.
“Thank you, father,” you said, curtseying before brandishing an irreverent finger at your uncle. “But really, I insist! Let me take you to your chambers. You have come so far — surely you are weary.”
“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” he said.
“There will be plenty of time for your stories tomorrow over breakfast,” you assured him, taking the stairs slowly, so that he did not overexert himself. “I am sure you have many more.”
“Of course,” he said. “Though not all of them are as lively.”
“Is there cause for alarm?” you said. Your uncle turned away guiltily. Slipping the key to his chambers into the lock and rotating it, you waited. “You must tell me if there is.”
“I don’t want to cause undue stress,” he said. “Especially after everything with your mother.”
“You have already said it. Better to be done with the affair and tell me the whole of things; it’ll only stress me further if you leave me to conjure scenarios of my own in my mind, so there is no avoiding it now,” you said.
“Come in with me, then,” he said, following after you into the chambers where his luggage was already waiting. You sat on the edge of the bed, allowing him to collapse into the desk chair, his head in his hands. “The queen.”
“No,” you said, praying it was paranoia that forced your thoughts down the ugliest of paths. “No, you don’t mean—”
“She has taken ill,” he said. “Her condition is deteriorating at the same rate your mother’s did. My brother the king is…not optimistic. She has been secluded in an attempt to contain the affliction, though of course we do not know how long she has been sick and how much longer she has been contagious. The entire royal family, barring you, your father, and I — if we stay away from the palace, that is — could succumb before the flowers next bloom.”
“Only the three of us will be left?” you said. Your uncle nodded.
“It seems that even in death, your mother is looking out for you,” he said. Something scratched at the back of your throat, and despite how you tried to swallow it back, it only clawed its way up, coalescing into a small whimper. Your uncle’s face softened, returning ten years of youth to it. “Don’t be afraid. We are safe here. As safe as can be.”
“How does it matter?” you said. “If everyone else is gone, how does it matter?”
To this, your uncle had no response, so he only gave you a pitying look and bade you to return to your room, promising you both would meet again and discuss it in the morning, when your father could join you. Whether he would’ve held true to that oath or not, you didn’t know, because as soon as you heard the murmuring of the servants awakening, you threw on a pair of house-slippers and fled the manor, running as fast as you could to the chapel where you knew Kaiser would be waiting.
In the watery light of dawn, he was almost ghostly, ephemeral like smoke or a wraith, the blue of his hair iridescent, the gold closer to a soft cream. Today he was far from the candles, sitting on one of the benches again, his back to you. You panted from the exertion of your earlier pace, but he did not move, did not try to assist you or even greet you.
“There was a prophecy,” you coughed out, flopping onto the closest bench, lying on it with your feet hanging off of the ends. “About my mother. It said that my father’s blood would spell her death.”
Kaiser did not say anything, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t listening, or at least that was what you assured yourself with. He must’ve heard you. He must’ve known.
“My uncles commanded him to take a second wife. The prophecy must’ve referred to their progeny, and indeed every heir they attempted to conceive died in her womb before it could kill her in turn, further proving the point. My father refused, however. He wouldn’t do that to her. If he could not have a child with her, then he would not have one at all,” you said. “I’m sure you know where this is going.”
“They prayed,” he said. “In turn, they were gifted with a child.”
“And my mother did not die,” you said. “That’s why people say I’ve been agreeable for my entire life. I did not fuss, either. I was good, or so I’ve been told. The best of my cousins by far. At the time of my birth, my father was away on some campaign for my uncle the king, so he did not even hear of it for many months, and he could not return for many more. It’s why I was raised by knights and nuns.”
“And why you spout theories and smithing as if you were born to them,” he said.
“That as well. Anyways, the nuns always praised me for defying that prophecy,” you said. “For saving my mother from a certain death. Do you understand?”
“Prophecies are hardly ever so straightforward,” he said. “You can divine one million meanings from them, but it is the million-and-first which will come true. It’s foolhardy and presumptuous for one to claim they understand the truth behind the future. You can only know it once it has come to pass.”
“Yes,” you said. “I don’t disagree.”
“Perhaps it was still your father’s blood that led to your mother’s demise,” he said.
“How? She fell to the plague,” you said.
“It ended with the plague,” he said. “What did it begin with?”
“Snakes,” you said. “No, before that. A flood.”
“And before that?” he said, condescending as anything. It would’ve been infuriating if it was not so at home with his severe countenance.
“There was nothing before that,” you said.
“If that’s what you think,” he said. “Anyways, is that what you came to tell me?”
“The queen is ill,” you said, gripping the back of the bench and using it to push yourself to a sitting position, swinging your legs down so that your feet were planted on the ground again. “They think it is the same disease which ruined my mother. It’s likely that the entire royal family will be lost — except my youngest uncle, my father, and myself, for all of us fled before the outbreak could reach the castle and have not yet shown any symptoms of the plague.”
“Maybe they deserve it,” he said, with no small amount of contempt. You trained your eyes on the ground, unsure of how you could even fathom saying something, and in your mother’s own chapel, as well. Surely you would be judged for it, but for some reason you thought that you owed honesty to Kaiser.
“Maybe they do,” you said. “Likely they do. But they are — they are still my family. I don’t want them to die.”
His sword caught the sun, and for a moment the maroon on the blade seemed to writhe and drip, coming alive in the light and only stilling when clouds passed across the windows once more. Kaiser’s shoulders still did not face you, but he tilted his head so that he could regard you as he spoke.
“You think they deserve it,” he said, phrasing it as a statement of fact instead of a question.
“I don’t know,” you said. “They must. We all must. These disasters are likely a form of punishment, though I know not what we are being punished for.”
“There is cruelty in this kingdom,” Kaiser said, his voice so cold that it caused a nervous tremor to shoot through you. “And it takes its purest shape in the L/Ns. That must be why they are facing the worst of it.”
You wished you could disagree with him. You wanted to. You wanted to tell him that your father and your uncles and your ten cousins were kind and good, but neither could you lie. Neither could you reassure him of a falsehood, when the both of you knew that had it been anyone else in your family who had found him in the chapel, he would’ve lost his head by now.
“They are cruel,” you said. “I know it. But I cannot bring myself to hate them, not when they love me.”
“It does not absolve them,” he said.
“It does not,” you said heavily. “And I suppose it does not absolve me, either.”
This time, he stood, hefting his sword and pacing in the same frantic way that a leashed dog might. He did not try to brandish the sword, allowing it to drag along at his side, but neither did he let it go. You watched him until you were dizzy from the repetitive nature of his path, and then you covered your eyes and listened to the thud of his boots against the ground.
“You are more like your mother and the queen,” he said.
“What is that supposed to mean?” you said. “Is it because I am a woman? I have cousin-sisters as well, however, and they are as L/N as me.”
“No, it is not that,” he said. “You have been dragged into the sins of the L/Ns against your will, and now you must reap their consequences alongside them. Whether or not you have earned them is irrelevant at this point; you will receive them.”
“It’s already begun,” you said. “My mother — my mother — and who else? They will all be gone, and my father and uncle aren’t so young, which means I shall soon be alone. What will I do then?”
Kaiser was a servant, so by all rights such things were beyond him, but never once had he spoken to you with the deference that his station implied. You didn’t think he knew what it meant to bow his head and comply blindly, so you waited for him to respond, to bestow some small wisdom hidden in the biting jaws of his blasé attitude.
“You won’t be alone,” he said.
“You don’t know that,” you said.
“I do,” he said, as if it were an undeniable truth, written in the foundations of the world. You had never been the type to feel comforted by platitudes, but something about the way it sounded coming from him made your heart swell. “Y/N L/N, you will never be alone. That I am sure of.”
“Do you guarantee it?” you said. “Even though it’s impossible, do you swear?”
“I do,” he said. It was the kindest thing he had ever said to you, so you smiled slightly, although there was no amiability in his tone.
“Then I will believe you,” you said.
“Believe me or don’t,” he said. “Your feelings will not affect that outcome.”
“Hm,” you said. “Well, thank you for reassuring me.”
“That isn’t why I said that,” he said.
“But you managed it anyways,” you said. “I need to go, though. I did not dress to be outside, and it’s a bit cool today, isn’t it?”
“No,” he said, a peculiar lilt to his voice. “No, Y/N. I don’t think that it is.”
With your uncle there, it was harder to find time to visit the chapel. Where once Kaiser had been the only one to occupy your time and thus your thoughts, the only one with enough of a mystery to his being that even the bleakest of your grief could be warded off by it, now your uncle was there to distract you, with his stories and his tricks and his gifts. Never one for religion, just like your father, he laughed when you suggested visiting the chapel, and often by the time you were freed of his company, you were far too exhausted to even think about leaving your chambers, let alone the manor.
He was a whirlwind of a man, your youngest uncle, a tempestuous person whose sword was as ready as his smile. Quick to anger and slow to forgive, he had been the spear of your father’s campaign, slicing through the villages they conquered in the name of the king with brutal, clinical efficiency. You were the only person who had never been subject to his wrath, for you were the youngest and mildest of your ten cousins, and thus cherished by the rest of your family in a way that the others were not.
“Have you finished enough of those to go in the woods with me? There’s a place I’m thinking of going hunting, but I’d like your guidance before I do so,” your uncle said one morning, when the sun shone and the sky was as blue as if it were made of ceramic. You were sitting across from him in the parlor, embroidering handkerchiefs with your family’s sigil, folding them and placing them on the table for your father’s use. Your father himself was out for the day, checking on one of his vassal’s progress in the early harvest, which was likely why your uncle was asking you for assistance instead of him.
“It’s only something to while away the hours,” you said, tying off the end of the thin thread in a perfect, imperceptible knot, shaking out the newly completed handkerchief and then setting it with the rest. “I can go whenever you’d like.”
“I’ll send word to the stablehands to tack our horses, then,” your uncle said. “Have you gone to the river’s shore before?”
“Once or twice,” you said.
“If there’s anywhere to find deer, it’ll be there. What do you say about venison for supper by the weekend?” he said.
“Father will be pleased,” you said. The youngest of his brothers and yet the most talented when it came to hunting, your uncle was known in your family for his aptitude at picking out the rarest of game. Your father always told you that if there was anything resembling an afterlife, he would spend it all eating whatever your uncle brought home, and you had no doubt that he would be delighted to return from his trip and find a freshly-slain stag waiting for him.
In order to reach the river, you had to ride through endless swathes of green — some were tilled and tended, but the majority of those fields were wild, home to nothing but rabbits and robins, both of whom fled upon hearing the clip of your horses’ hoofbeats. At first the cleared paths were wide enough for you and your uncle to ride side by side, but eventually they grew narrower, the tall grass scratching at your legs, pollen leaving yellow streaks on your horses’ haunches, and so you were forced to ride in front, for your mare was as sure-footed as your uncle’s charger was flighty and spooky.
“Be careful,” your uncle said as you pushed her forward, kicking her when she pinned her ears at your uncle’s stallion. “The grounds in these fields are always treacherous. Snakes make their homes amongst the grasses and hide the entrances; even one misplaced footfall can be disastrous.”
“Ah, she is good,” you said. “I trust her to know where her feet are better than I would.”
“Smart girl,” your uncle said. “You must get it from your uncle.”
You swatted away a horsefly before it could land on your leg. It was gray and fat and lazy, but you knew that its bite burnt like a bee-sting, so you steered your horse away from it the slightest bit, in the hopes that it would dissuade any further pursuit.
“Of course,” you said. “Though more than smart, I trust that my father’s men have trained her well, in these very fields.”
“Do they come here often, then?” he said. “We won’t be able to find anything if there are many people passing by.”
“Not that I know of. This section of the riverbank is reserved for our family’s use. Nobody would dare come up this way unless they were on my father’s orders, and my father rarely issues such commands,” you said.
“Good,” your uncle said, relaxing in his saddle, taking his bow off of his shoulder and holding an arrow in his right hand. “If we are very quiet, then we may find something today.”
“So soon?” you said.
“Why not?” he said. “We must be silent, however, lest we frighten everything in a few leagues’ radius away.”
Soon, the only thing that could be heard was the whine of the crickets in the grass that your horses disturbed. It was a high sound, shrill and thin like a flute, insistent in the way of begging, and if your uncle had not been there, you would’ve covered your ears to muffle it.
You couldn’t tell how long you wandered along the riverbanks for, but eventually, there was a faint rustling in the brush. You and your uncle locked eyes, and then you reined your mare to a stop, allowing him to trot forwards, eyes locked on the place where the noise had arisen from, his bow held at the ready, a single arrow in place — because a single arrow was all he would need. Your uncle had never once let fly an arrow which did not then make a home in its target, and you doubted he would begin to do so any time soon.
Another minute passed before the rustling grew louder and something burst from the copse of saplings, crashing through the tightly interwoven branches. You gasped when you saw that it was not a deer or any other such game but a boy, his hair dark and long over his eyes, his shoulders narrow and bony, more like perfect, sickening corners with skin draped over them than anything.
“Please,” he said, dropping to his knees, gazing up at you, his pupils like black pinpricks in the expanse of his blank eyes. “I didn’t — I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t — I got lost, but I didn’t mean to end up here! I was only waiting for you to pass through so that I could return home.”
“So you knew that what you were doing was wrong. Expressly forbidden by the prince,” your uncle said.
“Uncle, it was clearly a mistake,” you said uneasily.
“Mistakes are made when one does not have knowledge,” your uncle said. “This was not a mistake, nor was it an accident.”
“I was looking for rabbits,” the boy pleaded. “My sister likes them.”
“So you were hunting on the prince’s land?” your uncle said.
“No!” the boy said. “No, she — we don’t eat them, she likes to pet them, she’s still young and our mother is sick so I thought I would find one for her but there aren’t any near our house, so I began to wander, and I don’t know how but I ended up here — please, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t!”
“It’s alright,” you said, loosening your foot from your right stirrup and preparing to dismount. “Where is your home? We can escort you—”
“Stay on your horse,” your uncle said to you. You froze, unaccustomed to hearing him speak in such a way. “You. Boy. You admit your guilt? You have trespassed?”
“Yes — no — I don’t—” the boy stammered. His lips were bluing at the edges, you saw, and you realized he, and likely his mother who he had spoken of, was cursed with the plague, which choked his mind and judgment as well as it did his throat and heart.
“He is unwell, uncle,” you said quietly. “Let him go home.”
The boy was not long for this world, and wasting the precious time he had remaining with this pointless interrogation caused a pit to form in your stomach and a glacial feeling to crawl down your back and shoulders, the kind which could not be chased away even by the strongest of fires.
“Crimes cannot go unpunished,” your uncle said. “If we let him go, then we will have to let the next go, and the next after that. Where do you draw the line?”
“Here,” you said. “That is where I draw it. We both know that he is closer to my mother than to us at this point. Forgive him this time. He will not return, I am sure of it.”
“I won’t,” the boy said, voice cracking. “Your royal highnesses, I won’t.”
“Tell me where you live,” you said. “Not far, surely?”
“Just over the hill,” the boy said, staggering to his feet. “The house with the hyacinths in front of it.”
“I will take you there,” you promised him.
“You will do no such thing,” your uncle said. “Y/N L/N. If you ever wish to be the lady of an estate, then you must learn how to punish those who disobey your rule.”
“Don’t!” you said, but you were too late, far too late. Already, the arrow was cutting through the air and piercing through the boy’s heart. He fell in the way a leaf might, silent and crumpling and brittle, a motionless heap staining the earth with his blood. You screamed, or at least you tried to, but there was not enough air in your lungs, and you could not inhale or exhale without the ringing in your ears climbing into a pounding sensation.
“Where are you going?” your uncle said as you tugged on your mare’s left rein, turning her around, away from the still body and your uncle’s stark figure. “Y/N! Wait!”
Tightening your calves, you cued her into a gallop, taking off along the riverbank, water spraying into the air wherever her feet fell. Dimly you were aware of your uncle shouting after you, and then he, too, was galloping in your pursuit, but his stallion was recalcitrant, rearing and gnashing at the bit with every step, slowing their progress immensely and allowing you to fly out of their sight.
Turning into the fields that swept towards the manor, you paid no heed to your uncle’s earlier warnings, pushing the horse faster instead of slowing as you should’ve, your surroundings blurring into nothing more than smears of viridian and mustard in your peripheral vision. You had to reach him before your uncle did. You had to, you had to, you had to —
Abruptly, your horse skidded to a stop, scrambling for purchase in the ground and snorting nervously. You were thrown up her neck but did not fall, sitting back and scanning the area for what might’ve spooked her. In the beginning you did not see it, but then there was a soft hiss from the ground that caused her to dance backwards uncertainly, and you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood.
“You are meant to be gone,” you said to the viper, which was baring its fangs at you, its dark tongue flicking out periodically to taste the air before it. Your words bordered on hysterical as you shifted in your saddle, eyeing its coiling body with equal parts fear and disdain. “Your kind vanished! Why are you back? Do you mean to torment me?”
The serpent did not move to strike, but neither did it shift out of the way, its slit-pupil eyes never blinking, its white teeth like pearls against the roof of its black mouth. You looked around, but there was no other path as clearly demarcated as the one you were on, and you dared not risk going into the grasses where thousands more of the snake’s brethren could be lying in wait.
Behind you, you could once more hear your uncle calling your name, and you knew that the precious few seconds you had gained on him would come to naught if you continued to dither about. When all was said and done, there was only one thing you could do, so apologizing to your horse, you squeezed her onwards. She lurched forwards with a start, her tail swishing, her movements jerky as she inched towards the snake, which grew eerily still at your approach.
Death was supposed to be a mystery or a surprise, but for some reason, as your horse took that final step forwards, you were excruciatingly aware that the next few moments would likely be your last. The snake would dart up, as quick as a whip, and it would latch onto your leg, slaying you instantaneously. What a swift revenge it would be, that your uncle had killed that boy and now he would be met with your own body, pierced through with snake venom as that child had been skewered upon his arrow!
You could’ve done a great number of things in those final seconds, but your mother’s final words came to you, and you found yourself mulling them over. He is here, she had said. Right in front of you. Don’t you see him? He is so beautiful. As beautiful as the paintings. Michael himself had appeared for her, but then who was by your side? Who would accompany you after your death?
There was a flash of movement in the corner of your eye, something azure and fluttering — a butterfly, surely, or some small bird frightened by the commotion. It was unimportant in the end; what mattered most was the color, which was so reminiscent of the person you had set out for that it broke you from your daze, heartening you enough to sit up and raise your chin, facing the snake with enough courage that even your horse ceased to shy away from it. Instead, she let out a squeal which sounded like a trumpet, and then she leapt into the air, bucking upon the landing and galloping away from the viper at such a speed that white lather frothed on her neck and streaked down her shoulders.
You reached the chapel in a time that should not have been possible, and even before you had pulled the mare to a stop, you were leaping off, your fingers clumsy as you tied her to the first fence post you saw. Your legs protested as you took the stairs two at a time, but you paid them no heed. You could not allow them to fail you, not when your uncle’s strides were twice the length of yours.
“Kaiser!” you called out when you entered the chapel. He was standing by the altar, a shower of sparks falling from the flint in his hands onto the charred cloth placed on the table, and instead of greeting you, he blew on the smoldering edge. A flame blossomed to life, and he used it to light a new candle, smothering the cloth under his boot once the fire had been transferred. “Kaiser, you must leave at once.”
“Why should I do that?” he said. “Who are you to dismiss in such a way?”
“It’s not me,” you said. “My uncle is furious, and if he finds you — if he finds you here, then he’ll cut you down, and not even that sword of yours will be enough to stop him.”
“Your uncle and his moods have little to do with me,” Kaiser said. “His tantrums are meaningless.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” you said.
“Don’t I?” he said.
“He just killed a boy for trespassing,” you said. “I couldn’t even stop him. It was the most I could do to return in time to warn you before he came here to pray for that child’s life.”
“You disobeyed your uncle and ran from him for the sole purpose of…warning me?” he said.
“Yes, but it will be meaningless if you don’t hearken to my words,” you said.
“Why is that?” he said.
“Enough with your riddles and your questions!” you snapped. “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously? You will die!”
“Answer this one and I’ll oblige your inane demands,” he said.
“Being with you is the only time I do not fear or mourn,” you said, your nails carving crescents into your palms as your gaze switched rapidly between him and the door. “My mother…my family…the plague and the vipers and the floods…I can forget about them all when I speak to you. If you are gone, then I will have no one. So please, please run. I cannot bear the thought of your blood being shed as well.”
Kaiser looked at you, and then, inexplicably, he laughed. It was a sound so lovely that it grated on your nerves, like a bell ringing too close to your ears. “Your uncle is not a man who could ever shed my blood, and he’d have to have an inordinately high opinion of himself to think he could.”
“You said you would oblige me,” you said, having half-expected such an arrogant response from him but finding that you were vexed by it anyways. “It doesn’t matter what you think of him. You must go, and only return once he has left this place.”
The door slammed open. You spun, drawing your cloak tighter around your shoulders and standing as straight as you could, dismay spiking in your stomach when your uncle walked in. The two of you had spent too long discussing, your explanation had been too lengthy, you had remained frightened of the snake for more time than you should’ve — at the end of the day, the reason didn’t matter as much as the result, which was that your uncle was here and Kaiser was still standing behind you.
“Y/N,” your uncle said, coming down the aisle, his stride light and elegant, the picture of a gentleman. You took a step back, reaching your hand out behind you to prevent Kaiser from saying something callous and damning, as he was wont to do.
“It’s not what you think,” you said. “Uncle, it’s not — please don’t —”
Yet when your uncle reached the altar, he did not draw his sword, nor did he command Kaiser to kneel before him. He only gave you a puzzled look, directing his attention to the candles burning behind your back.
“You played with your life just to come and light the candles a little earlier?” he said.
“What?” you said.
“I know it must’ve been upsetting to see, but rules need to be upheld, or else they cease to be rules and turn into mere suggestions,” your uncle said, patting you on the head.
“Aren’t you angry?” you said in trepidation.
“With you? No, of course not,” he said. “It was the same way for me, the first time I witnessed my father performing an execution. You’ll grow out of it.”
“Er, okay,” you said, too bewildered now to even comprehend his words. What was Kaiser’s magic, that he had escaped your uncle’s stern reproach and careless sword, which had felled countless men?
“Will you stay with me while I pray?” your uncle said. It was the only time he ever changed his mind about religion — after every life he took, he pleaded for forgiveness, as if that could be enough to exonerate him. You weren’t sure if it would be or not, but it didn’t really matter what you thought — it was the only way he had, you were quite sure, to go on. To continue living despite everything he had done.
“No,” you said. “Come — ah, what?”
You had turned to beckon Kaiser, but when you did, you realized that he was gone, vanished without a trace, though you had not heard or seen him leave. Your uncle gave you another strange look before returning to one of the benches and bowing his head, leaving you to wonder if Kaiser had ever even been there in the first place.
The stablehands were confused when you brought your drained mare back to them and demanded they ready another horse for you, and it was only worsened when you commanded them to also bring you one of the rabbits that were raised for their meat. Yet they could not argue with the princess, so they did as you said, bringing you the smallest of your father’s mounts and placing a young rabbit in your arms once you were in the saddle.
You could not tell whether you or the rabbit quivered more — the rabbit from confusion and fear, you from fatigue and the temperature, which had dropped rapidly since you and your uncle had set out in the mid-morning.
Taking a longer route so that you avoided the fields where you had seen the serpent, you trotted towards the riverbank, cradling the rabbit to your heart in the hopes that its warmth would transfer to you. Halting by where the boy’s body still lay, undisturbed and almost peaceful, you set the rabbit atop a tree branch so that it could not escape, and then you jumped off of your horse and crouched so that you could lift the boy onto your saddle. Draping him over it with every bit of strength you could summon, you took the rabbit back in one arm and used the other to lead the horse after you as you trudged towards the direction of the village, mud soaking into your boots and flecking the hems of your clothing.
You crossed the hill at a snail’s pace until you reached a small stone house with purple hyacinths littering the courtyard and a brown goat grazing on the scrubby grass, and then you knocked on the door and stood there until a man opened it. He was tall, his face lined and burnt from the sun, trenches like crow-feet digging into the corner of his eyes, his clothes patched and mended by inexperienced hands many times over. He squinted at you, like he was trying to recognize you, but eventually he gave up and cocked his head at you instead.
“On what business have you come knocking, miss?” he said.
“Your son,” you said. He rolled his eyes affectionately.
“Ah, that rascal. I hope he was not bothering you?” he said. You tried to swallow back the lump in your throat and found that it was impossible, so you stroked the ears of the rabbit and squeezed out a response anyways.
“He’s dead,” you said. “No. He was killed.”
“Pardon?” the man said. “Killed? On what — on what account?”
“On a whim,” you said, a tear splashing onto the rabbit’s back, turning the gray of its fur into a color like tar. “If there were a better explanation, I’d give it to you, sir, but the truth is there isn’t one.”
The man stared at you in disbelief, and you tightened your grip on the horse’s reins, waiting for him to say something. Yet he was silent, staring and staring as if by doing so he could turn your words to lies.
“I brought him back for you,” you whispered, the words digging into your windpipe as they went. “I brought him back.”
The man made a small nose which seemed to come from deep within him, guttural and low and keening, and then he fell to the floor.
“Please say it isn’t so,” he wept, pressing his forehead to your feet. “Lady, lady, say this is some cruel prank and go. His mother is sick already; you cannot say I will lose them both in such short succession. Say you are lying to me.”
“I can’t,” you said, your lower lip wobbling and your vision blurring. “Sir, I cannot do that.”
He wrapped his arms around your ankles and bawled like a child, folded over your boots as he cried and cried. You were motionless, wishing that there was something you could do but knowing that it would all be meaningless — just like Kaiser could not bring your mother back, so, too, were you incapable of resurrecting this man’s son, who had been put down at the hands of your own uncle.
“Thank you,” he said after some time had passed, standing and wiping his face, taking your horse’s reins from you. “I will see to it that he is taken care of. Might I have your name? So that I can repay you?”
“No repayment is necessary,” you said. “Please refrain; I’ve done nothing worthy of repayment. I only ask that you tell me if you have a daughter.”
“Yes,” the man sniffed. “Yes, she’s inside, sitting with her mother. Do you require her?”
“Only to give her a gift,” you said. “And then I shall take your leave.”
The man nodded at you, and you swept inside, brushing past him before he could exit the house and relive his grief anew upon seeing his son’s body in the flesh. You had been there the first time; the second time, you thought, should be something private, belonging to him and him alone.
Sitting by a fire and covered in straw was the wretched woman that could only be the boy’s mother. She appeared worse than your own mother ever had, even in the hours before her death, and her chest rattled with every breath. Squatted by her side was a girl, likely half your age and hardly even a third of your weight, her hair lank and heavy around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed a pink that promised the plague had not clawed into her body yet.
“Hello,” you said. The mother did not move, but the girl looked up at you in a manner reminiscent of a puppy or a foal, a certain naïveté to her features, which resembled her brother’s so much that for a moment you were breathless.
“Hello,” she said. Her voice was a brittle murmur, and her lips barely moved when she spoke, but her eyes shimmered with a slight curiosity, widening when you knelt before her. “Who are you?”
“Your brother sent this for you,” you said, avoiding her question and handing the rabbit to her. She inhaled in delight, taking it from you swiftly and burying her nose in the fur around its neck before beaming at you.
“Really, he did? He always called me foolish when I told him I wanted a rabbit! Said that rabbits are wild creatures and only fairies can catch them,” she said, kissing the rabbit atop its ears. “Are you a fairy, miss? You have to be, right?”
“Certainly, I am not,” you said, kneeling on the stone of the floor and placing your hand against her cheek, which burned with the heat of the fire she was tending. “Dear girl, please remember that it was not a fairy who brought this rabbit to you — it was your brother, who loves you more than anything.”
She still did not know about any of it. She did not know that her brother was dead and her mother was all but. She only saw the object of her desires encircled in her arms, so she was, at least for now, happy, and you could not bear to steal that happiness from her, not when you knew that you how fleeting it was.
“Okay,” she said gravely. “I’ll remember it well. Mama, look! It’s a rabbit. You like rabbits, Mama, so please wake up and look at it.”
“Your mother is resting,” you said when she bent to shake her mother awake. “You should not bother her.”
“She’s always resting,” the girl said. “And if she speaks, it’s only to say that she’s cold.”
“Is that what the straw is for?” you said. Even if she wasn’t sick, you’d have agreed with the woman; you, too, found it to be growing colder out than it ever had in the past, but she had been cursed with the plague, and so it must have been tenfold worse for her than it ever could be for you.
“Yes, it’s the best we have,” she said. “My brother, father, and I share the blanket because we don’t sleep near the fire, and so we only have straw left to warm her. I think I’m going to start working soon as well, and hopefully then I’ll be able to buy the best blanket in the world for her.”
There would be nowhere that would hire her in time for her to give her mother a blanket, except as a burial shroud, so you undid the clasp of your cloak and draped it over the woman’s body. She did not acknowledge you, but you saw her shoulders fall into an exhale, and you knew it was her form of thanks. The girl gazed at you in wonder, her eyes settling on the gooseflesh which pimpled your upper arms without the protection of the cloak, and then she returned her attention to her mother, whose expression was a degree less distraught with the added shield you had provided.
“Not now, and not for some years to come, but when you are old enough, come to the L/N manor,” you said. “You will find work there.”
Outside of the house, her father was digging, and on the ground beside him was a heap of canvas that no doubt disguised her brother. The girl followed you towards your horse, lips pursuing as you used a nearby tree stump to remount.
“How? It’s impossible to be employed there. All my family’s tried, but they’re ever-full,” she said.
“They will admit you, as long as you bring that cloak with you,” you said. “And if you tell them that Princess Y/N sent you.”
Her lips parted in awe, and the rabbit’s nose twitched as you smiled at her, as kindly as you could. In a few hours, she might despise you — after all, you had been the one to bring her brother back, and even if she never learnt of the role you had played in his death, she might resent you for that fact alone — but for now, you were someone she admired, the princess who had come from the manor and left her with a cloak and a rabbit and a promise.
Without your cloak, it was brutally cold, and you soon grew more preoccupied with trying to warm yourself in some way than with guiding the horse home. And although it was tamer than the rest, your current mount still belonged to your father in the end — it was not of the same reliable temperament as your own mare, who would’ve doggedly brought you back to the stables. As you slumped further and further into the saddle, your vision swimming, the horse only halted in the middle of the field you had somehow ended up in, unsure of what to do without a rider’s direction.
“You are a surprising person, Y/N L/N,” a soft voice said, and then someone was prying the reins out of your hands and taking them over your horse’s head. You would’ve been frightened, but though your eyesight was blurred, you knew who it was as soon as he spoke. “Foolish and surprising in turn.”
“Kaiser,” you said. “How are you here? Where did you go earlier? I thought my uncle might find you, but you weren’t there…”
“Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters. They are beyond your understanding,” he said, clicking his tongue to encourage the horse forward. “I came here for you because earlier, you came for me, no matter how unnecessary it may have been. That’s all that matters.”
“Aren’t you cold?” you said, leaning forwards, collapsing against the horse’s crest, too tired to hold yourself up properly. “I’m cold.”
“I know,” he said. “You’ve been cold for a while, haven’t you?”
“I suppose so,” you said. For a moment, there was silence, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was tinged with melancholy.
“I wish that you were more like your father,” he said.
“Hm,” you said drowsily. “Why?”
“I want to condemn you,” he said. “Curse you. Rebuke you. Damn you.”
“And you cannot?” you said.
“I can,” he said. “All too easily.”
“Then?” you said.
“Then nothing,” he said. “It’s only that it makes me feel strange when it shouldn’t.”
“Strange,” you said. “What a vague word.”
“I cannot explain it further,” he said. “So don’t ask me to.”
“I see,” you said, though really you didn’t — you only did not want to upset him when he was the only savior you had. “Wait, Kaiser, you must know — there is a viper, one of the ones from the flood, it’s in the fields and it might yet strike. I am not sure if it is the only one of its kind, as well.”
“No vipers will dare cross my path,” he said, a laugh trickling into the cadence of his speech. “Not while I have this sword at my side.”
“Even now, you have it?” you said, your eyes closed against the light.
“Yes,” he said. “I cannot sheathe it yet.”
“What does that mean?” you said.
“It is meaningless,” he said. “You ought to be silent, lest you waste what meager amounts of energy your body has managed to retain thus far.”
You weren’t sure how much longer the two of you walked for, but suddenly you were by the stables and there was a clamor and you were falling off the horse’s shoulder, into the arms of one of the stablehands. He was speaking in a panicked rush, commanding someone to fetch your uncle and another to send word to your father before asking you something, his voice harsh and breathy, nothing at all like Kaiser’s needle-precise words. You would’ve answered, but the slight rocking motions of his gait were enough to lull you into a sleep before you could even understand what his question was in the first place.
The stablehand must’ve carried you to your room, for when you awoke, you were in your bed and the sun had set. Your father sat at your desk, a lamp lighting the letters he was writing. Wrinkling your nose and then wiggling your fingers and toes to regain some feeling in them, you yawned, sitting up with a rustle of the sheets.
“Father,” you said, your mouth cottony from sleep. “You’ve returned?”
“Y/N?” your father said, dropping his quill and jumping to his feet, racing over to your side and catching your hand in between his own, holding it to his forehead. “Oh, Y/N, you must swear never to do something so idiotic again. I was so frightened — I thought — I thought you might never wake again.”
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Why would you go riding without dressing for the weather?” he said. “And without at least asking for someone to accompany you?”
“I’m sorry, father. I wasn’t thinking,” you said again, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you could not tell him the truth behind your escapade, or he might find some way to penalize the family who had not been at fault and had already lost so much.
“You’re lucky that that horse was so intelligent,” he said.
“What do you mean?” you said.
“It managed to find its way back to the stables even with you all but unconscious on its back,” he said.
“No, someone led me home,” you said. “A servant.”
Your father furrowed his brow. “Ah, what do you mean? There was no one.”
“There was, I’m sure of it!” you said.
“Nobody saw anyone leading you back, daughter,” he said. “You must’ve been having visions from delirium. It’s not uncommon for those who have been so compromised.”
“Visions,” you said. “I suppose there is that explanation.”
“Setting that aside, how do you feel now?” he said.
“Much improved,” you said.
“A night’s rest will do you well,” he said. “We can speak again in the morning, yes?”
“Yes, that sounds appealing,” you said. “Goodnight, father.”
Oftentimes he, like the rest of his siblings, had a somber and unyielding expression upon his angular face, but never when he looked at you — because when he laid eyes upon you, he was no longer the prince of the kingdom. He was only your father, the man who had half-created you and loved you more than he had ever loved anything or anyone, excepting, of course, your mother.
Maybe it was because you had slept half of the day away, but the next morning, you were awake even before the sun. You lay in your bed for a moment, willing sleep to take you once more, but when it became evident that it had fled from your grasp for good, you pushed your blankets to the side and stood on shaky legs, finding comfort in the consistency of readying yourself for the day.
You had none of your usual composure when you entered the chapel. The moment you saw Kaiser standing with his hands laced together and his face tilted towards the sun, your heart skipped an irrational beat, and then you picked your way towards where he stood, careful not to slip on the precious stones of the floor, which today seemed to be more treacherous than usual.
When you reached his side, you were not sure of what to say, so you opted for the truth, however blunt. “I dreamt of you yesterday.”
“I’m flattered,” he said, in that same amused way he said everything, his every word a private joke you could never be in on.
“You saved me,” you continued. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve died.”
“You wouldn’t have died regardless,” he said dismissively. At first, you raised your eyebrows, because how was it that he always said such things with such conviction that you could not help but believe in them? Who was he to inspire such faith in you? Then, before you could lose your nerve, you embraced him, your arms around his neck and fingers dangling in the space between his shoulder blades, his thrumming heartbeat reverberating through your bones like a hymn.
Many seconds passed wherein he was motionless, a being made from stone, before, slowly, hesitantly, he pulled you even closer to him, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other arm wrapping around your waist so that you did not crumble. He was hot like a hearth, his skin blazing with the kind of warmth you had not felt in so long that tears sprang to your eyes.
“You saved me,” you insisted, weeping in earnest, wishing that there was some way you could stay by his side forever and then wondering where such a desire could even have sprung from. “Even if you were only a vision conjured by my mind, I know that I would never have made it home were it anyone else I saw. Had it been anyone but you, I would’ve been lost until the end.”
“Enough wailing,” he said, but it was devoid of the typical thorniness. “Y/N L/N. Stop it.”
“I cannot,” you said.
“Pathetic girl,” he said; however, for the first time, you detected a hint of wavering in his voice. “Pathetic, idiotic girl. If only there were a way I could un-know you. If only it were possible for me to forget you entirely.”
“Don’t,” you said. “Please don’t.”
“I won’t,” he said. “If I were capable of it, I would’ve done so long ago, but as I haven’t, it can only mean that I never will.”
Somehow, you returned to the manor before anyone could raise an alarm at your second disappearance. Joining your father and uncle at the table for breakfast, avoiding your uncle’s greeting and sitting next to your father, you realized that it was not a miracle that you had escaped notice; rather, it was that everyone was supremely concerned with the letter your father was scanning, storms swirling in his eyes as he read it over.
“They’re summoning us,” he said, a second later. “Oh, Y/N, you’re here. Good.”
“Who is?” you said.
“My brother the king,” he said. “There’s been a prophecy. Very soon — in two weeks or even less — the queen will be dead.”
All of you set off at once, your father and uncle riding ahead, leaving you to cocoon yourself in a nest of furs atop the cushioned bench of the carriage. The guard from before, the handsome one with the hair like fox-hide, was requisitioned to accompany you, and so he sat across from you instead of riding in the company of your father and his retainers. You were the one who had asked for him specifically; he was kind and familiar to you, so in such a terrifying moment, you preferred his stalwart nature to any other’s.
“Tell me again,” you said, your voice muffled by the squirrel pelt wrapped around your neck and chin. “What did that prophet see?”
The guard did not know any more than you did, but in the monotony of the carriage ride, there were few other things you could occupy yourself with besides the obsessive question-and-answer game that you played with him. He was happy to follow along, or, if he was not happy, then at least he did as you asked without much complaint.
“Three things,” the guard said, holding up his right hand, the white calluses standing out against the pink of his palms. “Firstly, an eagle fell from its nest and broke its wings.”
“A clear omen against the L/Ns,” you said. “Eagles represent royalty, so for one to fall and lose its ability to fly in such a way…”
“Yes,” the guard agreed. “Secondly, upon reading the entrails of a sow, it was determined that the eagle was referencing a woman in particular.”
“And if it is a woman, then it could only be the queen,” you said.
“Correct, your highness,” he said. He could not see it, but you smiled at him — just barely, for you had not had enough to drink during your journey, so your lips were cracking from dehydration, and you did not rest well anymore, so you were constantly weary. “And finally, they consulted the mirrors, whereupon they saw death from disease tarnishing the pureness of the silver.”
“So they combined the symbols and divined that she would perish from the illness which has plagued her, as it once did my mother,” you said. “I wonder if it is worse or better to be aware that your death is approaching.”
“I suppose she must have known already, don’t you think?” he said. “In the moments before her death, your mother saw the angel Michael. I am sure the queen has had such a visitor as well.”
“Perhaps,” you said. “Though then again, I doubt that he would make appearances so frequently.”
“If he came to escort your mother, then would he not come for the queen? Forgive me for being candid, but it’s true that the queen’s station is far loftier than mother’s was,” he said.
“It’s alright. You’re not wrong, but even then,” you said, and then you sighed, sinking deeper into the plushness of your blankets. “Well, I don’t know. The affairs of angels are beyond you and I.”
“That’s true,” he said. You screwed your eyes shut, colorful spots painting the blackness behind your eyelids, the world spinning peculiarly, in a manner which was unrelated to the swaying of the carriage wheels.
“I think I will sleep now, sir,” you said. “If you do not mind very much.”
“I am only here to do as you command, your highness,” he said. “If you wish to sleep, then by all means, please sleep. I will wake you if anything happens.”
The journey to the castle was longer for you than it was for the riders, who could take narrower paths and cut across fallen trees and flooded bridges that the carriage needed to circumvent. By the time you reached, there was already a procession underway, and as the guard helped you towards the church, holding onto your hand and shoulders so that you could walk, you had to be wary of the spectators to the parade, who were shoving one another so that they could have the best possible view.
“They’re praying. For the queen’s health, and for the end of the plague,” you said, coughing hard enough that your chest ached from it, covering your mouth with your hand in shame, for you had been coughing more and more frequently as of late.
When you removed your hand, you noticed that there was something wet and wine-colored speckling it, and right when you were about to reach an understanding you should’ve come to long ago, a man’s shoulder rammed into your side, knocking you off-balance. Only your guard’s quick reflexes were enough to catch you, and he picked you up before such an accident could be repeated, taking care to push the man away rougher than he really needed to when he passed.
“Are you alright?” he said.
“Yes,” you said, half in a daze, the image of your stained hand imprinted in your mind. “Can you hear what they are saying, sir? Are they begging for forgiveness?”
“They are,” he said. “They’re repenting in the hopes that there will be mercy.”
“It’s late for that,” you said. “For me, anyways. But maybe the rest of you can still be saved.”
“What do you mean by that?” he said. Without you to slow the guard down, the two of you covered ground at twice the earlier speed, and you reached the steps of the church before the throngs of worshippers could. You saw them coming, the gathered masses of people, with the king and your father and the queen at the forefront of it all, and then you coughed again, because until you had seen that blood you hadn’t comprehended it, but now you did. “Why don’t you include yourself amongst our ranks, princess?”
“What is your name, sir?” you said.
“Kunigami, your royal highness,” he said. “Are you quite alright?”
“Kunigami,” you said, clenching the fabric of his tunic in your fists. “Kunigami, it’s not cold out today, is it?”
“No,” he said. “No, princess, it’s not. It’s mild and lovely.”
“It hasn’t been,” you said, and then you were crying, because you were afraid. You were more afraid then you ever had been, and you only had this bewildered boy to comfort you — and what slim comfort he provided! He, who was meant to be your staunchest defender but could never defend you from this. “It hasn’t been cold in many months, has it?”
“No,” he said. “Actually, it’s been rather warm. This year marks the warmest summer we’ve had since the time of the last king, or so I’m told.”
“The warmest summer?” you said. “I see now. I see. Oh, oh, Kunigami, you must go and fetch my father at once.”
“You are confounding me, your highness,” he said. “What is the matter?”
“Please bring my father,” you said. “Please, I don’t — I don’t want to be alone when it happens.”
Your poor father — some higher power had decided he deserved this. Your father, who was cruel, who killed and conquered, who was the horrible prince of the kingdom. Your father, who had already lost your mother. Your father, who would soon lose you.
“I don’t understand even now what you mean,” Kunigami said, setting you on the steps and straightening his shirt. “But I will do as you say. Wait here.”
He charged down the stairs, cutting through the crowds effortlessly with his imposing presence. You watched him go before turning back to the church, marveling at the building, the white pillars and the silvery dome which shone in the sky like a daytime moon. Statues of angels and muses lined the roof, and across the facade, there were words engraved. You could hardly read them, but you knew by heart what was written: On this mountain, I shall build my home, and thereupon I will give you the keys with which to reach me.
You didn’t know when your legs buckled, but they must’ve, for suddenly you were lying prone on the stairs, the stone freezing against your face, and although it was hardly the place for it, you found your tucking your fists under your forehead, exhaling and thinking of how sublime it would be to drift off now, drift off and not wake up for many hours or days…
“Y/N L/N.” The voice was the same, but there was something else behind it. Never had he spoken with such strength and such sadness in combination; his typical apathy had been chased away entirely, replaced with a fond if not distant pity. “I told you that you would not be alone. Did I not?”
Hands like embers held your face carefully, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he tugged your jaw up so that you could look at him. You hardly had the strength to lift your head — how had you not known that it was coming? How had you ignored the symptoms of your own condition? Was it that you did not want to know it and so you refused to recognize the simple fact which had been looming over you for months now? But ignoring it did not make it go away. Ignoring it did not make it false. Ignoring it did not change the truth of the matter: that you were dying, that you had been dying for a long time now.
“Kaiser,” you said. He appeared different, though you could not place it; there was something hazy and golden about him, but regardless you were assured that it was him and no other.
“Some know me by that name,” he said. “Most do not.”
“What do you mean?” you said.
“Michael!” It was your father who was screaming the name, and when you shifted, you realized he was doing his best to run towards you, though your uncles held him back, shock reflecting in their faces as your father bawled. “Michael, divine lord, don’t take her, too. Anybody else, be it the queen, my brothers — even me! Kill me, kill the entire kingdom if you must, but leave Y/N. Spare her, and I will repent! I will change my ways, and I will force the others to change as well. Spare her and I will do whatever you ask — but please, please spare her.”
“You should’ve come to this conclusion longer ago,” Kaiser said, and though he spoke at a regular volume, his voice rang through the square like he had shouted. “The time for begging is long gone. The plague will continue until all of you are dead. By my sword, I swear—”
“Michael,” you said. He was silent immediately, and you fought to keep your eyes open. Noticing your lowering your eyelashes against the sun, he reflexively spread his wings to cover you in shade, allowing you to admire him in full for the first time. “Has it been you all along?”
“Yes,” he said, a soft breeze running through his feathers and ruffling his hair. “Yes, it has been.”
“My mother was right,” you said. “You really are as beautiful as the paintings. Though, you were right as well. There is nothing resembling serenity in your expression.”
To your surprise, he chuckled, though there was a distinct tinge of sorrow behind it, so that it was as similar to a sob as it was to a laugh. Something moist splashed onto your face, and at first you thought he, too, was crying, but then you realized it came from his sword, which he brandished even now. Blood, that was what it was, the source of those sanguine stains which were now animated and lively, weeping down the length of the blade and dripping onto the white marble beneath his feet.
“Of course there is not,” he said. “When there is so much injustice in this world, how can I ever be serene?”
“You brought this plague upon us,” you said. “And the snakes, and the flood.”
“I did,” he said. “It was divine will. In the face of it, even I am powerless.”
“By your sword,” you said. “Is that why you hold it before you always?”
“How intelligent you are,” he said. “Oh, if only it were not you.”
“But you can stop it,” you said. “If you deem us worthy of being saved, you can prevent anyone else from dying.”
“Not you,” he said. “It’s too late. Even if I do that, I cannot save you. Not this time.”
“That’s alright,” you said. “You needn’t save me again. Once was enough. I’ve not done anything to be deserving of a second time.”
“No,” he said firmly. “You are the only one who I want to save. If you are lost, then there is nobody worthy of surviving. What have any of the rest ever proved to me? What goodness have they ever shown? What virtue or introspection? They are all brutes, and so they have earned it.”
“I cannot say whether that is true or not,” you said. “I don’t know about anyone else. But if even one other person like me exists and your inaction kills them, too, then will you ever be forgiven?”
“I am an angel,” he said. “I seek no forgiveness. I have not done anything to necessitate it.”
“I will not forgive you,” you said.
“What does it mean?” he said. “What will any of it mean once you are gone?”
Your father had fallen to ground, repeating every prayer he had ever been taught, and even your uncle the king, who was typically stolid in the face of adversity, who had not placed a foot wrong the entire time he had thought his wife was the one prophesied to die, had tears shimmering in his eyes.
“Forgive them,” you said, and then, to your surprise, Michael, or Kaiser, or whichever name you called him, for it was irrelevant when they were all in reference to this singularly grand being — was dropping to his knees and tenderly taking your head so that it could rest on his lap. “As I will forgive you, forgive them. Please.”
Nobody even breathed. Every single body in the kingdom was stationary; the rabbits, the dormice, the people and the snakes, all of them waited to see what he would do. For a moment, it was nothing, and after that he merely hunched over and pressed his lips to your temple, his wings arcing to cover your body from any who might dare to glance at it.
“Very well, then,” he said. “I cannot save you, Y/N L/N, so this time, without riddles nor fuss, I will oblige you.”
A small smile graced his face, albeit an anguished one more characteristic of men than of angels, and as one blazing hand grew hotter and hotter against your rapidly-cooling cheek, he raised his sword in the air; then, for the first time since the plague had begun, he sheathed it.
#kaiser x reader#kaiser x y/n#kaiser x you#michael kaiser#bllk x reader#bllk#blue lock#reader insert#fantasy au#m1ckeyb3rry milestone#m1ckeyb3rry writes
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Smoke, Fire and Ash
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)
Masterlist
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.
Note: Hello angels! Here is the next chappy hehe, goodness me, I am so glad that we all enjoyed the last chapter haha! What a ride this has been honestly, you all crack me up ahaha <3 Enjoy!
Chapter 99: To Set The Future Sway
Aemond Targaryen had been ten years old when he lost his eye.
That year he had been gifted new tomes from his grandfather Otto, and his mother had lemon tarts freshly made for him as a treat, the boy too shy to tell her that they were not in fact his favourite, but yours.
He had snuck down to the dragon pit that day with you to eat them, watching as Syrax’s golden scales glimmered in the flames of the pit, large glimmering dragon purring and growling in the darkness.
It had been a great challenge for a child so young to be put through such a horrific and traumatic experience as having ones eye taken. What was more, the actions of his family afterwards, and the dealings of their response thereafter did naught but rub salt in the proverbial wound.
Neither adult had reacted in a way that helped Aemond. In fact, it only served to prove as a further detriment to him, and his view of the world.
But more than that, watching you, his only companion at such a formative age, stand alongside his attackers, bastards, and declare for them instead of him had hardened something inside of the young Prince. Made it curdle and fester, calcifying rapidly as the spite that had grown within him became malignant.
You had protected them. Them. They who had mocked and teased him for years, them and his brother; who stood idly beside him, having not come to his defence out of the fear and wrath of their father.
His view of the world, of people, of his family and what little friends he had, had been inexplicably scarred that evening, much like his face. He walked with more careful steps, more angry movements, and had grown into a bitter and spiteful man, only aided by his mothers disdain and words of encouragement in his ears.
But Aemond had not let his disability strike him down, he had simply grown himself around it. He trained harder, for longer, making a promise to himself that he would never be bested like that again, never be struck down without striking first.
And to never hold back.
Where others would look at him in fear, he would play to it, own it, make himself a man to not be trifled with. A man his brother even feared at times, not that he could fear him any longer. A man that women would whisper about in court, and the men would avert their eyes from.
He needed it that way.
To feel safe.
After the many years of your separation, being dragged to Dragonstone without even a chance to say goodbye, seeing Aemond again in the Red Keep had struck many chords within your chest.
Grief. Sorrow. Anger. Rage. Remorse. Guilt.
Fear.
But as you looked into his seeing, and unseeing eye in this moment, you felt none of those things.
Instead, you felt something entirely different.
Shock. Disbelief. Pride. Adoration.
Love.
The Conquerors Crown that sat snugly against Aemond’s head, did not look at all heavy where it had on Aegon’s. It seemed as though it was an extension of Aemond. An extension of his every being, a manifestation of the man he had built himself to be.
The smooth Valyrian steel did not make his long silver locks stick up in different ways, his tendrils were still held in place, held by the braids you had encouraged him to wear.
Aemond’s violet and sapphire gaze had not left your face once since seating himself upon the Iron Throne, nor when you had placed the Conquerors Crown atop his head. The King’s fingertips had brushed the skin of your cheek, smearing the wetness that had landed there.
The blood that had landed there.
But Aemond was not unmarred by the killing of his brother. He too wore the red substance on his face and robes, the lightest of arterial spray that has streaked up his face diagonally, in the motion that his sword had cut through the flesh and bone of Aegon’s neck.
The small specks of blood on his cheeks were drying rapidly from the heat of his face, oxidising and growing darker, small cracks and flakes appearing in the smattering.
And yet despite this, despite the fact that you most certainly should have felt some sort of horror and disgust towards him, you could not, and your heart had fluttered in your chest as you looked at your husband in triumph.
In hunger.
He had done this for you.
A final show of his devotion and love.
Your head turned to look down the steps of the Iron Throne, gaze skimming over a distressed Alicent Hightower, who sat hunched over her eldest son crying, whilst Otto and Ser Cole stood nearby. And then your gaze shifted, over to the Lords and Maester who looked at both scenes before them with uncertainty. Fear.
Turning back to face your husband, you called out loudly into the chambers.
“King Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name, Son of King Viserys the First, King of the Stormland’s, Westerland’s and the Reach, Ruler of Oldtown, The Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, King of the People of Kings Landing, and Protector of His Realms.”
The Small Council muttered amongst themselves as you looked out at the room beside him. All Lords, guards and knights bent the knee, bowing their head down towards their new crowned King. Even Ser Otto Hightower bowed, but Alicent looked up at her son in disbelief.
You turned back to your husband, hungrily watching him, a wave of warmth flooding you.
He had done this for you.
He had killed Aegon for you.
Aemond was King.
Your husband.
“My King.” You breathed quietly, eyes roaming his face hungrily.
Sensing your intentions, Aemond’s voice boomed into the chambers.
"Clear the room.” He commanded, voice crisp and clear, and all men obeyed.
Alicent however, did not, and had to be dragged from the corpse of her eldest, sobbing into her fathers arms as she muttered prayers to the Seven through hiccups, and curses at the two of you.
The chambers were emptied, bar you and Aemond, and the corpse of the once King that still lay, untouched on the stone floors before the throne. Your eyes cast backwards to look at the body, a sick smile spreading across your lips, before you looked back at your husband, who devoured you with his lone eye.
Your core clenched, watching him intensely as heat settled into your gut.
He had killed Aegon for you. Before everyone. Before his mother.
His last sibling.
And for you.
All for you.
Your Aemond.
Aemond pulled you forward with his hand, and you climbed up onto the throne in his lap, knees pressed against the leather of his cloak below you. Your fingers raced to untie his breeches, neither of you daring to break the eye contact you held.
His length was hard and heavy in your palm as you pulled it out of its confines, tip already leaking heavily with precum.
Killing his brother had aroused him.
Being crowned had aroused him.
The violence of it all, the triumph, the ending of years of suffering and mocking making way to a new time of power and strength. Autonomy. Each aspect of it had made him throb in his breeches before he had even sat on the throne.
You pumped him in your hand quickly, a breathy sigh falling from his lips as his large palms skated up your thighs warmly, calluses scratching your soft skin, before they dived beneath your skirts, feeling your already drenched folds.
It had aroused you too.
Aemond smirked up at you, cheek twitching as two digits rubbed through your folds slickly, “All this for killing my brother?”
You sighed, squirming in his lap, pleasure sparking up through your gut, "All for you.” You breathed.
A finger pushed through your folds and into your core, hooking upwards to rub against the spongey spot Aemond could find within seconds, “So wet for your King.” He purred, shifting his hips upwards as you gave him a particularly hard squeeze.
The words caused a shiver to race down your spine, your hips lifting, Aemond pulling his finger from inside of you as you lined him up with your sopping entrance. Your uncle watched your face, a hand coming to bush against your cheek, the blood upon it drying and beginning to flake as you sunk down onto his length with a sigh.
Aemond groaned loudly in the chambers as pleasure shot through you, Aemond’s cock reaching deeper with the angle, brushing against your fluttering walls, the stretch of him sparking delicious pain through you.
Slowly but surely you began to ride him, hands atop his shoulders as you looked at him. Despite him sitting and you on his lap, he was still taller than you, but your faces were levelled as you ground down on his length, his head dipping, feeling your wetness begin to pool in his lap.
The throne room was filled with the sound of your wet heat and the moans and groans that came from the both of you as you fucked yourself atop him. Rewarding him for his actions. Rewarding yourself for getting him to do so. Desperate to reach your peak as adrenaline still coursed through you.
“My King.” You whined, eyes closing momentarily as you threw your head back, sensitive bud brushing against the soaked material of his breeches.
Aemond groaned loudly, hands coming to grab the flesh of your ass as he guide you down onto him harder and faster, “Say it again.” He groaned, eye on your face.
“My King.” The head of his cock bullied the deepest part of you, every single inch of him brushing against your most sensitive places as you felt him in your stomach, your release beginning to climb within you rapidly.
Aemond fucked up into you harder, feeling your walls begin to tighten, hips lifting slightly on the seat of the Iron Throne, your fingers digging into his shoulder for purchase.
“My sweet, Lady wife.” He purred, rushing forward to capture your lips with his.
It was messy, and rushed, full of passion, and devotion and love. He nipped your lips and you whimpered into his mouth, one hand skating up to brush against the skin of his neck, pulling him closer.
The change in angle shifted, and Aemond’s length beat into the spongey spot within you, the pressure rippling up through your body as you reached your peak suddenly.
You cried out loudly, writhing atop his lap as he fucked you through it, hips clapping up into yours.
“My Queen.” He grunted, rutting into you viciously and prolonging your release. Aemond thrusted a few times more before he tumbled over the edge with you, hot ropes of his seed filling your walls as you clenched around him.
“Fuck.”
You breathed heavily, warmth flooding your limbs as you slumped against him, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he gently rocked you back and forth atop him, riding out his peak for as long as possible.
As you stilled atop him, core still gripping his length tightly, you felt the adrenaline begin to simmer, your body and mind rapidly tiring from the weight of it all.
You pulled your face away from his chest and looked up at your husband.
Your King.
King.
Your fingers brushed against his pale cheek, where the lightest dusting of freckles that had faded with time were still there, only now, they were covered with a dusting of blood. Your eyes raised higher, and you looked to the crown that sat as it was meant to be atop his head.
He was so handsome. So beautiful. And yours.
Always yours.
From the training yard, to the passageways, to the library, and the kitchen, and the garden, Aemond Targaryen had always been yours. And would be yours forever more.
Fire and blood, as the Gods had made it so.
You would burn together.
Your chest swelled with warmth, looking at the deeper flecks of lilac that sat in his iris whilst his mouth was slightly parted, breathing shallowly as he watched you. You leant forward, pressing a kiss to each cheek, feather light as it were, his body shivering beneath you, and then atop his seeing eyelid, feeling the long white lashes tickle your lips.
Then, to his scar, kissing a pathway to travel up the length of it gently, careful to not hurt him. You had felt him tense beneath you when you did it, but the more you pressed a kiss to the length of the healed wound, the more and more he relaxed.
Finally, you pressed your lips to his own.
“You were made to be King.” You purred as you kissed him, hand cupping the side of his cheek as he leant into it. He hummed deeply, chest vibrating against yours as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass.
Desperate to show him the warmth that you felt for him, you kissed sweetly at his mouth, soft quick ones that left him chasing after you for more, “I love you.” You cooed, hoping that he felt your thanks.
Your praise.
Your adoration.
His lips parted against yours as he smiled, and you pulled back, bare inches to see it, warmth creeping back into your core.
The King leant forward to kiss you, his lips breaking the tenderness for a moment to breath into your own, “And you, my Queen.”
Your walls tightened around him, arousal sparking back inside of you. Aemond tilted his hips up slowly, grinding into you with purpose, and you felt him begin to harden again.
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Foretold in the Scales
Pairing: dragon!Marcus Moreno x gn!reader
Words: 3.4 k
Rating: M (smut city. 18+ MDNI)
Summary: The dragon needs a new mate, and it's your turn.
Warnings: Fated mates, ceremonies, slight dub con (you didn't choose this, but later on you consent to it) breeding, ovipositing, mentions of pregnancy with an egg, dragon anatomy, oral (reader receiving)
Author: Mod Mouse
Notes: This is my entry for the Monster (S)mash challenge hosted by the lovely @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes. I loved this challenge so much! It makes me wanna write more monsters smut hehe.
That goodman dragon scale. It of course landed on you cause that was the last thing you needed today. But as it spun around as if it seemed to be “pulled” towards you. At least that's what the priests said, but you didn’t buy it. Unfortunately though for you, once the scale decided there was no going back, because if He found out that the village was lying, then they could find someone else to protect them.
The rest of the day was a blur. Oils and perfumes were sprayed on your body creating a cloud of scents that made your head spin. Your hair was decorated with different local flowers while someone painted the ceremonial glyphs on your pale skin. You remember being dressed in the ceremonial ashen gray linens that hardly hid what lay underneath. Soon you were the spitting image of the sacrifice you were meant to be.
The precession was a blur as four of the strongest warriors carried you on the dias up the long mountain trail that led to your future. Hymns and songs were sung as you climbed higher and higher until the village where you had called home for most of your life was now just a dot in the valley.
Stones piled up beside the entrance of the caves were carved with reliefs but you knew what they depicted. When every king tried to take the city those long centuries ago, there was only one person…or rather one creature that saved them. The Pewter Protector they called him. A massive dragon with a mouth full of flesh tearing teeth flew down from the heavens and slayed the enemy. The village begged for the dragon’s protection, and the Protector obliged.
But that protection came at a price. He came from a dying breed and so to continue his safeguard, he required a sacrifice. It wasn’t food or money. No it was human. He required a mate. A mate that would carry another one of his kind. Someone to keep him company through the long nights and keep him warm during the mating season.
Which is why you were here now, as the priestess sang out the chants that praised the Protector and called him from his dark chambers. You knew the ceremonies. The men would set their dias down and the procession would quietly leave as the priestess would continue their songs until their voices were lost in the winds.
The high mountain winds whipped around you as you stared at the dark expanse of the cave. The silence was unnerving. Goosebumps ran up your skin making you wrap your arms around your torso, hoping for an ounce of warmth. Not even a pebble dropped as you waited for your husband to present himself. Soft tears threatened to spill from your eyes as time passed. As much as you wanted to be strong you were terrified. You squeezed your eyes shut waiting for your fate.
“I keep telling them that I don’t want all of this,” You heard a voice break your silence and you opened your eyes in confusion. A tall dragonborn stood in front of you. Dark gray scales covered most of his body and arched across his neck and cheek like a stroke of charcoal. His eyes were dark to match the midnight hair that sprouted across his head and jawline.
“W-What?” You whispered as you took him in.
He sighed and slowly approached you. “I’m really sorry for all of this trouble,” He apologized as he held out his clawed hand out to your body.
You looked down to his hand and back up to his face, confusion etched deep into your expression. “You…what?”
“I’m sorry again. I know this is strange and I’ve been trying to tell them forever that I really don’t need them to use the scale. I promise them that I can tell who my mate is for the season just by…” He pauses as the wind changes, drifting your scent into his sensitive nose.
“By what?” You asked, rising to your bare feet.
“You smell sweet,” The Protector complimented as he turned back to you.
“Um, thank you?” You asked.
“Oh goodness, where are my manners? Please follow me.” He gestured to his cave and you followed him down into his lair.
Though as you walked you were surprised grew even more. “I-It’s warm in here.” You comment as the walls turn more and more decorated with reliefs and other such designs.
“That would be the mountain’s core. I know most dragonkind need their heat and we aren’t any different.” The dragon answers as you enter the biggest area so far. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture except for a large fire pit and a giant collection of pelts and pillows in the surrounding area.
“This is…actually quite cozy.” You look around the room and find yourself smiling at the surroundings.
“Please make yourself at home,” The Protector getured to his area. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes I would like some um…I don’t think I got your name?”
“Marcus,” He smiled with his gleaming white teeth. He took his tea kettle out and filled it with water from the barrel in the corner. Gently he took the full kettle and hung it above the fire. With a groan he sat himself next to the fire. Carefully you sat near him warming yourself on the flames.
“So you aren’t as vicious as they say.” You said, turning to look at him.
He looked back with almost a hurt expression. “I don’t like to hurt humans. I only do harm when there’s a threat to the village.”
“Then why do they do this whole ceremony? Since apparently I’ve only known a lie.” You chuckled softly.
Marcus sighed. “I think they think they owe my kind for something we did long ago. But we did it because they helped us first.”
“What did they do?” You asked as the kettle began to whistle.
The dragon turned his torso to grab the two cups and set them in front of him. Carefully he grabbed the kettle’s handle and poured the tea. The leaves swirled as the hot water saturated them, filling your nose with the herbal scents.
“They saved my daughter from poachers,” He answered as he handed you the tea and you thanked him. The mug was warm against your hand and you shivered when you realized how cold you were.
“Here,” He said quietly and stood up taking one of the pelts from the bed. With a gentleness you weren’t expecting from a dragon, he draped it over your shoulders.
You gently caressed the fur smiling at how comforting it was. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Missy. She was out training one day and they surrounded her. Luckily some soldiers saw the situation and saved her. The Steel Clan is forever indebted to them,” He smiled softly drifting to his mug. “She’s got her own mountain to defend. Hatchlings always grow up too fast.”
“Seems to be a trait no matter the species,” You smiled before taking a sip of the tea. The herbal aroma hit your tongue and you sighed. The scent drew you back to winter nights in your house, and a sense of both nostalgia and homesickness knotted in your stomach.
Marcus sensed your subtle body language frowned. “You know you can leave. I don’t want to keep you here.” Marcus told you, taking you in with his charcoal eyes.
You chuckled. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked with concern in his voice.
“No no just,” Your thumb traces the rim of your cup. “You’re a lot different than I thought. I don’t mind staying. And you’re unlike what they tell us in the village.”
“What do they tell you?” He asked with concern in his voice.
“It’s a lot more authoritative and demanding,” You sighed, staring at the dark liquid in your cup.
“That’s really what they say about me?” Marcus frowned, hurt laced in his dark eyes.
“Something must have gotten lost in translation…because you really are sweet.”
You swear you could see a scales flush. “You are too kind.” Marcus replied, taking a sip to hid his face.
“I should thank you for not eating me,” You chuckled, but your mirth was quickly replaced by a yawn.
“Here you should rest. Take my nest for tonight, I’ll sleep by the fire.” Before you could protest, he held his palm out. “I insist.”
And honestly you didn’t have the energy to resist. Wrapping the pelt around your shoulders, you gave him a quick “Thank you,” before rising to your feet. Marcus watched you as you stumbled to the nest of blankets and settled yourself amongst the pile.
Marcus kept an eye out until he heard your breathing even out, but stayed for longer just to make sure. As quietly as he could with his bulky form, he wandered to the entrance. A low grumble flowed from his mouth, as he stretched his hidden wings. Large veiny membranes spread out taking up most of the space. The wind furled against them and Marcus sighed at the feeling. It was a moment before he spoke to himself. “I must provide for my mate.” With a swoosh of his wings, he soared into the dark sky looking for prey to feed his beloved.
The days passed without much excitement. Marcus cared for you which was more than kind of him. He insisted that you didn’t lift a finger, but you would sneakily tidy the area when he was out. You had to admit you didn’t hate the routine of it. Past you would hate staying in one place for too long. But the more time you spent in Marcus’s company, the more you found yourself being drawn to him unexpectedly.
Your body began to warm whenever you were in his presence even if it was outside in the cold winds. Maybe it was just that he was the best company in a long time, or maybe it was something else but you loved staying near him. Until one day where everything clicked into place.
The smell of cooking meats woke you from your slumber. A deep inhale filled your lungs with the aromatic scent and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment. It smelt like the smoked meats from the village, earthly and savory all at the same time. Pushing yourself up from your cozy bed, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.
Marcus stood with his back behind you, his wings now visible to you though constricted because of the small space. Rising to your feet, you slowly walked over to the fire. Curiously your fingers tough ridges. The skin was bumpy against your skin and you found the touch bringing you comfort.
The dragon drew in a sharp inhale as you slowly caressed his wings. “Y-you shouldn’t do that.”
You quickly retracted your hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean well I hadn’t seen your wings,” You rambled. “Just thought they were pretty is all.”
Marcus turned around and you were taken aback by how much he was panting. “Marcus?”
“The problem isn’t you. The problem is that if you keep doing that, I won’t be able to control myself,” He purred, stepping closer to your form. Until now you never realized just how much he towered over you.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a reason the ceremony happens when it does. Mating season came quicker for me, and that’s because you entered my life. You’re my mate.” He answered. Your scent permeated his nostrils making him crave you more. “But I can’t mate you without your full consent. If you want to walk away and live a normal life I will not blame you.”
“Your mate, how do you know?” You asked confused yet curious at the same time.
“How do humans say? It’s like butterflies in your stomach, but we feel a physical tugging at our souls,” He answered gently, caressing his stomach.
Something pulled you to do the same and your fingers slid under your thin covering. A pulse of electricity sparked in your eyes and you gasped. “W-What was…?” You began, but as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, there was something different about Marcus. The light from the fire lit him up like you’ve never noticed before. It was as if a bolt of magic filled the room and focused itself on Marcus.
“Mate?” You whispered and you slowly reached up to cup his cheek in your hand. The rough scales sending comfort throughout your body as you caressed them with your thumb. Marcus’s chest rumbled as he purred against your palm, nuzzling like a cat. You couldn’t help but giggle at this tall creature acting just like a household pet.
“Yes my mate,” He purred and he leaned his head down just close enough to brush his lips against yours a silent ask for your consent.
You quickly filled the space and kissed him passionately. His lips were both soft and rough at the same time. The scales brushed against your chin, and you found yourself falling in love with the feeling. Some part of you wanted to know how those felt in between your legs.
A soft moan escaped your lips and Marcus paused gently, setting his hands on your hips as if they were made of the finest porcelain. “Are you sure about this?” He asked as his fingers gingerly caressed your hips. Claws carefully poking at your skin and you bit your lip. Suddenly the heat inside you was so much. You wanted…no…you craved Marcus.
“I’m sure,” You leaned up and whispered in his ear. “Put an egg in me Marcus.”
Marcus groaned at the sight of you round with his egg. “Bed. Now.” He moaned as he backed you into the nest. You smirked as you kissed him slowly pulling him on top of you. Hungrily he kissed you with his hands up and down your sides. His claws delicately teasing your chest making you gasp.
“M-Marcus,” You moaned, tilting your head back against the furs.
He chuckled and nibbled at your neck. “Such a handsome sight.” He kept one of his clawed hands on your chest and with one of his claws ripped the material away as gently rubbed your slit. “Mmmm already achingly needy for me darling. Getting you all ready to take my cock.” He growled and kissed his way down your body. Each one sending tingles to your hands and feet.
He only stopped right between your legs. “Now let's see how you taste. I bet it’ll tell me how fertile you are.” He licked a long lap from your hole to your most sensitive area. You moaned loudly grabbing on his dark locks as you tried to ride his face.
With a strong hand he kept your hips in place and gazed up at you licking his lip. “Be good for me baby. If you are, I’ll put a baby in you, and by the looks of it it won’t be too hard.”
You moaned at his words as his tongue dipped inside you once more lapping up your arousal soaking his face. The taste was like nothing he had ever experienced and he would be damned if he ever stopped. Eternity wouldn’t be enough time to memorize your taste.
“Fuck just the most divine taste,” He purred and nibbled your sensitive thigh. “You’re a perfect mate.”
“Marcus,” You whined but you loved every second. Every lick and touch sent your bond pulsing.
“Shhh baby let me take care of you,” He kissed the bite mark before pushing his tongue inside your hole once again. His movements were precise making sure you were opened up for him. He loved being a dragon, but the claws were something he couldn’t control. That just meant he became so prolific with his tongue.
And the practice was evident on the way you writhed under his touch. Every lick and suck sent so much pleasure your way. The pressure in your stomach grew and grew as your legs began to shake.
“Marcus!” You screamed in ecstasy as you came hard from his tongue. Stars danced in your eyes as you curled your legs around your mates back, pulling him into you more. Toes curling and legs shaking left you feeling high from your orgasm.
The dragon purred in contentment as his tongue slowed as your high slowed to stop leaving you breathless. “Such a handsome mate I have,” He grinned and kissed up your body, taking his time to explore and memorize every dip and curve of your body. “I’m never gonna get use to this canvas.”
You whimpered under the praise and you pulled him against your chest. His cool scales soothing your heated skin as you kissed him deeply. Gently you nuzzled your face into his shoulder taking him in with every sense.
Marcus leaned his mouth nibbling your earlobe gently. “I’m gonna put a egg in you,” He moaned as his hips rocked against your thigh. His hardening cock rubbing against the soft skin. Curiously you peaked down and blushed at the size. It was big. Nothing compared to the size of the men in the village.
“Fuck,” You cursed as you reached down to take it in your hand. It pulsed under your touch as you stroked it tentatively. The bumps and ridges felt foreign to you, but gods did your thoughts wonder at the idea of that deep inside of you as he pumped you full of his cum.
“It’s okay. I’ll be gentle,” Marcus whispered, nuzzling his nose into your neck.
You were quiet for a moment, making Marcus lift his head in concern. You made eye contact with him. “I don’t think I want you to be,” You admitted.
Marcus’s eyes darkened and he pressed his forehead into yours. You felt his cock bounce in your hand. “Are you sure? I won’t be able to hold back.”
“Please mate,” You whispered.
Marcus growled as he guided his cock away from your hand and pushed into you in one fluid motion. The penetration was sudden, but it sent such intense pleasure through you that you thought you could finish with just that.
But the noises Marcus made were hymns to your ears. He panted and growled as he felt you around his cock. “I-I can’t wait any longer.”
“Fuck me Marcus.”
And that was all he needed. His hips pulled back and snapped forward back into your hole. Everything felt divine. The bumps, the length, everything made your head spin. “Fuck!” You moaned as Marcus set a fast pace.
With every thrust, Marcus became more and more desperate. Desperate to fill you with his seed and desperate to plant an egg inside of you. The image of you round with his egg spurred him on. You squeezed around him like your soul depended on it.
Whether it was your newly discovered bond, or the immaculate feeling of Marcus inside you, but you felt the heat rise in your stomach once again. The dragon thrusted faster as he felt you tighten around you. “Cum for your mate,” He moaned.
Your pleasure snapped and you squeezed around him as you reached your high once again. This was enough for Marcus.
“I’m gonna,” He grunted as his cock twitched, your tight hole making it hard to last.
“Cum mate,” You moaned, and your words sent him over the edge. With a growl that filled the chamber, he came buried inside of you. You moaned with every quiver of his cock as his cum filled your hole. But it wasn’t quite normal. With each spurt, it felt bumpy, and it took you a moment to realize that it was eggs filling you up. And you moaned as each one filled you fuller and fuller. Marcus’s hand gently caressed the small bump in your stomach, please with the sight.
Just as you thought Marcus would pull out, he gently lifted your hips, setting a pillow underneath your back. Confused, you looked back up at him. He smirked. “Not gonna let anything drip out of you. I want to make sure the eggs stay inside of you.”
You moaned and bit your lips. Marcus smiled and carefully leaned over to kiss your forehead. “My sweet mate will be well taken care of. But for now rest. You need all the energy to incubate our eggs.” Sleepiness filled your head and your eyes slowly began to dip close. The hum of Marcus’s purring sending you into a very satisfied sleep.
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@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose
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Thank you the lovely @saradika-graphics for the dividers
#crow and mouse writings#mod mouse writing#monstersmash24#marcus moreno#marcus moreno smut#marcus moreno x reader#marcus moreno x you#marcus moreno fanfiction#monster romance#monster smut#monster x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedrohub#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro brainrot#fanfiction#writing challenge#writing
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VEL JR.
Veldora x reader
request ☆ This idea is from this work by @luxthestrange. I thought it was really cute so I made a short fic about it hehe, I'm just a beginner writer though so don't expect much. (─.─||)
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You were wandering through the marketplace of Tempest, just taking in the sights. The day had been quiet, and you felt like you could use some fresh air. As you strolled through the stalls, something caught your eye—a small, brightly colored creature moving slowly inside a glass container.
Curious, you stepped closer, peering down at it. It was a baby gecko, no bigger than your palm, with bright yellow and orange scales. The small creature was adorable with its big round eyes that blinked up at you, and it stuck out its tiny tongue in the cutest way. You couldn’t help but gush over it
It was strange, but the little gecko reminded you of someone. You chuckled to yourself as the image of Veldora popped into your head. The thought of comparing Veldora to a tiny lizard was amusing.
And before you knew it, you had bought the gecko and taken it back to your home.
You spent the next few hours playing with the little guy. He climbed onto your hand and then onto your shoulder, blinking his wide eyes and sticking out his tongue every now and then. He was cute, much cuter than you expected, and your heart softened every time he looked at you.
When Veldora eventually found you later that day, you were by the couch, happily admiring your new pet. Was he impressed? Absolutely not.
“It’s not even that cute,” he said, crossing his arms with a slight frown as you held the gecko in your hands.
You raised an eyebrow, teasing him, “Are you jealous?~”
Veldora scoffed “Jealous? Ha! As if I’d be jealous of a tiny lizard.”
You smirked, knowing Veldora better than that. He was always full of confidence, but there were times when he could get a bit… possessive. You were sure this was one of those times.
As the day went on, you spent more time with the baby gecko, who you had lovingly named Vel Jr. It was playful and energetic, often climbing onto your shoulder and sticking out its little tongue. Veldora, meanwhile, was keeping a close eye on the new pet, though he tried to act like he didn’t care.
Later that evening, you were sitting by the fireplace, still enamored with Vel Jr., when Veldora finally lost his cool. He stood up and stomped over to you, pointing at the gecko.
“Listen to me, attention thief!” he growled, his voice full of dramatic frustration.
Veldora Jr., looking up from your hands, blinked its big eyes and stuck out its tongue in the cutest way possible. You couldn’t help but laugh.
“Aww, Veldora, look! He’s so cute,” you said, holding the gecko up for him to see.
Veldora huffed, crossing his arms again. “That little thing? It’s nothing compared to me!”
You smiled, placing the gecko gently back in its terrarium. Then, you walked over to Veldora, wrapping your arms around him.
“Don’t worry, Veldora,” you whispered, resting your head on his chest “You’re still my favorite dragon.”
Veldora’s looked away embarrassed, though he tried to keep up his tough act. “Of course I am,” he muttered, though his hand reached up to ruffle your hair affectionately. “No lizard could ever replace me.”
You grinned “You’re right. No one could ever take your place.”
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𖦹 please do not translate, repost, steal, or copy my work.
#x reader#ttigraas#manga#veldora tempest#veldora x reader#tensei shitara slime datta ken x reader#anime#the time i got reincarnated as a slime x reader#the time i got reincarnated as a slime#tensura#veldora tempest x reader
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