#it turns out the Crowns have rose gold and emeralds

[chiyana]

Me: oh I need to describe Berniece Crown, I'll include an off-hand comment about what kind of jewelry she's wearing

Me: ...actually what kind of jewelry would she be wearing? Gold seems the obvious choice, but she's a founding family of Gotham, so what if each family has specific corresponding metals/gemstones that they wear?

Me: that wouldn't take long to look into, right?

Also me after spending an hour considering metals in jewelry and which gemstones would work well with each metal/family: please just write an off-hand comment like a normal person

[blackhairedjjun]

flowers of every color | 4. pink roses

overall summary: when your father is assigned as the new head gardener to the royal family, you are also tasked with helping him maintain the castle's many gardens and extensive floral arrangements. by chance you find yourself crossing paths with the "ice-cold" crown prince, choi yeonjun... who turns out to be not as ice-cold as everyone says he is.

chapter summary: the welcome ball is in full swing, but all you can do is stay outside and be on standby -- that is, until yeonjun decides to bring the ball to you.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: alcohol mentions

author’s note: it's time for a pure fluff chapter!! this one was fun to write 💖 chapters 3 and 4 were supposed to be one chapter, but there was just so much going on that i felt like i should split it into two (i generally prefer shorter chapters).

also, recommended music for this: gregory alan isakov & the colorado symphony orchestra - amsterdam

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night falls on the castle grounds and the ball is in full swing. even from outside, you can tell that the festivities have reached their heights just from the sounds: the clinking of glasses and plates, the raucous laughter from the lords and ladies, and the string quartet playing lively waltzes seemingly non-stop.

just moments ago you entered the ballroom yourself, not to celebrate but to replace a flower vase in the hallway that a drunken guest knocked over. as soon as you entered, your senses were bombarded; you remember seeing a parade of men in trimmed suits and women in rustling ballgowns, servants carrying trays full of wines and cocktails, and even someone’s dog jumping onto a couch to sniff a pastry that another guest was eating. everywhere you went was noisy, whether from chatter or music or the scraping of dinnerware. it was too much all at once, and you felt relieved when you spotted the broken flower vase and then made your exit soon after.

now that you are out of the ruckus, you make your refuge for the night in one of the gazebos in the front gardens.  you aren’t too far from the ballroom window, and you prefer to enjoy the ball this way. from the outside, you can observe the festivities and imagine yourself in them, but avoid all the messy sensations that come with them.

you wonder if yeonjun, soobin, and beomgyu are enjoying themselves, or if they too have become overwhelmed by the constant activity of the ball. then again, you muse, they are princes. meeting all sorts of people from far and wide is a duty that comes with their title, and perhaps at this point they have simply gotten used to it.

still, it would be nice if you could enjoy the ball with them…

the quartet starts to play a jaunty arrangement of an old folk song from your hometown, interrupting your train of thought. memories flood you as you hear the opening melody and your mind is transported back to the small market square where your father would bring you as a child. you remember your tiny hands pushing the cart containing all sorts of flowers and herbs that you would sell (your father did most of the actual pushing), and in your mind’s eye you see the merchants’ displays of everything from cured meats to leather gloves to silver jewelry. the merchants sing a song to pass the time, filling the market with a joyous rhythm, and your father too joins the chorus. once you’ve accompanied him to the market square enough times, your voice also chimes in, and even now you sing every word by heart as if you were with the merchants again.

you don’t notice yeonjun’s voice singing along with you until the last verse.

“i knew i’d find you from that pretty voice of yours.”

you turn in the direction of his voice, but any reply you had in mind evaporates at the sight of him. yeonjun is standing at the gazebo entrance and your jaw goes slack from just how beautiful he looks. the dark emerald green jacket he wears hangs well on his shoulders, and the gold embroidered details on the front shine in the moonlight. his hair has been slicked back, with a few strands left in front of his forehead, framing his face. even in the evening dimness you can make out his features: his shining eyes, his plush lips.

“you look…” stunning. wonderful. beautiful. “…good.”

it’s not the compliment you wanted to give, but yeonjun gets the message anyway. he lets out an awkward laugh and he turns his head away, covering his mouth with one hand. when he recovers, he turns to you with a small smirk. “and you look amazing too.”

you look down at your uniform, the same one that every servant in the castle is wearing, and frown. “sure, i do.”

“no, i mean it,” he says, stepping fully inside the gazebo to stand in front of you. “when i saw you here singing to yourself, smiling and thinking of something happy, i thought it was a beautiful thing to see.”

“come on, don’t say things like that! that’s so…” your face and ears grow warm, and you aren’t sure how to deal with the sensation.

“why not? i can say it if i want to.”

“i suppose,” you stammer. your entire face feels like it’s glowing and you can barely look yeonjun in the eye. he’s watching you so fondly and it’s adorable, but it also makes you feel something you can’t explain.

“anyway,” you clear your throat and stare at the ballroom window, “what are you doing here? aren’t you supposed to be entertaining guests?”

“not for now. my parents are the ones talking to the diplomats. and everyone else… soobin and beomgyu are showing them some neat football tricks.”

“the same football trick that led them to meet me?”

he bursts out laughing and so do you.

“it’s boring in there without you, y/n,” he says.

“boring? i went in there for one minute and it was too much going on.”

“it only looks like a lot. most of them don’t really talk about anything, they just show off a lot and get drunk.” he sighs. “i missed you.”

you turn back to meet yeonjun’s gaze and nod. “i missed you, too. i was just wondering if you were okay.”

in between your words you hear the opening notes of a waltz. yeonjun perks up and stands straighter, then extends a hand to you. “i’d feel okay if i had a little waltz,” he says. “may i have this dance?”

“out here?”

“there’s nowhere else i’d rather dance with you in.”

you chuckle. he sounds so cheesy yet so earnest, and despite the elegant air he tries to pull off, you can see his eyes pleading with you to say yes. it only adds to his charm; how could you so cruel as to turn him down? you bow at him and take his hand, and he pulls you into position.

the music fills the air and you realize just what on earth you agreed to: you, a mere gardener who cannot dance to save their life, are waltzing with the crown prince. you have one hand clasped in his and another resting on his shoulder, and they both feel clammy. you barely keep up; you try to move your feet in time with the music but they drag rather than glide along. more than once do you step on yeonjun’s toes, and when it happens for the fourth time you nearly let go of him. you don’t want to think of what sorry state his once-polished dress shoes are now in.

“oh no 一 yeonjun, i’m so sorry 一”

yet he doesn’t let go; instead his hand on your waist rubs you reassuringly, then grips you a bit more firmly. with his other hand holding yours, he rubs circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. “it’s okay,” he says. “just follow me.”

you relax in his hold and try to follow him. he moves in slower, more careful steps to match you, and that makes it easier not to drag your feet so much. yet he never breaks time with the music, even swaying his body to the melody, and you allow yourself to be carried away by him. in his arms you sway too, letting your tension be replaced by your natural rhythm, and bit by bit the self-consciousness holding your body back begins to disappear.

the violins begin their crescendo and he bends you into a slight dip, and to your surprise you have no trouble following him. when he guides your upper body back up you start laughing from sheer joy, and the laughter spreads to him too, his hold relaxing but not fully letting go. you shuffle a bit closer to him, fully embracing the moment, the music and his presence overtaking your senses. 

only when the sounds of the quartet die down and the waltz comes to an end do you realize just how close you are to yeonjun. he keeps his hold on you even after the music has faded, and locks his eyes with yours. you can’t look away — you don’t want to look away — and you find yourself admiring the beauty mark near his right eye, then up at his shining eyes. again you notice just how fondly he gazes at you, as if you really are his favorite person in the world. 

again you feel that something that you can’t explain. it isn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite in fact, and the feeling draws you even closer to yeonjun. 

he leans in towards you and you do too until your foreheads touch. your gaze falls on his lips. the inexplicable feeling fills your senses with a strange burst of warmth. the world comes to a stop as his arms wrap around you and something in you pulls you closer still...

clink! clink!

yeonjun lets go of you and pulls away, blinking as if he just woke up from a dream. you see the blush creeping up on his cheeks even as he covers his face with his hand. “uh, sorry,” he says, grinning from nervousness. “i, uh... i have to go now. they’re doing the toast.”

you stare at him, unable to comprehend the trance you were in mere moments ago. “yeah, it’s fine, i... i understand.”

you bow at him once more, and he does the same.

“good night, y/n.”

“good night, yeonjun.”

he turns and nearly runs back to ballroom to catch the toast, and only then do you release the breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

一

the next day is a busy one for all the staff of the castle, including you; there is plenty to clean up in the aftermath of a ball. at first you are assigned just to clear out the floral arrangements left behind in the ballroom, but the sheer amount of cleanup means that you are dragged by the servants into mopping up any spills, washing the dinnerware, and folding up the linens. you feel guilty seeing just how much of a mess the guests have made (you recall finding wine poured into one of the flower vases and wince), so you roll up your sleeves and get to work.

with all the cleanup to take care of, yeonjun assumes that you are once again too busy to personally deliver flowers to his room. yet when he returns there after a long afternoon of talks and tours with the remaining guests, he notices that the flower vase on the ledge has been replaced. gone are the extra lilies of the valley that a servant previously placed there, and in their place is a bouquet of pink roses. he rifles through their stems until he finds a piece of folded paper lodged in between them, takes it out, and finds your now-familiar handwriting:

pink roses are for gratitude. thank you for last night, let’s dance together again.

he smiles and bites his lip at the note, then places it in his pocket. for the rest of the day, in between lessons and more talks and dinners with diplomats, he finds himself taking it out and rereading it. he thinks of the pink roses in his room and of the dance he shared with you, and he regains just enough strength to keep going.

end notes: don't worry about soogyu, they'll be back in the next chapter (esp soobin)! the next ch will also start to introduce the angsty bits so i hope y'all are ready

[fankhx-invasion]

The Kitstune

┍━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━┑

The realm of kissteria had been ruled under the Elder's authoritative hand since the dawn of time. The Elder was not to be trifled with and their commands were not to be questioned. Amongst their ruling, for eons, kitsune were no longer allowed amongst the realm. They were to be captured and, in extreme cases, executed, in order to stray away from any madness they may bring. Of course, some kitsune really don't give a shit.

Eric treaded carefully through the market, ears and tails hidden, face presenting itself as a regular kissterian, all to keep his status out of sight. He didn't want anyone after him just because he wanted to ponder the merchants during one of the most exciting events in centuries! Today, a prince of kissteria was to be crowned, and Eric sure as hell wasn't going to miss out on the opportunity. Every race seemed to be enjoying themselves on such a festive time, dancing, singing, eating, laughing, chatting to one another. He grinned, passing by a stall, and when the man running it had his back turned, snatched a pear up and continued to walk, taking a bite from the sweet fruit. A perfectly refreshing snack after a long trip.

He continued to walk, hoping not too many noticed how he walked across the hot stoned pavement completely barefoot; he didn't have fancy footwear like everyone else. Then, he saw it, the grandeur castle, looming above all, practically looking as if it blended in with the rest of cosmos. Eric pushed through crowds, making his way closer, trying to find every way to get himself entry inside. He didn't want to miss the crowning, uncaring of the small complaints as he weaved between others, stopping when he finally managed to see the inside of the building. Eric looked up in awe, taking in all of the paintings on the walls, the crystal pillars, the several floors and the grand staircases leading up to each one. It was absolutely elegant, the way light seemed to exist in that castle without a source, almost as if it were the brightest star itself in the sky.

"I'd wish my coronation would be this elaborate," a voice mumbled next to him.

Eric turned, and it was as if his world had really stopped in place. A young man, about his height, adorned in gold, heavy black eye makeup highlighting his bright, emerald eyes, and painted, plush lips, stood before him. The kitsune had never, not once in his life, seen anyone as beautiful and radiant as him. He made Eric's heart skip a beat, forget all about the beautiful decor around him, took his breath away, almost made him completely lose all control, only snapping back to attention when the young man raised an eyebrow, tapping his shoulder curiously and hiding a small grin. He wanted to say something to him immediately, wanted to get to know him, but the sound of chatter dying down drew his attention to a balcony overlooking the floor. The Elder was dressed in the finest silks, face covered by a white mask, their movements calculated.

"I appreciate all of you for showing yourselves to this one of a kind event. This has not happened since my own coronation, and as you are all fairly aware, this marks the beginning of a new era. Your prince shall be the one to guide you; his people; to victory, in the pursuit of happiness. He has learned well from my teachings. He will be just, he will be fair, and one day, he may take my place upon the throne."

Cheering and applause erupted from each patron, watching as a man stepped forward out onto the balcony. His top was sheer but looking like thousands upon thousands of stars adorned the sleeves and his chest, face covered in a layer of white makeup, a black star was painted on his left eye, and his round lips were painted rose red. He was luminous. He looked down at everyone there, Eric noticed maybe a hint of worry or doubt passed through his eyes, before quiet took over once more.

"Starchild," the Elder spoke, now holding a crown adorned with crystals, "do you swear to lead your people, and one day, the entire realm, to a glorious future?"

"I swear on my immortal life."

"You'd spill your blood to keep kissteria safe?"

"I'd spill my blood and break my bones for all."

The Elder lifted the crown, all bowing down, Eric following them, placing it atop the star child's head, nestling itself in his soft, curly hair.

"Then, it is with my greatest pleasure, and with the power in me, to bestow this crown, and the title of Prince of The Stars, to you."

The cheers rang once more, the sounds of trumpets playing triumphically. The starchild scanned the crowd with a smile, stopping when he made eye contact with Eric, at first confused then seemingly shocked. The kitsune felt uneasy, he almost felt too seen, as if the star prince could see right through him. He wanted to back away but the prince's gaze kept him trapped in place, and before he knew it, attention was on him. He looked around, confused as to why everyone had their eyes fixated on him now. He turned to the man in gold next to him, noticing he too was in shock, looking over Eric's body. The kitsune was confused, until he realized in the reflection of the walls; his disguise had been removed. The truth was revealed.

Eric stumbled, backing up slowly, some guests moving out of his way out of.. was it fear? His face had strange markings in white, black, and orange, four tails pulling themselves closer to his body. The Elder said something in a booming voice, but the kitsune was already in a panic, unsure of how to make his body move now, feeling his wrist grabbed and pulled out quickly, dragging him outside as fast as they possibly could.

"Run, you fucking idiot!" A voice rose up as both ran.

Eric couldn't see the person pulling him along, their face covered in a dark cloak, but he did what they said, following behind this stranger. They pulled him through the market, between buildings, dodging kissterians left and right, most of whom gawked at Eric's appearance. The cloaked stranger then pulled him through the forest line, stepping over roots, rocks, deep between all of the trees where the light barely filtered through the canopies. Both went further and further in until they reached a small clearing, where the stranger stopped, leaning against a tree for support as they panted heavily. The fox was now curious, tilting his head when the stranger pulled their hood off, revealing a man with dark hair and a fairly attractive face.

"You could've gotten yourself killed back there.." he breathed out, shaking his head. "What is a kitsune doing in kissteria of all places, anyway??"

Eric looked around, confused by his actions.

"So you.. don't hate me?"

"Luckily for you, no."

He looked off into the forest blankly, processing this new information.

"I heard about the event. I wanted to see it. What's your name?"

"...Bruce. Bruce Kulick."

The kitsune smiled, clawed hand extending out towards him.

"I'm Eric."

┕━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━┙

[crypt-tids]

A Gift Unto the King

10

Unfortunate Circumstances

“UNHAND ME, YOU DALCOP!” The woman shrieked, her voice echoing throughout the castle halls as a brutish knight dragged her along by the arm, his meaty paw squeezing her tight enough to leave marks. “LET-ME-GO!” She shouted again, frantically clawing at the large man’s iron grip. Her feet slid and scuffed across the floor as she leaned back, employing as much resistance as she could physically muster. Unfortunately, her efforts went to waste.

Abruptly, the knight stopped, slinging her body forward, where she slammed hard against the tile floor. Sharp pains radiated from her knees and wrists as she tried to break her fall; however, she instead landed on her chest, which knocked the wind out of her. Propping herself up on her elbow, she gasped and coughed, clutching at her neck as she tried to catch her breath. Once air finally found her lungs again, she snapped her infuriated gaze back to the knight, and spat in his direction.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” An older man’s voice interrupted, which caught the woman’s attention immediately.

Quickly, she turned to face the man who’d spoken, and the color drained from her face. Before her, sitting atop a golden throne, cheek rested on his hand, was King Wilfred. His face was adorned with a shaggy mustache and beard, and chunky, gold, rings decorated his fingers. He was dressed in gaudy attire, lined with shimmering silk and goldwork embroidery. A large, jewel encrusted crown rested on his head, and around his neck, a massive, emerald pendant hung from a heavy, gold chain.

“We found this one hunting on your land, your majesty.” The knight replied, giving the woman a sinister glare.

“Is that so?” King Wilfred smirked.

“YOU LIE!” The woman shouted back at the knight, as she pushed herself up from the cold floor, her body still aching from the fall. “Your knight trespassed into Valkevilla’s borders!” She desperately tried to explain.

“Is this true?” King Wilfred asked the knight in a manner not denoting any real desire for truth.

“It is not, your highness.” The knight gave a sly smile.

“Well, there you have it.” Wilfred shrugged. “My knight says you were hunting on our lands, and he has no reason to lie.” He finished in a condescending tone.

Frustration and anger boiled in her blood. Tightly, she clenched her fists, brows furrowing over darkening eyes.

“Listen here, you pisspot!” She snarled. “I’ve never in my life crossed Honterra’s borders, and you and your brute are well aware of that!”

King Wilfred’s playful demeanor shifted. A foreboding aura encapsulated him as he rose from his throne and slowly approached the pugnacious woman. Adrenaline pumped through her veins with each heavy footfall. Standing face to face, the king glared down at her. Her long, brown hair was disheveled, and there were dark bruises growing around her wrists and neck. Studying her for a moment, he lifted her chin with a forceful grab.

“What are you?” He asked her, his voice dark.

She didn’t answer, her jaw tightly clenched. Wilfred glanced down at her bodice, taking note of the small patch of dried blood, before returning his gaze.

“Answer me.” His voice stern. Again, she refused. “Very well.” The king parted her lips with his thumb, holding her neck firmly to stop her from squirming. “Ah,” he aggressively released her, “extra eye teeth. You must be a ghoul, then.” His tone carried a bitter repulsion.

The woman exhaled sharply through her nose as she silently scowled.

“So,” Wilfred continued, “you thought you might venture into our borders for some fresh meat, did you? Human flesh, perhaps?”

The dark haired woman spat in his face. “I’d never.” She growled, the irises of her eyes fading from their former hazel green to an unsettling pitch black.

Wilfred wiped away the spit and raised his hand, smacking her hard across the face with the back of it. Stumbling slightly from the force, she regained her balance, grabbing at her stinging cheek, blood trickling from her freshly busted lip.

“Insolent bitch!”

Before he could do anything else to her, they were interrupted by the shrill shrieking of a little boy being dragged into the room. Attention shifting to the noisy newcomers, the king noted that the small child had dark hair and a scratch across his cheek, with dirt and grass stains covering his skin and clothes. When the woman’s eyes finally fell to the screaming boy, her heart filled with dread. Her eyes flickered, and she found herself holding her breath, her body frozen still.

“Pardon the intrusion, your majesty. We captured this one as it tried to flee.” The knight forcefully whipped the child forward, with nearly enough force to dislocate his shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Let me… go!” The little boy grunted through pained sobs, trying his hardest to pull his aching arm from the knight’s solid grip. After a few moments, he glanced up and saw the woman staring at him with horror in her eyes. “Mommy, please!”

“Ahh…” Wilfred stroked his bearded chin, an amused smile gracing his lips. “Interesting.” His gaze returned to the woman. “This child belongs to you, then.”

“If you harm one hair on his head, I SWEAR-!”

“You’ll what?” The king circled the woman, who was cautiously eyeing him. “Because, it doesn’t seem to me that you’re in much of a position to do anything at all.”

“Let him go, he hasn’t done anything!” She begged, anger and desperation lining her trembling voice.

“He was born, that’s more than enough.” King Wilfred finished coldly, gesturing to the knight to bring the child to him.

“Please!” She pleaded, watching nervously as her son was violently tugged past her. “HE’S JUST A CHILD!”

“Mm… It’s such a pity,” the king’s voice was airy as he drew his blade, “that children are born into this world from the blood of monsters.”

Panic was setting in and the woman lunged for her son, but was snatched back by the knight standing guard behind her. Desperately, she tried to wiggle free, but to no avail.

“Mommy, I’m scared!” Tears and mucus were running down the child’s face.

“It’s gonna be okay, love, just look at me. You’re gonna be okay, everything’s fine.” Her voice shook as she tried to reassure her frightened son. “Let him go, please! HE’S INNOCENT, PLEASE!” She begged, tears of her own burning at her eyes. “I’LL DO ANYTHING, PLEASE!”

The boy continued to cry out to his mother as the two were held firmly apart. Her eyes darted back and forth between her son and the blade, her body trembling uncontrollably. The knight's arm was held tightly across her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Do you repent?” The king asked flatly, running his fingers along the blade.

“Yes!" She gasped. "I- I repent! Please, I beg you,” she watched as the sword rose above the boy’s head, “No, please! I repent, please, I repent, I REPENT, I REPEN-!”

With one, swift, motion, the blade came swooping down, effortlessly slicing clear through the boy’s neck. His blood-soaked body crumpled to the floor with a soft thud, as his head rolled to his mother’s feet. Eyes wide with horror, she let out a blood-curdling scream, which reverberated off the castle walls in a way that the king found sadistically satisfying. Tears clouded her vision as grief and anger quickly consumed her. Looking up to the king, he saw in her eyes no longer the desperate glimmer of hope that had been there mere moments before, but instead, a cold, lightless, abyss. Her brows furrowed as she curled her lip, exposing her supremely sharp canines. Clenching her fists, her breath quickened, heart nearly pounding out of her chest.

“I’ll kill you.” She growled through clenched teeth. “I’LL KILL YOU!” With all the strength her adrenaline could push through her veins, her jaws violently clamped down on her captor's hand, causing him to loosen his grip, and she ripped herself free of his grasp. Spinning around him with lightning quickness, she sank her fangs deep into his neck, warm blood rapidly pouring into her mouth from his punctured jugular. Hastily, she tore the flesh from his throat, blood gushing from the wound. Muddled gargles escaped him as his body collapsed to the floor. The other knight rushed her, whom she effortlessly dodged and shoved aside, instead, keeping her eyes on the true prize.

Blind with rage, she lunged towards her son’s murderer, reaching for his throat. She’d hoped to see fear in his eyes—to know that she would be the last person he’d ever see. She wanted to hear him choke on his own blood as his body fell cold. However, Wilfred stood firm. There was no fear, there was no panic. Instead, he swiftly lifted his sword and effortlessly thrust the blade into her unguarded abdomen. White-hot, searing, pain rushed through her body, as her throat slowly filled with blood. She gasped, and wheezed, watching as the king’s lips twisted into a demented smile.

“Tell me, beast,” he thrusted the blade into her further until her belly rested flush against the hilt, “does death frighten you?” His sickened grin widened, revealing his yellowing teeth.

The woman let out another sharp gasp, and her knees buckled. She coughed as fresh blood tried to fill her lungs, eyes flickering as they faded back to their natural hazel color.

Wilfred knelt down before her, sword still held firmly through her stomach. He lifted her chin, eyes dancing over her features, wishing to savor the moment. Her breathing was labored and her body jerked with every strained breath.

“Such a shame that beauty must be wasted on those undeserving of it.” He ran his calloused thumb across her swollen bottom lip.

The woman’s mouth twitched and her head bobbed lightly as she tried to maintain consciousness. Tears streamed down her face, dragging along with it the freshly splattered blood. Gathering herself as her last act of defiance, she spat blood onto the king’s face, and laughed a shallow, raspy laugh.

“The gods will give you blood to drink.” She panted, her voice weak.

Wilfred’s smile faded, and he twisted the blade sharply, before ripping it out of her and setting it aside. She let out a soft squeak as the king caught her before she collapsed. There, he gently brushed the hair from her face, and watched the light fade from her eyes, as warm blood spilled from the gaping wound. Once her last breath escaped her lips, he let her fall, and rose to his feet. He stood above her for a moment, admiring his blood-soaked handiwork, before returning his attention to the surviving knight.

“Take care of this.”

And with that, the king left.

“Are you certain about this?” Vin asked.

“Yes.” Carmilla replied. “I’ve never been wrong.”

Vin sighed, his fingers tugging at the lace of Carmilla’s bodice. He found himself in no hurry to untie it.

“I can do it, if you prefer.” She offered.

Vin released the string and turned his back to her. Carmilla picked up where he left off and finished untying the lace. She carefully removed her dress, leaving only her undergarments.

“I’m done.” Carmilla spoke softly.

Taking a deep breath, Vin turned to face her. Her long, white, chemise draped delicately over her thin frame, glowing in the ambient candle light. She looked beautiful—with her fluffy mop of curly hair, and pillowy lips—but Vin couldn’t bring himself to care. It didn’t matter who she was, or how beautiful she looked, she would never be the one he wanted. And even though they had expressed their mutual discontent with the circumstances, it didn’t make what they were about to do any easier.

“It’s your turn.” She gestured to his pants, which he’d been hesitant to remove.

Clenching his jaw, he began unlacing his pants, before letting them fall to the floor. The two stood silently for a moment, staring at each other, neither rushing to make the first move. Eventually, Vin collected himself, and approached her. He could hear the quickening pace of her heart beat as he reached out to brush her coiled hair out of her face. She gulped hard, but otherwise held her composure.

“Are you ready?” Vin asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper, hand softly cupping her cheek in a way he’d hoped would be at least somewhat reassuring.

Carmilla nodded, taking Vin’s open hand and letting him guide her to the bed. Slowly, he spun her around, and gently laid her down onto the plush mattress. He watched her body tense as her eyes remained fixed on him. Seeing how obviously uncomfortable she was left a pit in his stomach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vin asked, silently hoping she’d have changed her mind.

“Y-yes.” She forced out.

“We don’t have to do-”

“Enough.” She interrupted. “These are the terms of the agreement, so let’s just… get it over with.” Carmilla slid her knees apart, slowly pulling up her chemise.

Vin cautiously climbed onto the bed, leaning over her. He studied her face with saddened eyes. Gods, he didn’t want to do this. He’d rather do anything than lie with a woman who didn’t want him. Looking at her nervous face made him feel like a monster. Shame gnawed at his heart, as if he’d forced her into this. He supposed, in a way, he had. Not directly, but it was his fault regardless.

“Just say no.” He whispered.

Carmilla stayed quiet for a moment. As her eyes scanned over him, her body relaxed. She took a few deep breaths, then reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek.

“Why are you so worried for me?” She asked softly.

“Because you don’t want this.” He replied.

Her eyes softened, half a smile dancing on her lips. She ran her thumb back and forth across his cheek lightly, and he closed his eyes.

“Neither do you.” Carmilla sighed. “Look,” she continued, her voice soft and delicate, “for tonight, I can be whoever you want me to be. Whoever it is that holds your heart,” she smiled softly, “close your eyes, and see only them.”

“And what about you?” Vin asked, brows upturned slightly.

“I’m a strong woman.” She laughed through her nose. “Do not worry for me.”

Candle light danced across their faces as they spent a few moments in silence. Carmilla had done well to ease Vin’s worried mind, but deep down, the pit in his stomach still grew. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel right again after this—if he’d even be able to look at her again. All of it felt so incredibly wrong to him. But, an agreement was made, and it was his duty to fulfill it.

Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and thought of Lucas. Images of the sandy-haired knight danced in his mind. Quietly, he meditated on it, and after a few moments, it began to feel real. He could see his loving smile, and hear his intoxicating laugh. All the memories of their love wrapped tightly around him—every night they’d lain together, every kiss they’d shared, every touch they’d had. He embraced the warmth of those treasured days, wishing desperately to return to them.

Opening his eyes again, he saw Carmilla patiently waiting beneath him, her aura less tense now. He attempted to calm himself with a few more deep breaths, however, he didn’t feel so disconnected from her anymore. She wasn’t Lucas, that much was true, but perhaps, her bit of advice had been helpful, after all. Though his eyes were staring down at an elven princess, his mind was consumed only by his knight.

Gathering his nerves, he leaned closer to her, gently holding her thigh and pushing it upwards. Goosebumps radiated across her skin from his soft touch. Nervously, she bit at her lower lip, shivers running up her sides and over her breasts, while butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

“Tell me to stop.” Vin offered to her again.

“I won’t.”

[dragonbanexxi]

The Great Bronze Conspiracy

Aegon II x OC Targaryen Royce

***!!!NOT CANON COMPLIANT!!!***

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

Two very different men sit across from each other, with calculating eyes studying the other diligently.

One dressed in an earthy emerald doublet, with the aurora a poised peacock. The other adorned in his bronze armor encrypted with sacred runes for protection and good fortune.

Two very different men with one distinct mutual hatred for the infamous Rogue Prince.

“You’re a fool if you think there isn’t any better offers for my grandsons hand.” The Hightower man drawls. Eliciting a tight smirk on his companions face.

“You’re a fool if you think if you think you can crown the little princeling king with only Lannister gold and very few allies.” Ser Gerold rebuttals back.

“Marry the prince to niece.” The Bronze Knight says gruffly. “The boy will become King and my niece his queen. She is also just as much of the blood of the dragon as the rest of her paternal family. Wed them and together we will finally put an end to Daemon Targaryen once and fore all.”

The Lord Hightower’s eyes shine with contentment at that last statement. It’s been his greatest desire to get rid of the Rogue Prince for years now. A cocky smile breaks out on his face as he offers his hand to Ser Gerold .

“Very well.” They shake hands firmly.

“Let us join our houses. My grandson with your niece.”

“Long may they reign” Ser Gerold says with a large smile.

“Long may they reign.”

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

Chapter 2: Amélia

Every year on the eve of the incoming summer, the Vale’s great noble houses take turns to host the Diamond Ball in Gulltown. An unofficial competition between the noble houses. For each ball hosted is always grandeur than the previous one.

This year the Redfort’s happen to the designated hosts. The Gulltown Venue had been decorated in their house colors. Scarlett red and silver. Beautiful roses placed poised against white roses. The diamond chandeliers sparkling their pretty light throughout the hall. Yet what truly stood out were the striking ice statues carved into various different animals standing stoically over the guest. Such ice no doubt was imported from beyond the wall.

Amélia had been gawking at their beauty when her Uncle Gerold grabbed hold of her arm.

“Let’s us greet Lord Redfort lass.” The girl nods in agreement. Making their way to the strapping lord, who was dressed in a fine black doublet with silver chains hanging from the neck to the shoulders.

“Lord Ashton” Ser Gerold greets his old friend in good spirits. Bowing respectfully. Amélia follows his lead curtsying gracefully.

“My Ser Gerold! Glad you could make it old sport!” They share a brotherly hug, patting their backs heartily.

“Your niece is growing prettier by the day Gerold.” The Lord says taping his finger on the pretty maidens nose.

Amélia hates the gesture but would never be so crass to openly show it. Instead the Lady Royce gushed, and smiled prettily at the old Lord Redfort.

Said lord is quickly swifted away by the incoming noble house of Grafton. Amélia was about to make her way to where the lady Tina Belmore was sitting. A maiden her age with dirty blonde hair and the warmest brown eyes that Amélia is sure she stole from a baby fawn. The Lady Belmore is a close friend of Amélia. Having had fostered two years with the Royce’s at Runestone. They had been attached to the hip in their shared childhood. Even when the time came for them to part, their friendship proved to be as strong as Valyrian Steel.

“Look it’s the little lass of the Redfort” Her uncle said tightening his grip on Amélia’s arm. “We should greet her.”

“Oh I can’t stand that Scarlett!” The beauty whispers poutingly to her uncle-papa. “Papa, you should see the way she throws herself at cousin Yorwick.”

“Now now, that’s your cousins business. You must remember your civilities child. Her family is hosting, it would be rude not to say hello.”

“Lady Scarlett!” Her uncle says jovially. “Good evening.”

The raven haired beauty smirks in her usual lady like charm. Her Scarlett dress’s cleavage showing a generous amount. Just enough for it to be acceptable. A daring dress for a daring girl.

“Ser Gerold. Thank you from coming.” The Redfort girl then gives a faux girlish gasp. “Amélia Royce” sticking her hand out.

The Lady Royce accepts it hesitantly “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Bullshit Amélia thinks to herself. Both she and Scarlett had a weird affinity for each other, their senses always alerting each other when the other is nearby. The Royce beauty opts to act dumb as well. Now isn’t the time to be picking fights, especially not when there’s an audience.

“Lady Scarlett” Amélia beams with faux cheerfulness. “What a stunning dress, I just can’t keep my eyes off it.” She drawls.

The Redfort girls snake like eyes spark with mischief, yet she lets the Royce’s be on their way. Finally Amélia can go greet her dear friend Tina.

“Millie!” She cries enveloping Amélia in her arms. The Heir of Runestone hugs her friend back happily.

“By the Gods you look beautiful Amélia!” She says. “Powder blue definitely is your color.” Amélia says her thanks you.

The Lady Royce had this gowned specially commissioned for this ball. Though she hadn’t told Ser Gerold that. It was cut in the High Garden style, puffy sleeves, a low neck line that showed off her elegant collar bones and neck. It had embroidered silver flowers throughout the bodice, and pearls sewed throughout the skirt. It was admittedly a pretty penny but if she was going to be the Queen some day, Amélia had to be ahead of the ever changing fashion trends.

The ambience of the venue was booming. Music playing beautifully, many chivalrous men dancing with beautiful maidens. A great many drinking, others gambling. The Lady Jeyne Arryn sitting in the makeshift throne, staring at all the attendees stoically.

Her bored blue eyes locking with Amélia’s brown. There was a hint of disdain in the older woman’s eyes. The silver haired beauty looks away quickly, hoping the Wardeness doesn’t think she was staring.

“There seems to be more people present.” Amélia notes offhandedly.

Her friend Tina smiles in agreement, “There’s a few Westernlanders present.”

“Oh… have you been asked to dance already?”

“Yes actually. A golden haired westerner by the name of Joff Lefford asked my father if he could dance with me.” A blush creeping on the Belmore maidens round face.

“He promised me another.”

“Ooooo” the Lady Royce says childishly. Causing her friend to blush harder.

“Well I bet my shimmy he’ll end up falling in love with you.”

“Amélia” Tina says in horror at her friends crudeness but still manages to laugh.

Later in the evening more lady’s join them, all of them chatting amicably, laughing boisterously every so often. Lady Belmore’s Westernlander finally takes her to his second promised dance. Amélia could see the goofy grin the young man sports while talking to her friend. Lord Lefford is totally smitten with Tina. Gods be good and match between them could be made. Tina deserves a happy life with a good lord husband.

Amélia also accepts a few dances of her own. She dance with a few boys her age and an almaring amount of old men. Her Uncle- Pa had to whisk her away from a few rakish men. With these rake like men she tries her best not to flirt with, not wanting to give the wrong impression. Especially since Ser Gerold had said that her betrothal would be announced soon. She would still allow herself to enjoy these moments however. Knowing well that her time as a youthful maiden will soon come to end.

The beauty steps out the venue for some fresh air, and stretches her arms above her head.

“Psst” she hears a voice to her right. She turns to face who’s trying to get her attention.

“Psst Amélia!” She sees a gloved hand peeking out a wooden door.

“Over here!”

Slowly she makes her way to it. Knocking softly.

“Hello? Who’s in the-“ she couldn’t finish her sentence as she’s pulled into the small shack roughly.

“Ooff” she huffs out. Looking up to see the snakish blue eyes of Scarlett Redfort.

“What are you doing in here?” She whispers. Scarlett puts a little hook through a loop connected to the wall, locking them in.

“I’m bored.” She says shrugging her shoulders. “You’re the only one among that flock of frightens hens who knows how to have fun.”

Amélia purses her lips but doesn’t say anything. Scarlett opens a bottle, taking a swig and handing it to Amélia.

“Northern Whiskey” she says simply, with a coy smile.

Amélia bring the bottle to her nose scrunching her face at the pungent smell. She braves herself to take a swig. A burning sensation trails down her throat.

“It gets better with practice.” Scarlett muses.

Amélia takes another swig. Handing the bottle to Scarlett once more. They sit there in the shack for another five minute passing the bottle back and forth until both girls begin to feel lighter. Amélia wouldn’t say she’s drunk but if she continues she will be.

“That’s enough for me.” She says “the last thing I need is Uncle Gerold berating me in front of the whole canteen for being drunk.”

The Lady Redfort however takes a few more swigs. Her sleeves falling off her shoulders exposing more cleavage. Her devilish eyes notice Amélia’s eyes on them. Scarlett grazes her slender fingers over them teasingly. Like a cat on the prowl, Scarlett makes her way to where Amélia is sitting and sits herself upon her lap, wrapping her arms around her neck. Nuzzling their noses together tenderly.

“Kiss me.” Scarlett Redfort says in a seductive whisper.

Amélia didn’t have to be told twice.

[formeitsveryunordinary]

Here is the account of a few months in the life of one Roman sanders two years after he had been formed in a dimly lit thrown room. A few months later, he wouldn’t be able to speak of himself because he can’t remember now.

It started on a Monday morning when Thomas was but a wee little lad and still had to go to the dreadful place known as school in seventh grade, meaning logan was too busy inhaling knowledge with all the enthusiasm of a fish that finally found an opportunity to escape from a fisherman’s grasp back into the water and patton had his hand full trying to keep Thomas emotionally stable in a place that constantly provoked the devil in you. Neither the drama club nor choir had any meetings that day and Roman had much rather scoop his eyes out with a plastic spoon than sit throught a math class for more than twenty minutes, in other words Roman was left to his own devices in the mind palace.

After many failed attempts at keeping himself entertained by writing, painting, and even dancing at one point, Roman finally gave into the urge to explore more of the mind palace. Even though it had been a little over two years since he had been formed, there were still places he had yet to see. New corridors and doors still seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and he often caught sight of strange objects he hadn’t noticed the day before. Today, he decided to go towards where the vibrant and cheerful colours of most of the mind palace or rather what Roman believed to be most of the mind palace gave way to dark, melancholy colours. As he walked further east than he had ever done before patton's words of caution rang through his mind, "curiosity killed the cat“ he had said with a gentle boop to Roman’s nose, his ever present smile turning into a slight frown at the imagery of a dead cat his statement provoked. Surely, just a couple of steps further wouldn’t hurt. He would even make sure not to go where the colours are the darkest.

The thing is that Roman hadn’t really been able to sit still since yesterday. He had caught a glimpse of a strangely familiar door on his way to logan’s room to drop off a plate of mac and cheese because logan had insisted on preparing for monday morning for several hours and missed dinner. The door, which was further from logan's room than he previously thought, was made up of smooth cider. Its reddish colour stood out amongst the fading colours of the mind palace. It had a rose gold handle that was shaped like a sword, and at the top of the door, "Romulus” was written in green... Who is Romulus?...... if another side had been living with them all this time, surely he would have noticed. Was it a new side, perhaps? One that was newly formed and hasn’t had an opportunity to meet him or the others yet? If that was the case, why was he overcome with such a strong sense of nostalgia when he looked at the handle of the door. It was like he was trying to recall something from five years ago even though he didn't have consciousness then. Urged by curiosity and a great deal of confusion, Roman reached for the handle of the door, a little worried that, like a real sword, it would cut. __It didn't_ . He twisted the pseudo sword and let himself in.

Roman sneezed into his elbow as soon as he stepped into the room;The space was covered almost completely in dust. He reached into his pocket to fetch a piece of white handkerchief he had made a habit of keeping on his person and covered his nose as he took in the emerald greens and Ruby reds of the room. A huge canopy bed sat in the left corner of the room, an extravagant chandelier that held several electric candles hung from the ceiling, and the space was bathed in warm light from the large windows. There were several paintings of a man; who roman assumed was the owner of this room, accomplishing great dids. In one of the paintings a crown sat upon his head..pressing into his blacker than night hair. His different coloured eyes gleamed as he stared down at the enemy he had under his feet as they cried in pain, his sword digging into diferrent parts of their person or as in one of the paintings, they stared directly at roman.

As Roman's insides mimiced an object between a wrench in the pleasant way nostalgia does, as he walked towards a particular painting.

[soulsxng]

Guards line the walls with a set of three between each pillar leading to the throne where the ruler in question is perched for an audience. Pearl white steps draped in raven carpet a stark contrast to the fresh roses filling the vases; sunlight washed in with a touch of sea salt from crashing waves miles below the cliffs. Her advisor steps aside with a bow, the floor opened to their guest as Violetta set her gaze upon him.

“One wonders what stories were told.” Corners turn up with a polite smile, the edge of confidence slipping into her tone. Bracelets chime when she stood from her throne; midnight ringlets cascading down in waves. A crown secured atop her head glimmered, gold weaved between pitch black with matching diamonds of emerald and obsidian. Violetta took each step with a grace befitting of her standing; each motion fluid with a subtle echo of a heel. It is not until the Empress stood upon the base of the stairs when a flicker of amusement entered her gaze.

“Tell me,” Perhaps it is the assurance in his voice that humored her as an arm is held out; the back of her hand left for him to take as a matter of greeting. Royal insignia carved into the ring on her finger. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” (Violetta-Jaspern // don’t mind me continuing the ruler shenanigans from the roulette 😂)

@lunarxdaydream

"Nothing too serious. It was enough to pique my interest at least, but at the same time, I try not to put too much stock into rumors. People always like to talk about those in positions of power, after all. The more talk there is, the more twisted and far-fetched the detail get." A soft chuckle escaped him as he made his way toward the stairs in turn. Taking Violetta's hand and giving a bow; gaze holding hers, and massive grey and white wings spreading wide, as if to display themselves to her.

With that done, her hand is released, and in one smooth motion, he straightens up again and takes a step back. Wings tucked neatly behind him once more.

"Jaspern vir si Ahnia; as the title suggests, King of Ahnia, a country in the realm of Brinnela. I have business in some of the surrounding realms over the next few days, and I remember my son telling me that you were one of the guests that attended Seelie's revel that he wasn't able to speak with before he had to leave...so I wanted to make it a point to stop here and greet you myself."

[lunarxdaydream]

( part one )

Gold. Emerald. Teal. Violet and all shades in between hung from the racks. Each organized according to color and pattern. A daunting task, mindful in its approach as every detail is taken. Cashmere melts like butter beneath her touch. Not a single thread out of place but what else is there to expect from the designer? In fact, it was one of the many reasons why Lucia had been fond of their campaigns. Bold and unique designs yet the manner in which sigils or myths were incorporated are nothing short of clever. A perfect and breathtaking balance. Simplicity, above all, refined with an air of sophistication. A favorite of hers if she was honest. 

A corner of her lip rose. Matte rouge a stark hue to cream skin yet a sinful companion to the silk draped over her figure. Once more eyes drift back to the mirror. A woman staring back, golden hair cascading in loose beach curls. Peals so delicately weaved along the crown of her hair; a matching set to the string sitting against her neck. The softest kiss of silver dusted inner eyelids; just a plume grey left to the outer crease to bring out the vivid amethyst of her orbs. Cheekbones so lovingly caressed with a touch of bronzer for a glow; not a single flaw to be found beneath the make-up set. 

Beautiful might have been the only word to describe the sight and yet, Lucia knew better. Just as her hand fell from the rack so did the woman in the mirror. Thin strap of the ebony dress falling from her shoulder only to soon be returned to its place. One by one, her steps approach. Slowly. Carefully. As if she were mindful of the pace to avert frightening her. 

A foolish notion. 

Finally, she stands before her. Face to face. Eye to eye. Pads of her fingers left to brush against cold glass of her reflection. Curves tenderly hugged; a slit free to expose her legs from mid-thigh below. Pitch black Prada with red underheel suitable to the elegant and simple attire dawned. Had she not known any better, Lucia might have expected the director of the photoshoot to come barging in. Or hear the giggles of other models as they burst through ready to take their pick of the next outfit. 

“You know,” he began as the light finally struck the mirror. As usual, a carefree grin set as his arms crossed. “You’re starting to get the hang of it.” 

Gaze flickered down to her left thigh. The weight of steel cool against her skin; flushed and secured just mere inches higher from where the fabric opened. Carefully tucked inside, away from where a hand would dare caress, not that she would give them the opportunity. Time is of the essence.

“We only have one chance.”, Lucia remarked as she withdrew from the reflection. His earlier words callously thrown back. Nails dipped in crimson fix the flower among his lapel. A scoff freed from his lungs as his eyes grow alight with humor. “I’m guessing they’ve checked in?”

“And waiting.” From his inner pocket, another item is brandished. Small enough to fit in her grasp as velvet is undone. A sharp edge peaking and for only a moment does she hesitate. There is still time to turn back ...

‘... What’s done is done.’ Blood was long shed. And now ... 

“Maybe you ought to reconsider my offer.” His arm extends with that same smirk. Grating as expected but beggars can’t be choosers. 

‘... How did he manage to be friends with you?’

Blade is tucked away. A foreign sensation as it brushed against her. A physical reminder of the wrong to come and yet there is something else. 

“One thing at a time.” Her arm slips through, his comment dismissed just as any other thought beyond the task at hand. 

[inkypearlz]

Gifting A Brooch

I removed my hat, the vintage grey one with that lovely black feather, where I took inspiration from a certain Ms. Rosier, and knocked on The Queen’s door. I am no expert in wood types, but this ebony door is certainly beautiful. Princess Snow White wrote to me, as I am her stepmother’s jewelry designer, and I am related to Dulce, her newest mirror maker, who had been nothing but a charismatic dear to her over the past few days.  

“Enter.” I heard her voice, regal, calm and collected, with a hint of vulnerability. Something I know all too well. I carefully opened the door and closed it behind me while placing a hand on the door knob so it will not slam. I have absolutely no intention of ruining this calm atmosphere. Then, I turn and face The Queen. 

She seemed to be in her usual attire, her violet gown, ruby pendant, black cape, fillet and wimple and crown, all in place. I recently did some simple research on her headdress, learnt that it is actually a two-piece. Her emerald eyes pierced through my onyx ones. “If I may ask, how are you faring, your majesty?” My lips parted to speak. 

“How am I faring?” She echoed. She did not respond for a while, but I can see her emerald pupils dilate, then back again. I know it’s a rather surprising question for her. “If you must know…Currently, I am not at my best.” Those words rolled off her tongue much easier than she would admit. I reached out to hold her hand, but only managed to brush over a perfectly manicured, apple-red nail. Queen Grimhilde’s stance seemed to be different, and it is not just because she sat on an armchair. Yes, she was still the poised, regal monarch, yet the way she stood also allowed me to detect a hint of vulnerability.  She’s been hurt by many things. I’ve sensed those before, yet she seemed to have become more fragile after the tumble off that cliff. 

I pulled out a small intricate box with my emblem. “I would like to present this gift, your majesty. It is my own design, and I sincerely hope it is to your liking.”

I presented the box to her with both hands, and tensed up for a second when I feel her slender fingers brush over mine. She held onto the box, her slender fingers absentmindedly tracing over its velvet texture. The Queen has quite an affinity towards beauty, and now I can only hope that the intricacy of my design does not disappoint. 

Queen Grimhilde lifted open the lid, her eyes glimmered with subtle curiosity, and no, she did not gasp. Instead, she took the brooch out and examined it, the spinel surface of it glistening under the afternoon sunlight. “Very well, I shall accept it,” she finally replies, “But do explain, why does the design take the shape of an apple?” She arched a perfect eyebrow in slight confusion. 

I fully expected her to ask this question. “Your majesty,  I do know of that unfortunate encounter with the dwarves. But also, I imagine apples to be a most flawless fruit, much like yourself. It deserves to be refined.” Yes, it was inspired by that poisoned apple, but I wanted to bring a refined touch to it, so that it is custom made and befitting of royalty. Instead of the acidic green poison, I opted for gold, soft enough to form intricate flamelike swirls like the steam rising from a cauldron.

The Queen listened with interest. “You seem to always be drawn to the…elements around you, yet you twist them into your own aesthetic.” She mused, locking her gaze into mine once more. “I have not expected you to visit me.”

She carefully placed the brooch back into the box, and rose from her seat, “A creative design I do approve of.” I stood up too, and followed her to her vanity, where she opened a drawer, and I was greeted with a masquerade of intricate brooches dancing before me, as I see a hint of her rare smile. 

Call me Aurelia, if you want to. It means “Golden One”, and I have always strived to live up to this name. It’s my destiny, you see, the one I willingly chose. I am known for my passionate jewelry designs and my empathetic nature, as I dramatically consider myself as that sprinkle of starlight that is visible every night. In simpler words, I offer compassion and design jewelry for those I value. A rather odd combination, but befitting of me. Yes, I travel, but through dimensions and realms to find possible clients. Among all my clients, Queen Grimhilde is one of my favourites. 

[a-trench-coat-of-confused-worms]

{the main hall is loud with boisterous music and the sound of party goers chatter and laughter description of Lillian sitting on the throne next to her father the king her head adorned in a golden crown with emeralds and a black and green dress her adopted siblings sit in slightly smaller chairs next to her explain either here or later that this is based on rank of how close their are to being primary heir}

The boisterous music came to a slowing halt as the king of [[placeholder]] rose from his seat and faced the congregation of people that stood in his gaze “my people of [[placeholder]] I throw my hopes upon you that you have been enjoying yourselves most thoroughly but I am more than ecstatic to tell you that the reason you are here, the moment that we have all been patiently waiting for is upon us” his voice boomed through the Great hall “the drawing of names is upon us, for the future of this kingdom,for the future of our people.” 

he reached his hand out and made a quick gesture of his hand to signal the servants to to draw closer unto him the the wide oak doors swung open a beautiful but chaotic medley of trumpets echoed off the hallowed hall, the hall that had seen this tradition ring through for a millenia had seen Kings and Queens of great stature of phenomenal promise, rise or fall to the challenge before them, Lillian had no plan of befaling to the hand of her victim to be. Her darkened black eyes with flecks of gold looked to her father as the crowd dispersed before the small group of people carrying upon their shoulders, her future, this kingdom’s future as her father had so eloquently put it her eyes never faltered off of him waiting for the smallest hint of his approval to move forward and draw the name,the name that shall decide her fate.

Lillian could’ve sworn that time had sunken it’s cold talons into her mind and plagued her with vision of it slowly passing by her even though in her mind’s eye she knew it had been going much faster than how it felt, she watched as her father slowly turned his head just the slightest to tell her wordlessly that the day that she has tirelessly been training for since the day she had escaped the womb for the day to prove to her people she is more than capable of taking care of them that she can be cold and calculating to those that defy her that she will rise to the ranks of her ancestors before her, she slowly raised her self out of her seat, she gave the respected curtsy to her father and her people she stepped towards the crystal bowl its carving of the mythical polar bear that has seen her ancestors through battle for many a generation its legacy carved into the wood that builds the very bones of this castle its claws on the crystal bowl reaching up towards the mouth of the bowl its meaning deeply etched into the mythology of their people it’s guidance and wisdom but also its ferocity towards those who would wish harm it eased her soul as she reached in and gently pinched the silken soft parchment paper between her fingers.

 “Elizabeth the third ,house of black bear” Lillian announced her voice sure and steady “now my target has a name to it,finally” she muttered under her breath as she watched and waited for her siblings to draw their enemies from the crystal glass.

As the last name rang out Lillian stood to her feet she walked to her father and pardoned herself from the party as she made her way to the library with the intent of learning everything she could possibly learn of the lineage of the house of black bear she would know Elizabeth's family and ancestry better than Elizabeth herself, she must prepare her mind along with her body, no matter what it takes the years of pain, the scars that are etched into her ivory skin,she wore them with pride her favorite being the scar that goes from the tip of her right eyebrow down her nose into her left cheek a gift from her mother when they used to spar, it was the only gift her mother ever gave her before her untimely death, her mother wasn't keen on physical affection she believed it would make lillian weak so she showed her love through preparing her for this tradition she trained lillian so she could take her rightful place on the throne the pain the beatings being locked in the dungeon for failing all of it was out of love lillian would tell herself and she would be damned to waste those years of effort from her mother on some privledged princess who has never had to scream for her place let alone  fight tooth and nail, body and soul for a mere chance of living up to her mothers expectations her parents expectations her peoples expectations. “I will find this Elizabeth and wrench her soul from her body. I will watch the lights in her eyes cascade down into Hades' realm, even if it takes my soul with it.”

Chapter 2

The dagger hit the door with a thump “if you have a wish of untimely mortality then please pursue further into my chambers'' lillian said from the floor surrounded by dusty scrolls and piles of books that haven't been touched in ages let alone read “my apologies madam but it is a message from the king..your father” lillian’s handmaiden said calmly she was used to lillian’s fits of rage at this point, lillian’s head snapped back her eyes wide in surprise “my apologies miriam I thought you to be a bumbling party goer who though it wise to take their sweetheart of the night into my chambers” miriam dismissed her apology with a flap of her hand as she turned and yanked the decorated dagger from it’s resting place in the structure of the doorway “no apologies needed your highness I would have knocked upon your door before entrance but as i’m sure my lady can see it was of great importance, i forget myself in my old age at times” miriam said with a laugh. “You are not too old of age, Miriam, you still be the freshest of flowers in this kingdom whether it be your looks, your countenance or purely your stature” lillian laughed as she pulled herself off the floor “for what old maid would put up with me at my times of childish behaviors? None I say to you but a fairly young lady with eyes full of a gleam of hope,well then they might surely deal unto the hand they have been given no?” Lillian again laughed, reaching out to Miriam to receive the letter.

Miriam gently handed it to Lillian along with Lillian’s dagger. Lillian quietly pocketed the dagger as she opened the letter; it contained two letters in the one envelope.

“Dear Lillian I pray to those before us that this letter finds you well, the moment has arrived, the family of black bear have planned a masquerade,although it is in the rules to not to know your  target’s face but nevertheless I’m more than confident in your abilities best of luck”

This message was signed off from Lilian's younger sister, the only one too young to partake in this tradition. It warmed lillian's heart to know that her abilities have been acknowledged by her beloved sister, the second letter merely stated the time and place of the ball and a “loving” message from her father a simple “best of luck, my child” lillian gently placed the letters on her nightstand that stands proudly next to her bed

Chapter 3

Lillian bites down on her tongue as her corset is tied up from behind the hilt of her concealed dagger digging into her ribcage but she wouldn't dare utter a sound of discomfort, she has been taught from a young age that weakness is almost more frowned upon than treason, as the maids finished up tidying her up for the ball they bowed and retreated out of her chambers, before the door could fully close lillian headed towards her cabinet and pulled out a small vial full of an inky red almost black liquid she threads a string through the small clasp at the top of the crystal vial and slips it over her head gently before it can take its resting place in her bosom she gently kisses it “watch over me mother, guide my hand, may your watchful eyes bring honor to our family and to our people” Lillian gently whispers and if someone could hear her they might have also heard that her breath gently caught as she gently almost lovingly placed it under the top of her dark red dress. Lillian sat in front of a gem encrusted mirror as she gently applied a dark red liquid to her lips she rubbed her lips together a couple times before taking a cloth nearby and dabbing the extra liquid off leaving a ruby tint to her thin heart shaped lips,she looked into the mirror her dark eyes were decorated with a dark red powder and her lashes given the illusion of looking longer with mascara her scar was, to her disapproval ,hidden with some kind of liquid specifically made to match her skin, if it weren't for the borderline magic of her lady in waiting it would be apparent of the amount of nights lillian had gone without rest

@waitingforthesunrise

[casterlygldcs]

withsilvereyes​:

setting : the lannister apartments in highgarden, sometime before the storm ; starter for @casterlygldcs

icy hues gazed down at the gardens below, rich with colours and expanding further than she could’ve imagined. it was certainly not her first visit to the reach, but it seemed the very landscape itself changed every time she came. she much preferred the rolling hills of her own home, the familiarity that landscape brought, but she would admit this place was quite beautiful.

golden curls brushed across her back as she turned and walked to the table she had initially taken to, her tea surely cold now, her correspondences left untouched. katherine’s mind was, uncharacteristically, scattered today. one would look about the very room she was in and say she surely had everything. she did not want for a thing. and yet, the one thing she need give in return, she still had not.

hands came to her hips now, willing herself to focus, she had already sent a handmaiden to her husband, notifying him of her arrival. she brushed through her locks one more time, assessing herself in the vanity before making her way to his audience chamber. katherine had become an expert in outward appearances, stride graceful and composure collected, not even those close to her would sense the thoughts within her mind.

at the announcement of her arrival, she strode in the room, frame dipping elegantly into a curtsy, before she gently uttered, “your grace.” it was both a term of respect, and endearment from her. a genuine smile curved upwards upon her lips now as shoulders visibly relaxed. though heartbeat quickened slightly, as she genuinely enjoyed being around him, if not for the one thing that hung between them as of late.

“i hope your day has been well.” katherine began, the beginning of what, she was unsure. if anything she simply craved moments of connection with him that did not involve the very future of the westerlands. “i was just looking out at the gardens and thought we could certainly use some more colour in ours at home, don’t you agree?”

♔

the mood of the lion king was foul. it was easy to know when the mood of the lion king was foul, for his silence was something that was far more disturbing. something about his aura made those around him entirely nervous, wondering just when those startling hues would fix more like the eyes of a lion on prey rather than the hue of emeralds. there was something that shifted in his gaze that made him seem less human and more leader, more the solid crown of gold that rested upon his head rather than the human with the blood, the flesh, the emotions. 

“your grace.” he greeted her, the image of westerlands chivalry; the ladies and pageboys who stood and watched, and watched, and watched. he extended her his hand to help her raise after her curtsy; she was perfect. she had always been perfect. the epitome of what it was to be dutiful and gracious. house serrett had placed her under his eye by bringing her to court. the newest lady in waiting in the household of the former rose queen - and yet, as much as he seemed not to notice the new face, he did. 

as he noticed her so many years ago, at one of the many balls taken part within the court of casterly to welcome king viserys. masked as one of the virtues, dressed all in white. as he had noticed her at the last tourney. but that was a lifetime ago. “you would have heard of what happened this morning.” 

the prince of fair isle had misstepped: he had done more than misstepped, he had resulted himself to a grovelling begger at the foot of the river king. a boy at heart who was wrapped in the tartans of the trident and had a crown placed upon his head by his banners who loved him - the lion had broken, and found himself begging for the help of the sheep. the hand of the king had been responsible for breaking the news to the lion king, the lord of the burning bush: and in that moment, the lion king felt as though he too would set his own aflame. 

for their weakness. for their disgrace. it was getting to the point where the lions were ripping themselves apart. there was no one left for them to turn on but one another: almost as though the murder of their aunt had been the final thing which had held them together. to beg the river king to interfere in the way in which a king conducted matters in his own court: as though being offered the clemency of exile would be enough of a mercy to her. the news had been broken in the morning, and now the evening had come.

and the queen of the westerlands spoke to him about colours. colours in casterly rock, that was carved into the mountain. he continued to eat his venison in silence after her suggestion; something about her aura was nervous. on edge. they both knew all too well just what she was on edge about: the fact that her womb remained as empty as the silence haunting their current dining chamber. 

“do you hear yourself, katherine?” 

[thebadgerclan]

My Queen

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: King Nikolai is hosting a ball with his beloved queen...

“His Most Royal Majesty, King Nikolai Lanstov and Her Most Royal Majesty, Queen Y/N Lantsov, wearers of the Double-Eagle Crown, may their lives and reigns be long!”  Nikolai offered you his arm and led you into the ballroom, smiling and waving at the noblemen and women.  You did the same, the Lantsov emerald winking in the light.  Your husband led you to the chairs reserved for the royal couple behind the round dining table, pulling your seat out for you.  The courtiers filed into their respectful seats, Nikolai’s head advisor to his right, you to his left, Genya to your left.

“You look simply beautiful tonight, Y/N,” he said with a smile.  “Ethereal, my love.”  “Thank you, Nikolai,” you replied, taking his offered hand, squeezing it gently.  Tonight, you wore a flowing gown, ice blue silk with Lantsov gold accents, swirling spirals of golden thread through the fabric, hair tumbling down your neck, a diamond crown in your hair.  Nikolai wore his dress uniform, his golden sash across his chest, medals polished to a mirror gleam.  He wore no crown, but he commanded the respect of a king nonetheless.  

He raised the hand not holding yours, and the table went quiet.  “My friends,” Nikolai began, addressing his court.  “My wife and I thank you for your presence tonight.  You and I both know how much work there is to be done for our great nation, but tonight, we celebrate!”  Nikolai lifted his wine glass, and you did the same, raising them to your guests.  “To Ravka!”  “To Ravka!” the crowd responded, raising their glasses.  Your husband turned to you, toasting your glass before taking a sip.

Servants appeared from every corner of the room, uncovering dishes and serving the courtiers.  Seared quail, roasted potatoes in a cream sauce, honey glazed ham, wine, kvas, ale, champagne, a spread of Ravkan delicacies.  The meal was delicious, course after course of rich, mouth-watering food.  After dessert, a luscious chocolate mousse topped with raspberries, servants cleared the table, and you stood, the court taking their cues from you and your husband.  Nikolai offered you his arm, leading you over to the raised dais which held your ornate gold thrones, lifting your skirts as you stepped up onto it.  A pair of durasts moved the table from the room, clearing the floor for the court to mill about.

You seated yourself on your throne, Nikolai following suit, keeping his hand firmly in yours.  The partygoers mingled, conversing and laughing with each other, all while their monarchs looked on.  Nikolai loved throwing balls, even when there was no real reason to have one.  He loved watching his people enjoy themselves; there was a war going on, yes, but that didn’t mean a good time couldn’t be had.  “I truly cannot fathom the depths of your beauty, my love,” Nikolai said as he looked at you, diamonds in your crown twinkling.  “Darling, you say that every day.”  “And I mean it every day.”

He stood when the orchestra began warming up, extending a hand to you.  “A dance, my queen?”  He was smirking, every single feature of his face undeniably perfect.  “Of course, my king.”  You rose gracefully to your feet, silk rippling like water around your legs, letting your husband lead you onto the dance floor.  The court parted around you, making ample room for the king and queen.  Nikolai bowed, a pointless gesture, but one that made your heart flutter.  You curtsied to him, taking his hand when you rose.

His hand on the small of your back, yours on his shoulder, you along with most of the courtiers began to dance.  Nikolai spun and twirled you around the room, turning in circles as the dance required, your gown swishing smoothly as you danced.  You giggled when Nikolai dipped you slightly deeper than expected, gripping his biceps for stability.  He righted you, smirking as he continued the dance.

Once it ended, Nikolai stepped back, taking your right hand and pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the back of it.  He was bent at the waist, bowing to you as he kissed your hand, his eyes shut as he did.  Your husband stood upright, stepping closer to you until you were only inches apart.  He held your hand against his chest, now looking down slightly at you.  “My beautiful queen,” Nikolai whispered, kissing your forehead.  “Every day I think I cannot possibly love you more, and every day I prove myself wrong.

“I love you so much, Y/N, and I will love you for the rest of my life, more and more each day.”  Nikolai was a romantic, that was common knowledge.  All of Ravka swooned for the king, the second son who took the throne so tragically, wanting more than anything to garner a grain of his attention.  But it was all reserved for you, the women he loved above all else.  And they knew that, admiring the love their king had for their queen.

“I love you too, Nikolai.  More than you could ever know.”  Your husband smiled, blushing faintly.  “Oh my Y/N; my beautiful, gorgeous, perfect queen.  You are too good to me.”  You smiled, and Nikolai kissed your forehead, the hand that wasn’t holding yours against his chest came to rest between your shoulders, trailing up and down your back.  “Now, I believe we have a party to host, don’t we, my queen?”  You smiled, leaning into Nikolai’s embrace for a moment longer before pulling back, linking your arm with his.  “We do, my king.”

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 15

A/N: well, the end is finally here. I’m not done with this lil au by any other means, there are some oneshots (like missing scenes from this story that I couldn’t get to flow with the rest of the fic) and some oneshots that take place before and after this story. there is also a nature wives sequel that I am contemplating. anyway, I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you to all the love this fic has gotten. when I set out to write this, I never imagined it getting this much love. I was writing this story mostly for myself, and this has been a work that I have never been more motivated to write, and that is largely due to the love that it has gotten. again, thank you so much. and I wrote this chapter while listening to Like Real People Do by Hozier on loop, I think it fits the mood of this chapter very well.

Warnings: pretty much nothing, just kissing and a ton of fluff

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

Quite some time had passed since that fateful day that Jimmy had saved Scott from the corruption. Jimmy still didn’t quite agree that his kiss was what had saved Scott in the end, he was sure Scott had something to do with it too- safe to say this was a common debate between the two. Debating was something that had not changed between them in the slightest. They still bickered, but it was lighthearted, more affectionate now. Their arguments, if they could even be called that, were filled with laughter that glittered like gold and grins that shimmered like bronze.

The defensive strategies that the new and improved House Blossom Alliance came up with helped a great deal- not that they really ended up needing it anyhow. Fwhip and Sausage kept to themselves most times these days. Both of them seemingly felt guilty about what had happened, even if they made no moves to try and repair the bond that had been broken. That stung more than some of the former Wither Rose Alliance members cared to admit. Pearl and Gem both wanted to see the best in Fwhip and Sausage, but even if either of them came crawling back for forgiveness, neither one was sure they would give it to them. And Scott wasn’t sure how he could handle even seeing one of them again.

Then there was the matter of the corruption. The containment box Gem had made seemed to be working enough, but every now and again one of them would spot a strange red plant growing from the ground, and would have to uproot it and add it to the box. Luckily nothing seemed to be spreading too far yet, and there was no sign of the “he” that the red Scott spoke of. Shelby seemed constantly on edge, and Jimmy caught Scott staring up at the statue of Aeor and asking for answers on more than one occasion. But Jimmy was confident that the containment would work, and since they beat it once, they could beat it again!

But it was silly to worry about those things, not on a momentous day like this. Jimmy adjusted the pale green bow-tie for about the millionth time, and fidgeted with the suit jacket, unused to the blinding white color of it. He wasn’t wearing his cod head- and he didn’t have a cod mask either- but the bronze scale-like pattern dotted here and there on the white suit was enough for Jimmy. Besides, for once, he wanted his head to be entirely visible today. However, upon Lizzie’s insistence, he did don a bronze-colored crown inlaid with emeralds.

“You ready?” Lizzie asked softly, holding out her arm to Jimmy. She had traded her dress with its blues of the Ocean Empire for one with the greens of the Cod Empire. Jimmy swallowed nervously and nodded with a smile, not trusting his voice to break. He took Lizzie’s arm, and the two of them walked out of the hallway and down the aisle of the new ceremony room of Katherine’s castle. Joel waited for them at the front, while all of Jimmy’s friends- Pixl, Katherine, Shelby, Pearl, and Gem- were sitting in the pews on either side of the aisle. Once they made it to the front of the ceremony room, Lizzie squeezed Jimmy’s arm encouragingly before taking her seat in the audience. Joel gave Jimmy a supportive smile, before the music began and both of them looked to the entrance of the ceremony room. Everyone rose from their seats- and in came Scott.

He was breathtaking. The dress he wore had white lace detailing, while the skirt itself was satin and had a layer of tulle over it, with more lace detailing at the hem. It was sleeveless, and must have been backless to make room for his wings. Gold jewelry adorned him, including the crown on his head, and in his hands he held a bouquet of blue orchids picked from Jimmy’s empire. Jimmy felt himself getting a bit misty-eyed, and couldn’t keep the adoring smile off of his face as Scott made his way down the aisle, finally coming to a stop to stand across from Jimmy. The bouquet was handed off to Joel, who set it down on the table behind him, but Jimmy was too busy gazing up at Scott, hardly able to believe that this day was happening.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Jimmy, the Codfather and ruler of the Cod Empire, and Scott, the winged elf ruler of Rivendell. Their love is one that was won through adversity, and may they always have each other through whatever trials they may have to face,” Joel said, then turned to retrieve the pillow that held the two rings on it from the table. Jimmy took one of the rings, the one that was gold with a sliver of bronze through it, and reached out for Scott’s hand.

“With this ring, I declare my love for you. No matter what you say I did to save you, I still believe that you are one of the strongest people I know. You are as imposing as the mountains you rule in, yet your smile is like morning sunlight and your laughter is glittering gold. My love for you is as steady and sure as the ground beneath me, and as strong as the ocean's currents. I could stumble, or get swept away- but I know you'll be there to save me, as you say I have saved you," Jimmy said, gazing at Scott as he slipped the ring onto his finger. Scott's eyes were glassy as he tried not to cry, smiling that sunshine smile that never failed to make Jimmy’s heart soar. Scott took a deep breath, then took the other ring- this one was bronze with a sliver of gold through it, the inverse of the one Scott now wore.

"In the red dreamscape you saved me from, the corruption made a comment about you and I. It said that you are an Icarus, and that I am your sun. But I think it's the other way around. Sure, you can certainly be an Icarus- ambitious and determined, but you are my sun, Jimmy- warm, radiant, and dazzling. If I am the mountains, then you are the sun that peeks over them. My heart soars for you like I do with my wings, I fly ever closer to catch the beams of light you give off- and I fell. I fell for you- sweet, brave, wonderful you- despite everything. So with this ring, I declare my love to you- my Icarus and my sun," Scott said, taking Jimmy’s hand and slipping the ring on his finger. Jimmy wiped at his eyes with his free hand before taking Scott’s other hand. He looked away from Scott for a brief moment to nod at Joel, before looking back to Scott. Joel turned again, setting down the pillow and trading it for two lengths of ribbon- one gold, and one bronze. An amused sparkle came to Scott’s eyes, and Jimmy gave him a look that said not-now-Scott-not-on-our-wedding-day when Joel began speaking as he looped the fabric around their wrists.

“May the threads of these ribbons never unravel, just as your love will not. May your bond stay strong and true, just as the ribbons that connect you now,” Joel said, removing his hands once he was done. The gold ribbon was looped around Scott’s right wrist, then under their clasped hands to wrap around Jimmy’s right wrist. The bronze ribbon was looped around Jimmy’s left wrist, then over their clasped hands to wrap around Scott’s left wrist.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” Scott murmured, voice low enough that only Jimmy and Joel could hear him. Jimmy let out a soft laugh, and Joel rolled his eyes fondly.

“Scott, do you take Jimmy to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?” Joel asked, looking to Scott.

“I do,” Scott said softly, all joking and teasing gone from his expression, leaving only unabashed adoration in its place.

“Jimmy, do you take Scott to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?” Joel asked, looking to Jimmy.

“I do,” Jimmy said, unable to keep himself from grinning widely, feeling like he would float to the ceiling if Scott wasn’t keeping him tethered.

“Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss the groom,” Joel said, nodding to Scott. Jimmy barely got the chance to lean in before Scott tugged him closer by their clasped hands and kissed him softly. Jimmy couldn’t stop smiling into the kiss, and he let out a delighted laugh when they broke apart. Their friends were cheering and clapping, and Joel threw blue and green confetti over them, Jimmy giggling at the way it got caught in Scott’s hair. They slipped their hands out of the ribbons, carefully handing it over to Joel as he handed the blue orchid bouquet back to Scott. The two of them then walked arm-in-arm down the aisle, married.

-

Jimmy didn’t think he had stopped smiling since the ceremony started. He even kept smiling all throughout Lizzie’s speech full of embarrassing stories about Jimmy at the reception. He definitely smiled when Scott threw the bouquet, and Shelby enthusiastically leapt up and caught it- only to stumble back into Katherine’s arms when she landed. The rest of the night, the two of them kept exchanging sheepish glances and Shelby held the bouquet close to her chest for most of the evening. Jimmy couldn’t even bring himself to be mad that someone else seemed to be finding love at their wedding.

Jimmy’s smile finally settled to something softer as he and Scott shared their first dance as a married couple. He could feel the other’s eyes on them, but that quickly faded to the background as the way Scott held him and gazed down at him captured all of his attention. Jimmy couldn’t stop stealing glances to their matching rings, heart fluttering at the reminder that they were husbands now. If you had told Jimmy at that first House Blossom Alliance meeting that he would end up married to the winged elf that badgered him into picking a fight, he would have never believed you. In fact, if you had told Jimmy anything about what was going to happen to him and Scott, he would have called you crazy. Yet here he was, dancing with someone he once swore he hated, with the man who he had been to hell and back with. And Jimmy wouldn’t have had it any other way.

-

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[awesomerextyphoon]

Don’t Tell Me

This is for @cockslut-padalecki​’s Not My Ninth Challenge. My prompt was Stucky x Reader with Royal Au and No Doubt’s Don’t Speak for the lyrics.

Summary: You loved them with all your heart, but now you must wed another.

Pairing: Stucky x Black Female Reader, Brock Rumlow x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 1,893

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Warning: Angst, Implied Smut, Threesome, Mild Depictions of Violence, and Forced Marriage

A/N: This might be my saddest fic yet. I hope this isn’t too much of a downer for you, @cockslut-padalecki​. Happy Birthday and Congratulations on 9K followers!

Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics​

Back to Masterlist

“Rise and shine, Your Highness! Today’s the big day!” Sabine, your closest handmaiden, announced.

You covered your head with your pillow in irritation, “I don’t want to!”

Sabine sighed, “You have to get up or the guards will come and force you out of bed.”

With an annoyed huff, you got up and stretched, “Let’s get this over with, Sabine.”

You had been dreading this day for weeks. Today was the day you were to wed Brock Rumlow, ruler of the Triskelion Empire. You didn’t want to marry him. He was boorish, cruel, and violent.

But most of all, you didn’t want to marry Brock because your heart belonged to Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes.

  It started when you were six years old. You were sent to Brooklynd to be King Joseph’s ward as part of a peace initiative (you later found out it was because of a failed coup and your mother wanted you safe).

King Joseph, Queen Sarah, and the court loved you. Only Prince Steven and his best friend, James Barnes Duke of Shelby, gave you the cold shoulder.

It sucked because they were the only ones near your age. You tried to win them over with baked goods from your homeland, trinkets and toys Queen Sarah said that Steven would love, and some of your favorite books. Nothing worked until you had enough and confronted them.

Steven was about to enter the stables with James when you caught them. You just wanted to ask why they were avoiding you, but as your mother warned you got violent and socked James with a left hook. It got to the point that the guards had to split up the three of you.

Queen Sarah had an unusual and embarrassing punishment: the three of you had to sit in a circle and hold hands for one hour under the stern eye of the governess and the queen herself. The air was thick with tension until the governess farted. You tried your hardest not to laugh, but you help yourself. Soon Steven and James joined in the merriment.

You were best friends ever since.

 “What do you want for your bath, Your Highness?”

“May I have the Rose, Hibiscus, Black Pepper, Lemongrass oils for the bath, and the Amla/Coconut Oil mixture for my hair, please. Thank you, Ngozi.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Once the oils were applied to the bath, you sunk in sighing from the nearly scalding water; its warmth giving you a peace of mind that has been denied to you for weeks.

You wondered how it got to this, then you frowned at the bitter memories symbolized by the single piece of jewelry under your pillow.

  The three of you became thick as thieves. Always helping each other in defending one another whether it be fighting off Steve’s bullies with Bucky or telling the snobby rich girls to stuff it whenever they said you weren’t feminine enough.

Joke’s on them because you passed all of your etiquette classes with flying colors.

Though something happened when you turned thirteen; you started seeing your best friends in a new light. You noticed how Bucky’s shoulders were broadening, Steven’s full bottom lip, the dazzling blues in their eyes, or how their laughs.

Sabine, your closest handmaiden, and friend, confirmed it; you were falling in love with them.

You were scared at first; you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with them. So you started avoiding them by spending time with Duchess Natalia and Marchioness Monica as they were the only female peers you could stand.

You would sneak glances at them when you thought they weren’t looking, but they were.

It went on like that for a year until Bucky had enough and confessed to liking you. You were relieved that he returned your affections, but was taken aback when Steven grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him in for a kiss. Turns out they’ve been a secret item for six months.

They both loved you and wanted to make it work.

And it did, for a time. You spent a great deal of time together. Though they were a few close calls since your mother instructed Queen Sarah not to let you court anyone and Steven and Bucky couldn’t go public just yet.

It didn’t matter; you just wanted to be near them. The three of you would sneak kisses by moonlight, write secret love letters, all the fun, and mushy stuff. Your relationship reached a new level when Steve and Bucky presented you with a vibranium and dragon’s gold alloy promise ring with ruby rose and emerald leaves. The three of you vowed to be together forever.

It was pure bliss; you didn’t want it to end.

  “Life had other plans, huh?” you muttered to yourself as your handmaidens were making the final body preparations before you got into your gown.

  Your mother, Queen Ketandu, had written to you and Queen Sarah requesting that you return to Abia in order to complete your studies and take on royal duties. You cried in Bucky’s arms for hours before he had to return to his quarters the morning before your departure.

It wasn’t long before puberty hit you like an airship going at full speed (late bloomer). You became famed for your beauty with scores of suitors, but you rejected them all. Only Bucky and Steve would have your hand.

One of the suitors, Brock Rumlow of Triskelion took it especially hard. He vowed he would have your hand, but your cousin, Samuel Wilson, said to pay him no mind.

You were only able to communicate with Steve and Bucky via phone or letters. It took you four years to return to Brooklynd, but it was not a joyous occasion. King Joseph had passed and Steven was to be crowned king within the fortnight.

Both of them had changed so much, especially Steve; he was nearly unrecognizable. He towered over nearly everyone (only Bucky, Thor, Loki, and M’Baku were taller), broad shoulders, rich tawny pink skin, and a face that could make nearly all the women (and some men) swoon.

He looked like the kings of old, even more so than his father.

Bucky wasn’t slacking either with the way many of the courtiers were ogling him; admiring him for his rugged, yet prim presence.

They were Rulers of Paradise and you were to be their queen.

The three of you finally made love that night. It was your first time, so they decided to be gentle and showered you with kisses and affection. Steve and Bucky worshipped your body as if it was the last thing they would enjoy before the afterlife.

It was as though you were dreaming.

  “Here’s your wedding gown, Your Highness.” Zara, another handmaiden, exclaimed.

“Thank you, Zara.” You tried your best to not let the tears fall. This day was never supposed to happen.

Why did your dream have to die like this?!

  The first crack in your fantasy came with the news of your older brother’s assassination and the outbreak of a civil war. Your sister-in-law begged you to come home.

Your airship was to leave first thing in the morning.

You raced to inform your lovers of your departure. One of the servants said that they saw Steve in his mother’s rose garden. Thinking it was Steve being shy and needing some rest, you ventured into the garden only for fantasy and your heart shatter completely.

In the rose garden under the central archway was Steve on one knee proposing to Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter with Bucky looking on with a smile and the full moon behind them.

Everything froze at that moment.

Why?! Why did they do this?! Were your feelings a joke to them? Did they ever love you?

Unable to hold back your despair, you shrieked at the ideal romantic scene before you.

Steve tried to explain the situation and Bucky almost caught you, but you ran away before you could hear them.

You left for Abia that night.

  “Now ladies,” Lady Bente, the wedding planner bellowed, “remember, this is Emperor Rumlow’s big day. There’s no room for failure.” She didn’t need to say what would happen if you tried anything ‘funny’.

“I know. How can I forget the threats?” grumbled as Sabine put the final touches on your wedding outfit: an off-the-shoulder A-Line Tulle Wedding Dress, a Hand-crafted white gold Baroque tiara inlaid with pale sapphires, diamonds, and pearls, and matching earring and necklace.

Looking in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The dress accentuated your curves and the jewels made your face glow. You were a vision.

Too bad it was for a man who wouldn’t hesitate to destroy everything you hold dear.

  Barely six months after you returned from Brooklynd, Abia conquered by the Triskelion Empire. Their ambassador informed the council that the empire will let Abia continue as a client state if you married their emperor, Brock Rumlow.

If not, Triskelion would raze Abia to the ground and take her citizens as slaves.

The council implored you as Triskelion forces had Sam captive and Abia’s army was running out of supplies.

With a heavy and broken heart, you accepted Rumlow’s terms.

The wedding was to be in a month.

  You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, “Too bad Rumlow isn’t getting a virgin.”

“Goodbye, Your Highness.” Sabine whispered, “Now, don’t you start crying after all the work I put into ya!”

“I know it’s just not fair. I have to lose you, too?” Rumlow made it clear that you were to leave your old world behind, including your closest friend and confidant.

Sabine pulled you in for a hug, “I know it’s not. It’s been a pleasure and delight being your handmaiden and friend.”

“Alright, everyone! Line up! The wedding is about to begin!” Lady Bente ordered.

You gave your friend one last glance before the doors shut behind you, “Goodbye Sabine.”

  The cathedral was spectacular.

Bouquets of roses and elven tulips adorned the pillars. The banners of Abian and Triskelion colors were delicately placed creating an ethereal atmosphere.

Rumlow really outdid himself.

Dignitaries from far and wide were in attendance. You saw your mother, uncle, Sam, and your sister holding her ten-month-old son.

Rumlow took your hand with a triumphant smirk. You could say that he was handsome if you didn’t want to claw his eyes out.

“You look ravishing, darling.”

“I hate you.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Dearly beloved and exalted rulers, we are gathered here today to join the Triskelion Emperor and the Second Princess of Abia in holy matrimony.”

You closed your eyes in resignation. No one was coming. Maybe Brock wouldn’t be so bad.

“If anyone has any reason as to why these two should not be married.”

Then you remembered how he threatened your mother and uncle when after Abia surrendered. His twisted smirk was enough to make your blood boil.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The cathedral was silent for a few minutes until the doors were blown off their hinges and several guards were flung to the opposite wall behind the altar.

Everyone turned to find smoke and debris. An inhuman roar filled the venue terrifying the guests.

Two figures emerged from the smoke and your eyes widened in shock.

“We do.”

[justyoursicanon]

Happy Birthday to our favorite hero!

(a little birthday fic for our favorite prince Roman! Happy birthday Princy!!)

"Isn't this a little too much Patton?" Virgil asked as they adjusted their birthday hat. "What do you mean kiddo?! There can never be too much confetti!" Patton exclaimed and threw confetti in the air. "This will be tiring to clean up." Logan sighed. "Now I'm only here for the wine, not for the hero- hey ow!" Janus yelled as Virgil kicked his foot. "Is he here yet?! I wanna give my present so badly already!" Remus yelled as he brought his gift in the air. "He'll be here in about 2 more minutes according to Thomas' last message." And at the same time they heard the front door swing open and close. "Oh!! He's here everyone stay quiet!" Patton whispered excitedly. "Just like I predicted." Logan whispered and fell silent.

"That was wonderful Thomas! Agh it felt amazing to have another photoshoot!" Roman happily exclaimed as he walked down the hall and pass the kitchen. "Glad you enjoyed it Roman, but the fun isn't over yet." Thomas smiled as he stopped behind Roman who also stopped to face him. "Wha-"

"SURPRISE!"

Everyone yelled and the prince jumped while Thomas laughed. "Happy Birthday Roman!" Thomas says. "wait it's my birthday?- I mean yes of course yes it's my birthday! Thank you!" Roman chuckled and scratched his neck. "Happy birthday kiddo!" Patton threw confetti at him and hugged him. Virgil smiled and also hugged him. "Can't believe Sir sing alot forgot it was his birthday." Logan cleared his throat and watched. "Happy birthday Roman." He said while adjusting his glasses. Roman rolled his eyes while Patton dragged him to join the hug. "Happy birthday Pissy!" Remus yelled and literally jumped onto them. "No Remus wAIT-" And they all fell.

After eating for a bit it was onto the- "PRESENTS!" Remus yelled. "Christ Remus your acting like it's Christmas morning." Janus says while taking another sip of his wine. Remus paid no mind to him and proceeded to hand out his badly wrapped box. Roman eyed his brother before ripping the paper and opened the box to reveal a shiny clean gold crown with Ruby's and Roses. "Oh my.. Goodness Remus. It's beautiful.." Roman was stunned as he removed his old crown and wore the new one. Remus smiled and also knocked of hiss old one and wore another. "See?! Now were twins again!" He pointed at the silver crown with Emerald's and green roses. Roman smiled at his brother. "Come here." He brought Remus into a hug which he accepted. "Mine next!" The twins broke apart and Roman faced Patton who was holding a frame. He handed it to Roman and it showed a well drawn image of all of them and on top read. 'Our hero' Roman smiled again. "Thank you Pedre, I'll make sure to hang this on my bedroom wall." Logan stood with his hands behind his back, something in his hands which was his gift to Roman. "Come one Logan It's your turn!" Logan sighed and revealed his gift. "It's not much but-. Roman's gasp interrupted Logan. "I"M ON CROFTERS?!" Roman snatched the jar with Roman printed on him and Logan smiled. "Yea, me and Thomas discussed this last month and we finally did it- oH OK-" Logan wheezed at the end of his sentence as Roman brought him into a tight hug, squeezing the life out of him. "Thank you, Microsoft Nerd." Logan rolled his eyes and they broke apart. "Guess it's my turn." Virgil walks up to Roman and gave him a flat box. He took the cover off and revealed a red scarf with different shades of red and designed patches. By the looks of it, it seems to be hand made. "Oh you sweet stormy unpredictable cookie!" Roman took his old red scarf off from his uniform and wore the gift. "Thank you Virgil." Roman smiled at Virgil which caused the other to blush. "uh- yea no problem." He turned and cleared his throat while the prince chuckled. "Yes yes happy birthday Princy." Janus spoke up and downed his glass. Roman glanced at the man and smiled. "With or without a gift, I am at least pleased your scale-y face is here." Janus rolls his eyes and stood to walk in the kitchen to refill his glass. Although with Janus out of the room, in the corner of Remus' eye he knows he saw a small small forming on the Yellow sides lips.

[killem-all-if-they-wont-eat-cake]

“Once upon a time a young prince went riding out in the moonlight. The air was so light he felt that he was flying. The sky was deep blue, with a big white moon floating among small, curly clouds. Far away over the mountains, lightning flashed silently. The prince rode quickly, and in the moonlight his shadow was so large it looked like a giant unearthly rider.When the prince reached his castle, he dismounted and gave his horse to his groom, but he was reluctant to go in. With his riding crop in hand, he walked to the sea and began to stroll slowly along the sandy shore. He was not thinking of anything in particular, it was a pleasant and easy walk, and he drew deep breaths of the cool night air. Suddenly, while he was walking, he struck his riding-crop into the sand and felt the tip catch on something. What was it? A ring?A ring, thought the prince, and held it up to the moonlight. Who could have lost a ring here by the shore? It must have been one of the ladies-in-waiting. And so the prince tucked the ring in his breast pocket. It was a small ring, slender as a thread, with several little blue stones set to look like a forget-me-not.The court assembled in the great hall after supper, and the prince put his hand in his breast pocket and said: ‘Could any of you ladies by chance have lost a ring?’Immediately all the ladies looked at their hands. They had numerous precious diamond, emerald, and sapphire rings, and now they peered anxiously from finger to finger to see if any of their magnificente rings were missing. But they were all still there.‘What does your ring look like?’ a beautiful lady dared to ask.The prince held up the ring.When the ladies saw it, they put on superior and disdainful expressions. Certainly none of them would claim such a ring as that. It was nothing, a mere trinket, and so little it seemed made for a child’s hand.But now the ladies had something to talk about, and for the rest of the evening they busily compared their beautiful rings, passing them from hand to hand and exclaiming over their cost. The prince rose and strolled to the balcony, where he stood gazing at the moonlight.Later, he went to his chamber, undressed, and go tinto bed. He set the little ring on a table near him. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard a strange noise, a clicking and whirring as if a small insect were darting among the glasses on the table. When the prince opened his eyes, he was surprised to see that it was the little ring rattling around, as if an unseen hand had set it in motion.Quickly he lit a candle. Then the ring became still. But as soon as he blew out the candle, the ring began to dance again. It was strange and eerie. The prince put the ring in a drawer, yet he could hear it skittering all night long, and hardly slept at all. Of course he could have thrown the ring away, but for some reason, that seemed to him quite out of the question. He did not wish to part with the ring at all, and the next night too, he brought it to his chamber.Hardly had he snuffed out the candle then the ring began to dance again, and this time it did not just bounce about the table, but jumped to his breast and bounced just as quickly there.‘What can it mean?’ said the prince, and sat up in bed. He brooded and wondered. What kind of magic ring had he come upon with his riding crop? That evening he placed the ring on the table beside his bed as before. He was so tired that he fell asleep at once, but he had not slept long before he was awekened by something brushing his face, and instantly he realised it was the ring running back and forth over his forehead, dancing down his cheeks, and spinning along his lips.‘Now, I understand,’ he exclaimed, and jumped up. ‘I must find the owner of the ring.’Dawn had just begun to break over the sea when he went to the stable, saddled his horse, and thundered across the drawbridge. He rode all day without seeing anyone, but towards the evening he arrived at a large castle, beautifully situated in a green meadow surrounded by trees. Ivy and roses climbed the walls, and high in an arched window the lady of the castle was standing and looking over the countryside. She was a widow, but still a young and handsome woman, who ruled her large estates with a firm hand. When she saw the prince approaching, she dispatched a servant to greet him and welcome him to the castle.The prince accepted her invitation and gladly went in. The noble lady received him in the friendliest fashion. He was given a splendid chamber, and when he came to dinner he found that the large banquet hall had been lit with candles and torches. The table was laid with silver and gold. Servants in festive dress passed around delicious dishes, and the lady herself looked as distinguished as a queen in red velvet and ermine. She talked gaily, and seemed highly amused by all the prince had to say. He did not explain why he had ridden alone into the world, but now and then he cast a quick glance at the lady’s hands. Could she have lost the ring?But as it happened this noble lady had very large, very red, and very worn hands. Her carriage and walk were distinguished and imposing, so you could not doubt she was of noble birth, but when you caught sight of her big hands and lumpy fingers, you thought instinctively, these are the hands of a cook.She wore many costly rings on her fingers, yet they seemed badly out of place and only showed up her rough hands all the more. At the end of dinner, she peeled an apple for the prince, and looking sharply at her ring-bedecked fingers he asked, ‘You have so many exquisite rings, my lady. I suppose you could easily lose one by bathing or picking flowers?’‘I always take my rings off before I swim in the lake,’ she laughed. ‘And I never pick flowers myself, the maids do it for me.’The prince was silent for a moment, then he brought forth the little ring and showed it to her. ‘What do you think of this ring?’ he asked.‘That little ring,’ she said, trying to put it on her little finger. ‘It doesn’t go over the first joint of this finger. It seems to belong to a child. Where did you get it, your highness?’‘That I can’t tell you,’ the prince answered, and hid the ring in his breast pocket.The lady’s keen black eyes looked searchingly at him for a moment, then she began to talk of other things. And the next morning before dawn the prince rode from the castle.His eyes were on the horizon. A child, he thought –  a poor child. But where are you?He rode through forests and valleys, across meadows and fields, and when the sun was high he came to a large manor house set among waving wheatfields and beautiful flower gardens. Even at a distance he could see a number of people in a large courtyard. The sound of violins and trumpets reached his ears, and as he came nearer he realised it was a wedding.The bride and groom were standing on the front steps. The bride had a crown of bright ribbons and flowers on her head, and the groom had a silver buttoned-coat, a glossy black hat, and a happy smile. In the courtyard, a hundred young boys and girls were dancing merrily together. The prince reined his horse on a small hill not far from the manor house and began to watch the dancing. When the dancers stopped and sat down to rest, on benches under the large linden trees that spread their branches over the yard, he rode nearer.All eyes turned towards the strange rider who had appeared so unexpectedly. The prince held up his little ring.  He called ‘Is there any girl here who has lost a ring?’The girls flew to him like doves to look at the ring. ‘I have lost a ring!’ ‘And I!’ several cried, crowding close to the prince.But before long – ‘No, the ring I lost didn’t look like that one,’ said one girl after another, until they all began to babble and chatter, laugh and giggle, and the music started up again. They hurried back to dance, while the prince rode sorrowfully away.He rode on until evening when, feeling tired, he slowed his horse to ride along the bank of a river that cut through the meadows. Then he caught sight of a woman dressed in black, walking with downcast eyes as though looking for something among the stones by the road. As the prince drew nearer, he saw that the woman was very beautiful, but that the big black eyes in her pale face were full of pain and suffering. He was very sorry for her.‘What are you looking for, dear one?’ he asked. ‘Have you lost something precious to you?’The woman’s face became even more melancholy than before. She raised her eyes and her lips trembled. In a quavering voice, wringing her hands, she said, ‘I have lost all I ever had in life: my husband, my estate, my fortune. I had only one thing left, a ring that was a gift from my late husband. I had hoped to sell it well, but now I have lost it and I don’t know how or where. And so my last hope is gone, all that is left for me is to beg for my daily bread.’The prince’s heart was beating eagerly. Could she be speaking of the ring he was carrying at his breast? Yet all who had seen it had said it was worthless.    Slowly he held up the ring and asked, ‘Could it possibly be this ring?’    She gave him a sad smile. ‘My ring was set with a large, costly diamond. That little one there is nothing but a cheap toy.’    Then the prince opened his purse, full of gold coins, and let them rain into the bereaved woman’s arms. ‘Here, here is enough to provide for the present at least,’ he said gently. ‘This gold may help you.’ Before the woman had time to thank him, he rode off.    Who rode for days and nights without encountering anyone who recognised the ring. Always he carried it in his breast pocket, and though it no longer danced as it had during the first nights, he could still feel it tugging at him, as if sobbing quietly. The prince heard the small, sorrowful throbbing at his breast over the beating of his own heart, and every day he loved the ring more and more.One morning he came to a swiftly running river. On the opposite bank was a tall mountain, wrapped in the blue veil of early morning mist. All over its slopes sparkled what looked like little gold fires, but they were really broom bushes in flower, so attractive that the prince could not help feeling happy. He wanted to go to them and look more closely, but that would not be easy, for there was no bridge over the river.    I suppose I must swim across the, thought the prince, and he and his horse plunged into the rapids. The prince hardly noticed as water sprayed high above him and his horse was almost pulled downstream by the current. His long futile search had made him so dejected that he enjoyed having to struggle with all his might to get to the far bank. At last he stood there, tired and out of breath, with his horse panting and snorting beside him. The mountain rose before him.    The prince could not climb the slope on horseback, so he let the horse graze on a green meadow, and struggled on foot up a narrow mountain that wound through a forest towards the summit.    It was a hot day, and the shade of the trees in the cool forest felt good to him. Everything was still, the sun cast golden flecks over the forest floor, which was smoothed by last year’s leaves covering the knotted tree roots along the path. The climbing was not easy, though. What for? His heart was beating so violently that he could hear it, and he could also hear the heartthrob of the little ring, pulsing more than it had for a long time.    He paused for a moment, then climbed on.He thought he heard the sound of rippling water, and all of a sudden he realised how thirsty he was. Now at least he knew what he wanted: he wanted to get to the spring and drink and drink. The sound of the bubbling water came ever stronger, and then he saw something flash white under the leaves of the chestnuts. Two steps more, and he was standing by a fresh mountain spring that was gushing out a rock wall into the pool. Then he stood stock still; he was not alone.At the spring was a girl, one hand on her hip, watching as the water filled a pail she had set beneath it; another empty pail was in the grass nearby. The girl’s legs were bare, she was dressed in a short grey skirt and white blouse, and her hair hung down her back in two blond braids. The prince could not see her face, but when the pail was full, she turned in his direction. Her blue eyes looked surprised for a moment, but then she bowed her head in greeting, and put the second pail under the waterfall. When it, too, was full, she turned and hooked both pails to a yoke that lay in the grass. The prince smiled at her but she did not smile in return. Her face looked so quiet and serious that suddenly the prince, too, became serious.‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but may I have a drink of water? I am so thirsty.’‘What will you drink from?’ asked the girl. Her voice was soft and beautiful; it sounded like music. ‘I know,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘Come here, I will help you.’The prince went to the spring, and the girl put her hands together to make a small drinking cup. The water gushed into them and in a second they were full.‘Hurry and drink,’ she called, laughing merrily.The prince ended the little cup in a moment. With water still dripping from his mouth, he said, ‘More. Give me one more cup of water.’The girl closed her hands again, and they were filled by the spring. By this time when the prince bent down to drink, he noticed a curious change in the girl’s face. She blushed, and her eyes that before had looked as blue as summer sky, now seemed almost black. She snatched the chain from the prince’s neck and seized the ring, which had fallen from his breast pocket when he bent to drink.‘My ring,’ she said tremulously. ‘Where did you find my ring?’ She put it on the little finger of her left hand, and it went on as smoothly as it had come home. ‘My ring!’ she repeated, and looked at the prince with tears in her eyes.She sat on the grass under the low branches of the chestnuts, and turned the ring slowly around her finger with as much tenderness as if it had been a living thing.‘Why do you love your ring so much?’ asked the prince, sitting beside her.She looked up at him. ‘My mother gave it to me on the day she died,’ she said. ‘I was only a little girl, but she told me, ‘It will always help you in misfortune, and if you are ever in need, throw it into the sea. It will know how to find your saviour.’‘And it has found him,’ said the prince, smiling and taking the girl’s hands in his. ‘It called and beckoned me, and has not given me a moment’s peace until I found you here in the forest. But tell me, why are you here? How did you get here? What is your misfortune?’The girl looked around anxiously, and whispered, ‘I live here with an old mountain troll, who makes me work like a slave.’ And she told him the sad tale of her life.She had been born in a castle high among the mountains, and would have become a fine and noble princess, but her mother had died when she was a child; and when she was fifteen, a duke from another country captured the castle, murdered her father, and carried her away. Then she had lived in a tower of the foreign duke’s palace and was given the best of everything: costly gowns and delicacies, and numerous servants to wait on her. But she was never allowed to leave the palace. Only from a window in her chambers could she see the outside world of flowery meadows, green woods, and the river that wound like a ribbon of silver through the valley. One day the duke came to her room and told her that in three months she would marry his son.The girl looked at the prince with sad eyes, ‘It was the greatest misfortune and shame that could ever have befallen me. The duke’s son was big and coarse as a giant, his face was red, and he was almost always drunk. I would rather have died than become his wife.’    However, the girl had pretended that she would very much like to be married to the duke’s son. But first, she said, she wanted to make a gift of braided rope for the anchor of his sailing ship, and when that was finished she would happily become his wife. And so she began to braid a rope of the strongest hem she could find, and soon it was so long it reached from her window all the way down to the valley.     On the evening before the wedding, she locked herself in her little tower chamber, tied the rope to the window, and climbed down. When she reached the ground, she ran as fast as she could to hide in the forest. There she crept into a dense thicket and fell into a deep sleep.    Next morning she was awakened by a tickling on her forehead. When she opened her eyes she saw a terrifying face looking down at her. It was a troll of the mountain, who had been taking his morning walk through the forest, and he was poking her with a blade of glass. A long red tongue lolled from his mouth, and he had great fury black hands like a bear.    ‘I was so frightened,’ said the girl, ‘that I hardly dared to breathe.’    The troll had laughed horribly and said, ‘What luck to find you, little sweet one. I want someone to care for me, cook my food, carry my water and my wood and be my own companion.’ So the troll grabbed her by the hair and carried her to his cave on the mountain top. It was a deep black cave, and even on the hottest summer day it was cold as a cellar, and heavy drops of water trickled from the stones.    ‘I have served the mountain troll for three years,’ sighed the girl. ‘And every summer he tells me, ‘Next Christmas, when you are a little fatter, I will eat you.’    ‘So I hardly dare eat, and I have not thought of anything but how to escape. On a spring day I ran all the way down the mountainside to the river, hoping to cross to the other side. But there was no bridge, only the rapids and the spray. So I took off my ring and threw it into the water and called out as my mother taught me,    Ring, ring, pulse and spring    And my knight to me bring,    A knight so good, a knight so brave,    To rescue me, a helpless slave.’    ‘The ring disappeared into the water. But now,’ finished the girl, smiling, ‘the ring has found the knight who will help and save me.’ She kissed the ring.    ‘You kiss the ring,’ said the prince. ‘Do you think you would rather kiss me?’    ‘Do you think so?’ and then with a smile flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.    That moment they heard a strange, thundering sound.    ‘It is the troll of the mountain,’ the girl cried, and jumped up. ‘Quick! Quick! We must run as fast as we can.’    And quickly they sped down the mountain side to where the prince’s horse was grazing quietly by the river. Quickly the prince swung into the saddle, lifted the princess in front of him, and plunged into the water. Waves splashed over their heads, the horse panted and snorted and kicked the river, and the mountain troll in the forest howled and bellowed like a pack of hungry wolves.    The prince and the girl rode for days and nights through forest and plain, across rivers and brooks, past groves and hedges. The horse never tired until they reached the prince’s castle. They arrived there on a moonlit night, and rode slowly along the seashore, the princess wrapped up in the prince’s big cape. She lifted a corner of the cape and looked down at the sand. ‘How strange,’ she said, with a smile on her face. ‘Looking at the shadow, one would think there was only one rider on the horse.”– From "Ringen" by Helena Nyblom (1843 –1926) in "Bland tomtar och troll" (Among Gnomes and Trolls: a Collection of Swedish Folk Tales) edition 1914, Illustration  "Det var en gång en prins, som var ute och red i månskenet" by John Bauer (1882 – 1918).