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late-to-the-party-81 · 16 hours ago

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Aaaah, thank you for reading and sharing 🥰

The King's Last Concubine

AN: Welcome, welcome to the short one-shot that spiralled a little out of control. I’m sure none of you will complain. If you like cheesy historical romance and Bucky then you’ve come to the right place. In all honesty I could have made this story much, much longer, but unfortunately I don’t have the time, so it’s wrapped up a little fast and without as many misunderstandings as the usual Harlequin/Mills and Boon normally contains. I hope you like it anyway.

Beta’d by the lovely @seriouslydex - thank you for your assistance in wrangling this into coherence.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square U1 - Kink: Concubine

Master list | BBB Master list

Summary: When Bucky takes over the throne after his Father’s death, he has better things to deal with than the group of concubines he’s inherited. He thinks the tradition is abhorrent and vows he wants no part of it. When he meets the newest member of the harem he finds his moral stance tested. How can he want the woman who was bought to please his father?

Relationship: King James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Female Concubine Reader

Chapter word count: 10.2k

CW: Historical AU, Flowery historical language, Angst, Servitude, Lust, Male masturbation, Fluff, Miscommunication, Self-loathing, Jealousy, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Attempted Sexual Assault, Explicit Sexual Content, Declaration of feelings.

A quiet tension filled the air as you wandered your way around the gardens and corridors of the place you’d called home for the last six months. That’s when you’d been purchased - a gift for the elderly and ailing king, meant to boost his spirits and reignite his youthful zeal. However, all the youth and beauty in the world could not turn back the sands of time.

For the last few weeks the king had been getting weaker, not leaving his private rooms or entertaining any guests apart from his long faithful Queen, his heir, Prince James and his daughter, Princess Rebecca. It was a waiting game now, for the Royal Family, the country, and for you and the other members of the Harem.

Entering the solar, where all of you could spend your days in conversation, needlework, painting and reading, you could see Merith, the King’s favourite in an agitated conversation with Katya, the next concubine down in the pecking order. They had the most to lose when the inevitable happened, because it would be very unlikely that the Prince would wish to keep them around. Not only were they older than him, they had both also borne the King numerous children - it would be very strange for a new King to keep the mothers of his half siblings as concubines for himself. At best, the two women might hope to be housed somewhere pleasant in their retirement, maybe with a semi-wealthy husband. At worst they could be turfed out of the palace along with any of their children that the King hadn’t yet made provisions for.

As for your fate, that was also completely unknown. However, due to your age and the fact that you had only been here a short time, with very few interactions with the King, there was a chance that the Prince would want to keep you. You’d never seen him in the flesh, but you knew he was handsome from the glimpses you’d had of his portrait when you’d been led to and from the King’s chambers on those few occasions he had requested your company. However, despite what you had been purchased for, you had never actually lain with the King. He had tried and, as it was in your best interest, so had you, but the King was old and tired.

Instead you’d provided him with company as best you could, rubbing his back, stroking his hair and reading him stories until he fell asleep and you could call the guards to escort you back to the Little Palace.

Of course, no-one knew what had occurred within the privacy of the King’s chambers, and if other concubines had had similar experiences they didn’t talk of it openly - it wouldn’t do to discuss the failing manhood of the person who held your life in their hands. However, what this meant was that you were still untouched by a man, with no experience other than what you had gifted yourself.

With a sigh, you crossed to the far side of the room, taking your place amongst the other younger and newer members of your unconventional community, picking up the sampler you’d been working on. There was no music being played and all conversations were kept to a minimum and spoken in whispers, out of a combination of respect and anxiety. The limbo dragged on.

Suddenly, the doors to the solar crashed open, and the King’s Equerry walked in, flanked by several guards.

“The King has died,” he announced. “Long live the King.”

The ladies fell into disarray.

“I really have to deal with that now?” Bucky asked of Coulson, his father’s, and now his, Equerry.

“I’m afraid so, your Majesty. It’s been two weeks since the late king passed away and decisions need to be made about those whose services you do not wish to retain. There may be some obvious candidates, but with others you may not know how you feel until you meet them.”

Bucky, now King James, sighed. It hadn’t come as a surprise when his father, King George, had passed away. His various ailments had worsened over the last few months and Bucky had actually felt relief for him at the end. The funeral had been last week and since then he’d been stuck in back to back meetings with the men who were now officially his advisors, sorting out matters of state. Admittedly, the fate of those who resided in the Little Palace hadn’t really occurred to him as important. It was an archaic tradition as far as he was concerned. Servants were one thing, but owning women just so you have a choice about who to fuck without any repercussions, just struck him as something that belonged firmly in the past. He still couldn’t get his head around how his mother had never once complained or commented about the practice - had never flinched when another Royal bastard was presented to the court so his father could make provision for them as he saw fit.

There was no question that any of the women who had provided his father with children - he wasn’t going to call them siblings - would have to be looked after in some way. He wasn’t a monster. The problem would be the others. There were about twenty or so of them, his father collecting them like fine artwork over his years on the throne and a few - and this thought turned Bucky’s stomach a little - were as young as his sister Rebecca. He didn’t feel as though he could just turn them out, however he didn’t want to keep them either. Without some kind of royal approval the women could be ostracised from normal society if their past were to become known, but could he really justify supporting all of them from the Royal purse for the rest of their days? Although, undoubtedly, there would be some noblemen more than happy to have his father’s cast offs as wives, especially as there had been no lack of suitors for their daughters. Those that had offered for them had obviously been hoping it would grant them a modicum more influence at court. Little did they know that wouldn’t be the case with him.

It also didn’t help that while Coulson could understand wanting to remove certain members of the Little Palance, he didn’t understand why the new King didn’t want to ‘get to know’ the rest of them. According to the Equerry, they were all very beautiful, demure, and accomplished, any one of them a suitable companion for lonely evenings. Apparently telling the dour man that if he was that taken with them he should feel free to fornicate with one himself, was not the done thing, but Bucky thought the look on Coulson’s face had been worth it. He’d then tried arguing that the ladies of the Little Palace deserved better than what they currently had, but his personal advisor had brushed the comment aside.

“These women want for nothing, Your Majesty. They sleep in the finest sheets, wear the finest fabrics, and eat the finest foods. Some would say they have a charmed life and what they gave up for it is very little in comparison to what they gain.”

“Fine,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I will at least deal with Merith, Katya and the other few that my dearly departed father put babies into, and maybe speak to the others. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Coulson smiled, obviously thinking that he’d won this round, and Bucky decided not to disabuse him. You have to pick your battles, as his mother was fond of telling him.

This time when the Equerry appeared, a fortnight after the death of King George, he sent nearly all of you out to the gardens, only keeping Merith, Katya and a few other of the ladies inside. It was clear that the women who were mothers to the late King’s bastards were about to find out their fate.

You walked slowly between the roses with your friend, Lila, the concubine who’d been obtained just a few months before you, swapping inconsequential small talk, neither wanting to verbalise what was actually on your minds - to say it out loud would be to court disaster. When the Royal Guards suddenly came outside you all stopped what you were doing, wondering if Master Coulson was going to deliver news to you all as well, but when a different, unexpected man appeared, you all lowered your gazes and dropped into deep curtsies. The King - the new King - was here.

Anxiety rode through you, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart. You were vaguely aware, from your peripheral vision, that Master Coulson was introducing the King to each member of his harem. You caught snatches of conversation, when the King asked each woman in turn their name and how long they had lived here. When they got to Lila next to you, you heard your friend giggle when the King asked her the same questions and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You liked her, but she was always a little silly. Maybe she thought to flirt her way into the King’s affections?

When the two sets of feet stopped in front of you, you waited for Coulson’s say so before coming out of your curtsey and raising your head.

“And here, Your Majesty, is our newest young lady. You may greet the King, my dear.”

You stood, glad to get out of the deeply uncomfortable pose, and prepared to finally see him in the flesh for the first time.

“Your Highness,” you said, your voice a little more breathy than anticipated, but that was because it had been knocked from your lungs at the vision that greeted you.

King James was tall and broad in the shoulders. It was clear that the painting you had seen had been created when he was still a young man, only just into his adulthood. The man who stood before you now was no stripling. He was fully grown and oozed confidence and authority. His eyes, a cross between pale blue and grey, which had not been adequately portrayed by the Royal artist. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, and his jaw exquisitely chiselled, even if it was partially obscured by his facial hair. The hair on his head was short at the sides, but fluffy and slightly untamed on top, just tempting you to run your fingers through it. Now you knew why Lila had giggled.

He took your hand in his, and you marvelled at how large and strong it looked in comparison to your own. You could clearly see the resemblance to his father, but this was a man in the prime of his life and the thought that he would have none of the problems in the bedroom that had beset the late King flashed across your mind, unbidden.

When he asked your name in his deep but clear voice, you had to swallow before you answered so you didn’t stutter like a schoolgirl.

“Master Coulson said you were new. How long have you lived here?”

“Just over six months, Your Majesty.”

“And you like living in the Little Palace?”

You hesitated for a moment, working out the best way to answer. The other’s hadn’t been asked this question. “It’s very pleasant. Thank you for asking Your Majesty.”

His lips, full and pink, twitched, picking up on the diplomacy of your answer. “Only pleasant? Oh dear. Well maybe we can improve upon that in the near future.”

He skillfully removed his hand from yours and turned back to his Equerry, and you returned your gaze to the floor. As he walked away you realised your heart was still beating fast within your chest. However, it was no longer anxiety that made it do so, but rather the newly unfurled bloom of desire.

As soon as Bucky returned to the Palace proper, he dismissed Coulson and headed directly for his private chambers. His time in the Little Palace had mostly gone as well as expected, Meredith and her cohorts fawning over him dramatically in thanks for his generosity and then meeting what seemed like a legion of beautiful, yet dull as dishwater, young women, who his father had acquired to make himself feel young. What he hadn’t been expecting though was that last young lady - he didn’t even want to think about the word concubine and all of the linked meanings it held. He’d never seen someone so beautiful, and it had been clear from the short exchange of pleasantries that you had intelligence and humour to match.

He felt the rolling heat of lust raise its head and desperately tried to push it aside. As unique in his experience as you may be, he shouldn’t - couldn’t - think about you in this way. Not when he knew you’d spent time with his father. It was more than he could bear. But he couldn’t get the image of you from his mind. The curves of your body that deserved to be traced and explored with reverence. Your large, expressive eyes that tempted him to drown in their depths. Your lips that called him to kiss you over and over until you couldn’t speak or even breathe due to how much you wanted him.

Entering his room he shut the door harshly, but he didn’t care. He was unbearably hard within his trousers, and while not a new sensation by any means, it wasn’t one he’d felt in some time. As the Crown Prince he’d had to be circumspect in his affairs,but there was no-one he’d been actively courting. Now he was King the pressure would be on for him to find a suitable wife and start producing heirs. However, he didn’t intend to be like his father. Once he was married he would be faithful and treat his wife with respect. The devil on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t married yet and was free to do what he desired, but he tried to push it aside.

Bucky threw himself down on his bed but every time he closed his eyes you were there, hovering behind his eyelids. He palmed himself over his trousers, trying to get some relief from his state of arousal, but it was no good. Almost unconsciously he undid the fastenings, letting out a small sigh as the pressure was lessened, but then it was just too easy to take himself in hand. A few small strokes, just to take the edge off, became harder and longer, and the vision of you behind his closed eyes smiled at him coyly, tempting him to ruin her.

He imagined kissing you and touching you. Tracing every peak and valley with his lips and tongue. He imagined you doing the same to him, taking him in your mouth, lips stretched wide and tears in your perfect eyes. He imagined driving into you, again and again, while you gripped his shoulders and tangled your legs around his waist. Marking you - claiming you - as you called out his name over and over and trembled around him.

Bucky came with a cry, his spend spilling over his hand and stomach, and leaving him with an aching, hollow feeling of disgust with himself. He needed to release you and the rest of the ladies of the Little Palace and there-by banish you from his thoughts.

The next day he put his plan into action. He set Coulson the task of going through the remaining residents, from oldest serving to newest and finding them a new situation. Respectable marriages were the first preference - the Crown could provide a dowry - but failing that independence and a stipend until they became financially solvent on their own. If this plan had the effect that you would be the last to leave, that was just an unfortunate by-product of the most logical way of sorting the whole thing out, wasn’t it?

The edict by the King that the Little Palace was being disbanded was met at first with some trepidation. The women were all of a flutter, wondering what it would mean for them, but when Marie, the most senior of the concubines now that Merith and the others who had children had retired, was informed that, should she approve him, a husband had been found for her, any anxiety morphed into jubilation. Over the coming weeks, the number of you dwindled and you couldn’t help but feel a little lost amongst all the celebration. You were a strange sisterhood, that was certain, and you hadn’t gotten along with everyone, but you wished them well with a smile, and mulled over your sense of unease in private.

You weren’t sure what it was that was making you worried. It wasn’t as though you’d be forced into anything you didn’t want. Letitia had rejected three potential husbands before settling on a fourth, much to Master Coulson’s despair, and Tiffany had outright declared she wanted no husband at all, her and Dana wishing to set up house together and start a school. This came as no surprise to any of you.

It also wasn’t because you were so entrenched in this life that the thought of anything else was scary - you’d had more life outside these walls than in it - however you had found a camaraderie here, a sense of belonging, as strange as that may seem, that you hadn’t had before. And despite the fact that the idea of being intimate with the old King had been stomach churning, once he realised each time that it wasn’t going to happen, you’d found you’d enjoyed providing him comfort and some sort of friendship. Maybe being here had spoiled you? You’d admit it wasn’t a hardship to live somewhere where all your meals and clothes were provided and all you had to do was entertain yourself unless your services were required, although you did wish for more sometimes - a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded and glittered.

Maybe having a husband wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully he’d let you have some freedom - have some hobby or interest to keep you occupied, other than keeping house and popping out babies. You couldn’t help but be nervous though, especially as the numbers of you lessened until it was just you and Lila left.

Each time one of the ladies was preparing to leave, the King would come and thank her for her service. How any of you managed to keep a straight face when he said that was beyond you, but it did give you the chance to watch him unobserved. He really was handsome, and seemed so kind and earnest in his thanks. A true King and diplomat. But that wasn’t all he was. Every so often he would catch your eye and you would feel… something. And you couldn’t explain what it was, other than that you felt like a moth captivated by a flame, longing to get nearer and nearer, even if it would mean your doom. It wasn’t just physical, either - although you couldn’t deny that you’d had thoughts about that. You wanted to get to know him. The real him. His hopes and dreams. What motivated him.

You got your chance when you were sitting in the solar, enjoying the sun that streamed through the windows as you read your book. Lila was outside in the garden, taking a walk with her potential fiancee, a man named Lang who was apparently some minor aristocracy. Guards trailed them at a discrete distance, but you didn’t think there was anything to worry about. From the glimpses you’d caught of them, Master Lang appeared to be a convivial and respectful fellow. He walked with his hands behind his back, not trying to touch or grab at your friend, but he leant in close to talk intimately. He also appeared to be letting Lila hold an equal part of the conversation and you watched as she giggled behind her hand at a number of points in response to what you guessed were jokes.

“They appear to be getting on well.”

A voice from behind you, made you jump and turn in your chair. At the realisation that King James was standing there, you leapt up and then immediately leant forward into a deep curtsey.

“Your Majesty.”

How had you not noticed him enter? Why was he here?

“Please stand. There’s only the two of us here. I wanted to see for myself how Master Lang was comporting himself and this seemed like the best place to watch unobserved.”

He walked closer to the window and you continued to stand, your hands clasping each other, as you watched him from under your lowered lashes. Despite the number of times you’d seen him recently you were no less dazed by his beauty than you had been the first time. You allowed your gaze to travel over his body, admiring the way his clothes were cut to show off his defined figure. Silver threads were woven through the black fabric of his coat and they shimmered in the sunlight. You itched to smooth the cloth over the broadness of his shoulders.

As if sensing you watching him, the King turned back to you.

“Please don’t let me disturb you from whatever you were doing. Pretend that I’m not here.”

Your lips twitched. “That would be difficult, Your Majesty. You do stand out.” You gestured to the walls of the solar, a pale pink colour, and then at his attire. He looked down at himself and you were taken aback by the flush that made its way to his cheeks.

“Aah, yes. I see what you mean.” He moved away from the window then, and toward the chair opposite the one you’d been occupying when he’d surprised you. “Maybe then we could sit and talk for a while? What have you been doing with your days these last weeks?”

You gave him a small nod and took your seat. “Very little, Your Majesty, other than helping the others pack up their belongings as they leave. Some reading, some needlework. I have been practising my languages too. What have you been doing? Important affairs of state I would imagine.”

“It is not nearly as glamorous as people think. Lots of meetings that seem to stretch on forever, but that is nothing to the never-ending paperwork. I swear everyone in the country will have my signature soon. Lots of time to relax and do what you will, seems wonderful to me. I admit to being a little envious.” He smiled as he spoke, his face lighting up in boyish amusement.

“I assure you,” you stated, “that after a while even relaxing becomes as dull as any paperwork.”

The King chuckled at that. “Does it now? I’ll have to take your word for it. Now, tell me, what languages do you speak?”

“French and Spanish. A little Portuguese. And I’m trying to improve my Greek.” You lifted up your book to show him the writing on the front. He smiled at you and your heart beat faster.

“Impressive, my lady. My Greek is somewhat rusty, although my Russian is still good. Come, read for me and we shall see if I can follow you.”

Feeling shy, you lifted your book and began, haltingly at first, to read out loud, your tongue trying to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables. It had been a while since you had spoken out loud, normally preferring just to read, but as you became more confident the words flowed easier and you managed to glance up at him now and again.

The King was sitting, relaxed in his chair, legs outstretched with his ankles crossed. His eyes were closed as he rested his head on the chair back, arms settled on his chest with his fingers steepled. For a moment you could almost pretend this was a domestic scene of a wife reading to her husband after a long day. However, you were not his wife and he was not destined to be your husband. That would be someone else.

When you reached the end of your chapter, you gently closed your book, placing it on the side table, and the King opened his eyes and sat up again.

“You have a wonderful reading voice and you navigated the words very well - better than I’d have done, I’m sure. I’ve always thought learning languages a worthwhile endeavour and it is my deepest regret that I do not know more. I’ll take note to ensure that my Equerry looks to place you in a situation where your skills will be appreciated. I have a feeling,” he said with a glance back towards the window where his friend was still busy gently wooing yours, “that you will soon be the only one here.

You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment. “That would be greatly appreciated, Your Majesty. I know that not all men wish for an intelligent wife, but it would be nice to not have to appear vapid just to gain favour with my spouse.”

King James snorted. “I’ll admit that I do not understand those who only wish for a doll for a wife. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days together, would it not be better to have someone to converse with. Someone to challenge you mentally. It would be rather dull otherwise.”

“I suppose,” you ventured, “that those men are probably the type to find other ways - other people - to keep them occupied.” A small smile crept across his lips at your statement.

“And I suppose you are correct, my lady. But if that is the case then those men have chosen poorly. I cannot imagine marrying someone, only to then spend all my free time avoiding them. Somewhat defeats the point of it all, in my opinion.”

“Well, I had guessed some of that about you, Your Majesty. What with you getting rid of this age-old tradition.” You gestured once again to the room around you but when you turned back to him, it was to see that the King’s eyes had narrowed slightly, studying you.

“And how do you feel about that?”

You sensed his words were a test and you licked your lips nervously before you answered.

“I have no real opinion, Sire. I live to serve and am happy to do what my King commands of me.”

There was a strange look on his face. He was no longer smiling and while he didn’t appear angry with you, his demeanor was now far more chilly than it had been a moment ago.

“And were you happy to carry out the commands of my late father?”

You hesitated before answering. “His Royal Highness was most kind to me. I was happy to serve him.”

You barely heard him mutter “I bet you were” under his breath before he suddenly stood, and you scrambled to your feet after him.

“This has been an illuminating chat, my lady, and I thank you for your company. Soon you will be free of this place and can put this part of your life behind you.”

He nodded his head and once again you dropped into a deep curtsey, your eyes locked to the floor. You stayed that way as his footsteps retreated across the marble floor and you wondered what it was you had said that had turned him so cold.

Once again, Bucky found himself stalking into the sanctuary of his private chambers. Damn you, damn his father, and damn this ridiculous fascination of his. Whilst he’d tried to tell himself that the only reason he went to the Little Palace was to get a feeling for whether his friend was getting along with his potential betrothed, he also couldn’t deny the fact that he’d known you would be there as well, all alone.

He’d been enjoying your conversation until he’d been reminded why you were even there in the first place and sabotaged himself by bringing up his father. Then you’d all but admitted that you’d enjoyed doing what you did. Bucky felt sick at the thought.

Images of you tortured him day and night, and spending time with you today had obviously been ill-advised because now he had more memories to draw on. The way you spoke so passionately and knowledgeably about the ways of the world. The way that you smiled and joked when you were relaxed.

Bucky’s fingers longed to pick up a charcoal and try to capture the way the sunlight had slid over the planes of your face, giving you an ethereal, other-worldly look, like some fae creature sent to enrapture him. Instead he tugged on the bell-pull, asking the page who appeared to go and fetch Coulson. He then paced up and down the room, chewing on his thumb nail for the few minutes it took the Equerry to appear.

“How can I serve you, Your Majesty?” Coulson asked with a low bow.

“I want the matters with Lang organised as soon as possible and the remaining occupant of the Little Palace resituated with all speed. It’s high-time this issue was finished, once and for all.

It had been a week since Lila left. A week in which you’d spent nearly every waking moment alone, other than when the servants were helping you dress and bringing you food. Although you mustn’t forget the omni-present guards stationed outside various doors. Which meant it was two weeks since the conversation with the King that had left you feeling more confused than ever.

Lila had returned from her sojourn around the garden gushing about Master Lang and his attributes. About how handsome and kind and funny he was, and how certain she was that they would suit. You plastered a smile to your face and said all the right things, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate on your friend’s happiness, your thoughts consumed by the memory of how the King’s face had looked at the end of your exchange.

He’d been so happy and relaxed, then suddenly so cold and closed. It was obviously no secret that he didn’t like the fact that his father had had concubines, but it had happened and to deny why you were living there would be foolish. Which is why you’d answered so diplomatically - he didn’t need to know what did or didn’t happen in the privacy of the late King’s chambers, and he probably didn’t want to know. What son would want those details? But he had asked a question and you’d answered the best way you knew how.

It hurt because you’d actually been enjoying yourself, and thought that maybe he’d been enjoying himself as well. There’d been a strange warmth inside you as the pair of you had talked and teased and joked, and over the last few days you found yourself wishing you could feel it again.

However, now you had something else to occupy your mind. Almost as soon as Lila had left to get married - and you were sad you couldn’t be with her on her big day - Master Coulson had come to tell you that arrangements were being made at pace for your own future. It was only mildly surprising then, when he’d come to you this morning to tell you that a potential husband had been found and you should prepare yourself to have dinner this evening. He passed you over some papers, giving you details of the man you were to meet.

Apparently he was a Baron, a widower, and a few years older than King James. His seat was on the other side of the country and apparently quite large, with the main house boasting stables, a library, and a formal rose garden. As you read through the information you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. It all looked good on paper, but you needed to be sure. You didn’t want to swap one cage for another - you had to at least like Baron Zemo, and him you. It seemed as though he spoke numerous languages, so at least you had one thing in common with him. Hopefully all would go well, and you could consign this place and thoughts of the King to the past.

A few hours later and you were putting the finishing touches to your toilette. You dabbed some rosewater behind your ears and smoothed your hands down the front of your gown. It was one of your favourites and you’d worn it every time you’d been to visit the late King. He’d always complimented it, saying that the colour of the silk brought out your eyes. You hoped the Baron would like it as well. With a gentle knock on the door, one of the servants let you know that your guest had arrived and was waiting for you in the solar. You took a deep breath and walked down the hall.

As you entered, you saw a man, dressed in deep purple, looking out of the window, with his back to you.

“Baron Zemo, you are most welcome,” you said as you dropped into a curtsey. You heard him turn and then a be-ringed hand appeared in front of your eyes, offering to help you back to your feet.

“Thank you for having me here, my lady,” he replied as you stood. “I have been intrigued to meet you ever since the King wrote to me about your situation.”

You took in his features as he smiled gently at you. He had warm hazel eyes, straight, mid-brown hair that lay across his brow, and was clean shaven. He was slightly taller than you, but not by much and you pushed away the rogue thought about how King James virtually towered over you.

“Shall we sit and dine, and hopefully get to know one another better, sir?” you suggested.

“You’ve read my mind, my dear. There is nothing like good food, good wine, and good conversation, is there?” The Baron walked you over to the small dining table that had been set up and assisted you into your seat, and you felt like a grand lady.

The next two hours passed by amenably. The Baron was eloquent and charming, and when he found out that you spoke other languages he insisted on conversing with you in them, gently correcting your pronunciation and helping you when a particular word or phrase was outside your knowledge. At the end of the meal you were full, warm and a little tipsy from the wine - it wasn’t in your nature to imbibe often.

“Maybe,” Zemo suggested, “we should take a turn about the gardens? A walk in the cool night air would probably help aid digestion. What do you think, my lady?”

“I think that would be delightful.” You allowed him to help you with your chair once more and when you stumbled he linked your arm into his and walked you outside, away from the guards and servants who’d been present in the solar with you.

The garden was illuminated with lanterns in addition to the lights from the solar, and the pair of you walked companionably along the pathways. So far he’d done nothing to worry you, and hadn’t been at all standoffish. You would have to give serious thought into accepting his suit, especially as you were unlikely to receive better. The problem with being the last to be situated was that it also meant that your options for a suitable marriage were narrower.

“You’re awfully quiet, my dear. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” You ducked your head at the compliment and couldn’t help but smile.

“In all honesty, my lord? I was thinking about how lovely this evening has been. I will admit to some trepidation, which I’m sure you can forgive me for. Things like this are all too new for me.”

“No forgiveness needed,” he said with a smile, one much wider than those he’d displayed earlier and you felt your heart pick up in your chest, although you couldn’t immediately say why. “It’s completely understandable. But can I say that you have vastly surpassed my expectations. The information given to me about you greatly downplayed your beauty and intelligence. And, if I may be so bold, I find myself captivated.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but you also felt a little uncomfortable, at his zealousness. Or maybe it was the wine? “That is kind of you to say, sir. However, I’m finding myself getting a little chilled. Maybe we should return inside?”

With a swiftness that startled you, the Baron took hold of your shoulders and steered you backwards until you came into contact with the wall. You gasped in shock at both the impact and his change in demeanour.

“Maybe I can find a way to warm you up?” He quipped before his lips came down onto yours, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and one hand falling to your leg, inching your skirts upwards. You tore your mouth from his and turned your head, but his lips just zeroed in on your throat instead, sucking and nipping.

“Sir! Get off me!” You tried to push him, but his bulk had you pinned. His questing hand breached the hem of your skirts and he started to grope at your thigh, and his lips trailed further down to the neckline of your dress. “I said get off!”

The Baron raised his head and stilled his hand, but didn’t move away. “Surely you must miss this? The touch of a man. And think how much better it will be with someone who is younger and knows how to please a woman.”

“I miss it less than you think,” you ground out between clenched teeth. “And I did not ask you for this. Let me go.”

He smiled predatorily and slid his hand up to cup your mound over your underwear. “Did you really think I would offer for you without seeing if you had all the necessary attributes I’m looking for. I need an heir, and intelligence and beauty can’t provide that. And let’s face it, it’s not as though you’re a missish virgin keeping herself pure for her wedding night.”

His hand started to tug at your underthings and you closed your eyes tight as fear started to take over. However, just as you felt the first touch of his fingers on your intimate flesh his weight was suddenly gone.

“I believe the lady said no, Baron Zemo.”

Your eyes shot open, and there was King James, standing between you and the Baron, who was now sprawled on the ground. The dim light of the lanterns partially lit his face and that, combined with his expression, made him look like an avenging angel. Then he turned towards you and his expression softened.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Without the Baron’s hands on you, your skirts fell back to your ankles and you pushed yourself away from the wall to stand.

You nodded and gave a little cough to clear your throat. “I’m fine, Your Majesty.”

The Baron scrambled to his feet and brushed the dust and gravel from his coat.

“Just a little misunderstanding between my fianceé and myself, Your Majesty. No harm done,” he said, his voice smooth and oily.

You took a step forward, your body trembling with anger. “I don’t believe that I’ve accepted your suit, sir. And after that display of ungentlemanly conduct I am now fully disinclined to do so.”

The Baron’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowing and he let his facade fully drop away. “Be quiet, whore. Who else would have you? You’re used goods, even if the one who did the using was the former King. You should be grateful I’m even considering you.”

You shifted, intending to step forward again and slap him, but the King held out his hand stopping you.

“You are out of line, Baron. No matter her history, the lady is still just that. A lady. And how you treat her is tells me that, despite your title, you are no gentleman.” His voice was steady, but you could pick up the undercurrent of rage - could see it in the way he was holding himself and the tick in his jaw.

Baron Zemo let out a bark of laughter, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. “My dear James, I cannot believe how much you are defending one of your fathers handmaidens. She was obtained by him for one purpose, but you think it’s unreasonable for me to see if she lives up to that purpose before I marry her.” He peered at the King, then his eyes widened as though he’d made a startling revelation. “Do I sense some jealousy raising its head here?” He laughed again. “I should have realised there was a reason you kept her until last. Of course - she’s your whore as…”

He didn’t get to finish his vile words, because King James’ arm snapped out and he punched the Baron right on the jaw, then watched impassively as the man crumpled back to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, he turned towards you fully and without a word scooped you up into his arms. You squeaked and threw your arms around his neck as he walked briskly back towards the solar. As he made his way inside, the guards stood to attention but didn’t turn to look at you, however, you still hid your face in his neck from embarrassment.

“There’s some filth in the garden to be sent packing.” The King’s voice rumbled in your ear as he spoke to the guards, and then he was turning with you in his arms and striding down the corridor that led to the private chambers.

“Which one?” he asked gruffly, and you uncurled from his chest slightly so you could point. He shouldered your door open and then kicked it shut before letting you down, your body sliding over his as he did so.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and heart racing, not even noticing that your hands still rested on the slope of his chest and that his hands were still on your waist.

“You’re sure you're alright?” he queried again, looking down at you with concern.

“Absolutely. You stopped him. You…” You started to shake then as you realised how close you’d come to real harm. Without a word, the king steered you over to the edge of your bed and you both sat down, your small hands held in his larger ones, one of his thumbs rubbing over the delicate skin near your knuckles.

“Just breathe, my lady. You’ve had a shock. I’m glad I was there…” he stopped mid-sentence and freed one of his hands to turn your head and bare your neck to him. You swore you heard him growl. “He marked you. I’m going to kill him.”

You took hold of his wrist and pulled it down so you could turn back to face him. “It’s nothing. Really. It will fade and in a few days it’ll be a memory. Then we can try again.”

He peered at you, confused.

“Try and find me a husband,” you clarified and then smiled in an effort to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

“No.” King James pulled himself away sharply and stood, his back to you.

Now you were the one who was confused. “What do you mean,’No’? ‘No’ to a few days or ‘No’ to a husband? I don’t understand.”

“Either. Both,” he snapped, still not turning around.

“Alright,” you replied. “We’ll find me somewhere to live, then. Discuss a suitable stipend amount like Master Coulson did with some of the others who refused a husband.”

“Not that, either.” He ground the words out and you felt your patience waning, frustration overtaking your confusion. You stood up and stepped closer.

“So no husband and no stipend. What are you suggesting? That I just leave?” You couldn’t keep the hysterical note from your voice.

He spun on his heel and moved into your personal space, just as the Baron had done only a few minutes ago. However you didn’t feel anxious or uncomfortable, and the warm feeling inside you was back, despite your anger at how contrary he was being.

“Not at all,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on you.

On your face.

On your lips.

“I thought you wanted me out of here. You don’t want any concubines, remember?” You arched your eyebrow, challenging him.

He leant forwards and your breath caught in your throat, his stormy eyes now all you could see.

“I still don’t,” he murmured and then pressed his lips to yours.

This kiss was entirely different to the Baron’s assault. It was soft and gentle. Coaxing, not claiming. The King’s hands came up to cup your face and you curled your own into the front of his jacket. The heat within you rose in intensity and you kissed him back, opening your mouth and letting him in. He moaned when you did, one hand sliding to your hair and the other to the small of your back, pulling you close to him. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, but it didn’t scare you. In fact it thrilled you. It was all the deepest thoughts you’d kept to yourself come to life, and they took you over.

Your nimble fingers worked the buttons of his jacket and as they came undone the King let go of you to shuck it off. That was followed quickly by his cravat and waistcoat, thrown without care across your room, and then he pulled his shirt free of his trousers and toed off his shoes. He took you back in his embrace then, kissing you with more passion and your hands found their way under his shirt, stroking across the hard planes of his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in retaliation and you gasped as the brief stinging shot to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed into your mouth.

“I do,” you whispered back. You’d never been as sure of anything as you were now - consequences be damned. They were a problem for tomorrow.

Part of Bucky couldn’t believe what he was doing, because he really shouldn’t be doing it. He was a King and should be the better person. But, oh, how he wanted to be selfish for once and slake this longing he had for you.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming to see how you and the Baron were getting on, partially to assuage his guilt and partially to torture himself. When he’d found you both absent from the solar, one of the guards had told him you’d gone for a walk together. As he’d stepped outside and neither of you had been in the closer part of the garden a sense of unease had washed over him. Then he’d heard you shout and raced around a corner to see you pushing at the Baron as he held you against the wall, trying to violate you.

He’d barely been able to restrain himself when he saw that, only daring to separate you and check that you were alright. But then the Baron had started to spew his hurtful, cruel words and his resolve had crumbled. He’d had to make sure you were safe. He’d needed it like air.

Upon getting you inside, he’d told himself that he would just double check that you were alright and then leave, but then he’d seen the bruise on your neck and you’d tried to placate him with talk of trying to find a new suitor and he’d lost any sense of decorum.

There would be no other husband, no grand house and pension, because you were his. You were his oxygen - his sunlight. His joy and his misery and his desire all rolled into one. So he’d kissed you, almost no better than the Baron, but then you’d kissed him back. Clung to him. You’d made it plain that you wanted him too, first with your actions and then your words.

Mentally calling himself a fool, Bucky spun you around and tugged at the closure of your dress, the multitude of tiny buttons that held it together flying across the room. He didn’t care, though. He could buy you a new dress. A thousand new dresses. He eased the open neckline over your shoulders and pushed the multiple layers of silk down your frame. Taking your hand, he helped you step out of the froth of fabric and you kicked off your slippers at the same time with a giggle that shot through him like a bolt of lightning.

Bucky pulled you back to him with a groan and walked you towards the bed, laughing with you when you both tumbled onto it with a bounce. Your hands, so small and delicate, found his chest again, and he lent up and pulled his shirt over his head, watching you as your eyes darkened with desire as you took in what you saw. You traced your fingers over the definition of his abdominals and pectorals and Bucky shivered.

“I want you, Your Majesty.” Your voice was low and breathy, and fuck did he just want to bury himself in you. Feast on you.

“Bucky,” he rasped. “Call me Bucky. There is no King here tonight.”

You came back together, kissing and touching and through it you both messily and awkwardly helped each other remove the rest of the clothes that separated you. As soon as your breasts were bared to him, Bucky couldn’t hold back, latching onto your puckered nipples, one after the other, drawing squeaks and moans from you, more intoxicating than any sounds he’d imagined in his private imaginings.

His right hand skirted down your body, finding its way between your legs and you opened for him. He moaned around breast as he found your wetness and began to toy with you. Bucky teased your clit and stroked your folds, captivated by how more arousal spilled from you. When he slid a testing finger into you, you gripped his hair and arched into his hand, your soft mewl turning to a strangled gasp and he felt undeniably powerful, a small part of him, one he didn’t want to really acknowledge, feeling as though he was competing with the memory of his father. He was determined to erase it. After tonight there would only be him.

When Bucky added a second finger into your warm channel and circled his thumb on your clit, you whimpered his name. Not ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Sire’, but ‘Bucky’ as he’d asked you. He lifted his head and rose back up your body, capturing your lips and swallowing your cries as he drove you higher and higher. Your hands now clutched his shoulders, your short, manicured nails digging into him, using him as an anchor, lest you float away into the ether. He felt your body quiver beneath him as you neared the precipice of your pleasure and then the next second you were tumbling over it, your body spasming around his fingers, your mouth drawing all the oxygen from his lungs into your own.

Bucky kissed you through it, slowing his hand before pulling it away slowly. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between your limp legs, and as you watched him with hooded, lust filled eyes, he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted your essence. He groaned as he did so, promising himself that he would drink directly from your source soon, but he couldn’t hold back his desire to fully claim you any longer.

As his hand dropped to his cock, your eyes followed it, and you took your first real look at him. He couldn’t help but smile as your eyes widened and you tentatively raised your own hand towards his erection. He took hold of it and wrapped it around his length, marvelling at how your fingers didn’t meet. Your gaze flicked between his face and his cock, unsure which you wanted to watch. However, after a few minutes it was too torturous, and he repositioned himself to kiss you again and run his cock between your wet folds. Your hips rolled beneath him as you let out small whimpers of need and desire and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Bucky reached between you, lined himself up and sank into your warmth.

The cry of ecstasy you let out caught him by surprise and he looked down into your eyes. The truth shone out of them as you pulled in breath after ragged breath, your body struggling to adjust to his size, despite what he’d done to you only minutes before. He couldn’t really process it, but an animalistic part of him howled in pleasure at the realisation that you’d been untouched and consumed any remaining restraint.

Bucky snapped his hips, watching in awe as your eyes rolled in your head and the breath was pushed from your lungs. It was an addictive sight and he thrust into you again and again, unable to stop, needing to see your reaction. You clutched his biceps as he braced himself, your head thrown back and he never wanted to see you any other way - debauched and ruined on his cock.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?”

You mumbled incoherently but did as he’d asked, your hand moving between you, and Bucky knew when you’d found your centre from the way you clenched around him. He groaned at the sensation and let it spur him on. He dipped his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and when you let out a wail he knew he’d found the right spot.

“That’s it, beautiful. Come apart for me. Come on my cock.”

You screamed and spasmed around him and his rational brain knew he should pull out and spill himself over the sheets, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not have this. He cried out, throwing back his own head, and surrendered to the inevitable.

It took you a while to come back to yourself, because what you’d just experience was so different from what you’d been told about. The King - Bucky - was cuddled up behind you, his arms holding you close and his nose pressed into your hair, dozing. You turned in his embrace and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered open.

“Hi,” you breathed cautiously, unsure of how you should be acting. However, when he softly smiled at you, you felt your heart leap inside your chest.

“Hello, yourself.” He dropped a gentle kiss to your lips and you smiled in return and relaxed. He was obviously content to stay in your private, intimate bubble for at least a short time more and you were more than happy to indulge him. You didn’t want to think about how you’d feel when this ended, it would hurt too much.

Pushing yourself up onto one elbow you looked down at him and idly traced invisible designs across his chest with your finger tip.

“So, Bucky, huh? Where does that come from?”

He chuckled at your teasing tone. “From my sister, Princess Rebecca. Or as I call her, Becca-Boo or Sprout. My second name is Buchanan, and when she was learning to talk she couldn’t say it. Whenever she said ‘Bucky’ it would make me laugh, so she kept doing it and then refused to call me anything else. Then my mother picked it up, because if she called me James, Becca would stamp her foot and tell her off. And I liked it. It helped me separate the two parts of myself - Bucky, the normal man with normal wants, desires and hobbies etcetera, and James, heir to the throne, with duties and responsibilities who has to keep himself apart from those around him.”

There was a melancholy tone to his words, and you couldn’t help but bend down and press a light kiss to his lips. “Well I like Bucky.”

He brought his hand up to the nape of your neck, returning the kiss, and you wished that reality could just stay firmly outside for the rest of time.

When Bucky broke the kiss, he looked up at you with searching eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked quietly and you immediately knew what he was talking about. You shrugged one shoulder.

“Does it matter? Would it have changed what just happened between us? Would you have thought differently of me?”

“No, it wouldn’t have changed what just happened, but I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have treated you differently. I thought harshly of you, driven by jealousy. How could I allow myself to like you, desire you, when you had lain with my father? I was jealous of a ghost for having claimed you first, and I hated myself for feeling that way. That was why I acted coldly to you when we conversed in the solar. What you said. You made it sound as if you’d enjoyed being with him and ugly thoughts filled my head.” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he spoke and you itched to smooth out the lines that formed there.

“Well, it isn’t really the done thing to speak out loud about the King’s impotence,” you pointed out. “Especially with his own son. I was trying to answer truthfully, but without going into detail. And I suppose I did enjoy spending time with him. He may not have been the type of father you wished, or the husband your mother wanted, but he was still a man. We’d talk, mostly. I like to think that I gave him some comfort and companionship. I can’t say that I’m unhappy about the way things turned out.” You looked at him coyly from under your lashes and he laughed.

“You liked being claimed by me? You wanton wretch,” he teased.

“It was definitely different, and much better, than what I’d been led to believe.” He growled playfully, and in one deft move rose up and pushed you back to the mattress, caging you in with his arms. You brought your hand up and brushed the back of it over his cheek. “If I’m going to be a concubine, I’m glad that I’m yours.”

At your words, Bucky reared back, as if you’d slapped him and you immediately started to apologise. “I’m sorry, Sire. I shouldn’t have presumed…” Shame and guilt washed over you at how far you’d sunk into your daydream, and you fought your way out of the sheets. Rising from the bed, you found your shift in the heap of clothing on the floor and pulled it over your head. “I will leave you to your dressing and wait for instructions from Master Coulson later.” You bobbed a curtsey and turned toward the door, your hand reaching for the handle, eager to put space between you.

“Stop!” His command made you freeze mid step, your arm lowering back to your side. In a moment he was behind you, his hands firmly gripping your upper arms.

“You are not my concubine. I never wanted one, and I won’t start now.” He spun you, and when you didn’t raise your head, staring instead at a freckle near his collarbone, he tucked a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “You deserve more than that, my darling.” His tone softened. “You will be my wife. That is, if you will have me?”

You looked at him in shock. “What? How can I be your wife? You are the King and I am, well, just me.”

“And as the King, I can do what I want. And for anyone who gets pedantic about your previous status, there is precedent. Concubines have been turned into Queens before.”

You pulled yourself from his hold, raising your arms up in confusion. “You do not need to speak of marriage, just because you have bedded me and do not want a concubine.”

“This is not solely because we have lain together, sweet fool. I love you.”

His words made you stop and you wondered if you’d misheard, but he continued.

“I fear I have done since I first laid eyes on you. And I just hope that maybe you can learn to love me too. Bucky, that is. Not just James, your King.” He reached out imploringly toward you. You looked back at him and then at his hand, before accepting it as you stepped forward, a broad smile making its way across your face.

“Learn to love you? That implies that I don’t already. How could I not, even if you were being grumpy and contrary.”

He wrapped you up in his embrace and looked down at you, eyes full of mischief. “Contrary? Is that anyway to speak to your King?”

“It is how a Queen speaks to her husband,” you joked back.

“Is that so? Then I must make you my Queen as soon as possible.” He closed the remaining distance between you, kissing you with vigour before lifting you and returning you both to the bed.

“However, nothing can be done until tomorrow. Whatever shall we do until then?” he drawled with mock innocence.

“I have a few ideas, Your Majesty,” you replied, mimicking his tone.

He shook his head. “Bucky, remember?”

“Bucky,” you agreed.

The End

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#bucky x reader #historical au #historical romance #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut

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magicaldestinyharmony · 2 months ago

Text

In Life and Death Pt. 4

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 4

CW: mentions of fire, burning bodies, fighting, beating, abuse, hunting of humans, death, killing, fatal wounds, blood, torture and whipping.

WC: 5.5k words

A/N: I don't know what happened guys I'm sorry (ToT) I blinked and it became this long. Enjoy I guess?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

“What’s your name?”

“What?” Lucca turns to the female voice beside him, perplexed at the question.

She should already know his name.

“I asked you what your name is,” the fifth daughter of Count Balcom repeats.

Lucca blinks again. Completely and utterly confused. “Why does it matter?” he asks.

“Well, since you’re in my care now, I think I should call you something other than ‘boy’ or ‘you’,” she says.

“You can call me ‘slave’ like everyone else does,” Lucca helpfully supplies.

Her face takes on an Are you crazy? look.

She doesn’t say anything else, clearly waiting for an answer to her earlier question. An answer she isn’t going to get. Lucca keeps his mouth shut, hoping the silence will get her to stop asking and leave. The quiet stretches out.

Finally, she jumps up from her perch on the stool beside his bed. “Fine! It’s obvious you aren’t going to tell me so I’m going to leave and you can keep your stupid name to yourself!”

Instead of feeling satisfied with getting what he wanted, he feels bothered that she’s leaving upset.

“Wait!” his hand grabs her wrist before she can completely leave.

She cocks an eyebrow, silently demanding he let her go.

“Lucca,” he whispers.

“What?” she asks.

“Lucca,” he repeats, a little louder.

She smiles and sits back down. “Thank you for telling me.”

Lucca inclines his head.

“Can I call you ‘Lucca’?”

He blinks at the question, then nods.

She grins. “Thank you, Lucca.”

◇◇◇

“Mommy?” a much smaller Lucca peaked around the door of his parent’s bedroom.

A graceful woman brought her fingers to her lips, a silent indication to be quiet as she left the bed and approached her youngest son.

“Come, sweetheart, let’s go downstairs before we wake up your father.” The mother picked her son up in her arms and headed to the kitchen on the first floor.

She sat him on a chair, knelt in front of him and grabbed his hands. “Is everything okay, love?”

Lucca sniffled. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, Lucca, honey.” She pulled him into her arms again in a comforting hug.

“I woke up alone in the dark and that scared me,” Lucca admitted quietly.

His mom pulled him in even closer and patted his back.

They stayed like that for a while. Nothing like a mother's love to chase away the demons of the night.

“Lucca, love.” She pulled away enough just to wipe away the little boy's tears. “Do you know why I picked ‘Lucca’ as your name?”

Lucca shook his head.

His mom smiled and caressed his cheeks. “‘Lucca’ means ‘bringer of light’. I picked this name at the time you were born because the first time I held you in my arms, the sun's rays burst through clouds, bathing you in its golden light.

“The name sounded fitting. But as you grew up from a tiny infant to a strong, healthy child, I realized that this is the perfect name for you. Everything you do, you do with the biggest smile on your face. Your smile is radiant, my love. Just like the light.”

Lucca watched his mom speak, hanging on to her every word. And when sleep gripped his young form again, he fell to its clutches with a happy smile on his face.

◇◇◇

“Hurry up, Beck, Lucca!” A young girl waved at Lucca and their older brother, beckoning them closer.

“We're coming!” Both boys looked at each other and grinned.

Beck smirked and started sprinting. “Last one to Hazel is a rotten egg!”

“Hey! Not fair!” Lucca took after his brother, trying to reach his older sister first.

Beck, with his head start, reached Hazel. Lucca shuffled in a little later, bending over. “That’s not fair! You should have counted down first!”

“Too bad.” Beck smugly shrugged.

Lucca squinted his eyes at the older boy. Beck is the oldest of three children. Then it's Hazel and Lucca.

Lucca grinned mischievously. “Uh-oh, I don’t like that lo–” Beck started but Lucca lunged at him.

“Whoa!” Beck managed to evade the lunge but Lucca started chasing him around the meadow.

“Boys! That's enough! The picnic is all set up!” their mother called for them.

She sighed, a smile playing on her lips as her boys overlooked her call.

Her husband, the boys' father, laughed. “I'll go get them. Why don't you get Hazel started?”

Hazel reached the sheet and plopped down. Their mother smiled at her family’s antics and settled down beside Hazel.

“Dad! Let us down!” The boys struggled in their father's hold playfully as he neared the picnic. He set them on the sheet and sat next to them.

The family had fun out together all day.

◇◇◇

“Are you sure, Hazel?” Lucca asked.

“Yes, Dad gave me my allowance to use didn't he?” Hazel nodded.

“True. But we aren't supposed to go to the market alone,” Lucca hesitated.

“It'll be fine. We’re old enough aren’t we?” Hazel assured him. “And”–she wiggled her eyebrows–“Mom, Dad and Beck are gonna get home late. If we beat them, how are they gonna know?”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her.

“Do you think Beck would like this?” Hazel held up a wooden horse figurine.

“Maybe, he always wanted to ride a horse.” Lucca shrugged.

“Ugh.” Hazel set the figurine back down and sighed. “Why is he so hard to shop for? And you aren't any help at all!”

“You just find it hard,” he teased her. “I’m uninterested because I already got him his gift.” Lucca stuck his hands in his pocket.

Hazel sighed dramatically.

“Let's just go home now, Hazel.” Lucca looked up at the sky. “The sun is gonna set soon. If we don't start going home, we'll get there at night and Mom and Dad will know that we went out without permission..”

Hazel sighed dramatically again. “Fine, you're right. Let's go home.”

The two rented a carriage. Their home was located in the forest. To reach it, you had to go through a bend in the road that led straight to their house.

As the carriage reached the bend, Lucca perked up. He stared out the window intently.

“Stop!” He yelled out to the carriage driver.

The carriage screeched to a halt. “What's wrong, boy?”

Lucca caught Hazel's startled gaze. “Lucca? What's going on?”

Lucca smiled hesitantly. “It’s alright, Hazel. I just remembered that I never bought Beck a gift.”

“That’s not true! You told me you had a gift for him already!” Hazel stared at him with wide panicked eyes.

“I lied. I lied, okay?” Lucca stepped out from the carriage.

He turned around and held Hazel's hands. “Promise me you won't leave the carriage until you reach town.”

“But–”

“Promise me!”

Hazel took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Will… Will I see you again?”

Lucca smiled sadly. “I love you, Hazel. Forever and ever.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. “Lucca? What do you mean? Lucca?! Why are you say–?!”

Lucca slammed the door shut. Her fists pounded on the wood. “Lucca! Open the do–!”

He moved away, gave the carriage driver money and instructions to drive back to town and ran the rest of the way home.

Lucca stared at the hot, orange, gaping inferno swallowing his home.

Where was his family? His mom, dad and older brother?

Lucca gaped at the sight. He blinked, disbelieving what he was seeing.

He suddenly felt the need to do something. He raced towards the flames destroying his childhood memories.

“A kid! There's a kid running to the fire!”

“What?! Where did he come from!?”

“Is he in his right mind?!”

It was only when Lucca heard the voices, did he see the hooded figures in black. There were multiple of them, moving away from the glowing blaze. Their beady eyes peered at him.

Lucca ignored them and continued into the burning building.

“Mom?! Dad?!” he yelled around, looking for them. “Bec–!”

He gasped. There on the floor are the burnt bodies of his family. Lucca gagged at the smell of burning flesh and dropped to his knees.

“Beck? Beck?!” Lucca nudged the hand of his older brother.

The older brother who comforted him when injured.

The older brother who played with him.

The older brother who would sneak him food at night.

The older brother who had a smile that lit up the room.

The older brother who had an infectious laugh.

The older brother who's lifeless now.

The older brother who he can't see, hear, smell or touch anymore.

The scream that burst out of Lucca is gut-wrenching.

His face hardened.

He will never forgive the people who took his happiness from him.

Never.

He got up.

Ever.

Wiped his tears.

Ever.

Once Lucca stepped into the warm, dark air, it was with the determination to get revenge.

He glared at the men in black. He took one menacing step forward, then another. They snickered at him. What can a child do against many, grown mercenaries?

Lucca growled and picked up the nearest and heaviest branch. His roar had adult men hesitating.

“Capture him. Alive,” an authoritative voice called out from the darkness.

“Yes, my lord!” The mercenaries surrounded Lucca, holding swords.

A small fight ensues. Lucca managed to knock down five mercenaries before he was captured.

A hooded figure in red stepped out from the blackness. Lucca was made to kneel in front of him.

“You are one bold kid.” The man took off his hood, revealing his face.

“Do you know who I am, kid?” he demanded.

When Lucca refused to respond, the man gestured at one of the mercenaries.

The next thing he felt was the hot, searing pain of being kicked.

“Well?” the man urged him.

Lucca still didn't say anything.

Another gesture, another kick, more pain.

Lucca grunted.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Lucca spitted out.

“There you go. Was that so hard?” the mysterious man asked.

Lucca shrugged and went silent again.

“Well,” the man started. “I’m Count Balcom, the closest advisor to the emperor, one of the wealthiest nobles in the empire and have one of the best lineages.”

Lucca just stared blankly at the count. As a commoner, he wasn’t the most knowledgeable about nobles and their complicated ways.

Count Balcom walked around Lucca, giving him an appraising look.

“You would make for interesting prey.” He crouched and held Lucca’s chin up. “There’s fire in your eyes. I’m sure quenching it would feel fantastic.”

“I will never break. Never,” Lucca growled.

The count backed away and laughed. “It would be better if you cooperated.” He tapped his chin. “I believe a carriage was here. It was carrying your sister wasn’t it?”

Lucca’s eyes widened. “You leave her alone!”

Count Balcom laughed again and grinned wickedly. “If you cooperate, I’ll leave her alone.”

Lucca didn’t even hesitate. “If she stays safe I’ll come with you.”

The count gave an eerie smile. “I give you my word.” He turned to a nearby mercenary. “Take him to the wagon.”

The mercenary nodded and Count Balcom left in a flourish of red robes.

Lucca might have walked into the Balcom Manor willingly but it was hell on earth. He was abused daily and deprived of meals and water. He gave up figuring out time, in that damp, dark, dingy cell.

He hated it. What did he do to deserve this? What did his family do to deserve death?

These thoughts never left him. They circled and screamed. Wanting attention.

Yet he held on.

He must survive. He must survive. He must survive for Hazel. If he dies before he lets him he’ll kill her.

He ate whatever he was given and held on.

Then one day, Lucca was taken out of that gloomy cell. He was put on a wagon and taken to a forest.

When he saw the arrows and horses, he realized what the count meant by ‘prey’. He was going to be hunted.

He was instructed to stay in a small, open field in the woods. The field was beautiful with big trees and colourful flowers. It wasn’t a bad place to die.

He survived for Hazel. Keep on living, okay, Hazel?

When the arrow hit his heart, he had one last thought, he would finally be able to see his loving family again.

However, when Lucca opened his eyes, it wasn’t to the sight of his late family. It was to the sight of a mass of people yelling.

“The Divine Warrior woke up!”

“It’s the Divine Warrior!”

“Save us, Divine Warrior!”

Lucca was confused. What was going on?!

The High Priest explained it all.

Apparently every 1000 years, the evil dragon, Tanan, manages to break the seal placed on him. And every 100 years a Divine Warrior is born.

The Divine Warrior has a stronger physique, superior senses, a good intuition, heals faster, uses aura and has three lives. That means that the Divine Warrior has two other chances at life if death gets to them.

The Divine Warrior awakens when they turn 18. If they die before that, their soul is preserved at the Grand Temple. Once their soul turns 18, they awaken in their older body. Once awakened, two marks appear on the Divine Warrior’s hand. It is only visible to them and counts how many lives they have left.

The job of the Divine Warrior is to reseal Tanan. If Tanan hasn’t broken free yet, their job is to save the people from evil beasts who are his underlings.

As of right now, Lucca has already lost one life, courtesy of Count Balcom.

“I see,” Lucca said, staring out the window. “So now what?”

“Now,” the High Priest began. “Now, you start your training. It is soon time for the evil dragon to break free.”

“Very well.” Lucca turned to face the older man. “But first, I want you to find someone for me.”

The High Priest nodded. “Sure. Who are they?”

“Hazel. Her name is Hazel Puhlavan.”

“What?! She's what?!” Lucca slammed his fist on his mahogany desk.

“I apologize, Your Eminence. Hazel Puhlavan is dead,” the High Priest repeated.

Lucca shoved away from his desk. She was dead?!

“But how?! I did exactly as he said,” he murmured.

Lucca whirled around to face the man. “How? No, when?”

The High Priest bowed slightly, fearing the Divine Warrior’s wrath. “She was killed on a carriage three years ago. It seemed like murder but the case was closed because of insufficient evidence.”

“Damn it!” The desk received another punch.

He shouldn't have trusted that bastard's words.

Hazel was dead but he was here and alive.

Lucca dropped back into his seat. “You're dismissed.”

The High Priest immediately scurried off.

Lucca sighed. He survived this long for what? To find out that the fate of the world rests in his hands? To find out that his sister is dead?

What did he do to deserve this?

“Hahaha! A mere mortal tries to defeat me? Me, the great Tanan?!”

Lucca wondered if all the Divine Warriors before him had to go through this. The evil dragon is very full of himself.

“Come at me, mortal. You'll never be able to defeat me!”

Lucca gripped the Divine Sword. It's the Divine Warrior’s ultimate weapon. It's crafted from lodyed, a precious stone given to Divine Warriors. It allows them to imbue the Divine Sword with aura.

Red light glinted on the silver, polished blade, giving it a crimson look. With Tanan came, what the temple calls, the Haur Moon. It's the source of his power and hangs in the sky. Shadows cast the field of the face-off in black. The combination of red and black gave the place an ominous feeling.

Tanan stood tall, taunting Lucca with his prowess.

“If you're so great, how come you keep getting resealed?” Lucca raised an eyebrow.

“How dare you! You're a mere human!” Tanan lunged at Lucca in anger.

A deadly fight starts.

The evil dragon shot a fireball. Lucca jumped away to avoid it.

The bloody dance continued. Lucca swung his sword. It grazed the dragon’s arm. Tanan roared. His massive tail came crashing down beside Lucca, creating a big dust cloud causing him to cough.

The dust blocked his vision. His head snapped up just in time to see the mighty tail strike again. Lucca raised his sword to injure and ran backwards, keeping the sword up. He left a gaping, bloody wound in his wake. Tanan howled, no doubt in pain.

“Where are you, human?! I will destroy you!”

While Tanan frantically looked around for him, Lucca used the shadows to his advantage. He crept up on Tanan. Using his aura to propel him upwards, Lucca jumped to land the final strike on Tanan's head.

“There you are!” the dragon suddenly turned around, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

Lucca's own eyes widened in surprise.

Tanan struck Lucca with his claw. He barely eluded the fatal point but it still pierced his arm.

“Ugh.” Lucca got the wind knocked out of him when his back hit the ground.

With his arm bleeding, Lucca stood again. He grabbed his sword.

It was time to end this. It was Lucca or the dragon.

Lucca jumped again and growled. He imbued the Divine Sword with aura. When he penetrated the hard layer of scales and the soft tissue under, so did Tanan's sharp claw into his torso.

Lucca heaved as blood rushed up his throat. He fell with a thud and coughed some more.

Tanan thundered and collapsed in a heap on the field. The evil dragon has finally been defeated.

I have to perform the sealing spell.

Lucca blinked against the blackness filling his vision. He coughed up more blood.

I have to–

The blackness consumed him.

Lucca convulsed and opened his eyes. The once red field was now bathed in a reddish-orange glow. Lucca spied the sun sinking below the horizon. The Haur Moon was gone.

He sighed. Everything was finally over. Two gruelling years of training have finally paid off.

Lucca spotted Tanan’s black form.

Well, everything was mostly over.

He sat up and propped his arm on his knee. The gash Tanan left him has healed completely. No matter how many times it happened, Lucca’s ability to quickly heal never ceased to amaze him.

A glance at his right hand told him what he feared. He lost another life. Only one gold mark remained. It sparkled in the glow of the sunset. Lucca had one more chance at life.

Lucca sighed again and raised his tired form. He trudged over to the source of much grief and horror.

With the evil dragon defeated, Lucca can finally breathe easy.

It would also be time for his vengeance.

After finishing the sealing spell, Lucca headed out to perform the necessary steps to complete his revenge.

He would amass great power and wealth. And once he did, he would destroy Count Balcom.

Screams filled the dim halls of Balcom Manor.

“No! Please! Please have mercy!” A maid cried at his feet.

Lucca silenced her sobs. He didn't even twitch at the smell and sight of red oozing out of the corpse on the heart pine wood floors.

The staff that weren't on the floor cowered. Lucca brandished his sword and restained the wood red.

Yells echoed in his ears but he kept moving.

Lucca would get his revenge.

“Stop right there, you monster!”

He looked up to see a flock of knights blocking his advance.

“You won’t make it past us!” The knights all pointed their blades at him.

Lucca laughed. His face hardened and he charged. The sound of piercing flesh reverberated in the hallway.

“Wa-wait! Please spare me!” The last knight recoiled.

“Where is Count Balcom?” Lucca prompted.

“H-he’s in the ballroom. The re-rest of the ar-army is with him,” the cowering man gulped.

“Thanks.” Lucca stabbed the knight.

He stepped over the body and continued in the direction of the ballroom.

When Lucca reached the immense mahogany doors, his sword was dripping and his dark blue clothes were splattered with the same liquid.

When the doors swung open, shouts rang out.

“Stop! Drop your weapon!”

“Surrender and you might be spared!”

But one voice stood out. “You’re one brave young man. Your rampage ends here!” Lucca recognized the condescending tone.

He scoffed. All of his staff lay dead and all he did was barricade himself here.

Lucca swung his sword, cutting knights down left and right.

Count Balcom stared in horror at the man who was slaughtering his knights. A wary smile played on the count’s face. He was arrogant enough to think he was invincible. However, when Lucca towered over him, the smile fell off his face.

“Wait! Tell me what you want! Money? Power? Women?” Count Balcom reeled and Lucca stepped forward.

“If you want women, I have plenty of daugh–”

“Why did you burn that house in the forest five years ago?” Lucca cut him off.

Confusion marked the man’s face. “What?”

“And the girl. Why did you kill the girl in the carriage?” Lucca asked again.

After a long silence, it became apparent that the count didn’t know what Lucca was asking.

Lucca laughed. It was a sad, bitter and angry sound.

All that fury and resentment and anticipation for revenge. The five years he spent bending to powerful figures to get honour and wealth. They all amount to nothing if he couldn’t inflict pain and fear upon Count Balcom’s haughty face.

In his daze, Lucca didn’t notice when Count Balcom picked up a sword from a fallen knight.

“Die, you filthy peasant!” The count sloppily swung the sword in a feeble attempt at killing.

Lucca easily avoided the blade and retorted with a swing of his own. His sword plunged swiftly into Count Balcom's chest.

“I hope you rot in hell,” Lucca whispered in the count’s ear.

Lucca left the man in a bloody heap on the once beautiful heartwood floors and took off to find the rest of the Balcom family.

Now there was one left. The fifth daughter.

Lucca approached the fifth daughter’s chambers. She was the last piece to complete his revenge.

He opened the doors and an eerie creak sounded out. He found her standing in the room with her back to him. The moonlight barely illuminated her form.

Lucca’s sword grazed the wooden floors. He stopped right behind the woman. He knew she was the fifth daughter, yet he asked anyway, “Are you the fifth daughter of Count Balcom?”

She turned around and said, “No. I think you have the wrong person.”

Lucca scowled. He wasn’t expecting the sarcasm. The woman gave him a once-over.

Silence rang out. Big and heavy.

“Spare me!” cut the sinister quiet.

She boldly stared into his eyes.

“No.” He didn’t hesitate. No one associated with the Balcom name will live. He would make sure of it.

The woman frowned. “If-if I saved you and prevented that ‘incident’, would you spare me?”

He snickered. Nothing anyone did would erase the pain, guilt and sorrow. It won’t bring his family back to life, would it?

“No. The only way I would spare you is if you drain all of the Balcom blood from your body. Only then would you be spared.” As long as the Balcom blood ran through her veins he would kill her.

She flinched at the gleam of his ruby-coloured sword. With a sudden movement, the woman swallowed something and doubled over in pain. Lucca hesitated, confused. But just as quickly, she fell to the floor and clutched her chest.

A weird feeling washed over him. He blinked. However, when he opened his eyes again, it wasn't to the moonlit room.

◇◇◇

“Is he still in the wagon?” a masculine voice asked.

“Yeah, I made sure of it. The last thing we need is Count Balcom’s anger,” another answered.

Lucca looked around him, very bewildered. What he saw was an oak wood wagon. Crates and barrels filled it, crowding the small space. The contents were jostled around with the caravan’s movements.

He remembered this wagon. Lucca was brought to Balcom Manor on this wagon. Was this an illusion? Did that woman cast some spell on him?

The caravan abruptly halted to a stop. Lucca heard gravel crunching under leather boots before the back covering was removed.

“Come on, kid. Get out. Don’t pull any tricks or the girl gets it.” The same grotesque mercenary and the same words.

This wasn’t making any sense.

Lucca was roughly pulled out of the wagon and brought before Count Balcom.

“Let’s go, son. I’ll show you your new home.” The count stood at the front doors with a conceited grin on his lips.

He motioned for Lucca to go in first. Stepping inside, Lucca saw the foyer. The front hall was beautifully decorated. A grand and alluring glass chandelier graced the cream-coloured plaster ceiling. An immense wooden staircase stood at the back of the space. Lots of vases with colourful flowers filled the chestnut-coloured corners. In the heart of it, the staff and the occupants of the manor bowed in greeting of its owner.

A girl eased out of her curtsy and focused on him. She looked like a younger version of the fifth daughter. She frowned in confusion at the sight of him.

Did she place a curse on him? Was he now fated to relive the grief, regret and misery? Did she think that having him relive all of that would spare her?

Well, she was mistaken. He would never spare a living Balcom. Just like he lost everything and everyone he held dear and fell into misery he would make sure that they felt despair too.

“Hey, you!” Count Balcom rudely bellowed from behind him. “Take the boy to the dungeons.”

A maid nodded and hurried him down. Down to darkness and torture.

Lucca blinked and saw feminine features. The fifth daughter peered down at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I tried to be as gentle as possible. I’m sorry if it hurts.”

Only then did Lucca notice the salve and gauze sitting beside the girl. The throb on his back was evidence of her treatment.

Was this some kind of new game? A new form of torture?

She pulled out bread from her bag. “Here, I got you some food.”

Lucca stared at her. Was she going to show him kindness and then brutally stab him in the back? Was she going to give him light in this blackness and then take it away?

She took out a pastel pink handkerchief and placed it with the bread in front of him.

He blinked three times.

“Don’t worry! I didn’t do anything to the bread. It’s not poisoned or anything,” she affirmed.

When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “Alright. I’ll leave you alone.” She stood and dusted herself off. “I’ll come back tomorrow to heal your wounds and get you some food!”

Her absence didn’t quiet his raging thoughts.

The same events over the next 10 years repeated themselves. Getting killed at Count Balcom’s hand, waking up as the Divine Warrior, resealing Tanan and currying favour with the kings of the continent.

The only change was the death of Count Balcom’s fifth daughter. He found her in the same room but he managed to cut her down and she didn’t swallow anything.

Yet the same strange feeling engulfed him again.

◇◇◇

“He-her Ladyship isn't at th-the manor,” the attendant stammered.

“Explain,” Lucca urged.

“Sh-she left as so-soon as she turned 18. No one has he-heard anything from her ever since.”

Lucca laughed. So she was the one who sent him back in time. Did she think leaving would stop him?

With a slash of his sword, Lucca stopped the sputtering man in his tracks. “Thanks.”

The fluttering of Lucca's cape echoed in the soundless manor as he left in pursuit of the runaway lady.

“There you are. I finally found you,” Lucca spoke to her turned form.

She froze. “I admit that leaving the empire was a smart move on your part. It was quite hard to track you down,” Lucca continued.

She didn’t say anything.

“Well, I guess the chase ends here.” Lucca raised his sword and struck her.

For some reason, the sight of her blood on his sword and the sand made him frown. And the same weird feeling from before made him frown harder.

◇◇◇

At the sight of the same oak wood wagon for the fourth time, Lucca sighed deeply.

These time loops need to stop. And the fifth daughter of Count Balcom has the answer.

This time, Count Balcom’s fifth daughter got married to a baron in the countryside.

“Stupid wench! You dare talk back to me? If I tell you to do something, you do it! Why do you never learn?! Do I always have to beat you for you to understand?!”

Lucca shook as he saw the man strike her.

How dare he hurt her?

Lucca kicked down the door and pulled out his sword.

“Who dares to interrupt me?! I specifi–” Lucca didn't let him finish. He landed a blow on his jaw.

“Ho-how dare you!” the man spluttered on the floor.

Lucca scoffed. This man has some guts.

With a slash, the man’s head rolled. A low shriek made him turn around. The sight of the fifth daughter hunched over on the ground reminded him of his purpose.

The haze of anger cleared and the red faded away. He loomed over her.

What was he doing? She was the daughter of his enemy. He couldn’t be feeling bad for her. She was the reason he was reliving his life for the fourth time.

With another slash, Lucca killed her. And on cue, the strange feeling came again.

◇◇◇

“Th-the lady has gone crazy!”

“She was de-demanding ways to drain her bl-blood!”

“Count Balcom or-ordered her to re-re-recuperate at the southern villa!”

“She hurts herself all the time!”

“She has truly gone insane!”

Lucca’s steps reverberated in the hall of the Balcom Southern Villa. It wasn’t hard to locate. A quick interrogation of the servants also told him where the room of its occupant was.

He stopped at the door. Through hell or high water, I will find you and kill you.

Lucca opened the oak wood door. The room was nicely done in shades of light blue and white. But the appearance of the fifth daughter made him frown.

She was tucked into bed. But the iron chains holding her hands up were a morose contrast to the elegant room. Her head was down, her hair a curtain to her face.

He trod into the room and she looked up. The sight of her face was worse. Scratches lined her cheeks and there were bags under her eyes. Her body was skinny and marred by scars and wounds. Her eyes remained blank as she took him in.

For some reason, Lucca’s heart hurt. With a jolt, he realized that he hated seeing her like this. Helpless and wounded.

But Lucca wasn’t one for emotions. So he struck her anyway. His eyes closed in anticipation of the same feeling.

◇◇◇

She approached him. “Hello. Are you alright?”

“For injuring my precious daughter, you will receive 15 whips.” The count grinned creepily.

With a grip on her head, the girl responded, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-it’s the Balcom way, right?”

“Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.” With that, Count Balcom departed.

At the intense throbbing from the whip marks, Lucca opened his eyes. He saw Count Balcom’s fifth daughter and scowled. She glared at him, shook her head and continued working.

She patched up his last wound, left some bread and got up. He watched her in silence. Why did she keep helping him, a murderer? No matter how many times he killed her, she treated him without fail.

“Why do you care?” His voice was a little hoarse.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care,” she said firmly.

He scoffed and she shrugged.

She started leaving and Lucca crushed the urge to stop her. To tell her to stay. To tell her that she was the only kindness he experienced through all the time loops. To tell her that he–no he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. She was the daughter of his enemy and, therefore, his enemy as well.

Lucca turned to his side, giving her his back. He heard her footsteps fade away as he told himself to not be emotional. He couldn’t afford it. Survival wasn’t for the weak and emotional. And he certainly wasn’t weak and emotional.

◇◇◇

“Lucca! Are you listening to me?” Count Balcom’s fifth daughter exclaims.

“Ah.” Lucca nods.

She smiles. “So, as I was saying–” she continues telling her tale.

Truth is, Lucca didn't hear most of her story. He was too busy watching her animatedly talking.

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@dreamlessnight