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edenesth · 10 months ago

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The Way to His Heart [4]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 3 | Fic Masterlist | Part 5

"Mistress, please allow me to help you back to your quarters." Eunsook pleaded, once again attempting to gently pull you up from the floor. But you shook your head weakly, keeping your forehead stubbornly glued to the ground.

Jongho sighed, stepping in to help, "Miss Jang, it's the general's orders. We've been tasked with taking you back to your room. If you don't cooperate, we might be in trouble."

To the relief of both employees, that seemed to work. They quickly moved to assist your limp and defeated form, with your tear-stained face and the bruise forming on your forehead breaking their hearts. Without wasting another minute, they moved you onto the assistant's back before rushing back to The Cold Palace.

You were already unconscious when they gently laid you on your bed, the toll of your crying apparent. Eunsook sighed, pulling the blankets over your petite frame and tucking you in. She then moved to dab your wet cheeks lightly with the sleeve of her uniform.

Observing you, Jongho frowned, "She feels so light; that doesn't seem normal. It's as if she barely weighs anything. Just what in the world was her life like in the Jang estate?"

The head maid gestured for him to keep quiet, putting a finger to her lips and shaking her head in warning. She didn't want to risk waking you up or, worse, letting you hear them talk about you as if you weren't there right in front of them.

Outside your room, the two took a moment to process the events of the day. It became apparent to them that you were just as much a pawn in your father's game as their master. It was also clear that your sudden presence was set to shake the very foundation of everything they had ever known in the general's estate.

"Let's just... take a break for the night and see what happens tomorrow." Eunsook mumbled, massaging her temples to alleviate the approaching headache.

Jongho agreed, "At least we've learned that our master isn't completely heartless." They exchanged knowing smiles before retiring to their respective quarters for the night.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the estate, Seonghwa stayed awake until he was sure that his assistant and head maid had carried out their assigned task. Laying in his bed, he forced himself to sleep, but the haunting image of you sobbing and kneeling on the ground plagued his thoughts incessantly.

He tells himself that perhaps he should have begun eating a bit first during dinner; that would've allowed you to have more energy during the extended hours of kneeling. Your reaction to the food lingers in his thoughts. In retrospect, he acknowledges that instructing the servants to discard all the food while you were hungry might have been a bit much; he realises that now.

Tomorrow, I'll allow her breakfast.

Tossing and turning throughout the night, the general found no reprieve until the early hours of the day. Even when he did manage to drift off to sleep, his dreams were filled with recurring scenes of the heart-wrenching dinner. His guilt and remorse persisted even in his unconscious state.

As the morning arrived, the voice of the head maid echoed from the entrance of your room, waking you from your sleep, "Good morning, mistress! May we please enter? We will be fixing you a bath and helping you get dressed for the day."

"N-no! I don't need help getting ready!"

You gasped, a sense of panic seizing you as you tried to move towards the mirror to inspect your reflection. The prospect of them assisting you with bathing and dressing meant they would inevitably see the bruises and scars littered across your body. The risk of being ousted on your second day loomed over you, and that was something you couldn't allow.

Your legs betrayed you and gave out, succumbing to weakness due to prolonged hunger. You crawled the remaining distance to the worn-out mirror in your room, suppressing a sob as you covered your mouth upon seeing your bare, unadorned self. The tears from the previous night had washed away your makeup, unveiling the stark reality of your appearance.

"Mistress, please. We've brought a new set of clothes for you, along with the freshest rose petals for your bath. It will be relaxing and enjoyable, we assure you!"

The kindness in Eunsook's voice intensified your emotional turmoil. As you stared at your hideous reflection, you realised you didn't deserve such luxury. You weren't the beautiful and elegant first daughter promised to Seonghwa; you felt like a fraud. How naive could you have been to believe you stood a chance of becoming the wife of the renowned General Park?

You weren't good enough; you'll never be.

"No, I don't want anything! J-just leave me alone, please..." You cried, pulling your knees into your chest and hugging them close. Despite the continuous persuasion from the elderly woman, you ignored her and remained curled up in the corner.

"Mistress... please," Eunsook gave up with a sigh, shaking her head at the servants behind her, "Take it away for now." They obeyed and dispersed with the clothes and bath supplies they had prepared. She knew there was nothing she could do if you refused to grant her permission to enter.

As the footsteps of the departing servants faded away, you released a sigh of relief. Your gaze remained fixed on the marks on your skin, cruel reminders of the abuse inflicted by your father, scars that seemed destined never to fade. So long as you have these on your body, you will never know what happiness is.

A bitter, humourless chuckle escaped your lips as you contemplated the fading hope for happiness. The general's response to your heartfelt words served as undeniable proof that, no matter how sincere your efforts, he would never accept you. The burden of the Jang surname seemed to ensure that you would never be given a fair chance, regardless of how hard you try.

While you wallowed in self-pity, Seonghwa was on the opposite side of the estate, reluctantly getting dressed for the day. His sleep had been far from restful, leaving him in a sour mood.

"So... how is she doing?" He asked in a detached tone, staring out of his window to avoid meeting his assistant's eyes.

Jongho arched an eyebrow at the question, suppressing a knowing smile as he observed his master's attempt to maintain a nonchalant demeanour, "Are you referring to Miss Jang, sir?"

The general clicked his tongue in irritation, "Who else would I be asking about?"

His aide nodded, "Right, how silly of me. Well, it seemed like she was sleeping quite well when we returned her to her quarters. I haven't checked on her since then, but Eunsook has organised a group of servants to assist her with a bath and preparations for the day."

Seonghwa hummed in approval, doing his best to mask any sense of satisfaction, "Very well. She better be punctual for breakfast then, we shall see how she plans to prove her innocence."

Despite his insistence on you being suspicious, Jongho could discern that there was no malice in his master's words. Perhaps there was hope that things could work out between the two of you after all. It seemed like the general was already letting his guard down, even if only slightly; the assistant could see it.

Or not.

"Where the hell is she?"

Seonghwa frowned, growing impatient as he had been waiting for some time, and you were nowhere to be seen in the dining hall.

Breakfast had already been served, and he even had the servants prepare slightly more than usual, anticipating your need for extra food since you hadn't eaten dinner the previous night.

Just as he asked the question, Jongho pointed at the head maid rushing towards the dining hall, strangely without you in sight, "There, Eunsook's coming."

The elderly woman bowed upon reaching the dining hall, catching her breath before addressing the general, "Good morning, master."

He waved off the greeting, "What's going on? Where's Miss Jang? Were you not getting her ready?"

She appeared to hesitate in her response, stammering, "W-well, I was trying to, but—"

"But what?" Seonghwa pressed, annoyance evident in his tone. Sensing her master's foul mood, Eunsook knew she had no choice but to tell the truth.

Jongho nodded encouragingly at his colleague, not wanting her to get in trouble. The head maid lowered her head in defeat, "I arranged for her bath and everything first thing in the morning, and we've been stuck outside her quarters for nearly an hour. Master, she refuses to let us in. It seems she doesn't wish to be bathed or changed."

The general and his assistant found themselves baffled by the revelation. Your new husband struggled to comprehend why anyone would be foolish enough to refuse a pleasant bath and a fresh change of clothes. But he was becoming less surprised after witnessing your odd behaviour the day before. By now, he had accepted the fact that you were far from normal.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he pressed a hand against his head, "Just... if she doesn't want to be bathed that badly, leave it. Just tell her to come out and eat," He muttered, recalling your longing gaze fixed on the dishes during dinner, "Go, get her now."

"Yes, master." Eunsook bowed before heading back to you. She hoped that this time, you would finally show yourself. Her concern grew as she remembered hearing the anguish in your voice when you asked to be left alone just earlier.

To be sure, she checked with the nearby servants if you had called for anyone or even emerged from your room while she was away, only to sigh in disappointment when they shook their heads.

She raised her hand to knock gently, "Mistress, I've come to inform you that breakfast is ready. The master is waiting for you. He wants you to know it's alright if you prefer not to be bathed or changed, but please, come and eat."

Instead of providing comfort, that only heightened your anxiety. Was the general summoning you to further interrogate you? It seemed likely. If he were to see you in this state, he might resort to beating you to death in an instant. Surely, being wedded to someone like you would be an insult to the great General Park.

As appealing as the idea of breakfast was, you feared you might not get to eat, similar to the previous night. Especially not with your current appearance. You winced, feeling the ache in your stomach from going without food for so long.

Perhaps this is how you'll meet your end.

"Mistress, wouldn't you like to have some breakfast?" Eunsook made another attempt, her concern deepening as she noticed your silhouette huddled in pain in a corner.

You shook your head, holding onto your stomach, "No... I-I don't want anything! Just... just go away, please..."

Seonghwa's impatience reached new heights as he waited, and it only intensified when he saw the head maid returning once again, without you by her side. He narrowed his eyes, feeling stupid for trying to be considerate towards you this morning. Here you were, revealing your true colours by being an ungrateful brat already.

His anger finally erupted when the elderly woman bowed deeply with a regretful grimace, "I'm sorry, master. Miss Jang refuses to leave her room."

The general slammed his fists against the table, scaring both Jongho and Eunsook as he pushed himself off his seat, seething, "That's it. If it's my attention she wants, then she's about to get it."

In a panic, the two employees chased after their furious master, making pitiful attempts to calm him down, "Master, please, perhaps she is still emotionally recovering from what happened last night!" But no amount of words could extinguish the fire in Seonghwa's eyes as he stormed towards The Cold Palace.

Truth be told, the assistant and head maid had never seen the general so worked up over any of his fiancées before. In fact, he barely paid them any attention, and they would all flee the estate in less than a day. Had it been any other woman, he probably wouldn't have cared if she came to breakfast or not; he probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash if she died in her room.

But he was oddly affected by your absence.

"Get out of my goddamned way!" He roared, pushing through the servants working around the garden paths that led to your quarters. They scrambled to their knees, bowing their heads low to avoid angering him further.

Jongho and Eunsook shot apologetic looks as they hurried past the poor servants who were just trying to do their jobs. But they had no time to worry about their colleagues when they saw Seonghwa closing in on your room. They scurried over to hold him back, trying to prevent him from scaring you any more than he already had.

"Master, please—"

Before they could intervene, the general forcefully slammed the flimsy doors of your room open, causing one of them to break off its hinges. Your cowering form was immediately revealed, but your new husband was too furious to show any sympathy.

"Are you angry because I didn't give you the wedding night you desired? If you want it that badly, I'll give it to you right now." Without allowing you to respond, he yanked your arms away from your body and tore the outer layer of your hanbok open, exposing your innerwear and shoulders completely.

"N-no, please!"

In just a split second, all of his fury vanished.

The sight of the numerous marks covering your skin, along with the newly revealed ones on your face, left Seonghwa frozen in place. He couldn't move as he observed the bruises and scars scattered all over you, and these were only the ones visible. He dreaded to think about what might be hidden beneath the rest of your body.

What the actual f—

Having tortured more than enough prisoners as part of his job, he was able to distinguish between old and fresh wounds. Judging from all the ones on you, he was repulsed to realise that you had a bit of everything – your injuries ranged from years to a few months old. This meant that you had been enduring abuse for a really long time.

A series of horrified gasps escaped Jongho and Eunsook as soon as they entered the room and witnessed the condition of your skin. You let out a heart-wrenching sob, making a feeble attempt to cover yourself again, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." You whimpered, despite being violated.

It's over. My life... is over.

Feeling lightheaded from all the crying and prolonged starvation, your vision darkened, your eyes gradually fluttered shut, and you slumped forward. The general acted swiftly, catching you and, for once, displaying gentleness as he nestled your head into the crook of his neck, holding your fragile form close.

"Hand me the blanket." He instructed. The head maid hurried over with the fabric, witnessing her master wrapping you in it.

Rising with you in his arms, he moved toward his private quarters with a newfound determination, "Jongho, go summon Physician Jung." The assistant bowed and hastily departed to fulfil his orders.

Entering his room, he laid you on his bed and carefully covered you with the sheets. Examining you more closely now, he became aware of your true frailty. Carrying you earlier, he noticed how remarkably light you were, like a feather. He clenched his fists in rage as he took in the horrendous marks that marred your skin. The new bruise forming on your forehead from the night before only made him feel worse.

Letting out a sigh, he tenderly wiped away the tears staining your cheeks, "What in the world happened to you? Who did this to you? Who dare lay their hands on you, hm?" He whispered, his heart tightening with more guilt than the previous night.

Eunsook stood in the corner, witnessing the scene unfold before her eyes with mixed emotions. While she was pleased to finally see her master display genuine care and affection towards you, it saddened her to realise the extent of the hardships you had to go through to evoke this response from him.

At the same time, her heart ached even more at the sight of the visible evidence of what you had been trying to conceal from everyone. It now made sense why you resisted a bath; you must have been terrified of anyone seeing the marks on your body. The thought of the horrors you endured in the Jang estate sent a shudder down her spine.

"Sir, Physician Jung has arrived," Jongho announced at the entrance, awaiting permission to enter. Seonghwa nodded tersely, "Let him in." The general rose from his seat to greet the physician, a familiar face who had become somewhat of a family doctor.

"Good afternoon, General Park. Are you feeling unwell—" The physician's words halted as soon as his eyes landed on the frail figure lying on the bed.

"It's not me this time, Yunho. It's... my wife."

« Preview of Part 5 »

"Jongho," The general called out softly, his eyes staying fixed on your unconscious form. Despite the softness in his tone, he was anything but calm on the inside. His aide stepped forward, "Sir?"

Finally shifting his gaze from you, he turned to his assistant, dead serious, "I'm going to need you to dig deeper this time. Hire a private investigator if necessary. Find someone willing to infiltrate the minister's estate and get someone to talk. Pay them as much as they need. Just find out what the hell happened while she was in there."

Deep down, he had a gut feeling about who might be responsible for all this, but he needed to know what exactly was done to you and why. He needed confirmation, and most importantly, evidence.

"General Park, I eagerly anticipate our forthcoming union. I assure you, my eldest is a gem; you'll come to adore her."

Recalling the smugness in Minister Jang's tone as he uttered those words, everything began to click. The puzzle pieces were coming together. The narrative of you being an accomplice for whatever your father had planned against him was finally being discarded; it was clear to him now that you were as much a victim as he was, except you'd had it much worse.

"Leave it to me, sir. I'll do everything to find out what happened to Miss Jang." The assistant said with determination, bowing.

Before he could leave, Seonghwa added, "Mistress. It's mistress to you all now. From today onwards, she's the official wife of General Park. I don't want to hear anyone calling her by that ridiculous surname ever again, understand?"

Jongho and Eunsook couldn't hide their smiles as they bowed rather enthusiastically, "Yes, master!"

Umm, surprise? HAHA I know I said I was sick, and I still am, but I'm feeling slightly better and gosh, not even the cold can keep me away from working on this! All your kind replies and messages got me so hyped, I had to finish this asap🤭

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to his heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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flowerandblood · 7 months ago

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The Fall from the Heavens (23)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, manipulation, blackmailing and threats ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Alys had always known that, like any bastard child, she could only rely on herself. Her existence was merely an unfortunate accident to her father and brothers, with which they nevertheless came to terms, and she, in their minds, should be grateful for being allowed to stay and serve in Harrenhal.

Indeed, she never considered herself to have been significantly harmed by fate.

Compared to women who had to sell their bodies for money in order to survive, her function as herbalist and wet nurse completely satisfied her.

Milk filled her breasts along with the baby that one of the guards had put inside her. When he pressed her against the wall and lifted her gown, panting that he had desired her for a long time she did not stand up to him, even helping him by bending over and spreading the folds of her womanhood before him so that he could more easily hit the right spot with the thick tip of his length.

This particular man never aroused her desire, however, he supervised her chambers, and since she allowed him to enjoy the pleasures of her body, he closed his eyes to when and where she went out, giving her more freedom.

His wife, however, was not comforted by the fact that her husband had a mistress.

She could not conclude that her husband was a good lover; his hands only clenched greedily on her firm breasts, his thrusts violent, fast and deep. She knew that as he chased his fulfilment hissing that he would fill her with his seed, it did not even cross his mind to touch her between her thighs or ask what would give her pleasure.

She did not, however, resent him.

She recognised that this was how men were.

Although she tried not to think about it, the sight of his wife, one of her father's servants, filled her with remorse, for although she knew that this woman did not love him, she humiliated her every time she took away what belonged to her.

She had nothing to justify it, but she knew that if she told him to stop she would arouse his anger and his behaviour towards her would change.

He might want to take revenge on her for rejecting him.

She couldn't allow this to happen.

What he didn't know was that he wasn't the only man she allowed to sink between her thighs for the benefit; it was easier and sometimes even more enjoyable than trying to bribe them with money, which she didn't have much of anyway. What she was able to do perfectly was to observe people from the sidelines − their reactions and desires, coming to her own conclusions about what they needed and wanted.

Usually these men wanted not only sensation and elation, but also reassurance, a warm word and understanding; they lay with their faces cuddled between her breasts, muttering for her to stroke their heads, and she did so, allowing them to turn from men into innocent children for a moment.

The women in the fortress began to whisper among themselves that the ease with which she seduced men and with which she maintained her beauty despite her age was due to the fact that she was a witch.

She smiled piteously as she strolled through the corridors of the fortress, overhearing their conversations from afar, hearing about the potions she gave to poor, unaware men so they could not forget her, that she bathed in milk and blood to keep her face young and bright.

She did not deny the accusations, because she derived satisfaction from the fact that they feared and avoided her.

Fear, however, also tended to provoke interest and curiosity, and the young, newly arrived servants who were just learning their trade could not tell what they thought of her.

When she needed a break from the men's sweat and their aggressive, deep thrusts she sought peace and solace in the arms of young girls, much more gentle and understanding when it came to the nature of female fulfilment, their sweet moans and surprised expressions as she caressed them made her feel a pleasant pulsation between her thighs.

Although the prospect of becoming a mother did not fill her with particular joy, when she woke up one morning, feeling a pool of wetness under her thighs and saw blood, the squeeze in her throat and the tears she felt under her eyelids were proof that some part of her hoped she could love this innocent creature that was growing inside her womb.

This did not happen, however, and she, not wanting to waste her milk, from which her breasts had already swollen, decided to feed the children whose mothers had too little nourishment.

She considered her life quite prosperous and peaceful until her father and half-brother died in a fire.

Until Larys became the Lord of Harrenhal.

Everyone, including her, feared him.

He was like a writhing viper, tightening slowly around the necks of those who aroused his suspicions, his gaze black and completely blank, as if he experienced nothing, felt nothing inside himself.

He could not be seduced, appeased, pleaded with, persuaded.

He was like a stone, merciless, cruel, taking satisfaction in domination and power.

She never got in his way.

One evening, however, he summoned her to his chamber, and she feared what he desired.

When she stepped inside he was sitting at the table, having just eaten his evening meal. He smiled slightly at her in a way that made her feel the cold sweat on her back; his eyes remained indifferent, glowing mischievously in the firelight.

"Sit down, sister. I wish to discuss something with you." He said softly, and she swallowed hard, keeping an indifferent, satisfied face, looking at him from under half-closed eyelids. She sat down opposite him in one of the chairs, spreading out comfortably in her seat, sighing quietly and nodded for him to speak.

"We will have guests of honour. Prince Aemond and his wife will be arriving here within two days to spend the night here and then head off the next morning to meet Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon." He said calmly, putting a few pieces of cake from the tray onto his plate, with a hand gesture he encouraged her to eat as well, but she shook her head, analysing his words quickly.

She had heard of them.

Prince Aemond had married and taken his niece's maidenhood on the same night he chose Maris Baratheon as his wife.

His brother the King, to save the situation, married them in the eyes of the Seven before an enraged Borros Baratheon could arrive in King's Landing demanding justice.

There would not have been all the commotion if Prince Aemond had taken her as his second wife, but he clearly only wished to have one, therefore, Maris was sent away with only a dowry and humiliation.

Her half-brother continued, seeing the lack of response on her part.

"I want you to host them well. Both of them, if you understand what I have in mind. Myself and his grandfather do not believe in the success of their mission. Like most of the kingdom we know how it will end: with a war. A war we wish to win. However, our Prince, if I may say so, does not think with his mind now, but rather with what he has between his thighs. He gives in to his wife and her persuasions to bring about a reconciliation. I know you are well acquainted with human nature and will surely win both her trust and his heart."

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked at her fingers, trying to hide the horror and squeeze in her stomach she felt.

He wanted to expose her, to put her head under the Prince's sword if it turned out that her attempts would only enrage him, and he could wash his hands of everything.

"In any case, in a few days' time the matter of the succession will resolve itself with the help of my birds in the Eyrie. They know what to do. Of course, I'll let our Prince believe that his decision matters, however, everything is already arranged. I hope this should settle the matter. With the help of the gods, the girl might try to take her own life for the second time. Let us raise our cups for that." He said lightly, as if indeed such a course of events would please him the most; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking that she had not even noticed when he had become such a disgusting creature.

A monster that, like a black, empty hole, was consuming everything around him, destroying it and crushing it.

She wasn't in a position to refuse, and he knew it.

That was why she walked out with him to greet their guests, thinking she would simply do what he ordered her to do.

She blinked as the figure of a petite, pretty girl jumped down from the shimmering blue and silver dragon, her long, dark hair of a shade similar to hers tied into a braid, its unruly strands dishevelled by the long journey through the skies.

She stepped out in front of them, breathing heavily, her eyes big, full of curiosity and uncertainty, her gaze warm, kind, her cheeks all flushed from exertion. She stopped in front of them and forced herself into an innocent, almost childlike smile, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

Gods, have mercy.

"Your Grace. What a joy." Said her brother. The girl blinked, not knowing for a moment what to answer, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She muttered at last, clearly tense − her was voice pleasant, melodious, soft, the kind that gives comfort with ease, brings peace of mind.

They all turned their faces towards the approaching figure as they heard his footsteps; Prince Aemond in his long black leather coat and black eye patch indeed looked like someone menacing, commanding, as powerful as the great dragon he was riding.

What immediately caught her attention was that as his gaze traveled over their faces he stopped at his wife, assessing her figure from afar as if quickly examining whether she had suffered any damage after such a long journey and whether she was well.

He must have evidently concluded that she was, for his gaze turned after a moment towards her brother.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

The Prince and her brother moved first, followed by his wife, looking around the interior of their fortress with genuine curiosity, not even listening to what her brother was saying.

She didn't even notice that her uncle was glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, checking that she was near and in no danger.

She thought he would sooner stab her in the heart than take her to his bed.

Her brother opened the door of the chamber that had been prepared for him, the largest in the entire fortress, not coincidentally located close to hers. The Prince, however, did not look impressed; his lips pressed into a thin line in disapproval when he heard that Lord Strong had assigned his wife other quarters.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said coolly, as if the very suggestion was offensive and insulting to him.

He had kept her with him the whole time, she thought in disbelief, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the girl standing next to her.

She stood, gazing at her uncle as if she were looking at a statue of one of the gods; her bright, shining eyes large and filled with affection, devotion, longing, even though, after all, he was standing in front of her, at her fingertips.

She realised, swallowing quietly, that he had not taken her by force the night he married her or any night after.

How long had they looked at each other like this?

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." Her brother replied.

Prince Aemond then looked at his niece with a gaze as if he was about to explode − his wife pressed her lips into a thin line, immediately understanding what the expression on his face was meant to convey to her, her look of understanding and sigh was meant to add to his patience.

His gaze softened and after a moment he nodded, letting her go.

The girl looked at her, so she smiled quickly and pointed with her hand the way they should go to her quarters. Before moving behind her she looked at her husband, the Prince leading her away with a cold, sharp gaze.

Overwhelmed by this revelation, no longer knowing herself what she thought of it or what she should do in such a situation, she simply followed her into the room, closing the door behind her. She watched quietly as the prince's wife walked to the window, placing her hand on the glass, and smiled slightly, noticing something outside.

Had she been like this all the time?

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, Your Grace?" She asked finally, recognising that she needed to start any light conversation, to try and understand who was standing in front of her.

The girl shuddered and blinked, as if forgetting her presence for a moment, turning to face her. She nodded, forcing herself to smile, unsure and embarrassed, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous reflex.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked lightly and kindly, willingly shortening the distance between them, which surprised her.

Usually women of her ilk took satisfaction in calling her Lady Rivers, reminding her every time that she was a bastard.

But she, even if she was married to the Prince, was also one.

She was her relative, her brother's daughter.

She swallowed hard at that thought, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

"Alys, Your Grace."

She lowered her gaze, as if pondering something for a moment, and then her bright eyes looked at her again.

She thought with pain that she was like a small flower, a daisy or a forget-me-not, which one picked to weave into one's hair, to feel as innocent as a little child again.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She muttered with some sort of embarrassment, from which she involuntarily burst out laughing.

Good gods.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She said softly, amused; her gaze shifted, her brow furrowed in concern and curiosity.

She knew what she was going to ask her, she could feel it in her bones.

"Did you know my father?"

She named him as her father even though she was officially Laenor Velaryon's daughter.

She admitted to her that she too was a bastard without a grimace of embarrassment.

"Yes, Princess."

Her whole body tensed, her hands clenched into fists.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, and her lips involuntarily lifted in a dangerous smirk at the thought that her directness was surprising her.

Was this how she spoke to her husband?

Was this how she forced her way into his heart?

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, Your Grace."

A silence fell between them filled with the weight of their words and what they meant; she licked her lips involuntarily, feeling that she was incapable of denying herself the pleasure of having to see her reaction to her words.

To see if she was right.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She said with amusement, feeling a tingle in her fingertips and in her lower abdomen at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

"What do you mean?" She mumbled quietly, embarrassed; however, it was not shame feigned and exalted, but more an expression of genuine surprise and excitement at her words.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said calmly, turning her head away, immersed in her own thoughts.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She looked at her, wanting to see her reaction, and sighed almost imperceptibly, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at the sight of her parted, plump lips, her dreamy, hot gaze.

She knew that she had felt something at her words, that it had taken deep root in her heart and made her return with her thoughts to her husband.

Was this how she had looked at him when he made love to her?

She could not imagine that he could take her maidenhood brutally and cruelly, that he would allow her to cry beneath him in pain.

No, she thought − he surely took her with slow, lazy thrusts of his hips, letting her get used to his shape deep inside her, assuring her in a whisper that just a little more.

She felt a strong throbbing and tickling between her thighs at that thought and licked her lips, looking up at her again − her gaze lowered meekly to the stone floor, a soft, thoughtful smile on her face.

She decided on second thought, helping her change into one of her gowns, touching her soft skin, smelling the wonderful scent of vanilla in her nostrils, that she would braid the most elaborate hairstyle she could think of on her head, just so she wouldn't have to leave her chamber before supper.

She knew that her half-brother expected her to then take the opportunity to venture into the Prince's chambers to make sure he was not missing anything.

Therefore, she began to braid her soft, long, dark hair, creating a beautiful, complicated hairstyle surrounding her head.

She escorted her to the proper quarters and bowed, Larys gave her one impatient look.

She felt a cold sweat on her back, leaving immediately.

He was not pleased.

She thanked the gods that the Prince's wife had summoned her herself, wishing her help with her bath, giving her another reason not to head to her husband's chambers.

She thought that if she went on like this perhaps the situation would work out in such a way that she simply wouldn't have the opportunity to do anything, though even if she did she wasn't sure Larys would believe her.

As she walked into her chamber she saw that she herself was trying to untie her bodice, so she approached her, undoing the tangles with ease, looking at her face with curiosity.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, Your Grace?" She asked softly, noticing from the corner of her eye that the girl had lowered her gaze, ashamed and saddened.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said with resignation, and she couldn't stop the smile that appeared on her face.

Of course, she thought.

The sight of her loose hair reminded him fondly of how it had been spread in disarray around her head, shining in the darkness of his chamber as he fucked her greedily.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, for some reason wanting to lift her spirits and comfort her; she heard her move in place, the sweet blush appearing on her cheeks again.

She was embarrassed, she thought with disbelief and tenderness, as if she were looking at a small child.

She was so innocent.

Was that what attracted him to her?

The idea that he was surrounding her with himself like a dark cloak, devouring her again and again?

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She heard her uncertain, curious voice; she looked at her in the reflection of the mirror, noticing that she immediately lowered her gaze, as if she could not bear the intensity with which she was looking at her.

"Yes, Princess."

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked intrigued, and she smiled again involuntarily.

"Yes."

When her gown finally fell to the floor she saw her girlish, pleasing curves peeking through from under her nightgown. She watched as, with a light, confident step, she walked over to the bath and bore herself into the hot water, tilting her head back, sighing in relief, her head still adorned with the braids she had woven herself.

Such a pretty little thing.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled out at last, looking at her with those big, warm eyes of hers, seeing in her apparently her guide, someone who could help her with these complicated and intimate matters.

She felt a pleasant squeeze in her lower abdomen at the idea that popped into her head.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied amused, drawing out of her exactly the reaction she wanted − her cheeks turned scarlet, her gaze fled downwards, her tiny long fingers clenched into small fists.

She was wonderfully embarrassed, so sweet that he would have gladly shown her everything, step by step.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, and she involuntarily licked her lower lip with her tongue, feeling the throbbing between her thighs at her words, her nipples hardening under the material of her gown.

Gods.

"I see." She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad as she moved slowly towards her, her surprised gaze lifting to her as she knelt right next to her tub, cupping her wrist in her hand.

Her skin was as soft as silk.

Her gaze escaped involuntarily to her breasts, now perfectly visible through the wet material of her shirt clinging to her bare flesh; she felt a tickle in her swollen lips at the thought that she longed to lick and caress them.

She was sure that as he teased and sucked her nipples she moaned sweetly beneath him, begging for more, and he always, always gave in to her.

Because how could he refuse her?

"I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, Your Grace."

She saw her pupils dilate in disbelief, her lips parted as she swallowed hard, her chest beginning to rise and fall in accelerated breaths.

"…How?"

She couldn't stop the smirk that appeared on her lips, nor what she did next.

She heard her sigh quietly, surprised and thrilled when her lips ran over her pointing finger, enveloping her skin with her hot breath.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman shows them with gentle, tender caresses." She whispered, running her swollen lips up and down her finger leaving a sticky, warm trail of her saliva on it, surprised at how wet it made her between her thighs, how wonderfully arousing it was, how obscene it was.

She heard her draw in a deep breath without moving away, but as she guided the tip of her finger between her lips, teasing and licking it lightly with her tongue, out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her thighs clenched in some helpless, subconscious reflex.

What other reactions could she draw from her?

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She sighed quietly as she suddenly slipped her whole finger deep into her mouth, feeling her swollen folds pulsate hard again and again as she began to suck it in slow, steady movements with the quiet click of her saliva.

She heard her gasp on the verge of a moan as her tongue began to trail over her skin with her low murmur of satisfaction, her free hand involuntarily sliding down to the material of her gown, wanting to slip under it and bring herself to fulfilment with her own touch.

She slipped her finger out of her mouth with a loud plop and looked up at her − her face all flushed, her gaze dreamy, hesitant and warm, as if she herself didn't know what she felt or why.

Something in her gaze made a pleasurable heat spill over her lower abdomen as she dug her own fingers into her fleshy folds, all sticky with her moisture, pulsing aggressively with her every stroke in pleasure.

"− you pretty little thing − it’s usually him taking care of you, isn’t it? − he can’t deny himself − I can’t blame him −" She whispered, trying not to move her hips so that she wouldn't notice anything; she lost the battle with herself as she felt herself getting closer and closer to fulfilment, pushing against her own slit with the tips of her fingers.

Unfortunately, it turned out that her husband was more vigilant than she thought.

When he burst into his wife's chamber she barely had time to remove her hand from under her own skirt and let go of her, standing quickly and bowing before him.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled, and she walked out obediently, grateful in spirit to the gods that he hadn't stopped her to question her, that he hadn't noticed the glistening wetness on her fingers.

Or he saw it and it infuriated him, she thought with amusement, feeling her heart pounding like a mad in her chest.

She finished what she had started in her chamber, bringing herself to fulfilment with sure, swift strokes of her fingers, driving their tips into her sensitive, fleshy womanhood, able now to afford to moan and rock her hips, imagining her body peeking through from under her wet nightgown.

She imagined that she knelt before him to lunge and soothe him, that she barely fit his fat cock in her small mouth, all swollen from the desire she had always aroused in him, that this proud, dark, cold man whimpered before her like a small, innocent boy when he finally gave in, thrusting again and again deep into her warm throat.

She came with a low moan of relief, panting heavily, hugging her face into the pillow, rocking her hips for a while longer, slowly coming down from her peak.

She was sure that as she lay half asleep, feeling a blissful, pleasant peace, she heard their moans in the distance and grinned involuntarily.

Of course he forgave her.

He always did.

She often had dreams whose meaning she did not understand; she saw people she had never met before, observing events that might as well have happened in the future or in the past. That night, however, her dream particularly troubled and worried her, as she had no idea what it actually meant.

Two streams of blood finally merging into one, flowing like a river, which then, however, became a lake that reminded her of a dragon's head in a crown, only to spill over after a while, and she saw nothing but red.

Was this what was about to happen?

Would Princess Rheanyra and Prince Daemon be murdered and another dragon's reign begin upon their blood?

She swallowed hard, thinking of that young, cheerful girl, of how obvious it was that she was not aware of anything, that whatever her uncle-husband knew, he had not shared it with her.

She thought that if he betrayed her, she would wilt like a flower, fade like the sun in a setting sky.

She stood up and headed for his chamber.

His gaze expressed nothing less than disgust and rage at the sight of her. He reached for his tunic, dressing it hurriedly, tense and pale, knowing full well what was to happen if the negotiations did not bring the results he hoped for.

She wondered if he realised that even if he didn't give the order, they would be murdered anyway.

"You will betray her." She said indifferently, and he threw her a quick, horrified look, his nostrils quivering in disbelief.

He knew perfectly well what she was referring to.

She thought that sometimes all it took was a gentle push, putting a mirror in front of someone's face to make them think carefully again about whether they were ready for the consequences of their choices.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

She said and grinned, seeing that he shuddered all over, that his mask had cracked, his lips parted as if he wanted to groan in despair.

She knew he saw it in his mind, felt it in his heart, and she left his chamber without a word.

She let out a loud breath as she walked down the empty corridor, thinking with some kind of hope that her words, the vision she had invented to break him would terrify him enough to make him fall to his knees before his wife and confess everything he knew.

And if he doesn't, if in fact he betrays her, it will prove that he was never worthy of her.

She had come to her summons when she wished to clothe herself; she saw, crossing the threshold of her quarters, that she too was frightened and anxious, only for completely different reasons.

She wished for them to come to an understanding.

She believed it was possible.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought, at the realisation that she was alone in a world where everyone but her craved war, craved power, craved the throne.

She did not look at her face, at the clear command of her husband not allowing herself any closer proximity to her, which she accepted with understanding.

After she had fastened the buckles of her leather coat, however, she allowed herself to take her soft hand in her own, stroking it with her thumb.

She hesitated and furrowed her brow, but before she could move away, she began to speak, forcing herself to whisper, fearing that her brother's servants might have heard her.

"Do not return here. Fly from the Eyrie straight to King's Landing. I saw in my dream a river of blood taking the shape of a dragon's head wearing a crown. I saw red flooding everything around me." She said quickly, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She thought in disbelief that she pitied this girl.

"This warning, these words, are my gift to you. Look after yourself. Trust no one."

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wing-ed-thing · 1 month ago

Text

… And the Beast (Yonji Vinsmoke x Reader) Chapter V

Synopsis: You thought your little crush on Prince Yonji was a well-kept secret. Yonji is mean enough to exploit your eagerness to please in the face of his unrelenting cruelty; the thought of actually developing a soft spot for you never even crossed his mind.

Word Count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Naive!Servant!Reader, Name-Calling, Language, Reader Falls First, Yonji Falls Harder

Notes: A little treat before the emotional tornado that chapter 6 will be. Sorry it's late!!!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

It hardly took a week for the notice to come; the library snail was officially under the jurisdiction of the fourth prince of Germa, Prince Yonji. You were sure the main sailing crew was mixed about the news. Granted that the library snail had traditionally been under the wing of Mistress Reiju, the crew often got an earful for straying or dawdling due to Yonji’s whims.

You had also heard rumors that Reiju was hardly enthusiastic about joint sailing with Yonji’s fleet when he paid his visits. Even when she was explicit in her request to sail separately, fleet Reiju often found themselves more interrupted than usual.

“A general nuisance!” Reiju had allegedly said to describe her youngest brother, which had been heard by a handmaid who told a valet.

And so when all fleets received word that the library snail would be officially taken over by fleet Yonji, a collective sigh was ultimately breathed out amongst the kingdom. You sat with the page for a long while, curling up under the sunlight in your usual seat by the window. The ship was already headed toward a local port where fleet Yonji and fleet Reiju would make the exchange.

You couldn’t help but recall Yonji’s words from the week prior.

“As far as I’m concerned, this place is mine.”

“I told ya, didn’t I?”

You startled, flinching as you quickly sat up in your chair, much to Yonji’s amusement. His boisterous cackle rang out over the cool, tropical air.

It certainly felt like an afternoon and a summer one at that. You had opened the library windows just a crack to let in the sea breeze as you enjoyed the golden sunbeams cast from the clear sky above. The air was warm enough to wear draping apparel and the wind gentle enough to make curtains sway gently in the halls across the ship. The weather was perfect.

You breathed the shock that had just coursed through you before standing straight with a gentle smile. Yonji leaned against the doorway of the chamber. Even he was dressed for the weather, trading in his usual slacks and shirt for a pair of linen shorts and a neutral-colored button-down. You still held the notice in your hand.

“I thought we were meeting at the port.” You spared a glance outside the window at a flock of seagulls that dipped in and out of view. Yonji scoffed.

“What? Not excited to see me?” You couldn’t help but let out a light laugh at the growing scowl on Yonji’s lips.

“I am always excited to see you, Prince Yonji.” You dipped your head, offering him a slight bow that seemed to improve his attitude. Yonji hummed with approval, his attitude appearing to melt on the spot. You laughed again.

“Damn straight,” he grumbled before picking himself off the doorway. His shoes glided across the plush, intricately woven carpet below as he meandered into the center of the room. “Besides, I wanted to make sure you were ready before we arrived at port.”

You couldn’t help the way your forehead scrunched.

“Ready for what?” you asked, and Yonji looked as if he had been waiting for that very question. He puffed up, squaring his shoulders back as he regarded you casually. Well, as casually as he could for the wide smirk that occupied his face.

Yonji stood with his feet about shoulder length apart and arms crossed over his broad chest. His short-sleeved, open-collared shirt allowed for the movement despite the appearance of the light but stiff-looking fabric.

“Now that I’m in charge of the library, I couldn’t help but notice that the library was down a book!” he barked with a hearty laugh. He indulged in the pat on the back he gave himself, and you spurred him on with enthusiastic nods and gentle smiles. It appeared nothing truly changed after all. “What kinda commander would I be if I allowed that?”

Yonji grinned from ear to ear, a haughty air to him as he openly invited your praise.

“Thank you, Prince Yonji. I actually—”

“Get whatever you need to go into town!”

***

You couldn’t recall the last time you stepped foot on an actual island. Being a sea-dwelling kingdom rather than traditional ships, Germa hardly had to stop and restock like most fleets. Food, fresh water, and other necessities were produced by Germa just like any other kingdom, and stopping at an island for goods typically only happened for niche trading opportunities.

And so, when you stepped off the ship and onto the bustling dock, you couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed. The port was significant in size, expanding well into the sea to house Reiju’s fleet, but had plenty of room to spare for when Yonji’s ships arrived. Other boats tethered themselves to the docks, spanning from fishing boats to Marine vessels to what you suspected were pirate ships.

Yonji pushed you along, trailing behind you as he guided you through the bustle. He had flown from his own ship to meet you ahead of schedule, and not wanting to engage with his sister quite yet, Yonji intended for the two of you to disappear into the market first.

“Reiju doesn’t have to know I’m here yet,” Yonji had muttered to you, “All she’ll do is talk my ear off, so we might as well get the shopping over with first.”

He held a hand on the back of your shoulder, almost pushing you through the crowded dock. Yonji kept close to you and would have made a convincing bodyguard if it wasn’t for the fact that he handled you almost like a human shield with little regard for who you bumped into until you finally stepped onto solid land.

The stalls of vendors seemed to start the moment you stepped off the dock, wrapping around a good quarter of the island and branching into streetways leading to the center of town. The two of you walked down the cobblestone road, and while the touch on the back of your shoulder had left, Yonji remained hardly more than a step behind you.

You approached the main street, finally seeing the vast, branching roads. The markets were flush with colorful vegetables, handmade goods, and fresh pastries, but what really caught your eye was the cart full of books just down the main cobblestone street.

You knew every inch of Germa’s archival ship like the back of your hand, and despite the thousands of books and files in your care, if you didn’t know them by heart, you certainly knew them by looking at them. And yet, for all the time you spent surrounded by paper and covers, the way your face seemed to light up at the tiny cart of books wasn’t something Yonji quite understood.

In the next moment, you were talking. Your lips were moving, spewing words that were most likely tentative questions while Yonji studied the sparking glow in your eyes. Yes, you usually looked at him like this, and it was an expression he cruelly relished in.

It was something in the way that you seemed to try so desperately to hide the clear, stupefied wonder on your face, only to be given away by your eyes that had him wrapped around your finger more than either of you knew. Suddenly, it didn’t matter much to Yonji that your shy glances away and failed attempts at straightening out your lips weren’t a product of you being in awe of him. And as you walked down the road, he didn’t seem to mind that you walked at his side either.

The cart of books piqued your interest, and out from a branching road, sitting at the corner under a brightly colored flag. A window box filled with flowers just partially obscured the spines. The cart held two shelves and couldn’t have been taller than your hip. But the neatly organized cart was soon dwarfed compared to the view just around the corner.

The whole street was lined with crates upon crates of books, and any area devoid of a wooden box was lined with mismatched shelves. Canopies connected the narrow buildings on either side of the road, generating shade over the market that was only interrupted by golden sunlight. Small flags bearing the province's crest swooped overhead. Symbols representing a matron deity of knowledge were painted across the market.

You stood at the entrance, staring at the sight before tentatively glancing at Yonji for approval. His gaze was already on you. Yonji rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh before making a forward-sweeping motion with his hand. And when you didn’t obey him quickly enough, Yonji shoved you forward harshly, shaking his head as the spark in your eye glinted at him.

You immediately made for the closest stall, which had tall wooden bookcases arranged according to genre and language. You greeted the store owner with a brief salutation of politeness, almost steamrolling through the interaction with barely suppressed giddiness. The owner gave you a gracious nod, engrossed in his own book and likely used to such customers.

You made straight for the thick of it, wedging yourself between narrowly placed shelves to scour the selection before you. You didn’t even know where to begin. Yonji watched as you made the rounds, circling the section at least twice as he slowly made his way over to where you were.

For the rate at which Yonji himself could devour books, he appeared nowhere near as excited as you were about the treasure trove of knowledge that surrounded you. Instead, he trailed behind you, meandering closer as you engrossed yourself in your search.

You already had three books clutched in your hand, and when you spotted him from over your shoulder, you did a double take before turning to him with raised eyebrows and a soft smile. You handed a book to him: “Jorul and Jarul: Commanders of the Sea.” You knew him well.

“Are you gonna get those?” he asked, glancing at the two in your hand.

“Maybe.” You shrugged. Yonji frowned as you placed them back on the shelf. He eyed you incredulously.

“The hell’d you do that for?” He motioned with a raised brow. You blinked at him with widened eyes.

“I was just looking at—”

Yonji took the two off the shelf and held the spines to his face. He tilted his head to read them before straightening out and tucking them under his arm along with the one you had picked out for him. Yonji made another sweeping motion with his hand, shooing you back to your search. He spotted you making glances at the books under his arm.

“Don’t worry about it.” He scowled.

Yonji stayed close as you began sifting through the selection again, and when he wasn’t paging through texts of his own, he was snatching the ones you were perusing right out of your hands. It was, of course, your mistake for appearing interested in it in the first place.

Yonji said nothing the first time you lingered on a book for a moment too long before putting it back. He just snapped it up and added it to the stack. Your eyes trailed from where you had placed it down and up Yonji’s arm to his face. He held your stare with a deep frown, almost as if challenging you to say something. His nose twitched in annoyance.

“You’re too indecisive,” he said, and that was about all the warning he gave as he snatched the next book out of your hands.

In fact, any book you remotely cracked open was taken from you. Yonji had the reach to take your selections from over your shoulder. He added each one to the growing stack. And just when your eyes were beginning to wander to another stall, Yonji took the compilation to the owner and started fishing in the pockets of his knee-length shorts.

Your heart nearly stopped as you abandoned your section of the stall, running over to Yonji to frantically stop him. But by the time you got close enough to intercept him, Yonji had already handed the shop owner berry in a denomination you had never seen. The clerk’s eyes bulged at the excessive dollar amount, the change of which he was told to keep.

“Prince Yonji! I—”

“Hey, shut up!” he quickly shushed you, sparing a glance around at the bustling market. “For a book rat, you sure don’t understand the meaning of incognito.”

Yonji didn’t appear to have any issue balancing the sizable stack of books he carried with one hand.

“I’m sorry, P—” You stopped yourself, stamping your lips closed as your voice devolved into an elongated hum. Yonji looked at you expectantly, leaning forward as you searched for words. “I’m sorry!” you opted. “Please allow me to pay you back!”

You glanced at the clerk, who was admiring the bill in a beam of light that poked through the canopy.

That was a whole lot of berry.

“You callin’ me poor?” Yonji shifted the books to his hip, pinning them to his side with his wrist as he shifted his weight to his back leg. He regarded you with an upturned nose, unable to hide his self-satisfied smirk at the sight of your panicked head shaking. “You think I’m the only commander who can’t afford resources for one of my ships?”

“Most certainly not, P—” you sputtered. You nearly bowed but stopped yourself. “Most certainly not!”

Yonji studied you for a brief moment before he heaved out a heavy sigh with a roll of his eyes. He pivoted away from you, ready to move on to the next bookstall.

“You can call me Yonji,” he huffed as if bestowing you a great honor to his own detriment. “But only here.” Yonji’s eyes met yours sharply. “If you tell anyone I let you call me by my first name, I’ll gut you alive.”

“I won’t tell anyone!” You almost bowed again as he began to walk off. “Thank you… Yonji!”

“Uh-huh.”

***

You moved through the market much like how you moved through the library: skimming each section closely with Yonji trailing close behind. You couldn’t even recall how many books Yonji ended up buying you. Between the titles you picked out for him, the ones he picked out for you, and the titles you spared even a lingering glance at, the number must’ve equated to an obscene amount. Yonji had even sent some back to the ship with a few soldiers who meandered around a few posts.

But even though Yonji didn’t even carry the full amount you had purchased, you couldn’t help the overwhelming sheepish feeling that overcame you as your waiter dragged two outdoor tables together to accommodate the sheer volume of books you brought to brunch.

Thoughts like that never crossed Yonji’s mind as he quickly traded the burden of your shopping for the menus on the table.

“Bring this one to me in the biggest container you got.” Yonji pointed toward one of the alcoholic drinks on the front of the special’s menu before slipping your waiter an obscene amount of berry. He glanced at you, seeming to remember your presence. “And… whatever you want.”

You floundered with the menu. You hadn’t read it yet. But Yonji didn’t have you sputtering for too long before he rattled off about four things from the selection that, to your surprise, sounded great to you. Your menus were collected before you could blink, leaving you in awe at the sheer speed at which Yonji processed the written word.

You were left to sit for the first time that day: just the two of you. Yonji sat back deeply in his chair with one ankle slung over his opposite knee. You sat adjacent to him, with only the corner of the table separating you. Your army of new books sat before you on the second square table you had amassed.

An aesthetically pleasing black iron fence contained the patio area you sat at the edge of. Plant boxes of the same material and color hung off the horizontal rungs. Bunches of pansies sat inside them. You couldn’t help but wonder how long flowers that looked so fragile lasted in such a busy area. A large umbrella stuck up from the center of your table and seemed to almost join with the other umbrellas at the other tables to provide just enough shade across the patio to spare your eyes from the sun.

Despite sitting a few storefronts into the street, you still had a full view of the city square just a short distance away. A grand fountain sat in the middle of the forum, and half the perimeter was lined with large buildings that sat at the corners of the branching streets that stretched from the docks. A great, intricately architectured courthouse sat at the end of your street. A bronze statue of two scales sat on a pedestal outside the marble steps.

There was a stark difference between the bustling market streets and the inland square, almost as if proximity to the sea breathed freedom and life into whatever the salt air touched. But even for the acute stuffiness and grandiosity of the more serious structures, the island felt warm and inviting, as a tropical island should be.

You didn’t even realize that your food and drink had come out until Yonji’s tankard hit the table. He laughed as you jumped, finally noticing the spread laid out in front of you. It took no more than a look for the food to distract you. Each dish was plated to perfection, not only radiating a heavenly scent but presented in a way almost too pristine to ruin.

“Um��” you hummed. Yonji had already found a book to busy himself with. You couldn’t see the title, but you were sure it was “The Analysis of Myth and Folktales Through a Classicist Lens,” one of the texts you offered him earlier in the day. You weren’t used to calling him by only his first name yet. It felt wrong. “Yonji?”

“I got everything I need,” he said, as if reading your mind. He raised his oversized cup. You could almost smell it from where you sat.

You hummed, reaching for a plate near the center of the table. You’d start there.

***

You managed to spot it in the back of the store by eagle-eyed happenstance and from a brief stroll past the storefront, no less. You had abruptly backtracked, racing off in the opposite direction to look into the window again. Yonji, who had his arms full of your purchases from the day carefully balanced against his chest, called angrily after you,

“What the hell?”

But by the time he turned himself around, you had already confirmed what you saw. You bounded back to Yonji, a familiar glimmer of excitement in your eyes as you adamantly exclaimed,

“I know we have to get back, but… please stay right here!”

You walked backward, a giddy grin on your lips before you bounded in through the storefront. Yonji hardly had time to retort, let alone scowl, and give you a verbal lashing for daring to order him around. But the condescending bitterness never came. Instead, Yonji shook his head to himself before resigning himself to leaning against the glass of the display window, waiting for your return.

The store itself was cluttered, lined from wall to wall with random trinkets and useless items. Even the floorspace wasn’t safe from the massive display cases piled high with vintage toys, greeting cards, and novelty statues. You immediately shot to the back, taking your prize off the wall quickly and carefully, as if it were a treasure you were worried someone would snatch from you. You looked at it in your hands, shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter as you made for the register.

An elderly woman was sitting behind the counter on a stool. She leaned against the countertop with her head in her palm, gazing out one of the front windows at the back of Yonji’s head. She hardly regarded you as you put your purchase down in front of her.

“Is that your husband?” she asked with a sigh.

“No, uh… he’s not.” You glanced over to where she appeared to be looking before letting out a light laugh. The undertones were too nervous for you to sound truly amused by what she said.

The woman behind the counter turned to you, head still in her hand. The skin of her eyelids sagged thinly and folded over her eyes like draped curtains. She wore an olive green bow in her wool-like strands of white hair that matched the bow tie around her collar. You fished for your wallet.

“Are you gonna make him your husband?” she asked. The teasing question should have stopped your hands in the way it did. “Because if you don’t, I will! Hoo! I crack myself up!”

Her eyes grew wide as she let out a boisterous cackle. The laugh threw her body back as she howled, her hand slamming down on the space next to the cash register. She punched a few numbers into her keypad.

Your lips formed a light smile despite the hesitancy that weighed heavily in your chest. You had admired Yonji for a long while, yet there was something in you that could never legitimately envision a dynamic past your servitude to the Germa kingdom. You hadn’t dared to ask for more, and the thought of having something more felt forbidden even to consider.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to consider it.

“You never know,” you laughed nervously with a bob of your eyebrows.

The woman behind the counter unraveled the product on the counter, her face lighting up again as she side-eyed you. Her lips pursed outward.

“Oh. I’m sure going to miss this one.” She nodded. “That will be 4,300 berries.”

“Of course.”

You were already sifting through bills and mentally calculating the amount. The clerk’s face returned to her palm, and she resumed gazing out the window.

“I wish I had a husband who would carry all my books like that. The first three would never,” she sighed. “You know what they say about lucky number four.”

You handed her money to count. She glided through them quickly and tossed the bills in the register as you tucked your purchase away. You didn’t say much else other than hum and say thank you, quickly retreating through the shop door back to Yonji.

***

The books took up more space on the wooden table than you thought they would. And while they were placed down haphazardly, many still in their wrappings from the shops, their disorderly state didn’t do much for the space they occupied on the table.

“Those must’ve been heavy.”

Yonji cocked a brow as his nose wrinkled.

“You think those look heavy?” he sneered. He stood next to you with his arms coiled over his chest.

You removed the books from any wrappings, carefully splaying the books out across the table with the paper organized into a neat pile on one of the chairs. Yonji watched as you worked with his head tilted to the side, as even he didn’t quite remember what he bought you.

“They would be heavy for me, but you’re very strong, Prince Yonji. I’m just sorry to have burdened you,” you said, so used to paying him compliments that you hardly paid attention to what left your mouth.

Yonji’s lips parted almost as if he wanted to correct you before he remembered where you stood.

“I’d hardly call this a burden,” he huffed, distracted by the compliment as tended to happen. You continued to sort through the books, arranging them by some system that Yonji didn’t have the bandwidth or care to pay attention to. He studied you out of his peripheral. His hands moved to his hips. “What did you get in that last store?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed at a volume that almost pulled a blink of surprise from Yonji. You took your purchase from where you tucked it and held it out to him. “I got this for you. I thought you’d find it funny.”

Yonji regarded it with confused skepticism, his face visibly contorting as he thought.

“Why?”

“I wanted to thank you for taking me on the restock.”

Yonji snatched the rolled-up item from your hands with a huff.

“Obviously. Why the hell wouldn’t I take the library attendant when getting books for the library? Do you think I’m a moron?” he spat, rolling his eyes before incidentally meeting your wide gaze. You didn’t appear like you were affected by his words in the slightest. In fact, you seemed like you were just happy that he took your gift at all. Yonji tore his eyes away from your stare as his shoulders deflated. “Thanks,” he gritted.

You knew not to expect much more. The one word was a miracle in and of itself.

Yonji sighed and unraveled your gift for him with both hands. The material was thick and of good quality. However, he only got to unfurl it halfway before he stopped. His lips parted in shock, most primarily. He glanced at you and then back to the poster. A wide grin was plastered across your mouth as you watched Yonji unravel the page.

His head instantly dropped, but not before he threw his head back with the loudest, most obnoxious laugh you had ever heard from him. He laughed with such force that it almost shook the room. Even just witnessing how enthralled he was with your gift tore a volley of snickers out of your throat. Yonji clutched the poster to his chest, both hands still on the top and bottom of the glossy material as the middle curved. His shoulders shook violently as he leaned against the wooden table to look at the image again.

“AHAHAHAHAHA! What the fuck?” he cackled, bringing the poster close to his face before immediately lowering it to meet your gaze. “Is this a fucking Winch Green pin-up? How the hell did you find this? Holy shit!”

Yonji crossed one ankle of the other, holding the poster out at arm's length in front of him to study. Winch Green from the Sora, Warrior of the Sea comics didn’t bear a striking resemblance to Yonji in the hair or face, but the uniform and general build weren’t too much different. After all, the comic had a rough basis on Germa, whose moves were made much more discretely nowadays.

But the Yonji and Winch Green shared a name and a number. The image appeared to be of Winch Green captured in the brig of a Marine vessel, where he was posed suggestively with seastone cuffs around his wrists. His usual green uniform was almost shredded, exposing his muscular bare chest.

Yonji placed a hand over his face as he howled with laughter. He leaned farther back against the table, and as it let out a crack of shifting tension, you considered it might’ve toppled over if it weren’t screwed to the floor. Yonji clutched the poster and the side of the table in one hand and wiped his tearing eyes with the other.

“Why the hell do they even make these?”

“The lady said she was going to miss that one.”

“Gross.” Yonji held the poster out again and let out another boisterous cackle. “I gotta show Niji.�� That was about all the warning Yonji gave before he ran out of the library.

You turned back toward the table to continue sorting through your recent purchases. You could barely restrain the tight-lipped grin that overtook your face as you did, your heart beating rapidly in your chest from giddiness. It wasn’t often that you got confirmation that you did something right, especially when it came to the Vinsmoke princes, and just knowing that Yonji was pleased was enough to make your chest feel like it was about to burst.

“I wondered why my dumbass little brother was so interested in the library of all things.” A soft voice sounded behind you, and when you turned, Reiju was leaning against the doorframe. Her stare pierced your own. “I see why now.”

You bowed.

“Greetings, Mistress Reiju. How may I serve you?”

She wandered into the library, head swiveling as she glanced over the shelves and balcony. Reiju had been to the library many times before, although her usual involvement didn’t span much past overseeing the yearly archival. You spoke several times, and from what you could remember, each interaction was positive. But much like Yonji’s other siblings, Reiju kept herself rather aloof. You didn’t miss how her eyes lingered on your table of new books.

“Where did he go?”

“I believe Prince Yonji went to speak with Master Niji.” You stood at attention, watching Reiju as she strode slowly around the library. She didn’t look at you.

“That idiot,” she simmered, throwing her head back with a sigh as her hands found her hips. “Niji isn’t even here, not to mention that we were supposed to meet hours ago.”

“I’m very sorry, Your Highness. I’m sure you’ll see Prince Yonji before I do, but if you don’t, I can certainly let him know you were looking for him,” you said.

“God, does he really make you talk like that?” she scoffed, shaking her head as she gazed out the large window. “Believe me, I’ve heard all about everything else he makes you do.” Reiju’s eyes shut as she heaved another deep sigh. “I’ll talk to him about him taking over this ship. I have no idea what he told our father, but I’m sure whatever it was, it can be reversed.”

“Reversed?” you repeated. Reiju turned her head toward you, quickly glancing you up and down.

“Reversed,” she affirmed, the word trailing a bit as she thought. She pivoted, one arm crossed over her chest as she touched her opposite elbow. Her other hand brushed lightly under her chin. She took a step forward. “My brother is too much of a meathead to appreciate such an important part of our kingdom, and bringing a ship onto an already packed fleet just to harass the staff is childish at best.”

She rolled her eyes, and you couldn’t help but consider how familiar it looked. For Reiju’s apparent low tolerance for her brother, they rolled their eyes exactly the same. It made you crack a tight-lipped smile, pursing your mouth inward to hide your amusement. Your efforts were too feeble for Reiju’s sharp eyes.

“What is something I said?” Her eyes narrowed, but not quite in the same disdain as Yonji did.

“Oh, no!” You quickly bowed again, keeping yourself bent this time. “It’s just that—” You glanced off to the side before turning your gaze back to the floor. “Your mannerisms are very similar, Mistress Reiju. Your Highness’s and Prince Yonji’s, I mean. I find it very charming!”

Reiju let a moment pass. Your eyes fell shut. She didn’t seem like the type to take perceived slights out on a servant, but your conditioning from her brothers held up the same.

And suddenly, a sobering calmness washed over the room. The already large space from the floor to the ceiling never felt bigger, even as the large clock ticked on as a steady metronome for the pulse that beat in your ears.

“I remember you,” she said softly in realization, almost pitifully. You rose, picking your head up to meet her eyes. They almost looked sorrowful. “You’ve been here all this time, and I didn’t even recognize you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me, Mistress Reiju. I was never anyone of importance. I’m still not.”

You watched her pour over your face, an unintelligible expression washing over her. Watching her face seemed to acutely morph in subtle shifts and tics. And yet, her expression was far from the looks that usually graced the faces of the Vinsmoke princes. You could feel her looking through you.

“You have no debt to Germa.” She frowned. “Even if you did, I’m sure the way my brother has treated you has more than made up for whatever good he did by accident.”

“I can’t say I really take an issue with how Prince Yonji treats me.”

A silence overtook the room again. Something unreadable eclipsed her eyes. It was the same sort of expression you could recall seeing in Cosette’s gaze.

“You know he’ll never love you back, right?” When Reiju spoke, her voice was devoid of judgment. It was an indisputable fact and one that she placed gently before you. “He doesn’t know how, and he couldn’t even if he wanted to. His inability to love you back is wired into his genes.”

Her light irises bore into you, scouring your face. She was trying to understand, and you knew she never would.

“I know,” you said, perhaps too quickly. It hardly mattered. It wasn’t as if you had anything to gain by holding your cards close to your chest. “I’m alright with it. Being here is enough.”

Reiju hummed. You could hear the simmering sigh in her chest as she breathed slowly. The sun still shone brightly outside. You would hardly say it was midafternoon. Reiju nodded, more to herself than to you, before shaking her head.

“If you don’t want rescuing, I won’t force it upon you,” she said as she turned to leave. Reiju stopped in the doorway with one hand on the frame. “If there’s ever a day you want to be just a library attendant, call my snail.”

She quickly left down the hall, and not long after she left, Reiju’s fleet pulled out of the port. You sat in the library as usual, nothing truly changing about being a formal part of Yonji’s fleet. He never even asked about Reiju.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who has supported this work so hard. I'm really happy to have people dropping in to talk about Yonji and Germa and who enjoy the story. As usual, chapter 6 is written and contains the scene I wanted to write at the beginning of this story. I'll see you all in about 100 combined likes and reblogs.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

#yonji x reader #yonji vinsmoke x reader #germa 66 x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader #yonji vinsmoke #yonji #germa 66 #x reader #x you #reader insert #vinsmoke yonji #vinsmoke reiju #fic: ... and the beast

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sunnycanvas · 8 months ago

Note

Could you do a what if in unfaithful baldwin what if before she jumped into the river he managed to capture her..... this story is very good you are a great writer

Warning: depression, talk of suicidal thoughts and character death

Author strictly warns readers to proceed with caution. If you are sensitive about these topics under any circumstance please don't read further

Alternate ending

Just when I jumped into river and I was swimming towards my freedom. The knights caught me. I tried fighting hard. Hitting, punching them but they didn't even bulge and pulled me off shore. I started screaming and crying like a mad woman. I could see pity in some of them but most most had neutral expression. "(Y/N)" my husband said relieved and began approaching me. With intention to hug me but I looked back at him with such resentment that he stopped. He literally froze in his place. "Your majesty". I said coldy and I knew even though my husband was expert when it came to his composure I was able detect his tense body movement. "I know that I have committed a crime against my lord" "I know that our relationship won't go back like before therefore I ask you as a punishment I have done against crown that I be beheaded for my crime". Baldwin IV looked heartbroken at my statement and said "Chérie, do you think I would be so cruel to execute my own wife, the woman who saved my life". I laughed in pain and said "In return you killed my life, I shouldn't have saved you" "I payed a huge price I admit I regret it". I could hear gasps around me but I didn't care. It's not like I had anything to loose anyway. Baldwin IV was shocked I could see he was getting angrier but I could also see another emotion his eyes which I couldn't tell pity,sadness or fear which one is it? Baldwin IV let out a sigh and said "Queen (Y/N) you have not only insulted the crown but also wished for king's death which in eyes of law is treason and the punishment for this should execution" "However I can't forget the love and devotion you have shown to same crown and saved your king before therefore I have decided to spare you". Tears fell from my eyes when I heard the statement. "Chevalier, get the queen on top of my horse". I was seated on top of my horse and Baldwin IV with the help of his knights climbed up on the horse. I kept quiet as Baldwin held me tightly in his grip and we rode off. When we went back I saw mistress in the palace eagerly waiting for him. She smirked seeing my state and could tell by my husband's cold face that he was in sour mood. Once Baldwin IV was able to get down from the horse with help of his knights he pulled me down along with him.

"Your Grace" the mistress gave a graceful courtesy. I knew she was expecting my husband to call her in his chamber. My husband didn't even bother acknowledging her and went straight into the palace carrying me in his arms. Once we reached his room he slowly laid me down in his bed. He laid on top of me and put his face near my neck and smelled me breathing my scent "I missed you" he said.

"........."

"You know when you left like that I must admit I did feel insulted but deep down I was also hurt and worried about you"

".........."

"What if my enemies captured you, do you realise how reckless this was" "No matter how many women I sleep with I will always come back to you because at the end of the day you are my queen". "The woman who saved my life and nobody can and will take your place" "Do you understand that, I will always be your husband at the end of the day"

"........."

"Are you going to ignore me, my dear queen" Baldwin IV smiled mischievously "My queen has been rather cheeky going against me" "I knew you were rebellious but not to that extent"

"........."

Baldwin IV sighed realising there is no point now. Before he left he asked servants to bring fruits for queen. He quickly left for his work chamber. He sat down rubbing his forehead. "Chevalier" he commanded. "My lord" the knights were instantly summoned. "Tell my mistress that that she is not longer welcome in Kingdom" "She shall be exiled". The knights bowed at the command and instantly left.

Baldwin IV POV:

"If I pamper her with love and pay attention to only her then perhaps within time she shall forgive me" "I should get a jeweller and dress maker with finest material for her and spend every time free I get to be with her" "It will take time but hopefully (Y/N) and I have relationship like before ". Baldwin IV thought as he began to work. It was evening and Baldwin IV heard sounds of rain and thunder. Baldwin IV smiled remembering how much (Y/N) loves rain. "Hopefully her mood is better now". "I hope everything is alright, in case she is still hurt about our situation then I will let her go" "If keeping her with me will bring her pain then it's best we part ways" . "I should see her hopefully she is feeling better now". I thought as I went to my chamber

"(Y/N)" I called as I knocked on the door. She didn't respond. "Perhaps she fell asleep I thought" however judging by what happened today I doubt she would fall asleep. "I guess she doesn't want to see me now". I thought but for some reason I had a bad feeling about it that something is seriously wrong. "Chevalier, break the door" I commanded and my men instantly broke the door and what awaited me was far worse I could ever imagine. Inside laid my beloved wife with knife in her chest. I scanned the surrounding wondering where the queen got the knife from and saw the table with fruits inside the basket. "The servant must have left the knife with it so that the queen can cut and eat the fruits" I thought "Quick call a doctor" I commanded before I knew it. My men quickly left and I ran towards my beloved

"No!" "No!" "Why!?" "Why (Y/N)!? "Why!?". I hugged my wife and started crying uncontrollably. The doctor came and asked me to step aside I reluctantly let her go . I waited patiently with hope for (Y/N) to be alive but based on doctor's expression I could tell I was too late.

"(Y/N)"!!! I screamed as the it rained heavily with thunder defening my scream

"(Y/N)" I woke up drenched in sweat. I turned to look myself in mirror and saw my old appearance. "It was a nightmare" "It's been quite a long time since then" I thought. I slowly turned to look at the glass painting in my window to image of my beloved late (Y/N).

"(Y/N)" I said her name as tears fell down my eyes. I looked outside and saw heavy rainfall and heard loud thunder. "Just like back then" I thought. I got up and dragging my old body I went near my beloved I leaned forward and kissed my beloved's face. "The picture doesn't do any justice" "You are lot more beautiful in real life you know".

"........"

"Of course just like back then you aren't responding" "I should have known I had killed you back then moment I decided to give in my temptation" "A good follower of lord doesn't give into temptation but resists it" "Perhaps it would have been good for you if you never met me" "After you left I decided to be a good follower of our lord" "I took vow of chastity and attend church every day praying that our lord spares you from damnation of hell". Baldwin IV let heavy tears fall down his eyes as he said that, he chocked in his tears and said"For loving a leper, I was already disfavoured by lord, therefore he punished me with leprosy" "Hopefully he shows mercy to you for showing kindness to leper". I cried bitterly. I wept in front of her but it was too late. She was already gone

#baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven 2005 #baldwin iv imagine #baldwin iv x reader #kingdom of heaven fanfic #kingdom of heaven fanfiction #kingdom of heaven fandom #kingdom of heaven headcanons #king baldwin iv

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paulyenvol6 · 25 days ago

Text

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 21)

Contains: mentions of smut, angst

Wordcount: ~4.33k

Masterlist of this story

You woke up the next morning by the sun and needed a moment to remember where you were.

You smiled when you saw Daemon's body next to you, he was laying on his stomach and his hair was a mess. You decided not to get up yet and rather enjoy the beautiful morning so you closed your eyes again and let your thoughts drift away. Soon you sensed that your uncle started to wake up as well and he yawned loudly while turning on his back.

"Good morrow.", you smiled and his eyes fluttered.

"How can you always be in such a good mood that early?"

"It's not that early.", you said and Daemon abruptly reached out to grab the back of your neck and pulled you towards him.

He kissed you and then grabbed the side of your face. You smiled and played with the loose strands of hair hanging in his face while he caressed your cheek. But soon you thought that it would be wise to get up, find some servants and see how things were at Dragonstone so you told him.

"Shouldn't we find a servant and reveal our presence?"

Your uncle hummed but nodded and you rolled off of him. The two of you left the bed, put on some clothes and then walked out of the room. Once you were outside you looked around in the corridor but there wasn't anyone. But you could hear voices and as you followed them you were led to the throne room of Dragonstone. Three maidens and two men that looked like guards stood there but shut up when Daemon and you approached. They widened their eyes but got on their knees at once.

"Prince Daemon. Princess Vhaela.", one of the men spoke and Daemon smirked smugly. "Rise."

They obeyed him and watched him tensely.

"I've come to claim Dragonstone.", he said calmly.

"B-But my Prince. We didn't expect you to arrive until… We stand under the King's command and he…"

"What did he do? What did he tell you?", Daemon said quietly and took a step towards the man.

You watched the scene anxiously and just hoped things would not escalate.

"He said that you would come to claim your ancestral seat in two days. A-And he said that you'd be… alone."

Your uncle's smile deepened. "And now I'm here 2 days early. Is that a problem?"

The guard lowered his head and his next words were almost a whisper. "B-But we need the King's command."

"I give you the command.", Daemon said sharply. "I am the King's Brother and I command you to serve me and my niece faithfully. It shouldn't matter to you who has come with me."

The guard didn't say anything but you could see the other servants exchange an uncertain look.

"Do you wish to say something?", Daemon asked sarcastically and the men and women lowered their heads. "No, my Prince."

"Good.", he smiled and then looked around in the hall. "The Princess wishes to take a bath, have someone prepare it for her. And so do I in half an hour.", he spoke calmly while examining the ceiling. "And we wish to eat."

"Yes, my Prince.", the guard answered and one of the maidens with thick, red hair stepped forward.

"May I escort the Princess Vhaela to the chambers that are traditionally taken by the Princess of Dragonstone?"

Daemon turned around to look at you and his eyes looked dark.

"No.", he said plainly. "Bring her to the Lady's chambers."

~~~~~~~~~~

The maid guided you through the halls and you had a little smile on your lips. You knew that his last words had been very clear for the servants. You were not here as his niece but as his… mistress? Maybe his paramour? You were obviously not married and you thought that the servants probably knew that but Daemon had just stated your role pretty explicitly. Even though they would have probably known anyway when they would hear you make love at night.

"What's your name?", you asked the red haired maid that now opened the door to the Lady's chambers. She was about your age, perhaps a few years older and you thought that she probably was from the North.

"Anicia.", she answered and stood in front of you, her eyes looking down to the floor.

"Where are you from, Anicia?", you asked trying to sound as friendly as possible and she carefully glanced at you.

"I'm from the Barrowlands, my Princess."

"Ah, I've been there once."

The maid smiled softly. "Really?"

"Yes, it's lovely. But sometimes it was a bit too cold for my taste. I'm only used to the warm weather in the capital."

Anicia nodded and then gestured to her surroundings. "These are the chambers for the Lady of Dragonstone. Which I assume… you are now."

The room's interior was less affectionate than the interior in your room in the keep and there was less attention to detail and yet you felt comfortable. The bed looked big and warm and you liked the view from the window.

"I'll have the other maidens prepare a bath for you, my Princess.", she said swiftly and you nodded.

"Thank you. Anicia."

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later you sat at the dining table on the opposite of Daemon with freshly washed hair and new clothes. You felt clean and comfortable while spooning up some vegetable soup.

"I've explored the castle a little.", Daemon spoke and crossed his legs. "I'd really like to go down into the caves soon. There are still three unclaimed dragons down there."

"But they are only legends, I thought.", you said and Daemon lifted his eyebrows.

"Possibly. But I'd like to get my own picture." You looked at your food again and couldn't surpress a little smile.

"What is it?", your uncle asked with small eyes.

"Nothing.", you quickly stated but he wouldn't let it go. "Tell me."

"No, really. It doesn't matter."

He still looked unconvinced but didn't demand you to tell him again because he changed the subject.

"How do you like your chambers? Do you feel comfortable?" You nodded and swallowed the food in your mouth.

"Yes. I like it."

"Good.", he snarled and poured himself another cup of wine. "You might not be staying there a lot at nights… But it's good that you like it.", he said quietly with a smirk playing around his lips.

You smiled as well and felt the blood rising in your cheeks. You glared at the guards and wondered if they had heard his words but deep down you knew that it didn't matter anyway. They were their servants and Daemon and you could do whatever with whomever you wanted at nights.

"Why did you never want to live on Dragonstone? You are the second born son.", you then asked because you genuinly wanted to know.

Daemon put his cup down again and looked at you. "I don't know. I always thought that perhaps if I had a wife some day I'd live there but as it hadn't happened…."

You quickly interrupted the eye contact and lowered your gaze. It was a bit of an uncomfortable topic to you because you remembered your past conversation all too well. When you had suggested a marriage, Daemon had denied you. With good reasons perhaps and yet you had felt rejected.

Your uncle sensed your discomfort. "Vhaela.", he spoke and you stared at your plate. "Jurnegon rȳ nyke." (Look at me.)

This time you obeyed and your eyes connected. "Nyke eptan aōha kepa. Naejot dīnagon ao naejot nyke." (I asked your father. To wed you to me.)

You widened your eyes. "Skoros? skori?" (What? When?)

"Tolī ziry gūrēntan nūmāzma ziry." (After he found out.)

He shrugged his shoulders. "Vestas kessa dōrī gaomagon ziry. Yn nyke gōntan sylugon. Nyke pendagon īles se sȳrje kȳvanon naejot pryjagon se quba." (He said he would never do it. But I did try. I thought it was the best plan to reduce the consequences.)

You nodded slowly. "Yn ziry gōntan daor jaelagon naejot…." (But he didn't want to…), you said quietly.

"No. He didn't."

Your heart was beating fast as you thought about your next words. You had to ask him, you just had to know.

"W-Would you… Would you have done it solely because you felt the need to or also because… you wanted t-to?"

You couldn't look in his eyes and didn't see the slight smirk on his lips.

"Mhmm.", he made, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Would I also have done it because I wanted to? You know what I told you about marriage?"

You glared at him and a dissatisfied look appeared on your face.

"It's a political arrangement."

Your uncle's smirk intensed. "Yes. Exactly."

"Daemon.", you said with pleading eyes and he chuckled.

"There is also marriage for other reasons.", you continued. "I want to know if our marriage would've been plainly for political reasons."

He shook his head and lifted his eyebrows. "Definitely not. If my brother had decided to wed you to me, I still would have had this little cunt of yours as often as possible."

You exhaled annoyed and looked down to your food again.

"Don't pout, little one.", Daemon whispered and you refused to answer him.

Daemon didn't know why he had lied. Or why he couldn't bring himself to let the words that had formed inside of his mind leave his mouth. Because he wanted to say 'yes' and tell you that he would have taken your hand without a second thought. He would've taken you as his wife and honour and respect you in marriage. He wanted to tell you that he cared about you and to damn political arrangement. But he couldn't. Suddenly he stood up.

"Come.", he said and you looked up, still feeling sour. "Let's go outside and watch the sunset."

You thought about it for a moment but then decided not to sulk any longer. Things were too beautiful and perfect right now to waste your time being annoyed with Daemon so you stood up as well.

"Fine.", you whispered and he smirked satisfied.

~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you left the castle and you had your arms entangled. Slowly you strolled down until you found yourselves on the beach where you could see the sun moving closer to the horizon with every minute. No cloud was hiding the sky from your eyes and the soft breeze felt perfect on your skin. Daemon and you stood in the sand and looked at the magnificant sun.

"When I was young I always thought that the lands swallow up the sun when she hits the horizon.", you said while having your eyes on the fiery star.

"And what happens in the morrow?", he asked.

"The earth spills her out again. She is too hot and the earth burns himself on her so he spills her out again in hopes the sun will cool down the next day before the earth swallows her again. But the sun never does. She is always too hot."

Daemon watched the sunset with small eyes. "A queer picture.", he whispered.

"I think it's a little sad. Two gods, the sun and the earth who don't match each other. And it will go on like this forever. He hopes that she will change for the better but she doesn't. For the rest of their eternal lifetimes. But he doesn't accept her for what she is either."

Your eyes looked a little melancholical. "But at least he is determined. He doesn't give up on his dreams."

"Dreams are merely a reflection of our fears and worries.", Daemon spoke and you rolled your eyes.

"Dreams give you a purpose in life. What else does?"

"People you love.", he said quietly. "Protecting them."

You didn't answer him. You wanted to enjoy this moment because just at this moment the sun finally touched the land and you didn't even realise that you had held your breath. You watched the sun descend until there was only a little part of it visible and then it was gone and the night had started.

Suddenly you felt a hand on your cheek turning your head gently and then Daemon pressed his lips on yours. You kissed him back and this time he was soft and gentle. Almost careful as if he was scared to hurt you. Your eyes fluttered as it just felt so good being close to him. But then Daemon ended the kiss and stepped away from you. His eyes sparkled and he had a smug look on his face.

"Pretty.", he merely spoke.

You stood by the water for a few more minutes but then it got cold and Daemon sensed it when he saw the goosbumps on your arms.

"Let's go back in.", he said and you nodded.

You were walking back up to the castle and halfway there you swiftly took his hand which he commented with a chuckle.

Daemon felt light, happy and your presence gave him joy. He didn't really know how to describe his feelings for you and what exactly it was but he just knew that something had changed. Something had… shifted since he had bedded you after his return from the Stepstones. All he knew was that he needed you close to him, not far away in the north. He had to protect you, be with you and he most certainly couldn't live with seeing you wed to another man.

Daemon's hand felt warm and soft and you tightly held on to him. Your uncle by your side just gave you comfort and you knew you preferably would like to never let go of his hand. You did let go though when Daemon and you arrived in his chambers. When the two of you had stood in front of the door to your room he had looked at you and raised his eyebrow. You had smirked and shook your head and he had taken you to his chambers instead.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you woke up in Daemon's bed, once again naked but this time your uncle was already gone. You spent a few more minutes snoozing and turning from one side to the other but then decided to get up. So you put on some clothes and felt the tension in your core after last night's wild activities. You were about to put your hair up when there was a knock on the door.

"My Princess?", a high voice said and you allowed the maid to enter.

"Yes. Come." Anicia walked in and in the reflection of the mirror you saw her balance a tea pot and a mug.

"On the Prince's order.", she said quietly and put both pots on the table. You had a strong idea what kind of tea this was and walked to the maid.

"Thank you, Anicia. Could you help me with my hair, please?", you asked and Anicia quickly stepped behind you.

"Yes of course, Princess."

~~~~~~~~~~

When you entered the dining room of Dragonstone you saw Daemon sitting on one of the chairs, a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Good morrow.", you said and sat down on his opposite.

"Vhaela.", he spoke, threw the parchment on the table in front of him and crossed his legs.

"What is this?", you asked and he scoffed.

"Word from your father."

You widened your eyes. "What did he write?"

A smirk played around your uncle's lips and he definitely didn't look like he took this seriously.

"He commands me to bring you back at once."

"Which you won't do.", you smiled but there was an odd feeling in your stomach.

In any case you didn't want to go back but it still hurt you a bit to know that you not only disobeyed your father right now but the King as well. But no, you wouldn't be scared. You would do what you wanted now and follow your heart.

"No.", Daemon exhaled loudly. "Which I won't do."

"Did he write something else?", you asked.

"He called me all kinds of ugly things and… I have to admit he's gotten really creative with it since the last time I saw him. But no, nothing else really."

You nodded and grabbed an apple from the basket. "Do you think he will send men or even go himself?"

"I don't know, little owl. If it happens we'll have to come up with a plan though."

You chuckled and unconsciously scratched at your nail beds. "Don't do that, Vhaela.", Daemon said and got off his chair to walk to you. He took your hands which made you look up to him and he kissed your head.

"Don't be scared.", he whispered. "You know that I'll protect you, mhm?"

You nodded and gripped his hands tightly.

"There's no reason to worry. I'll take care of you." Daemon's eyes looked serious because he wanted you to believe him. He cared about you, more than he was able to communicate with words. By now his bond with you went way beyond animalistic lust or the anger he felt at your father. Daemon had always had a special place for you in his heart but now that the two of you had spent so much time together these past weeks, he wasn't entirely sure anymore what it was he felt for you. He only knew that it was intense and that he wanted you to be safe and protected.

Daemon's words gave you great comfort even though you knew that he also couldn't perform magic. Sometimes to you Daemon indeed seemed almost like a godly person but he wasn't a witch and couldn't make your father change his mind all of a sudden or make an army of knights disappear. He held you to his chest for a moment and then pulled away to walk back to his chair.

"Lighten up, little one. I'll take you to the caves today."

That really improved your mood and you looked at him with big eyes. "Really?"

Your uncle smirked. "Yes. If we're lucky we're gonna have an encounter with a nice dragon."

In the Red Keep

Viserys walked up and down in his room, his finger connected with his lower lip, which he massaged relentlessly. Meanwhile Rhaenyra sat in a chair, her arms crossed in front of her chest and watched her father annoyed.

"Once again, I can't believe you let this happen."

He exhaled loudly and threw his hands in the air. "How could I have stopped this, daughter? Should I have locked Vhaela in a cell?! Is this what you're suggesting?"

Stubbornly Rhaenyra raised her chin. "Perhaps you shouldn't have been so merciful and let Daemon go to Dragonstone."

Viserys laughed out. "Daemon might have taken her with him to Essos if I exiled him and that would've been even worse."

His daughter rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't have done that."

The King was upset and shook his head. "You don't know that. Daemon is… dangerous. Unpredictable. He just proved it again."

"What are you gonna do now?", Rhaenyra asked and her father sighed deeply.

"I don't know. Send an army perhaps." He laughed in disbelief. "Send an army to free my daughter from my own brother's claws."

"I don't think Daemon kidnapped her.", she hissed and Viserys scoffed.

"I know. I don't think so either."

They remained silent for a while and Rhaenyra looked down to her fingers. Then her father pushed himself away from the table he had been leaning against and walked up and down.

"I have to talk to Ellion. I need his advice."

Rhaenyra watched him with flashing eyes. "You can also ask me, you know? I know both of them pretty well."

"I know, daughter. But this is a very sensitive diplomatic dilemma. The consequences of our actions will have an impact on the realm and how the crown's image will prevail." He looked as if he was thinking and then raised his head. "Ser Lawson. Send for the hand. At once."

"Of course your grace." With these words silence fell upon the room and Rhaenyra sighed and watched the rings on her fingers.

"Do you want me to leave? Should your heir leave while you discuss this sensitive diplomatic dilemma?"

Viserys exhaled loudly and pressed his hands on his forehead. "Rhaenyra I have enough problems already, I don't need you to cause any more."

His daughter smiled wrongly and stood up. "Of course, your grace."

The King suddenly sounded sad. "Rhaenyra."

His daughter looked at him with tired eyes and then sighed after a while, clearly deciding to give up her anger.

"Forgive me. It's been a lot." Her father nodded and then walked back and forth while she made her way out of the king's chambers.

The princess passed Ellion on her way back to her room and she could see how stressed the hand was. While heavily breathing he hasted through the corridor until he found himself in Viserys' room.

"Your Grace.", he spoke when he stood in front of him with his back facing him and the king turned around.

"Ellion. Good." The two of them sat down and Viserys folded his hands on the table.

"The whereabouts of my daughter need to be discussed. I simply do not know how to act now. I can not let my brother take my daughter away and seize Dragonstone without the King's agreement."

Ellion shook his head. "No you can't, your grace."

"It makes me appear weak in front of my enemies. I have to act. Now."

"I agree, your grace."

Viserys tapped his fingers on the table. "I should send the city watch. Or even go myself. Daemon has Caraxes, so we don't want this to escalate. They have to take the castle and bring Vhaela back to the capital."

Ellion leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "I do not think this to be a wise idea, your grace, if I may speak freely."

Viserys watched him with small eyes. "Why?"

"This very action would make you appear weak."

Viserys shook his head and a confused smile played around his lips. "What are you speaking of, Ellion?"

"Sending the City Watch would exactly support this image of you being weak. The King, not being able to control his own baby brother to an extent where he has to send an army of trained knights to seize him. And he was also not able to guard his youngest daughter. It wouldn't look good on you, your grace."

"What are you suggesting then?"

Ellion placed his hands on the table. "Change the narrative. You are the King and you have the power to change the story. Wed your daughter to Daemon."

Viserys laughed out loudly. "What? Are you joking, Ellion?"

"I'm being serious, your grace. If you wed them you could make it appear as if all of this wasn't against the will of the crown. As if Daemon hasn't dishonoured his grace and hasn't acted without your consent. Just act like nothing has happened and there's nothing bothering you about Daemon's behaviour. Then no one can say that the King isn't tough enough on his brother. Why should he be tough on him if he isn't even mad at him?"

Viserys sank back in his chair. He exhaled loudly while rubbing his tired eyes but then put his eyes on Ellion again.

"I can not do this. Simply for Vhaela's sake."

Ellion lifted an eyebrow. "If I recall correctly this is exactly what your daughter wants. To my knowledge the Princess wasn't kidnapped from the capital but left because it was her will."

Viserys shook his head. "We don't know this for sure, Ellion. And even if we did, Vhaela is 16, she doesn't know what's good for her. Daemon most certainly is not good for her. Giving her to my brother… Gods be good, I can not do that. He is violant, evil and cruel. Vhaela is of good and kind nature. I can not do this, Ellion."

The hand nodded. "It is the King's choice. But let me plead for it one more time, your grace. Marrying them would solve a majority of our problems. The Princess' virtue would be restored, you wouldn't have to find a match for her anymore, the problem of Daemon's future whereabouts could be solved and we could let this big mess behind us without the realm's attention. Sending an army to Dragonstone… That would get the realm's eyes on this matter and perhaps even the matter of Daemon and Vhaela's sinful encounters and I do think that it would weaken your authority."

Viserys rested his forehead on his hand. "But what of my daughter? What of her future?"

"Your Grace, Daemon might be unpredictable but he is still your brother. And Vhaela's uncle. I do not believe he would deliberately try to harm her."

Viserys scoffed and then his voice got sad, almost desperate. "You have a young daughter of 17 yourself, Ellion. Elyse, is it not?" He nodded in response.

"Would you wish to see her wed to my brother?"

Ellion sighed. "Do you really demand an answer of me, your grace?"

Viserys turned away and observed the floor as if the answer to his problems was carved inside of it.

"You put me in a difficult position, Ellion.", he spoke after a while. "You sound reasonable but at the same time… ugh what you advice me is impossible."

The hand sighed. "I know this is not joyful to hear but… Perhaps his grace has to put the needs and image of the crown above his daughter for once. This is asking a lot of you, my king, but… you do understand why I have suggested it, don't you?"

Viserys chewed on his lip and then reached out to fill a cup with wine. He didn't say anything else but Ellion was wise enough to read the signs and leave Viserys with his thoughts. After a while he stood up and bowed his head.

"Your Grace"

He walked out of the room and left a desperate king and father behind.

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vsnyarbll · 2 years ago

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A Targaryen prince is a heavy burden

atpiahb masterlist, part1, part2, part3, part4, part5

main masterlist

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader, platonic!Aegon II Targaryen x reader

words: 1.287

summary: Aemond is cheating on his wife with Alys Rivers. y/n finds out.

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of death, mentions of non-consensual sex

a/n: English is not my native language

y/n was sitting on the window bench. Her eyes were puffy and red from days of crying.

She lifted her wine glass to her lips, but it was empty. She reached for the decanter beside her to fill it and knocked it over. The wine spilled on the cushions of the bench and the hem of her dress.

Her hand holding the glass trembled, and she put it on the marble in front of the window.

y/n clenched her trembling hands and tried to calm herself, but her eyes filled, and her vision blurred. She put her hand over her mouth and tried to stifle her sobs.

Aegon got up from his chair. He came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"It will be all right."

"No, Aegon, it won't. He doesn't want me," she said between sobs.

Aegon sat next to her, ignoring the wine on the cushions.

"He had been going to her since the first day of our marriage. He always told me he had a mission that could take weeks.”

Aegon did not comment and averted his eyes.

"How could I have been so stupid," she said.

Two weeks ago, she found out that Aemond had cheated on her. They had been married for two years, and almost every month, he would get on his dragon and be gone for a week or two.

y/n kept reminding herself that he was a prince and had duties. But Aemond was cheating on her with a woman named Alys Rivers, and his affair with her even predated their marriage.

"He married me so he could inherit my father's lands."

Aegon reached out and patted her arm.

Like many in the castle, he had known this for a long time.

The Queen, the King, the lords, and their wives, everyone knew. That was why they had looked at her with pitying eyes at her wedding and when she first moved into the palace.

Even the servants in the castle felt sorry for her.

It was common for high-ranking married men to have affairs with other women. But it was not considered appropriate for them to have a lover.

"I thought he loved me," she said, turning to Aegon.

xxx

In the evening of that day, the wet nurse came to her room, holding Aemond's and y/n's son, born a week earlier.

Aemond was not with her at the birth of their son. He wasn't even in the castle.

Aegon had waited outside the room during the birth.

The queen had come to her room after the birth to hold her grandson.

y/n’s parents lived three weeks away and were unable to come when she went into labor.

She had to deal alone with the thing she feared most in life.

She was all alone.

After giving birth, one of her trusted ladies-in-waiting told her about Aemond's mistress.

y/n took her son in her arms from the wet nurse. And she buried her nose in his head.

He was the son of the man she loved.

Her eyes were full as she rocked him back and forth in her arms.

She could not go back to her family. Her parents, as much as they loved her, could not accept such a thing. She was married and her new home was The Red Keep, next to her husband.

The door to their room opened, and her husband came in.

His hair was disheveled because he had come to the castle with his dragon. Aemond looked at his wife as he closed the door.

When he saw the baby in her arms, his throat tightened. "I didn't know. I found out the moment I arrived at the castle."

He walked toward his wife and reached for the baby in her arms, but y/n pressed him against her chest.

Aemond paused and dropped his hands to his sides. "My mother said you gave birth to a boy."

"Yes, I did."

He nodded.

"All alone," she said.

"I would have come earlier if my mission-

"Your mission?" she laughed nervously. "What was that mission, Aemond, to fuck that witch?"

He didn't answer, but the muscles in his jaw tightened.

"I could have died in childbirth." Then, she paused briefly. "Of course, you'd be happy if I died. Since I gave you a son, it doesn't matter if I live.”

"You've learned."

"Yes, Aemond! I've learned!"

Aemond continued to maintain silence. His silence infuriated her even more.

"You won't say anything? Won't you defend yourself? Don't I deserve even a simple apology?"

"There is nothing to defend," he said and approached her. "She's been in my life since I was 19."

y/n couldn't hold back her tears this time. She couldn't remember how many times she had cried that day.

"Can I hold my son?"

She looked at him incredulously. "If you want to hold him, and if you want to be in his life in the future, you will leave that woman."

Aemond took a deep breath. "I can't, y/n."

"Why? Why can't you?!"

"Because she's pregnant."

y/n didn't know how much more upset and angry she could feel. "So after years of bullying your nephews, you made your Strong bastard?"

At that moment, the baby stirred restlessly in her arms and slowly opened his eyes. y/n started rocking him back to sleep.

"Don't make me choose between you."

"Do you hear yourself?! I'm your wife. You already made that choice by marrying me.”

Her son wouldn't fall asleep and started to cry. The tension in the room had affected him too. Aemond reached for him once more. This time she let Aemond take him. She couldn't bear to hear her baby cry, even though she felt guilty for feeling that way.

He looked down at his son in his arms, smiling. He placed a kiss on his head. With his eyes still on him, he spoke. "Was Aegon not enough to fill my absence?"

y/n's eyes widened. "Do you realize what you are accusing me of? I am not you, Aemond."

"The courtiers are not blind, y/n. As I set foot in the castle, they told me how much Aegon enjoyed spending time in our chambers."

She backed away and sat on the bed.

y/n folded her hands in her lap and began to play with her fingers.

Aegon was another matter.

Nothing inappropriate had happened between them, but she felt safe and at peace around him.

She always felt his gaze on her in crowded places.

His facial expression when he looked at her would sometimes cause her face to warm up.

Aemond came to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "If he comes near you again, I will cut off his hands."

She looked up to lock eyes with Aemond. "You impregnate another woman and then turn around and question my honor." She laughed to herself. "That's so like you."

y/n wanted him to be angry too. She wanted him to hurt even a little, but there was not a trace of emotion on the one-eyed prince's face.

"I'm going to take our son to his wet nurse. It wouldn't be right for him to sleep here tonight. I miss my wife."

"Do you think I'd bed with you after all you've done?"

Aemond spoke as he walked towards the door. "You have to. It's your duty as my wife."

As he opened the door, he turned and spoke for the last time before leaving the room. "Besides, everyone will expect me to have another heir."

As y/n looked at where Aemond had just stood, she remembered what her mother had said on their wedding day.

‘A Targaryen prince is a heavy burden.’

next chapter

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond x you #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader x aegon targaryen

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amuromi · 7 months ago

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.1k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ SFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, established relationship (married), major character death, canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The canon will begin to matter less and less as this story goes on it seems, but it will all make sense I swear!

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

There are two bodies to burn. The sparse tinder is laid by careful hands. In the deep cold of winter the earth has so few things to spare, only the thin branches of a fledgling tree bowed over by the blistering wind. The wood is dead and brittle, splintering like breaking bones where it’s been bent into curving shapes. Tied with twine in a braided wreath of ashen wood to surround First Mistress’ body. She’s laid over a fine fur in her most sumptuous clothes and most lustrous jewels, the broken parts of her carefully placed where they’re meant to be attached to her body. Beneath her clothes, parts of Jurina are missing. A bit of flesh flayed from her ribs, a gouge taken out of her thigh. There’s a thin square of white silk laid over her face, hiding the claw masks and the fissure where her head was nearly torn from her body. The wound flutters in and out of sight as the wind stirs the edge of the white sheet, flashing the curving groove where Lord Sukuna fit his teeth into her flesh and tore.

The fire catches quickly after the priests say their rites, burrowing like red mice through the wood. Burning tongues leapt from wood to fabric, outfitting Jurina’s body in a brilliant, golden shroud for only a moment before her clothes are burning away and the fire takes to skin. The perfumed wood dampens the scent of burning flesh but it will soon become overpowering as the small crowd gathers to pay their respects before the pyre. There’s weeping for mistress and servant alike as Jurina’s personal maid chose to continue serving her in the afterlife. There was little attention given to her body. She’s simply laid beside Jurina with her collar of bruises from the white silk that had choked the life from her throat. Her name escapes you and you wonder if she has a family that needs to be informed of their loss. A raven was already sent out by Uraume to inform Jurina’s clan of her demise at the hands of the King of Curses.

It’s your hope that Uraume elected to omit the extent of the damage done to Jurina’s body so that her family might have some peace in their ignorance. The winter winds snuff out lives like blowing out candles, ravaging weaker bodies with boiling fevers and gasping coughs that never seem to pass. It’s just the right season for pneumonia and illnesses of that ilk. Let them think that she went with some semblance of peace. It’s a selfish sort of wish as you watch the snow hiss and turn to steam over Jurina’s funeral pyre. It would absolve you of blame, remove the hand you had in her death with your careless words. Poisonous tongue spelling out her death. She’d been staring at you when she died, or perhaps she was dead before her glassy eyes rolled towards you standing at the edge of the engawa, snow dotting your lashes and melting into moisture when the tears wouldn’t come. You hadn’t wanted her death but you can’t find it in yourself to be saddened by the loss.

Even so, you clasp your hands in prayer along with the remaining Mistresses. Still three despite Fourth Mistress’ arrival. Now Second Mistress is the wife with the most seniority and yet she stands to your right, a subtle show of deference that hadn’t been there only so many hours before. The night has stretched on for a small eternity, bleeding into daylight without reprieve as the household scrambled to deal with Jurina’s death. Messengers were sent out in the waning storm to fetch priests from the village, servants were dispatched to clean Jurina’s chamber and erect a platform for her to be burned upon. Tatami mats were changed and floors were scrubbed. The blood soaked courtyard has been renewed with another layer of downy snow to cover the splatters of blood where Lord Sukuna dragged Jurina outside to make a spectacle of her death. He tore at her with a deranged sort of satisfaction, grinning when he saw you watching, as if he’d only been waiting for a moment to tear her apart. She burst open between his teeth and claws like a ripe fruit, spilling across the snow in a brilliant spray of crimson. And all you did was watch, trying to remind yourself that Jurina wasn’t like you. She was still human in a way that you weren’t.

Her dedication was to herself above all else, perhaps her clan came second. Lord Sukuna wasn’t a priority in her mind. Her world was vast, reaching far beyond the bounds of the Ryomen estate. During meals she would tut over letters she received from her clan, bemoaning the poor marriage of a cousin or cooing over the news of a new baby. She needled the servants for gossip whenever they returned from an errand outside the estate. Jurina was just a woman and she died as a woman would at the hands of a being like Lord Sukuna; screaming. She’ll be happy to know that he isn’t in attendance to watch her flesh and bones be rendered to ash, her favorite maid beside her. When the smoke clears they’ll be swept into urns or perhaps tossed out with the dirt swept off the engawa. It’s your hope that she’ll be sent home. It’s clear she never belonged here and it would be cruel for this forbidden corner of the world to be her final resting place.

There’s also a piece of you that thinks she doesn’t deserve the honor of being laid to rest here. Though you suppose decisions like this will be left up to you now that there is no First Mistress to lead the household. Lord Sukuna has made it plainly clear that those responsibilities and honors are now yours. So when a servant comes to ask what should be done when the fire is quelled you send them to find some proper urns of expensive material for Jurina and her maid to be gathered in before being sent off. It doesn’t escape your notice that the servant stopped quite a ways away from you. In fact everyone seems to be giving you a breadth that borders on excessive. As if so much as breathing a breath of air that passed through your lungs will have their body burning next. Everyone that already treated you like a piece of glass is suddenly too fearful to even raise their head in your presence. It’s only Uraume that speaks to you as they had hours ago, entering your chamber with only the lightest knock on the shoji. They find you plucking tunelessly at the strings of your koto with only candlelight as your company.

The midday sky is gray and dim, still choked with the clouds of the breaking storm. Dull light bleeds through the thick paper of the shoji leading outside. The faintest firelight as Jurina continues to burn.

“Have you slept?” Uraume asks, coming to sit beside you. You haven’t. There’d been no time to sleep. Hours have passed since Lord Sukuna returned home, since he took you in the bathhouse, since he tore Jurina apart. Hours spent making arrangements and delegating tasks so that this funeral could be held in a timely manner. It’s doubtless that if Lord Sukuna had presided over the proceedings he would’ve simply sent Jurina to the kitchen and used her bones to pick his teeth when he was through with the meal. It would’ve been an honor to be so wholly consumed by her husband but Jurina likely wouldn’t have seen it as the blessing it was. To be so desired that Lord Sukuna wanted to devour every bit of her. To use her body as a means to bolster his own. A shiver trickles down your back as Uraume gathers your hair to comb, the chill of their skin cutting deep.

“The raven you sent to her family… Did you say how she died?” You ask carefully.

“She died serving her king.” They say evenly. Of all the people bowing to your lord husband, it is only Uraume that understands you completely. The servants were wailing and whispering about the cruelty of their lord but what cruelty was there? A doll doesn’t despair when the owner breaks it. Jurina’s porcelain face was cracked and her straw body torn open, but what higher purpose is there than to serve the whims of something greater than yourself? Jurina was ill fit to be Lord Sukuna’s wife. She didn’t understand duty or sacrifice. She didn’t understand her place beneath him. Not in the way that you did. A flower doesn’t question the might of a tree nor the warmth of the sun.

“How do you feel?” Uraume asks, leaning closer than any servant would dare. If they were anyone else, you might stifle at the audacity, but it feels as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth. As Lord Sukuna’s wife, you are an extension of his being. And no one would dare to touch him so intimately without permission. No one except Uraume. They chuckle and ask, “Are you happy?”

“I’m happy. Always.” The feeling is innate. Whether Jurina lived or died, your happiness would remain the same. There’s no great pleasure taken in her demise, nor is there the pang of loss. It feels like something akin to relief. A thorn finally removed from your skin. The itching, burning sting of her presence has been removed at last and you’ll only be strengthened by it. It’s already begun. The servants had come to you for guidance once the house physician had declared Jurina dead. There was no need for the commotion of an official declaration. She looked like a butchered animal by the end. And when the fire dies, nothing will be left of her but ash and memories. She’ll be swept up and sent away, forgotten with the melting snow.

“Did Jurina serve her purpose? Truly?”

“No,” Uraume answers without hesitation. “I don’t think any of Lord Sukuna’s wives have served their purpose. Certainly none more so than you, sweet girl.” There were never any honorifics between you and Uraume, at least not in private. They saw you as an equal, perfectly matched in your standing with Lord Sukuna.

It feels like an honor you’ve yet to earn. Uraume would wage war for your lord husband. You could do no such thing. Even with your cursed technique, you’d be useless in battle. Uraume was lethal, a blade in Lord Sukuna’s hand where you were simply a plucked flower. A blade can be sharpened and polished, but sooner or later a flower would wilt and wither, and your time as a person of importance would pass. Whether it be by death or age, you’d soon be without purpose and Lord Sukuna would likely do away with you as he had Jurina. You can only hope he’ll honor you with consumption. To know that, even in death, you’d been of some minuscule use would soothe your soul.

Sometimes you find yourself wondering if you’d become a curse, though the only thing worth cursing in this life would be Lord Sukuna. It wouldn’t be so unimaginable that you’d cling to your lord husband even after death. You pledged yourself to him in this life and the next. To go to a place where he cannot follow would be to abandon your vows. And you’d loath to be an unfaithful wife.

“You’re tired,” Uraume said, though you hadn’t acknowledged the lethargy yourself. They finish the careful task of combing through the last section of your hair before urging you to lay down.

“Shall I prepare your tea?” You shake your head. It’s become a nightly ritual to have tea before you sleep, but there is no strength left in your body to wait for Uraume to prepare it. Usually the task was left to your personal maid but she is nowhere to be found. Uraume has made the offer but you imagine it to be a simple courtesy rather than a genuine offer. They aren’t your servant to be ordering about. That honor is reserved solely for your lord husband no matter if they offered the service themselves.

“Sleep for now,” they hum, “I’ll wake you if there is a need for your presence.” Which is to say, if Lord Sukuna calls for you. No other task would be worthy of rousing you from your rest. They tuck you into your futon and blow out each candle before leaving you alone in the darkness. There’s still the faint flickering of the pyre crackling in the courtyard, but it’s easily ignored as fatigue settles over you.

It seems as though no time has passed at all when you rouse to wakefulness, yet you feel perfectly rested. The light slipping in from outside is that same pale orange glow that sent you to sleep; reminiscent of firelight, yet there is no crackling of burning wood and smoldering flesh. Instead there’s the faint whistling call of the wind and the strangest sound of scratching. At first you imagine it to be a wayward branch scraping against the eaves or the sound of geta scuffing against the wooden walkway. But the sound is too close, too concise to be an untrimmed tree or heavy-footed servant. It was closer to the sound of woodwork. The same noise that preceded Jurina’s pyre as branches were cut and stripped of the snow-sodden bark so the fire would not pittle and hiss over damp wood. The faint whittling noise comes from outside. The sound of scratching sounds nearer still.

In the gray-gold light, you see the edge of something shift like a shadow dancing between flickering candlelight. But there are no candles burning. No shadows dancing. The shape in the corner of your room seems far more tangible than any trick of the light. It twitches and writhes like an overturned beetle, wriggling between the seam of the adjacent walls like water leaking through a crack.

Waves of cursed energy surge from the corner like miasma, permeating the room. The scent of it stings your nose and clings to your tongue with the acidity of poison. The curse moans deep and haunting. An almost lyrical sound, as if a dozen voices are folding over each other, like plucking every string of a koto at once. A discordant whimpering undercut by the sound of digging and clawing as it peels away the planks of wood to make space for itself. The walls begin to squeal and splinter, tearing away to allow the winter morning and the curse inside.

Its bulging eyes wriggle, protruding like those of a frog, and twitching as though it’s a hardship to focus them both so singularly on something. One arm falls away from its scratching and three more follow. The weight of each limb hitting the floor sounds much like a bag of peaches tumbling in a cart. It twitches, body contacting inward until it’s a thick bulging ball of pale flesh before it flattens and drags itself forward on its four arms. It moans again, bearing its long, blunt teeth. Again, it moans, and you think you hear the number three. Then again with more clarity,

“Three, three, three.” It whimpers ceaselessly as it drags its bulging body towards you. Its skin is shapeless and loose like a boiled dumpling, contracting into a thick mass before stretching thin as it drags itself towards you with the agility of a caterpillar. Its face is snow white with red horns peeking out from beneath a hood of pale flesh. For a moment, you consider a monster trying to hide its true face, laughing at the absurdity of it. The sound of hysteria bubbles from your lips louder than any other had, and it only seemed to incense the creature. It dragged itself closer with more ferocity. The moaning chant of “three, three, three,” only gets louder.

When it’s close enough, it slashes at you, slow and clumsy like a child playing swords with a stick. The morning chill overtakes you as you leap from the futon in a cloud of silk and fur. The curse hisses, then tries again, and when it misses once more the noise it makes is something like a wail. It sounds far too anguished, far too human. The sound sinks beneath your skin, deep enough to rattle your heart and you shiver in your hakama. Your own voice is lost somewhere in your throat, tangled between your quickened breaths and thundering heartbeat.

Curses aren’t meant to speak, they’re incapable of it. And yet this one reaches towards you with taloned fingers, groaning “three, three, three.”

It lumbers through the room, weight knocking over side tables. It swings its thick arms, claws grasping to rend your flesh from your bone as it chases you. Needles prick at the soles of your feet as you stumble through the hole torn through the wall, splinters of wood stippling through your socks as the curse herds you onto the engawa. The prickling of wood shards gives way to something wet, though far too warm to be ice melting off the eaves. Your eyes are far too intent on the creature dragging itself out of the hole it burrowed into your room to spare a glance at the ground, and you go from staring at the pale creature to looking up at the light sky.

The cold is immediately, stabbing into you like a dozen blades as snow clouds your lashes. A cloud of it drifts down around you, stirred through the air as you land. Gray clouds roll by overhead as you make a wheezing noise. The air rattle inside your lungs as you try to regain the breath that had been knocked from your chest in the fall from the engawa. It hadn’t been a far drop but you hardly had breath in your lungs to start, too startled to take more than shallow gasps of air. The curse comes poking over the edge of the walkway, tossing itself into the snow beside you.

“Get back.” Your voice is as thin as the wind whistling through the courtyard. “Stay away from me.” The curse wails again. Deeper as if it meant to give the toneless sound meaning. “Three, three, THREE!” It says it as if it’s your name, reaching towards you through the snow. Belatedly, you realize that it is your name. You are Third Mistress. Third, Three. The curse bellows the word again, moving like a slug through mud as it drags its malformed body through the bank of snow. Still on your back, steeped in the chill seeping through your thin robe, you watch as the curse reaches towards you with grasping claws. There’s a pondering to your gaze as your eyes watch the dull glint of the morning light wink off the edge of its claws. Jurina had always been so preoccupied with her perfect nails. A talon finds your cheek, scratching a burning line across your face before the connected limb bursts like a crushed melon.

Hot viscera replaces the frigid kiss of the wind as bright purple blood and bits of white flesh rain down over your face. It’s nearly warm enough to scald, made worse by the shrieks of pain ringing in your ears as the curse writhes in the snow. Clouds of frost dance around its wriggling body though it doesn’t seem to move far. With muscles tensed and shivering, you shove yourself onto your elbows to see over the veil of churning snow. The curse is pinned to the ground with spears of ice. Wailing and thrashing to be free. The stump of its arm still reaches for you, joined by the three that remain. You find your knees, then slowly your feet, only to be knocked into the snow once more as a pillar of ice shatters and a flailing hand reaches towards you in another spray of violet blood. The feeling burns hot as fire, spreading through your body like sparks through a dry brush. Warmth blooms through your side, seeping over your hip and down the length of your thigh as blood weeps from the wound torn through your side.

The feeling of warmth blooms between your fingers as you press your hands against the gouge taken from your torso. It’s a strange, hollow feeling. As if your body has yet to accept the prospect of pain just yet. It comes in waves, lapping over you in an ebb and flow as your vision begins to swim. Everything is hot as fire and cold as ice. The world looks as though you’re seeing it through a cloud of steam, rippling and fading as you blink through the blood loss. This feeling isn’t new and yet the feeling hasn’t lessened in its intensity. There’s a sound that you find familiar. Frantic and sharp as a bird chirping at the rising sun. It grows colder still, though there’s comfort in the chill as you recognize the shape of arms wrapping around you. It hurts as they squeeze at the hole gaping in your side, still weeping red tears of blood through the silk of your hakama. The chirping turns to feral growls, a wolf bearing its teeth, and the curse wails anew. It sounds like Jurina if only vaguely. Shrill and bitter. The ground had only just been dusted with a cover of snow, hiding the place her blood had been spilled. Now it was your turn.

Dazedly, you blink up towards the sky, lashes shining with tears or melting snowflakes as a face swims through your periphery. The soft chirping returns and you try to piece together the sounds over the weeping curse. A voice that you recognize. It soothes your fluttering heart, lessens the flames still burning where part of your body is missing, and more is still spilling onto the snow. A red puddle blooming over a sea of white. It reminds you of Uraume’s hair, and reminds you that their voice has always been melodic like birdsong. It must be them holding you so gently, speaking soft words to you though your hearing has faded to the sound of your blood and breath, like hiding your head beneath a pillow. Something cold and soft brushes over your face and you imagine it might be the gentle fingers of your protector, but your eyes can’t find anything other than the vaguest shapes.

Everything has melded into a light wash. Gray sky, white snow, ivory-skinned curse. Everything is white until it isn’t. A sudden burst of color as a shade of sunset pink appears overhead. So far above that, for a moment, you truly think it to be the sun. But the sun has no teeth to bare, no eyes to watch those beneath its shining face. But, perhaps, he can be considered your sun as Lord Sukuna sneers at the curse still sniveling a few paces ahead. It’s pinned and bleeding. Pierced with long shards of Uraume’s ice formation. Lord Sukuna’s towering form stoops to look at the creature before his sights are set on you. He reaches out and for a moment you expect the gentility of a caress against your frigid cheek. Instead his hand closes around your neck, choking the last dregs of air from your lungs as he lifts you from Uraume’s arms. His height leaves you dangling far above the ground, legs too numb to kick though you have no reason to protest such rough treatment. Punishment is in order.

How shameful you are. The daughter of an unimpeachable sorcerer clan unable to defend herself. The wife of the King of Curses being maimed by the hands of another. Your life was not for anyone but your lord husband’s to take and yet you feel the familiar feeling of your body giving out. Made worse by the way Lord Sukuna’s fist is closed tight around your throat. Your head feels swollen, vision darkened as the pressure bursts the capillaries in your eyes. Lord Sukuna regards you with vague interests. His four eyes dance over your face, likely taking in the way your lips must be deepening to an asphyxiated blue as the veins in your face lift to the surface of your skin. You can’t bring yourself to fight against him, hands doing little more than holding his wrist as he keeps you aloft with one hand. Another comes to stroke against the wound in your side, claws raking over the ragged flesh. It feels more like pressure than pain as the feeling fades from your body. Lord Sukuna says something but it’s only a dull rumble in your uncomprehending ears. All that’s left is a ringing, then a sound like a branch being torn from a tree. Then nothing.

A lingering hollowness haunts the light floating before your eyes in clouds of flickering red. It burns through your eyelids as your lashes flutter, eyes disobeying your intentions to open them. It feels like pulling a string with no tension and expecting the puppet to move even still. No part of your body wishes to do more than twitch as you claw towards consciousness like climbing a mountain. First your toes begin to move as intended, then your fingers. It feels like filling an empty cup, bit by bit the water rises until it’s spilling over the brim and your eyes flutter open at last.

The warmth of wakefulness is nearly overwhelming. Hot as the stifling heat at the height of summer as your eyes watch the glow of the braziers flickering across the walls. Sweat trickles over your skin beneath the layers of bedding pulled up to your chin, gathering between your breasts and at the nape of your neck. It’s made worse by the tackiness in your throat. It’s hard to swallow as you shift in your nest of blankets, moving with the grace of a newborn fawn. This isn’t the rising from a fitful sleep but the emergence of a newly formed butterfly escaping its cocoon. You move with a practiced delicacy, wings still soft against your back as you strip the layers away from your sweltering skin. How long have you been asleep?

The light blooming outside the shoji gives nothing away. It could be early morning or midday and the faint glow of the winter sun remains the same. You turn away from the doors leading outside and regard the inner shoji with vague interest. There’s faint hints of knowledge in your mind. It drifts just beyond comprehension like fish dancing just below the surface of a pond, bright and fleeting as you try to grasp at the thought that won’t form. The walls around you are unfamiliar yet you can’t be certain of why. The scent in the air is foreign in a way you can’t place. Everything is wrong. A frightening sort of foreignness as you try to rattle any modicum of knowledge loose from the haze of unconsciousness. The tatami is cold underfoot, your bare toes pressing into the woven mats as you wobble towards the door on the tips of your toes. This much you know.

There’s the broadest strokes of understanding. The door slides open when you pull, red light giving way to darkness as the halls stretch out in either direction almost endlessly. The embers burning in the braziers only reach so far into the yawning blackness so you set forward blindly. One hand trails along the left wall, fingertips grazing along the screens painted with falling leaves. The halls twist and turn, darkness fading to gray as your eyes adjust to the sinuous corridors. At each corner you turn left with the vague knowledge that it will eventually lead you somewhere. The last hallway doesn’t end so much as an obstacle appears in your path. A slim figure cuts across your vision, a burning stroke of white standing out in the dimness. Their face is familiar as is the word they whisper into the darkness. The dulcet sound knocks something loose in your head. Your name. As if you’d been underwater since your eyes opened, the broad strokes of knowledge rattling about in your head are slowly refined. Returning to life is always jarring. Without guidance it takes some time for you to realize yourself, to reclaim your memories and mannerisms. Your mother had said you were like a puppet brought to life before your mind returned, always the last thing to heal from the ordeal of death.

“Lord Sukuna will be glad to hear you’ve awakened.”

“How long was I asleep?” A gentle way to ask for how long your body had been dead. Faintly, you remember the wound in your side, Lord Sukuna’s hand about your delicate throat. From the inside of your body, breaking your neck always sounds like a tree being cleaved in two. A thick tearing noise that echoes dully in your ears before the unknown sound of death swallows you. That you never remember. A small miracle considering how often you’ve found yourself being relieved of your life. Drowning, choking, burning. And yet your body mends itself without fail, becoming stronger for the pain you endured. You touch your side and wonder what it will take to pierce the skin there in this lifetime; because there have already been so many.

“A fortnight.” Uraume tells you. Usually a broken neck would not take so long to heal. But the damage is rarely paired with the viscera of a curse attack. It had been a lucky thing that Lord Sukuna had honored you with death at his hands. The first since you’ve entered his household as his third wife. If the curse had taken your life, you imagine there might not have been another life to live. No death had ever come at the hands of a curse or anything imbued with cursed energy. If it can keep a sorcerer from becoming a curse, it can likely keep you from reviving with more strength than before. It would’ve been a great shame to have been killed by a curse when your lord husband was so near. An insult to allow anyone other than him to determine what happens to his wife. His third wife. His favorite wife.

Uraume leads without much grandeur, simply walking a few steps ahead of you. The path becomes clearer now. Still dark and unlit but there’s a familiarity to it that hadn’t been there only moments ago. The air is chilling as Uraume leads the way outside, meandering along the engawa until they jump from the edge, their landing softened by the clouds of snow still blanketing the ground. It seems less than it had been when your eyes had last opened, as if it hadn’t snowed heavily since the night of Jurina’s death. Yet it was still winter and you clutch the folds of your hakama closer around your shoulders as Uraume trails ahead. Clouds like wisps of smoke puff from between your lips as shivers tremble through your renewed body. If they feel the cold, Uraume doesn’t acknowledge it. The cold is something intrinsic to your lord husband’s most favored servant. Even in the height of summer there’s a slight chill to their presence. Likely a consequence of their cursed technique.

Uraume leads the way past the unattached buildings that are only frequented by servants, towards the far bounds of the estate. There’s never been any reason for you to be this far from the main house. You imagine these are places where things you never think of are stored, preserved foods and wagons for trips into town. The armory is the only building you recognize. A haze of cursed energy looms over the building like a shroud. It’s the same for the building that Uraume seems to be leading you towards. The air around it is thick with the presence of great power. Both auras are familiar in different ways. Just as each person seems to carry their own distinct scent, cursed energy has an element of individuality. Even with your eyes closed and ears plugged, you’d know the approach of your lord husband by his cursed energy alone. He is inside. As is another being that you imagine must be the curse that had attacked you. Their energy is recognizable in a fractured way. Like a dream slipping away as soon as you wake.

Uraume announces your arrival as they open the door. The room is bathed in gold, lit by dozens of lanterns all flickering in tandem. The room is modest in size and made smaller by what must be hundreds–if not thousands–of talismans hanging from the walls and ceiling. All in various sizes and written in different hands. Some of the ink has the neatness of a learned scholar while others have the shakiness of illiteracy, though the quality of the script hardly matters to what is written. Each tag holds the power to bind. As do the thickly woven ropes wrapped right around the pale curse that attacked you all those days ago. It gurgles and strains within the ropes hung with more binding talismans, bulging eyes bobbing in its head as it tries to fix its gaze towards the sound of your approach. You hardly notice, eyes fixed on the vision of your lord husband standing over the creature with his spear in hand.

Lord Sukuna takes over your vision, eclipsing everything with his daunting figure. He takes his eyes away from the curse bound at his feet with an unhurried sort of interest, and the weight of his gaze makes you bloom like a flower beneath the kiss of the sun. Red eyes piercing as burning iron stab through you, pinning you in place so absolutely that your knees buckle. He sees the weakness before you can fall and catches you by the waist, pulling you against him. Your eyes fall away from his face, head bowing as you try to find the words to apologize for your mistake; your death. He silences you before you can find enough words to express the deep rooted feeling of inadequacy.

“The misstep has already been punished.” When you dare to look up, Lord Sukuna is looking towards Uraume. With a sharp nod of his head he dismisses his right hand attendant to leave the two of you alone with the curse that tried to take your life, tried to claim something that belongs to your lord husband alone. Not even you have such control of your life. You’ve heard tales of unhappy concubines seeking death in the face of neglect and mistreatment. Though you’ve always found yourself spoiled in your marriage, you can’t imagine that you could ever take your own life even if you were set aside and forgotten. Lord Sukuna will always be your world. The sun doesn’t cease to exist simply because it has set. The darkness of night must be endured to enjoy the light of day. You’ll suffer anything at the hands of your lord husband if it pleases him. Your life is his to manage as he sees fit.

“My Lord,” you try to speak, but you’re silenced once more.

“Don’t start. I’ve already told you you’re forgiven. Besides, words are useless without action. If you truly seek forgiveness then prove it.” He takes his hand away from you and nods towards the curse still squirming in its bonds. Its eyes wheel this way and that until one finally finds its way into a position to see you. The aborted struggles seem to renew with the vigor you’d seen upon its arrival into your chamber. The ropes burn red welts into its pale skin where it writhes and strains, spittle dribbling from its mouth as its empty whining turns to hissing yowls.

“Three, three, three.” The creature spits, straining towards you with the singularity of an arrow launched from a bow. Lord Sukuna stands behind you, a pillar of strength and a post keeping you from turning away. One of his hands finds yours, pressing his spear against your palm. It’s heavy and your arm trembles with the strength it takes to hold it. His intentions are clear. Kill the curse. It takes great strength and both arms to lift Lord Sukuna’s spear. All of your weight pitches forward as you drive the three-pronged blade through the curse’s head. Blood sprouts like a fountain as the creature screams. The sound pierces through your ears, ringing in your head as you drive the weapon further through its head in a rush to silence the noise. It chuffs and squeals, thrashing against the ropes with slowly waning strength until, at last, it goes still and silent.

For a moment the pale lump of bleeding, bulging flesh takes on a shimmery red glow like flames burning within ash and ember. It grows then fades as the creature sags in a haze of dissipating cursed energy. The only movement left is the blood dripping from the spear still lodged in its head, forming a puddle on the dirt floor. Perhaps a flower will sprout from the soil wetted with purple blood though you doubt something so delicate could spring from the death of such a violent creature. Kneeling next to the puddle you touch the spot of dampness and ask the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue since the curse first spoke.

“Was this First Mistress Jurina?” It had to be. It would explain the vague familiarity about the curse’s energy. Like the scent of someone lingering in their clothes after they’ve worn them, Jurina’s cursed energy tainted the new signature of the cursed spirit. Lord Sukuna barks out a laugh.

“There’s no need to be so respectful of the dead. Jurina is no longer my wife, nor was she ever worth your deference.”

“She was your first wife,” you mumble, lowering your head against the admonishment you expect to meet your stubbornness. It doesn’t come.

“They are wives in name only. Perhaps I laid with them, but there has been no woman above you since we wed.”

The wedding had been something of a formality performed in the absence of your lord husband. The vows had been spoken before your family and the deed was done long before you completed the arduous journey from your home to Lord Sukuna’s estate. You were his wife for some time before you met and, truly, you will be his wife forever. Not even death could sever your allegiance. It makes you wonder if one day you’ll become a curse too. Some amalgamation of your grief and anguish. The dark, rotted feeling of failure as you abandon your lord husband in death. It’s unthinkable when your body has been blessed with such resilience and yet you know that there may come a day when death is no longer like sleep, your eyes will close forever, the butterfly dead at last. It brings a mournful feeling to your heart.

“Would you let me curse you, my lord?” Jurina had become a vengeful spirit fueled by her hatred of you. She’d cursed you in her death and you can only hope to be so attached to your lord husband, even in death. It’s the dividing line between you, the gate guarding you from the rest. In her last moments, Jurina hadn’t been thinking of Lord Sukuna. Her husband, her murderer. Instead he eyes had looked to you and her soul had screamed to tear at you the way Lord Sukuna had shredded through her body. It was with no small amount of pain that Jurina had lost her life and even in the midst of death she had found it in herself to hate you with such passion that it burned even after she died. If she had hatred you wished to burn with love in your afterlife, to be so consumed by the flames of your desire that your essence will cling to Lord Sukuna even in death.

“Would you curse me?” He asks sardonically.

“I think I would.” There’s a bashfulness to your voice as your eyes stay towards the ground, watching Jurina’s purple blood seep into the soil. Lord Sukuna places a finger under your chin, sharpened nail digging into the soft skin beneath your jaw. When your eyes lift towards his face he’s smiling, a stark baring of fanged teeth. He smiles like a wolf and you’re the rabbit a hair’s breadth away from being bitten.

“You’ll have to die first.” His tone is peculiar. There’s a hint of humor though it’s colored with something darker, as if Lord Sukuna is angered by the prospect of you abandoning him in such a way.

“I will someday.” You remind him. Your Chrysalis technique may revive you from traumatic deaths, but a gentle departure, a final breath gasped in the night, is likely to go unrenewed. A winter frost through which no spring flowers will bloom. Nature cannot be denied and to live is to die.

Lord Sukuna cups your face in his hand, clawed fingers digging into your cheeks. “How little you know, woman.”

He says no more and you decide that he must know something that you don’t. He is leagues more worldly and likely does know things beyond your understanding. It isn’t your place to pry if he won’t tell you freely. He must see a thousand questions behind your eyes but he neglects to answer any of them. Instead he pulls his hand away from your face and the warmth of his skin against yours is replaced by the winter cold. There are no burning coals in this room. A shiver snakes through your body, and that Lord Sukuna acknowledges. He removes his outer robe and drapes it around your shoulder. Immediately you’re drowning in the warmth of his body still lingering in the silk. It’s far too long for you and you gather the massive swathe of fabric into your arms to keep it from dirtying on the ground. Lord Sukuna tuts and picks you up, easily keeping his clothes from dragging along the dirt. Cradling you in one arm he pulls his spear from Jurina’s second corpse with another. It comes loose with a sound that reminds you of chopping vegetables.

Lord Sukuna calls for Uraume and they appear in an instant as if they had been by his side all along. There’s an unspoken order that passes between them and your lord husband’s servant accepts it with a resolute nod. Then he says, “come, woman,” as though you could go anywhere else while still held aloft in his arms. It’s so different from the last time he held you, his fist locked around your delicate throat. Now his arms cradle beneath your knees and across your back as you lean against the warmth of his chest. The light of the sun is a bright wash of hazy white after spending some time in the dimness of the talisman room. You expect that Lord Sukuna will take you back to the main house, but he continues off in the direction nearing the furthermost bounds of the estate.

“What will happen to Jurina now?” You dare to ask. Her human form had already been burned, but you weren’t sure what would become of her cursed form. It would be cruel to send it back to her family and burning wasn’t meant for curses. A human body could be purified in flames in preparation for the next life, but a curse could not shed the truth of its nature even in death.

“I’ll show you,” Lord Sukuna said cryptically, still walking towards the building that stood alone on the outer reaches of the estate. Like the talisman room and the armory, there was a heady cloud of cursed energy blanketing the structure, though it was far more potent than anything you’d ever encountered aside from Lord Sukuna. His cursed energy seemed as deep and unending as the ocean and this strange building was just as unfathomably thick with traces of cursed energy. It was nearly overwhelming despite your constant exposure to your lord husband. It was ominous. Terrifying in its foreignness. Were you not held by Lord Sukuna, you might’ve run from this place. But there is an inherent safety in his arm. Your lord husband wouldn’t take you to a place that he could not protect you.

“What is this place?” You ask quietly, as if speaking too loudly would rouse something from the aura of darkness.

“An onsen of sorts.” It had the warmth of a bathhouse though the sound of babbling water was traded for that of rain, like a rushing waterfall as Lord Sukuna opened the door. It seemed just like the onsen of the main house. Stone floors around a deep pool, yet there was no water here. Instead the pit where a hot spring might’ve been was filled with something black and vicious. The dripping sound came from the strange hammock hung far above the pool. That same dark liquid seeping through the large patchwork of fabric. And when you look closer, there are those same talisman symbols painted on the bulging material.

“This is where Jurina will be taken,” Lord Sukuna told you, “so that she might finally be of use.” Just as Uraume said, none of his wives have served their purpose. It makes you wonder what purpose Lord Sukuna would have you serve. You dare to ask.

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” he says vaguely. “You’re my wife, and I expect that you’ll serve me as a wife should.”

His words send a shock down your spine. What task have you been neglecting? You were raised in an affluent household as the daughter of a large and prosperous clan. The ways of womanhood have been stitched into your brain from the moment you were born. The proper way to act and speak, the things a wife must pay heed to if she wishes to keep a well run household. Though you’re only the third in line of authority–second, now–you’ve taken up most tasks to do with the household. Jurina hadn’t the patience and Second Mistress was always sequestered in her room. Such a sad girl like a flower wilting at the height of spring. She cried at Jurina’s funeral where few others could find the fondness for it. It was you that the head household maid reported to and the cooks asked about which meals should be prepared on which days. At first, you simply thought it was the convenience of receiving prompt answers, but now you know that it was simply expected. You were the favorite, the de facto lady of the house. So what could there be that you weren’t doing to your lord husband’s standards?

“My apologies, my lord. Whatever I’ve been lacking I will–” His hand covers your mouth, ear to ear.

“Enough,” he groans. Then he says, “Children. A wife should give her husband children. You’ll serve this purpose for me.” There’s a fleeting hint of fondness in his voice that sends a twinge through your heart. Lord Sukuna is asking you to bear his children. You weren’t married into the household as his main wife and yet he’s given you the highest honor of being the mother of his heirs. A warmth blooms across your cheeks and down your neck, a flush of excitement igniting through your body.

“As many as you’d like, my lord.” It’s what’s expected of you though you; an expectation rather than a choice, but you’re excited to fulfill the role even still. Though, part of you had considered it an impossibility. Lord Sukuna had been human once but something in him had changed, gone beyond that of an ordinary man. But he is a man even still. Desiring progeny, a legacy beyond his own being. To know that he wants to use your body for such an honorable purpose washes you in a great sense of pride. It will be your womb that births the King of Curses his heirs. Little pink haired babies with your nose and their father’s four eyes. But pride slowly turns to contemplative anguish.

If you were meant to give Lord Sukuna his children, it is nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t conceived in the year that you’ve been married. Lord Sukuna did nothing sparingly. He indulged to his heart’s content. In blood and carnage, in food, and in bed. He laid with you often enough that a child should’ve come long ago and yet you’ve yet to feel the stirring of a baby quickening within you.

The room dips and swoops around you as your eyes lose focus, lost in thought. What was wrong with you that you hadn’t yet fallen pregnant? Your hands clutch at your stomach, empty beneath the layers of your clothes. A hidden fragment of your heart wonders if it’s truly your fault at all. Lord Sukuna had three wives, and while you were most favored there were times when he took the others to bed, a time before you entered his household. And yet the estate remains empty of heirs. Though you don’t dare to entertain the thought longer than a moment, it flashes through your mind as quick as an arrow. Perhaps it was Lord Sukuna that was obstructing the blessing of a child. Still, your hands remain on your stomach, caressing the place meant to bear the fruits of life. Since birth you were told it would be your only honor in this life. To give a man a son to further his glory and continue his legacy. Lord Sukuna isn’t in need of such a successor, yet he’s asked for them even still.

“You are truly too valuable to die,” Lord Sukuna says, lifting your eyes towards his. They’re piercing as red flames, burning into your face with such intensity that it makes you want to wither in his arms, like a flower left with no water. “Jurina was poisoning you. Every night. And yet your body was kind enough to preserve itself for me.” Because what other reason would you have to defy death so vehemently? If Lord Sukuna says the purpose of your cursed technique is to keep you by his side, then who are you to deny it?

“You like tea.” Lord Sukuna says, passing the pad of his thumb over your lips. “Dark tea. Dark enough to mask the color of anything added to it. Jurina was bribing your little maid to slip poison into your tea every night before bed. Nothing lethal. She meant to poison your womb and purge any seed I might’ve planted inside you.” He laughs scornfully, “I thought it was jealousy, at first, but she was drinking it, too, and feeding it to the second one. Likely the work of her family urging her to cripple my reign by blocking the chances of an heir.”

Another hand brushes against your stomach, sweeping away your desperate grasping.

“I chose you well, woman. Though the poison did as it was made to and purged your body of any child that might’ve grown, you healed. What made Jurina and the other barren hardly touched you. As soon as you closed your eyes your body repaired itself. Uraume thinks you might be close to building a tolerance for it since your technique heals as well as strengthens. I might start feeding you poisons to fortify you against future attacks.” It was so terribly wonderful that you knew as soon as he said it that you’d gladly eat anything your lord husband asked without question. The poison might even taste sweet on your tongue if it was prepared by him.

“Things will be different now. You will give me children. Strong children.” He says it with an air of finality, as if you’d ever deny him anything, though you’re uncertain of how strong any child of yours will be. Of course, your maiden clan is a powerful one, but you’re hardly a descendant of the three elite sorcerer clans. Jurina had been a Zenin. Her blood would’ve given him strong children. Second Mistress is a Kamo and her children would carry that superiority in their blood. As a humble Hoga, you were the least desirable of his brides to have his children with. Unless Fourth Mistress was of a lower clan than even you.

“If I may, my lord,” he grunts his annoyance but allows you to continue. “If you want children, why did you not have them with Jurina? Certainly a Zenin would be better suited to creating a powerful heir. My cursed technique is unheard of even within my own clan.” You remind him. It would break your heart to disappoint him with a child that couldn’t even do you the service of inheriting your technique. And there likely would be no second chance to amend the error.

“I don’t want your technique, woman, though it would surely be of great use. That’s what this place is for.” He sweeps his arm towards the pool of darkness gathered in the center of the room. The longer you look the more it begins to turn from black to deep purple. Slowly, the immense level of cursed energy sufficing the air begins to make sense. The staccato waves that don’t seem to match any singular signature aside from Lord Sukuna’s. It is blood. The blood of curses. And Lord Sukuna had called it an onsen of sorts. Did he mean to bathe you in the blood of those he’d slain? To give your child over to these tainted waters to imbue them with its power?

It made you fear for the child that had yet to be made. Of course, their purpose in life would be an extension of your own. To serve their lord father in any way that he asked, yet they’d still be a piece of you. A terrible selfish piece of your heart began to crack and splinter, breaking away in revolt of turning your baby into a monster. But what was Lord Sukuna if not a monster? Adoration did little to cleanse the crimes of the King of Curses. Any child you gave him would be heir to that title. With a few measured breaths, you resigned yourself to it. Your child would know no other way of life and you would love them as proudly as a mother could. They would always be a manifestation of the love you bear for your lord husband. His flesh and blood joined with yours to create a life. It felt like a privilege to even consider the thought.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #★ mine!

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kurogane2512 · 7 months ago

Note

Kuro I know we both want this

Signora with catgirl reader that hides her heat cause she was busy with meetings and going to different regions, when catgirl reader suddenly got her heat, Signora just came back after a day or two and it just got worse cause she was still busy and catgirl reader was hiding

-💜anon

YAYY MORE SIGNORA 😍❤️ I'm surprised how well this catgirl prompt did but I'm glad you guys like it, I have a few more of these requests so I'll finish them up as the theme is going. Thank you so much everyone ❤️

18+ CONTENT

Game: Genshin Impact

Characters: La Signora x catgirl!reader

Type: Smut and fluff

It was unbearable for you; the heat and pain didn't subside even after days. You thought it wouldn't be so bad in the ice-cold weather of Snezhnaya, but somehow it felt even worse. Maybe it was because this was the first time you were spending your heat period alone after coming here, and your body was unable to adapt without its usual caretaker. But you knew you couldn't blame your mistress; she was a Harbinger and had many duties to fulfill.

Signora arrived in Snezhnaya after completing her back-to-back missions in Mondstadt and Liyue. She was dying to meet you but she had to hold back and visit the palace first, delivering the 2 Gnoses in her possession took highest priority. What she didn't expect was to be further held up for discussing the arrangements made at the Chasm, she had no option of denying. It was almost evening by the time she finally reached home, but strangely you were nowhere to be found.

"Y/n? My kitty, I'm home~" she called out and looked around the room for a bit to search for you but you didn't come out nor make a sound even. She became suspicious and looked around more then suddenly found your collar lying under the bed, she picked it up and called her servants to search for you all around the mansion.

She came out in the courtyard herself and looked at a particular spot, the place you'd usually go whenever you became upset or just wanted to be by yourself. She heard faint purring sounds as she neared the spot and as expected, she found you lying on the ground all curled up and clenching your clothes.

"Y/n, there you are!"

Her sudden voice made you look up in relief, you attempted to stand up and crawl towards her but she acted faster and put the collar around your neck then started pulling you inside. You struggled to walk and almost tripped a few times, so she picked you up in her arms bridal style and carried you to her room. You blushed but cradled into her as the pain continued, softly meowing into her neck and holding her close.

She placed you on the bed as soon as you reached the room and took off her cape followed by pulling her dress down to expose her breasts before she climbed up on the bed and straddled you. Her right hand cupped your jaw as she leaned down to passionately kiss you, her other hand slipping under your shirt to cup and fondle your breasts. Your tongue swirled with hers, your legs wrapping around her and your body rutting into her to seek friction.

"Mistress... nya....mmmh~"

"Sorry.... for leaving you alone like that." her apology caught you off guard, you didn't think she was the type to apologize this way. She placed kisses down your neck while her fingers pinched your nipples before finally pulling off your shirt.

"M-Mommy... please....ngh~"

"Shh shh, it's okay. I'm here now. Was it painful all this time?" she caressed your face.

"Y-Yes... but I don't blame you, I would have somehow passed it on my own..."

"Mhm, that won't do. I promised to be there for you every time, didn't I?" she smiled and pecked your lips.

She sat up on the bed and pulled you on her lap, your arms locking around her neck as you gazed at her with need. She petted your ears making you purr and nuzzle into her hand while your hips subconsciously grinded on her thigh. She smirked and brushed her fingers across your folds, feeling how soaked your panties were.

"Mmm... mommy... please.... I can't take it anymore~"

Signora chuckled, "What do you want, my kitty? Want mommy's fingers inside you, hm?~"

"Yes....mm...nya~"

She smirked watching you lick her fingers intently, lubing them up well enough before she could put them inside. You stood on your knees and begged her to be inside, she would have usually made you wait more and tease you but she didn't want to make you suffer anymore. She positioned her fingers under you and you wasted no time to plunge them inside, sitting on her palm and rutting back n forth.

Signora held your waist and helped you move, occasionally scissoring her fingers inside your folds and prodding your sensitive spots. Your mewls and purrs were melodic to her, your tongue lolling out as you rode her fingers before leaning forward and hugging her tightly. Your tongue lapped up her shoulder before you gently bit it, your voice being muffled as you continued biting.

In one sweep motion, Signora turned around and pinned you on the bed then thrusted her fingers deep inside. You gasped and held onto her, your body arching up as her fingers pierced you. You could feel her go all the way, her long and dainty fingers prodding your sweet spots. She pulled them out to the tip then thrusted forward again, making a consistent rhythm that pleasured you everywhere.

"Mommy! Mommy! Aaaah, I want to cum!~"

"Mm, cum for me, my kitty. Make a mess on mommy's fingers~"

You held her tightly, your legs wrapping around her as you arched up and finally released. Your juices coated her fingers as she pulled them out and made you lick them off to clean them before she stood up to get something. You panted out on the bed and watched her search something in the cupboard, until your eyes widened as she turned around and you saw her wearing a strap.

"Now, get on your fours for mommy. My kitten still wants more, doesn't she?~"

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin women #la signora #signora x reader #la signora x reader

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moonselune · 1 month ago

Text

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt. 11)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Matron!Minthara x Forced!Betrothed!reader

CW: murder, gore, torture, angst, mental health problems

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight part nine part ten part twelve

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s a typically busy morning as you move through the halls of your grand estate, keeping the household running smoothly. Servants rush by, carrying out tasks with quiet efficiency, but your sharp eye catches any lapses. You spend time reprimanding a few who slack, making mental notes of those who require further attention, and oversee the youngest girls of the house as they practice their chores and lessons.

The Mistress' Guard trails after you, as they always do now, their presence constant, though you hardly notice them anymore. Verona and her sect have become almost an extension of you, their vigilance unwavering.

In the middle of managing your duties, a tutor rushes up to you, his face flushed with frustration.

“Mistress,” he says breathlessly, bowing before continuing. “I must speak with you about Kyorlin. He removed the triplets from their lessons without permission. If he wishes to do so, he must follow the proper channels.”

You pause, a twist of unease settling in your gut. Kyorlin has always had an unorthodox way of doing things, but this… this is different. He never spent time with the children unless he absolutely had to, so him to seek them out, to disrupt them from their learning. You knew it just couldn't be good.

"Did he say why he was taking the triplets?” you ask, eyes narrowing at the tutor.

The tutor rubs his neck anxiously. “I… I don’t know, Mistress. I couldn’t ask him, not with a blade pointed at me - at my neck! He didn’t offer any explanation and just too them!”

You sigh, frustration creeping into your voice, of course, Kyorlin's reaction was violence when he didn't get his way.. “Very well. I’ll handle it.”

With a wave of your hand, you dismiss the tutor and make your way through the estate, your mind churning. Kyorlin had always been detached, rebellious even, but threatening a tutor and removing Lesaonar’s children from their lessons without permission? Something is off.

It doesn’t take long to find them. Gossip in House Baenre travels faster than a lightning strike, and word of Kyorlin’s whereabouts reaches your ears within minutes. The garden. Of course. It’s always the gardens with this place.

The garden was peaceful, a contrast to the simmering tension that always seemed to linger beneath the surface of the grand house. You were drawn there by the familiar sound of Kyorlin’s voice, low and deliberate, speaking to the triplets. Their young, inquisitive voices piped up now and then, filled with curiosity, unaware of the storm that was brewing beneath their innocent questions.

You crept closer, keeping to the shadows of the tall, twisting trees until their words became clear.

“These flowers,” Kyorlin said, pointing at a cluster of delicate, glowing blossoms, “I planted each one for a member of the Liakyre family. They were strong, proud, and—”

“What happened to them, Uncle Kyorlin?” Sarae asked, interrupting him. Her wide, innocent eyes blinked up at him, curiosity shining bright. “Papa never talks about them.”

Kyorlin’s voice grew quieter, more somber. “That’s because your papa is scared, little one. He doesn’t talk about them because—”

You knew where this was headed. The chill in the air felt sharper now as realization hit you like a blade. He was going to tell them. The whole truth.

Without hesitation, you stepped out from the shadows, your voice like steel as you commanded, “Triplets, return to your lessons. Now.”

The three children flinched at your sudden appearance, but they obeyed without a second thought, casting glances back at Kyorlin before scampering off towards the house.

The garden fell silent as you rounded on Kyorlin, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away from the prying eyes of the servants and guards, your voice a low hiss. “What exactly were you doing, Kyorlin? What were you thinking?”

Kyorlin’s usual calm demeanor faltered, but his defiance remained. “They deserve to know who their family was. The Liakyres—our family—they were more than just—”

“The Liakyre family is dead,” you snapped, cutting him off sharply. “Minthara saw to that. There is no sense in dragging the triplets into a past that is six feet under.”

"Just because you have chosen to forget them, doesn't mean the world must." Kyorlin’s eyes flashed with frustration. “Conveniently, I might add. But the triplets—they don’t have to forget them.”

You could feel the rage building inside you, seething under the surface. You pulled him closer, your words venomous. “Do not pretend you know why I have made my choices, Kyorlin. You were not the one standing at the altar while Minthara carved the Liakyre insignia off my wrist. You were not Lesaonar when Melinoe carved it from his skin.That wasn’t out of convenience. That was survival.”

Kyorlin scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “You act like this is some grand sacrifice, like we all had no choice.”

“You think this is about choice?” you whispered harshly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Do you have any idea what Minthara would do if she found out you were filling their heads with loyalty to a dead house? She would have your head on a spike before dawn. The Liakyre family is gone, Kyorlin, and if you’re too stubborn to accept that, then you’re forcing my hand.”

He stared at you, his lips pressed into a thin line, not conceding but knowing he couldn’t win this fight.

You took a step back, your voice softening, though the threat still lingered. “If you keep this up, I’ll have you marry into House Baenre. Man or woman, it won’t matter. I’ll strip you of your last name, for your own good.”

"You would never-"

"-Do not test me, Kyorlin." You snap at him, pointed finger into his armoured chest. "To keep you safe, to protect you, I would do anything, even if it is saving you from your own foolishness."

At that, Kyorlin’s defiance seemed to crumble, though his eyes still held a flicker of resentment. He gave a slight nod, conceding. “Fine. No more talk of the Liakyres.”

You let out a breath, feeling the weight of the situation begin to ease.

“Good. Because I won’t tell Minthara—for your sake.” You forced a smirk, trying to lighten the mood just a fraction. “As much as you seem determined to keep the Liakyre name alive, you’re just as determined to get yourself killed. The only Liakyre left, and you want to throw it all away.”

He didn’t smile at your attempt at humor, only offered a hollow chuckle, before turning to walk away. You watched him go, relief washing over you. You thought you’d avoided disaster.

Little did you know, hidden behind the towering trees and shrubs of the garden, Verona stood with two of her guards, silently observing. Her expression was unreadable, her sharp eyes taking in every word exchanged between you and Kyorlin. As you turned to leave, oblivious to her presence, she gestured to her second-in-command, her voice cold and precise.

“Go inform the Matron,” she ordered quietly. “Tell her everything.”

The guard nodded and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Verona behind, her gaze still lingering where you and Kyorlin had stood. A small, knowing smile crept onto her lips. It gave her no joy to get you in trouble, but a chance to get the discourteous Kyorlin, the ever-privileged and protected one, constantly saved by his sister's refuge, punished - that was just too delicious to give up.

Unbeknownst to you, the wheels of betrayal were already turning, and this secret would not remain hidden for long.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That evening, you were running late to dinner. After the incident with Kyorlin and the triplets earlier, your mind had been a whirlwind of thoughts, and it had taken longer than expected to settle everything in the household. As you approached the dining room, the smell of dinner greeted you, calming your nerves slightly. You entered the room and found Minthara and Lythaera already seated, the little one giggling as she played with her food.

“Apologies, I’m late,” you said, quickly stepping in to give Minthara a soft kiss on the lips, and then immediately turning your attention to your daughter. You knelt down beside Lythaera’s chair, cooing at her, fixing her hair, and making her laugh with playful touches.

You were so focused on her that you didn’t notice the way Minthara’s gaze lingered on you, a predatory glint in her eyes as she watched your every move. There was a tension beneath her composed exterior, though she hid it well. She knew about Kyorlin’s little indiscretion earlier in the day, but she wasn’t going to reveal that just yet. Not tonight.

You finally took your seat at the table, still smiling as you wiped a bit of sauce off Lythaera’s cheek.

“Thank you, Minthara,” you said, tucking into the food that had been laid out. The variety was impressive, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how Minthara had managed to source all the strange foods you’d been craving during your pregnancy. “You’ve truly outdone yourself. I’m not sure where you found some of these ingredients, but I appreciate it.”

Minthara chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming as she watched you eat.

“Nothing is too difficult to find when it comes to the wellbeing of my wife,” she said smoothly, though her tone held something deeper, something unspoken. You glanced up at her, the warmth in her voice and words making you smile.

“How was your day?” you asked, hoping to ease into casual conversation.

Minthara answered, speaking of her day briefly, though you could tell by the way her eyes never left you that she was far more interested in your day. Her gaze was like a predator’s—sharp, waiting, and patient. You tried to ignore it, focusing on your meal and avoiding any mention of Kyorlin. The last thing you wanted was to burden Minthara with the issue when you’d already handled it.

“It was busy,” you began, carefully choosing your words. “Overseeing the girls, handling a few matters with the household staff.” You purposefully skipped over the incident in the garden, thinking you’d done well to gloss over it. “But everything went smoothly.”

Minthara’s smile widened ever so slightly, and she set down her glass of wine before standing up. With slow, deliberate steps, she made her way around the table toward you. Your heart fluttered as she stopped behind you, her hands gently resting on your shoulders.

“You’ve done so much today, my love,” she whispered softly into your ear, her voice a low purr. “You work so hard, always so diligent.”

You blushed under her praise, feeling her warmth so close.

“Minthara…” you mumbled, flustered by the sudden affection. She always knew how to disarm you, and even now, you could feel your cheeks redden as she leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“I love you,” she murmured against your skin. “I adore you.” Her lips brushed over your neck as she spoke, sending a shiver down your spine. You felt yourself melting under her touch, the tension of the day easing in her embrace.

You turned your head slightly to look up at her, your eyes soft as you took in her expression.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, a smile forming on your lips.

Minthara’s smile remained, but there was something else in her eyes now—something sharper, darker. She tilted your chin up slightly, her thumb brushing over your lips as she spoke softly. “And that’s why,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk, “it upsets me so when you lie to me.”

Her words hit you like a blade. The smile on your face faltered, and the warmth in your chest quickly turned cold. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what she was implying, and suddenly, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

Minthara’s fingers trailed down your neck, still so gentle, but now it felt different. There was a weight to her touch, a threat laced within her tenderness. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure, but your mind was racing. She knew.

“I—” you started to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You had no idea how much she knew, or how she knew, but there was no mistaking the intent in her words. She had been waiting for this, patiently watching, and now she had you exactly where she wanted.

Minthara leaned in closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, “Tell me, my love… what happened today?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to muster a defense without sounding too defensive.

"It wasn’t anything serious," you said, your voice steady though your pulse quickened. "Kyorlin was just… speaking to the triplets about where they come from. Where I come from. Where Lythaera comes from. It was harmless, Minthara."

Her fingers, which had been tenderly stroking your neck, stilled. A soft scoff escaped her lips, and she pulled back slightly to look at you.

“Harmless?” she echoed, her tone dripping with disdain. “You think I will tolerate fantasies of loyalty to a dead house? A pitiful one at that.”

Your spine stiffened at her words, and you felt the anger simmering in your chest. Pitiful? You turned in your seat, eyes narrowing as you met her gaze.

“Pitiful?” you repeated, your voice low and sharp. “I am descended from Lolth herself, Minthara. My lineage—”

Minthara cut you off with a wave of her hand, her eyes flashing with irritation.

“Lolth supported that marriage contract because she knew your family line would die out in the ditch it deserved.” Her voice was cold, her words like venom. “Lolth used the marriage to elevate her descendants. To elevate you. Lolth is the only reason you’re alive, the only reason your brothers survived as long as they did. Without her, without House Baenre, your family would be nothing.”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, feeling the surge of power in your veins, your magic bubbling beneath the surface. You bristled at her words, each one cutting deeper than the last. How could she say that? How could she reduce everything you were, everything your family had been, to nothing more than pawns in Lolth’s grand game?

“Without House Baenre,” Minthara continued, her voice quieter now but no less severe, “you are nothing.”

Her words rang in your ears, and the power inside you surged uncontrollably. You felt your magic flare, a dangerous hum filling the air around you. Lythaera, who had been sitting quietly at the table, suddenly began to cry, her small voice trembling as the tension in the room thickened.

You stood abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor as you turned away from the table, away from Minthara’s piercing gaze. You needed to get out before you lost control. You feared that even a word slipping from your tongue could cause damnation.

Minthara went to Lythaera and you took the opportunity to leave. You stormed out of the dining room, your magic crackling in the air around you as you made your way toward the gardens.

The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your pregnant belly. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the roiling anger inside you. But the memory of Minthara’s words kept replaying in your mind—her dismissal of your family, her cold indifference to your pain. Like you were nothing more than a tool, a pawn in a game that you hadn’t even chosen to play.

The moonlight barely touched the neglected courtyard as you made your way through the forgotten section of the vast Baenre estate, the soft crunch of dirt underfoot your only companion in the darkness. This was a place few ventured—its stone walls crumbling from disuse, vines creeping across the abandoned benches and cracked fountains, forgotten by nearly everyone. Nearly.

You had chosen this place precisely for its solitude, a moment’s respite away from the watchful eyes of the household. But tonight, even here, the presence of the Mistress’s Guard was unmistakable.

You paused, sensing them nearby, the shadows shifting unnaturally. With a scowl, you turned and shouted into the darkness, your voice sharp and commanding, “Stay back! Unless you want me to turn you into something with eight legs instead of two.”

There was a rustle, followed by the unmistakable sound of feet retreating. Good. You needed the quiet.

However, as you entered the courtyard, you were surprised to see that you were not alone. Lesaonar sat on one of the worn stone benches, clutching a bottle of vintage wine. His white hair gleamed faintly in the low light as he glanced up at you, smirking.

“Well, well, look who decided to haunt the courtyard tonight,” he teased, lifting the bottle in a mock toast. “I was here first, so it would be dreadfully unfair to turn me into a drider, don’t you think?”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fine,” you replied, walking over to sit beside him. “I’ll spare you this time.”

Lesaonar grinned and took another swig of wine before offering it to you. But then, his eyes flicked to your stomach, remembering. “Oh, right. No wine for you. How could I forget? You’re growing the next Baenre noble in there, after all.”

You smiled faintly, a hand absentmindedly resting on your stomach. “Yes, I'm doing my duty for House Baenre, my life purpose apparently.”

Lesaonar’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, Melinoe called me a peasant tonight. Told me I was as common as a spider and not even as pretty. She just went too far with that one.."

Lesaonar took another swig of his bottle, his eyes hazy with unshed tears and you raised a brow at him, "Because she called you common?"

"Because she said I wasn't pretty!" Lesaonar protested, and you couldn't help but smile at him. "And I know for a fact that I am very pretty. Honestly, you defend your twin for some light heresy and you get torn apart." He chuckled but then sighed, shaking his head. “Next thing I know, I’m kicked out of our quarters and exiled to the courtyard with only this fine bottle for company -and now the esteemed Mistress of the house!”

Lesaoanar did a mock bow before bringing the bottle back up to his lips and taking a long swig. You eyed him, out of you thought was caution but was most likely envy, what you wouldn't do to be able to have a drink right now.

"I had to leave, our arguing was upsetting Lythaera." You said softly, leaning back against the bench. “Though if I weren’t Minthara’s broodmare, I’d probably be facing the same fate, exiled from the quarters.”

Lesaonar shot you a sharp look, the humor in his eyes darkening.

“Don’t you dare think of yourself like that,” he scolded gently. “You’re so much more than that.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Am I? Sometimes, I wonder. Lolth’s chosen, Minthara’s wife, Lythaera’s mother—everything I am is tied to someone else. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Lesaonar scoffed, as if the idea were utterly ridiculous. He turned to you, his face softened but firm.

“You don’t know who you are?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re the one who healed mine and Kyorlin's wounds when our sisters tormented me, who stood up to our dear mother matron when no one else would. You survived the wilds of the Underdark, and now you command the entire household of House Baenre. You. You’re so much more than the titles others have placed on you.”

His voice grew quieter, more sincere. “You are the best thing that’s happened in this wretched world.”

You looked at him, surprised by the conviction in his voice. For a moment, the weight of the expectations on your shoulders seemed to lessen, if only slightly. Lesaonar, for all his teasing and charm, saw you as something more than just a vessel for power or status. He saw you.

Silence settled between you both, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with the quiet hum of distant wind through the vines and the faint rustle of leaves. You glanced up at the dark sky, the familiar unease of the day's events still gnawing at you, but for this moment, sitting with Lesaonar, it felt a little less overwhelming.

“You always know what to say,” you murmured softly, grateful for his presence. He chuckled, stretching out his legs and leaning back, his voice light and teasing again.

“It’s a gift. One that I hope will earn me a place back in our chambers.” He gave you a sidelong glance. “Though, knowing Melinoe, I’m going to have to grovel for a while.”

You smiled despite yourself, the image of Melinoe and Lesaonar’s bickering always a source of amusement. The two of them were like fire and ice—constantly at odds, yet inseparable.

Lesaonar got to his feet, brushing the dust from his dark cloak.

“Well, I suppose I should freshen up before my grovelling begins,” he said with a smirk. “If I’m lucky, I’ll be back in her good graces by the end of the night.”

He paused, glancing down at you. “Though if I see Kyorlin on the way, I might punch him first.”

You raised a brow at that. “And what would that solve?”

Lesaonar shrugged. “Nothing. But it would make me feel better.”

You shook your head, amused. “I’m going to stay here for a bit longer.”

He nodded, a flicker of concern passing over his features before he gave you a reassuring smile. “Take your time. Don’t let her get to you too much, alright?”

You offered a faint smile in return, but your mind was already drifting back to Minthara, her words replaying in your head over and over. Lesaonar gave you a final nod before turning and disappearing into the shadows, his footsteps fading as he made his way back into the main estate.

Now alone, you closed your eyes, letting the quiet envelop you. One hand rested instinctively on your growing belly, your thumb tracing gentle circles over the fabric of your gown. The cool night air kissed your skin, calming the magic that had simmered just beneath the surface all evening. But Minthara’s voice still echoed in your thoughts, her cutting words, the way she had torn you down during dinner.

Her cold indifference, her dismissive attitude toward your pain. She had belittled you in front of your daughter, made you feel small, insignificant, like you were nothing more than a vessel for her ambition. And worst of all, she had done it while you were carrying her child.

The weight of it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, suffocating your breath. And what had you done? You had run. Fled from her, too overwhelmed to even stand up for yourself in that moment. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps you were nothing. Just another pawn in the grand game of drow society, destined to be used and discarded when convenient.

But then, Lesaonar’s words echoed back to you, piercing through the fog of doubt. He had called you strong. He had reminded you of who you were—who you had always been. You were more than just a vessel, more than just Minthara’s broodmare. You had fought for everything you had. You had survived, endured, and thrived in a world designed to break you. But like all sources of light in the Underdark, it was doomed to be consumed by shadow.

Something inside you was unraveling, and the thought of seeing Minthara again, of pretending everything was fine, was too much to bear. You needed space—distance from the suffocating expectations, the lies, the betrayals.

With a soft sigh, you rose to your feet, your decision made. You wouldn’t return to your chambers tonight. Instead, you would walk—into the dark, into the wilds that bordered the estate. You could lose yourself there, even if only for a little while.

You moved quickly, slipping past the gardens and through the outer gates, ignoring the questioning glances of the guards. When they tried to stop you, asking where you were going so late into the night, you didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. You lashed out with your magic, faster than they could react, your hands glowing with a deadly light. The air crackled with power as you killed them without a second thought. The first fell to a bolt of arcane energy that left him smoking where he stood; the second crumpled to the ground with a silent scream, his body convulsing as your magic tore through him.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you watched them die, not because you mourned them, but because of the force of emotions that began to tear through you. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The pressure in your chest had become unbearable, and your magic responded to it, lashing out at anything that dared get in your way. With the guards lying dead at your feet, you wiped away your tears, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and pushed forward into the darkness beyond the estate.

The wilds of the Underdark stretched out before you, vast and unforgiving. The bioluminescent glow of strange fungi and the eerie light of the ceiling’s rock formations guided your way as you walked deeper into the unknown. The oppressive silence of the wilds pressed down on you, but you welcomed it, like an old friend. It mirrored the storm raging inside you, the turmoil of emotions that had built up over weeks—months. Maybe years. You couldn't grasp anything at this moment. How were you to know what was to be unleashed after keeping it all together all these years?

Your magic flickered around you like an unstable current, coiling and lashing out unpredictably. Any creature that dared approach was met with a swift and brutal end. Beasts of the Underdark, drawn by your scent or your aura, fell dead before they could even get close enough to strike. You barely registered them. They were inconsequential. Your power responded to your anger, to your pain, with ruthless efficiency.

And yet, strangely, the spiders didn’t shy away from you. They skittered along in the shadows, following your steps, watching you from the safety of their webs. They didn’t attack; they didn’t need to. You were Lolth’s chosen, after all, and they could sense that chaos lived within you tonight. They, too, seemed to revel in it.

You continued walking, tears streaking your face as the existential crisis inside you deepened. What were you? Who were you? You had been molded and shaped by the world of power and cruelty that surrounded you, but now, as you carried Minthara’s child - your child, you felt the weight of every choice, every sacrifice. Could you still claim your own identity? Or had you lost it long ago?

The darkness closed in around you, but it was the familiar dark of the Underdark, not the suffocating darkness of the Baenre household. You welcomed it, even as it felt like it was swallowing you whole.

Your path led you toward a clearing, where the dim light of a large campfire flickered in the distance. The unmistakable sight of a large duergar encampment came into view, the squat, grey-skinned dwarves moving about the camp with a casual arrogance that made your blood boil. You could hear their guttural voices carrying across the quiet, their conversation punctuated with cruel laughter.

As you drew closer, one of the duergar noticed you, his eyes narrowing with recognition.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he sneered, eyeing your figure. His gaze lingered on your belly, his grin widening. “The Baenre matron’s whore, out for a stroll?”

Another duergar, equally as filthy, joined him, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“Looks like she’s carrying a little Baenre bastard too,” he chuckled. “Maybe we can fetch a good price for her. The Matron might pay handsomely to get her pretty little breeding stock back. Or someone else will pay twice as much.”

Rage surged within you, a searing hot fury that obliterated everything else. Before you even realized what you were doing, your magic exploded outward, a violent storm of power that ripped through the camp. There were more of them, many, many more, but that didn't matter. The duergar’s smug grins vanished in an instant as they were thrown to the ground, their bodies writhing in agony as your magic tore into them.

But you didn’t stop there.

No, you didn’t kill them—not right away. Instead, you held back, just enough to keep them alive. You wanted them to feel it. To suffer. You wanted them to beg for death.

Their screams echoed through the camp as you mutilated them, your magic flaying their flesh, breaking their bones, leaving them on the brink of death. They pleaded, their voices hoarse and desperate, but you ignored them. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your hands trembling as you watched them squirm.

This wasn’t for Lolth. This wasn’t a sacrifice in her name.

This was for you.

For the pain you felt, the rage that had built up inside you. It poured out now in a torrent of violence, leaving the duergar in pieces, barely clinging to life.

You stood over them, your chest heaving with exertion, your tears finally spilling freely down your face. You knew you should have killed them outright, offered them up to Lolth as any proper drow would have. But you didn’t care. Not tonight.

The spiders gathered around you, watching silently as you wiped your face, the chaos you had wrought still buzzing in the air. You could feel Lolth’s presence, distant yet present, observing your actions. She didn’t demand their lives. She seemed content with the chaos you had sown, the way you had let your anger and pain drive you to this point.

And in that twisted moment, you knew that Lolth was pleased with you. Not because you had followed the rules, but because you hadn’t. Because you had embraced the darkness inside you and unleashed it with abandon.

And perhaps, in her eyes, that was the greatest offering you could have given.

You decided to remain in the Duergar encampment, a twisted sanctuary of death and chaos, as the final echoes of a one-sided battle fade into the distance. The moans and groans of the nearly hundred dying Duergar fill the air, each one a testament to your power.

All around you, the spiders that had followed you through the wilds work with eerie precision, spinning webs over the mangled bodies of the fallen, some Duergar being devoured alive, others cocooned for later. The scent of death and blood was thick in the air, but rather than disgust, it brought you a strange sense of calm.

The spiders are tireless, spinning great webs around you, their eight-legged forms dancing in the firelight of the encampment’s ruins. They seem to be building something grand, weaving their silken threads into an intricate design, almost as if they are crafting a home for you here among the corpses. It’s not the home of House Baenre or any noble family, but a twisted throne of death, one born from you for you.

Your hand instinctively moves to your growing belly, a protective gesture as you stand in the heart of the destruction you’ve wrought. The movement of your child within you is a reminder of the life you carry, even in the midst of so much death.

You begin to feel better, more relaxed, as if the tension from the day has finally ebbed away. There’s a strange serenity that settles over you, a peace that comes not from the absence of chaos, but from the acceptance of it.

This is who you are. A drow. A mother. A chosen of Lolth. Powerful.

You sit amid the corpses and webbing, allowing your mind to drift as you survey the carnage around you. The Duergar—ruthless in their own right—now reduced to nothing more than a testament to your strength. In this moment of reflection, you realize that House Baenre didn’t make you this way. They may have taken you in, but they didn’t shape your power. You did.

A dark and twisted thought forms in your mind as you stare at the dying Duergar. You imagine them as the Baenres—each one of them, from Minthara to Melinoe, reduced to this. You could have done this to them. You could do this to them, if you wished.

You see the image so vividly in your mind’s eye: the great Matron Minthara, your wife, cocooned in silk and helpless as the spiders begin to feed. Melinoe’s viciousness reduced to nothing more than a lifeless shell.

The thought stirs a sense of amusement in you, and you allow yourself a small, wicked smile. But then, as quickly as the thought comes, you shake it away. Lythaera is a Baenre. The triplets are Baenres. You and Lesaonar are Baenres now. They are your family, whether born into it or bound by choice.

But the smile lingers on your lips. Let Minthara find you like this. Let her come to the encampment, see the bodies, the spiders, and realize the depths of your power. Let her come to her own conclusions, make her own realizations about just what kind of being she is bound to.

You know Minthara; she is as sharp and cunning as they come. She’ll see this scene for what it is — a testament to your power, your strength.

As the webs continue to build around you, creating a dark, silken sanctuary, you close your eyes for a moment. You are Lolth’s chosen, and this — this chaos, this destruction, this power — is your birthright. You will return to House Baenre, to your family, but for now, you sit in the web you’ve spun, content to let Minthara see the truth for herself when she finds you.

And when she does, you’ll be ready.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The morning light filtered through the elaborate curtains of House Baenre, but Minthara’s mind was shadowed with worry. She paced back and forth in her private chambers, eyes flicking toward the door every few moments. It wasn’t like you to be late rising, especially not when it came to tending to Lythaera. She knew you had a temper and a tendency to need space after intense conversations, but this was different. Something gnawed at her, a deep, uneasy feeling that only grew stronger as the minutes passed.

Her heart thudded with increasing urgency, especially after the report of the dead guards. She turned sharply as one of the house’s senior servants entered the room.

“Where is she?” Minthara demanded, her tone colder than intended. “Why has no one seen her this morning?”

The servant, looking as unsettled as Minthara felt, stammered, “Mistress… she was last seen with Lesaonar.”

A dark glint crossed Minthara’s eyes. “Summon him. Now.”

In mere moments, Lesaonar stood before her in the grand receiving room, his posture composed but his eyes watchful. He bowed his head slightly, more out of formality than submission. His usual casual demeanor was present, though there was an edge of protectiveness in his stance.

“You know where she is,” Minthara said, not bothering with pleasantries. “I want to know now.”

Lesaonar met her gaze without flinching, his lips curving slightly into a sardonic smile.

“I don’t know where my sister is, Matron. Though…” He paused, then continued, his words deliberate. “I do know she was quite upset last night.”

Minthara’s brows drew together. “Upset?”

Lesaonar crossed his arms, still standing at ease. “Well, why wouldn’t she be? Being belittled in front of her own daughter, by her own wife. Reduced to nothing more than a tool. Over some heresy from Kyorlin of all people. It's not like like a Bulette came in and sat down for afternoon tea, every fifth word out of his mouth is a slight."

Minthara’s jaw tightened. She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a slow, tense breath. “Lesaonar, you are testing not only my patience, but my sanity.”

Lesaonar shrugged, unbothered by the tension in the room. “You asked. And I’m telling you. She was hurt. No one enjoys feeling like they are less than they are, especially not someone like her. I mean, look at all she has done for this house. You have had no real challenges in years, no significant assasinations, all the trade deals you could dream of, and what did you call her again? Nothing was it?”

Minthara’s sharp eyes bore into him, her mind racing. She had felt justified in what she had said to you last night, but hearing it from Lesaonar now, she wondered if perhaps she had gone too far. The memory of your flustered expression flashed in her mind—how you had tried to deflect, to keep peace, even as she pressed. But her words had struck deeper than she realized.

"Where did she go?" Minthara pressed, more softly this time, though her voice still carried the weight of her authority.

Lesaonar raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of how much power he held in this moment. He tilted his head, as if in thought, before casually offering.

“Well, if I had to guess…” He paused, enjoying the moment, before finally continuing, “The wilds were always a comfort to her. When we were younger, she’d disappear out there whenever things got rough.”

Minthara’s eyes darkened. She knew about your past, about the times you were exiled to the wilds by your mother. She knew you had learned to find solace in the untamed lands, where you could unleash your anger on whatever unfortunate creature crossed your path. But now, things were different.

“She’s pregnant, Lesaonar,” Minthara snapped. “She can’t go wandering into the wilds, especially not in that condition. It is foolish and reckless.”

Lesaonar’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the opportunity to push her buttons. “Foolish and reckless, yes. But then again, wasn’t it also foolish and reckless to yell at your pregnant wife in the first place? Especially one with a penchant for turning people into driders when she’s really upset?”

Minthara’s expression tightened, her frustration mounting. Lesaonar was, annoyingly, not entirely wrong. She had miscalculated. But still, she couldn’t help but bristle at his casual tone, his relentless teasing.

“Well, what can you do?” Lesaonar finished with a shrug, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Minthara's frustration grew as Lesaonar stood there, still wearing that infuriating smirk. She had no time for games, not when your safety could be at risk. Taking a step closer to him, her voice dropped, cold and commanding.

"You’re coming with me, Lesaonar. You were the last one to see her, and now, you're going to help me find her."

Lesaonar raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise flickering across his face before he tilted his head and chuckled softly. "Me? You want me out in the wilds? Matron, I’m better suited for lounging in silks, charming our allies. I’m a courtesan, not a ranger."

Minthara’s patience, already thin, snapped. "Well, consider it a broadening of your skills. Do I need to remind you that she is your sister? If anything happens to her, I’ll hold you responsible."

He gave her a long, exaggerated sigh, still far too casual for Minthara’s liking. "Responsible? That seems a little harsh, Matron. It’s not as if I told her to run off into the woods."

Minthara's glare hardened. "Lesaonar, I’m not taking no for an answer. We’re leaving now, and you will get ready."

Lesaonar, with that insufferable smile still on his face, leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "Ahh, I see now. You’re planning to use me as a drow shield, aren’t you? For when you find her, and she’s still angry enough to turn you into a drider. Smart, very smart, Matron."

Minthara’s scowl deepened, her lips thinning into a tight line. "Get. Ready,"

Lesaonar chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying every moment of her irritation. As he turned to leave, he paused, tossing a final remark over his shoulder. "Should I bring my darling triplets along? You know she wouldn’t hurt their pretty little faces. Or perhaps Lythaera? Might keep us all out of danger."

Minthara ignored him, turning on her heel and barking orders to a servant to prepare the guards and their mounts. She had no time for his theatrics. The only thing on her mind was finding you, and finding you quickly.

Hours later, the group rode through the dense, tangled wilderness surrounding the outskirts of the city, mounted on sleek spiders. The air was thick with humidity, and the dim light filtering through the canopy gave the forest an eerie, oppressive feel. The ground beneath them squelched with every step of their mounts, and the smell of damp earth filled the air.

Lesaonar, riding beside Minthara, was complaining loudly, as expected.

“This is truly unbearable,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose at the surroundings. "The damp, the filth… even my spider doesn’t want to be here. And to think, I could be sipping wine right now, basking in luxury, watch my darling children wreak havoc on the servants. But no, instead, I’m here, crawling through mud.”

True to his word, Lesaonar's spider, much like his owner, was clearly displeased, tentatively stepping around the ground. Minthara kept her eyes on the path ahead, ignoring him as best she could. The guards flanking them exchanged glances, clearly accustomed to his complaints.

“I bet Melinoe is loving this,” Lesaonar continued, adjusting his robes in an attempt to avoid any further dirt from splashing on him. "After our little spat last night, this is probably her idea of poetic justice. ‘Let him suffer out in the wilds,' although she should be grateful that I am not like my sister - otherwise, this could be her you know-"

"-Lesaonar will you cease your nattering." Minthara shot him a glare. "If you spent half as much energy being useful as you do whining, we might actually find her."

Lesaonar smirked. "Useful? Why, I am the picture of usefulness. If not for me, you wouldn’t even know where to start looking. Not to mention, I’m providing you with such charming company. Really, what more could you ask for? "

Minthara rolled her eyes but said nothing, her attention once again focused on the trail ahead. She knew Lesaonar well enough to understand that this was his way of deflecting. Beneath the humor and the dramatics, he was just as worried for you as she was, even if he would never admit it outright.

A tense silence fell over the group as they pressed further into the wilds. The forest seemed to grow darker and more oppressive the deeper they went, the thick underbrush and twisting roots creating an almost labyrinthine path. The spiders moved carefully, their legs deftly navigating the uneven terrain, but even they seemed unsettled.

Minthara’s mind raced. She knew you were out here somewhere, with their unborn child, but with every passing minute, her worry deepened. What if something had happened? What if you were hurt—or worse? She clenched her jaw, refusing to let her mind wander down that path. No, she would find you. She had to.

Lesaonar broke the silence once more, his tone still casual but with a hint of genuine curiosity this time. "So, what’s the plan when we do find her? Groveling apology? Grand gesture of love? Maybe offer her something shiny to distract from a rage that could rival lolth's?"

Minthara shot him a sidelong glance, her expression hard but her eyes betraying her concern. "I’ll do what I need to. But right now, I need to find her first. Keep your focus on that."

As they trekked, the path through the wilds of the Underdark grew darker and more twisted. They had long since passed the familiar stalagmites and glowing fungal forests, venturing deeper into the more dangerous territories where few dared to tread without a full contingent of warriors. But Minthara wasn’t about to turn back now—not when every step brought them closer to finding you.

The first body they found was that of a Hook Horror, its exoskeleton cracked and shattered as though it had been torn apart by pure force. The creature’s massive claws, normally used to crush prey, now lay useless and lifeless, twisted in angles that made even the guards accompanying Minthara flinch. Its once-fearsome head, beaked and armored, was caved in, and the ichor that once pulsed through its veins had splattered across the cavern floor.

Minthara halted her spider and surveyed the scene. Her jaw tightened. This was not the work of a wild beast, but rather something fueled by rage and precision. It made the Hook Horror you decapitated at your engagement party look like child's play.

Lesaonar’s usual sarcasm was conspicuously absent. His spider shifted uneasily beneath him, sensing the tension in its rider. He stared down at the remains of the Hook Horror, brow furrowed in disbelief.

“This… wasn’t just magic,” he muttered, his voice low. “She tore through this thing like it was nothing.”

Minthara glanced at him but said nothing, her mind racing. She had seen your power flare before, especially when your emotions got the better of you, but to eviscerate a creature this powerful—so completely and with such violence—it was beyond anything she had ever witnessed from you.

The party pressed on in silence, the next victim coming into view not long after.

A pair of Quaggoths lay sprawled across the cavern floor, their thick fur matted with blood. Their powerful, brutish bodies were crumpled like ragdolls, and the air still crackled with the residue of arcane energy. It looked as if lightning had struck them down where they stood, searing through muscle and bone. Their eyes were still wide with shock, frozen in their final moments of terror.

Lesaonar, still silent, dismounted from his spider to inspect the scene more closely. His casual arrogance was gone, replaced by something far more solemn as he knelt beside the nearest Quaggoth.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” he said finally, breaking the tense silence. His voice was quiet, almost reflective. “She’s always had control—more control than most of us. But this…” He gestured to the bodies of the Quaggoths, his eyes darkening. “This is something else. Something darker.”

Minthara’s grip on her reins tightened as his words echoed in the cavern around them. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that this was just a result of the pregnancy, that your magic had been unpredictable before when you were carrying Lythaera. But she couldn’t deny the truth in what he was saying. This wasn’t just a surge of power—this was fury, unleashed without restraint.

“During her pregnancy with Lythaera,” Minthara began, her voice firm but not entirely convincing, “her magic was… chaotic. Unstable."

“Chaotic, sure. But not like this.” He waved a hand toward the bodies of the Quaggoths, then back to the Hook Horror. “This wasn’t just a random outburst. She chose to do this, Minthara, at least a part of her did. She wanted them dead, and she made sure of it.”

His words hung in the air like a weight. Minthara looked past him, to the devastation all around them. He was right—this was intentional. Your magic, raw and powerful as it was, had never manifested with such brutality before.

“Why?” Minthara muttered under her breath, more to herself than to Lesaonar. “What could have driven her to this?"

Lesaonar looked at Minthara plainly, a single brow risen, "Matron, are you really asking what could have caused your pregnant Lolth-chosen wife to cause this much havoc after you-

“-We’re moving,” Minthara interrupted Lesaonar, emotion thickening her voice, displaying the growing unease inside her. “We have a trail to follow.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances but followed without question, their spiders skittering across the rough terrain. The atmosphere was tense, and even the creatures of the Underdark seemed to sense it—their usual rustling and chittering had faded into an oppressive silence.

As they went deeper into the caverns, the signs of your path became more frequent and more vicious. A Cave Fisher, its long, deadly threads normally used to trap prey, was shredded into pieces, its segmented body scattered across the cavern floor. Further ahead, a swarm of giant bats lay in heaps, their wings snapped and mangled by what appeared to be a telekinetic storm.

And through it all, Lesaonar remained silent, his usual humor long since abandoned. For once, he wasn’t enjoying the chaos. He wasn’t teasing her or making light of the situation. Instead, he looked troubled—truly troubled.

The change in him was so stark that Minthara found herself glancing at him as they pressed forward. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the worry etched in the lines of his face.

“What is it?” Minthara demanded suddenly, unable to take his silence any longer. “What are you thinking?”

Lesaonar met her gaze, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. That was more terrifying than any of the corpses they had come across.

“I’ve seen her angry before,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve seen her use her magic to defend herself, to show off, to protect those she loves. But this…” He gestured to the latest scene of carnage—a deep, clawed gouge in the cavern wall, where some creature had been pinned and eviscerated by unseen forces. “This isn’t her defending herself. This is her hunting. This is her letting go.”

Minthara’s throat tightened. She wanted to deny it, to push back against his words. But as she looked around at the devastation, at the blood and destruction you had left in your wake, she knew there was no arguing with the evidence.

You were angry—furious, even. But more than that, you were lost.

And she wasn’t sure what would happen when she found you.

Forcing the uneasy thoughts aside, Minthara pushed her mount forward, her determination hardening. She would find you. She had to.

Minthara, Lesaonar, and their guards pushed deeper into the caverns. They had been following the trail of destruction you left behind, and now, the air itself felt different—charged with a strange, arcane energy that prickled at the skin. Minthara’s spider hissed softly, its legs skittering uneasily across the ground as if reluctant to go any further.

Ahead, something shimmered in the faint, bioluminescent glow of the fungal growths along the walls. A thick, silvery mass stretched across the cavern opening, and Minthara’s eyes narrowed as they approached. It was silk—massive sheets of spider silk, spread out like a grotesque webbed tapestry, clinging to the jagged stalactites and winding around the stone pillars.

The scent of death was thick in the air.

As they drew closer, the full horror of the scene came into view. The encampment—once a Duergar outpost by the looks of it—was transformed. Silk covered nearly every surface, from the crumbling stone walls to the corpses lying motionless in the webs. Spiders—of every size and breed—scuttled around the bodies, some feeding, others simply watching, as though they were guardians of this gruesome creation. Webs crisscrossed the camp, glistening with a faint sheen of moisture, making it look as though the whole place had been cocooned.

Minthara’s spider stopped abruptly, refusing to go any further, its massive, hairy legs digging into the ground as if to anchor itself. The other spiders in the party reacted similarly, their eyes fixed on the encampment, seemingly transfixed by the thick webs covering the camp. No amount of prodding or commands could get them to move forward.

“We dismount,” Minthara ordered, sliding off her spider with a sense of urgency, her boots crunching softly against the dirt. The others followed suit, albeit reluctantly, allowing their spiders to retreat back into the shadows.

Lesaonar took in the scene before him with a mixture of awe and disgust. He walked a few steps ahead, only to stop short, raising a hand to his mouth. His face went pale, and Minthara shot him a sharp glance. He turned away from the group and bent over, retching violently onto the stone floor.

“Gods, she really went the extra mile this time,” he gasped between breaths. “I mean, really. Did she have to be so… thorough?”

Minthara ignored his complaint, her sharp eyes scanning the camp, her senses heightened. She heard faint voices coming from deeper within the silken labyrinth—weak, desperate voices. The sounds of Duergar, still clinging to life, barely.

“Be on alert,” she commanded, her tone low but firm. “We don’t know what else might be here.”

The guards shifted nervously, gripping their weapons tightly as they began to move through the camp. Every step was deliberate, their eyes darting from one web-covered surface to another. The half-dead Duergar were scattered throughout the camp, their bodies tangled in thick webs, eyes wide with terror as they writhed in agony. They were too weak to fight, too far gone to be saved.

One of them, a Duergar warrior, was pinned to the side of a rock, his legs encased in silk, his hands twitching as he whispered in a hoarse, broken voice, “Please… kill me…”

Minthara's expression darkened, but she pressed on, stepping over the writhing bodies without a second glance. There was no room for hesitation. Not now.

Lesaonar, still recovering from his earlier sickness, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened up, though his face was drawn and pale.

“I’ve seen her angry, sure,” he muttered under his breath. “But this? This is like something out of a nightmare.”

“Shut up and keep moving,” Minthara snapped, her patience thinning.

As they ventured deeper into the camp, the webbing grew denser, forming walls and corridors, almost like a labyrinth. The sticky strands clung to their armor, slowing their progress. Minthara kept her hand on the hilt of her blade, her sharp eyes scanning for any movement in the shadows. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional, pitiful moans of the dying Duergar and the rustling of unseen spiders.

Then, Lesaonar grabbed Minthara by the arm, pulling her aside abruptly. His face, usually so composed, now showed genuine concern.

“Minthara,” he whispered urgently, glancing back at the others to make sure they were out of earshot. “I was joking earlier, about her turning us into driders. But now? Now I’m not so sure. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s gone past anything I’ve ever known. When we find her…”

His voice trailed off, and for once, there was no mockery or teasing in his tone. Just a deep, unsettling worry.

Minthara looked into his eyes and saw the truth of it. He was scared. And though she would never admit it aloud, so was she. The power you were wielding—the fury that had driven you to create this nightmare—was beyond anything she had ever witnessed from you before.

“She won’t hurt us,” Minthara said, her voice quiet but firm, as if saying it would make it true.

The silken labyrinth wound tighter as Minthara, Lesaonar, and their guards crept deeper into the heart of the transformed Duergar encampment. The oppressive weight of silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional rustle of spider legs and the faint, rhythmic pulse of arcane power that emanated from somewhere ahead.

And then, they saw you.

You sat at the very center of the camp, surrounded by chaos that could only be described as a scene torn from a nightmare. The webbed bodies of Duergar hung like morbid decorations, still twitching in their final moments. Spiders scuttled across the silken floor, but none dared to come too close to you. It was as though you were the calm in the eye of a storm—perfectly relaxed, a hand resting gently on your pregnant stomach, your other hand absently flipping through a tattered, ancient book you must have found in the wreckage. Your expression was one of detached indifference, as though the death and destruction you had wrought were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Minthara’s breath caught in her throat as she approached, her eyes wide as they flicked from your serene face to the carnage surrounding you. She had never seen you like this. It wasn’t just rage or vengeance. It was something darker, something colder. And it terrified her.

“My love, you need to come home,” Minthara called out, her voice wavering slightly but still firm. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You didn’t look up from your book, your fingers trailing over the ancient, crumbling pages. A scoff escaped your lips, followed by a low, humorless laugh.

“Sorry? Is that what you think I want to hear?” you asked, finally lifting your gaze to meet hers. “Minthara, please. Spare me the theatrics.”

There was a dangerous gleam in your eyes, and Minthara’s heart sank as you mimicked her words from the night before, your voice dripping with scorn.

“‘Your family would die out in the ditch it deserved.' Or how about 'Without House Baenre, you are nothing.’” you mocked, your tone a cruel parody of Minthara’s. “Is that what you want to say again, Minthara? That I’m weak? That I owe my life to your house? Because I seem to be doing just fine on my own.”

"Fine? My love you have-" Minthara began but Lesaonar, standing beside her, elbowed her sharply in the ribs, signalling that this was the wrong approach. The tension in the air was palpable, and he knew that pushing you further would only make things worse.

Minthara flinched slightly but said nothing, her eyes never leaving yours. Her mind raced, searching for the right words, but before she could speak, Lesaonar took a step forward, his usual casual demeanor slipping back into place, as if trying to diffuse the situation with humor.

“Well, I have to say, sister,” Lesaonar began, his voice calm and measured, “you’ve really outdone yourself this time. The place has a… certain ambiance, you know? Very ‘undead chic’ with a touch of ‘arachnid nightmare.’ It’s quite something.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, but he pressed on, a faint smile on his lips.

“But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to take a step back. Relax a bit. You’ve certainly made your point, haven’t you?” His eyes flicked to the nearest webbed corpse, and then back to you, his expression softening. “Look, I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But there’s no need to keep going down this path. You’ve made it clear that you’re not someone to be trifled with. So how about we all just… take a deep breath, and figure this out together?”

You watched him for a moment, your expression unreadable. The arcane power thrumming in the air seemed to pulse with your heartbeat, and the spiders around you grew still, as if waiting for your next command.

But then Minthara stepped forward again, her voice low and raw, stripped of the cold authority she usually wore like armor.

“I was scared,” she said, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. “I lashed out because I was scared. Of losing you. Of losing what we’ve built together—our family." Her voice wavered, but she kept going, her heart laid bare before you. “I was wrong. I hurt you. And I hate myself for it. But I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with emotion. Minthara’s eyes glistened in the faint light as she stared at you, waiting—hoping—that her words would reach you.

For the first time since they had entered the camp, your expression softened, if only slightly. The book in your hands snapped shut, and you placed it gently to the side. You stood slowly, the hand on your stomach a quiet reminder of the life growing inside you.

“Leave us,” you said softly, your voice no longer cold but carrying a weight of finality. Lesaonar blinked, glancing between you and Minthara, but he didn’t argue. He knew better.

He signalled to the guards, and with a few exchanged looks, they retreated back the way they had come, leaving you and Minthara alone in the center of the ruined camp.

When the last of their footsteps faded into the distance, you looked at her, really looked at her. And as you approached her your eyes locked with hers, the raw, open honesty in her gaze catching you off guard.

“Why did you really come here?” you asked, your voice softer now, the anger simmering beneath the surface but no longer in control. Minthara took a deep breath, stepping closer to you, though she still kept a respectful distance.

“Because I love you,” she said simply. “And I was wrong. I should have never made you feel like you were less. You are everything. To me. To this family. I-I was just foolish and scared. I thought I would lose everything to the reminiscences of the Liakyre House. That one day you would wake up and decide you no longer wanted to be a Baenre.” Your heart clenched at her words, though you tried to maintain your distance, the hurt still fresh in your chest. "I thought if I could diminish it, your past, you wouldn't ever want to go back to it."

As you looked into her eyes, you could see the truth there, the vulnerability she was rarely willing to show. For a long, tense moment, the silence stretched between you both.

Then, without warning, Minthara did something you hadn’t expected.

She dropped to her knees before you, her head bowed, her forehead resting gently against the curve of your pregnant belly. The gesture was so uncharacteristic of her, so raw and vulnerable, that for a moment, it stole the breath from your lungs.

“I beg you,” Minthara whispered, her voice trembling. “Please… come home. I can’t—" Her words faltered, and for the first time, you heard the deep, unmistakable fear in her voice. “I can’t do this without you.”

Her hands, usually so strong and steady, shook as she clutched at the fabric of your gown, her forehead pressed against the warmth of your stomach. It was as if she was clinging to you like a lifeline, terrified that if she let go, you might vanish into the void.

You looked down at her, and for a moment, a cruel part of you relished the sight—Minthara Baenre, powerful and proud, on her knees before you, begging for your forgiveness, for your return. The image stirred something inside you, a dark satisfaction that you had long denied yourself. You were no longer the one grasping at straws, trying to hold onto something fragile. Here she was, broken before you, in need of your mercy.

A faint hum escaped your lips as you gently ran your fingers through her silky white hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. You didn’t speak immediately, letting the moment stretch on, savoring it. Her submission was like a balm to your wounded pride, and for the first time since leaving, you felt a small, fleeting sense of peace.

“I suppose,” you murmured, your voice lilting with amusement, “Lythaera must be wondering where her mother is. She’s probably upset… and the staff, well, I imagine they’re in complete disarray without me.”

Minthara lifted her head ever so slightly, just enough for you to see the glimmer of hope in her eyes. She nodded, her voice barely more than a breath. “Please, we need you."

The edges of your lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. You tilted her chin up with your fingers, your touch gentle but firm, and Minthara’s eyes fluttered shut as you leaned down, pressing your lips to her forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. The tension in her body melted away beneath your touch, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no resistance between you.

You gently pulled her up from her knees, your hands sliding along her arms until she was standing before you. The faint light of the Underdark glinted off her tear-filled eyes, her face softened by the unspoken apology, the raw vulnerability that she had laid at your feet.

And then, with a suddenness that took even her by surprise, you leaned in, your lips capturing hers in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t the fierce, hungry kind of kiss you had shared before, born from passion or anger. This was something different—something softer, more intimate.

Minthara responded to your kiss immediately, her hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. For a brief moment, everything else melted away��the death, the destruction, the words spoken in anger. There was only the two of you, and the fragile, tender connection you still shared, despite everything.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against hers, your breath mingling with hers in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. Your hand came to rest on your stomach again, and her fingers gently grazed over yours.

“Come home,” Minthara whispered once more, her voice so soft, so filled with longing. “Please.”

You looked into her eyes for a long moment, the anger that had burned so fiercely inside you dimming. Perhaps it wasn’t gone, not entirely, but the fire had cooled. You had made your point, and now… now, perhaps it was time to return to where you truly belonged.

With a soft sigh, you nodded, your voice low and resolute. “I’ll come home. For Lythaera… and for you.”

A smile broke across Minthara’s face, small but filled with so much emotion that it nearly broke your heart. She kissed you again, softer this time, as if afraid to break the fragile peace that had settled between you.

And for now, you let her.

For now, you let the darkness rest.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Wowwweeee lots of angst, things were getting a bit too chummy around here. But it did mean we got a little Minthara and Lesaoanar team up for y'all (she loves him really). I also wanted to make sure the reader wasn't too domesticated, she is a chosen of lolth, and wanted to explore some of the mental health aspects of it - especially as reader is pregnant.

Hope you guys enjoyed it, please let me know your thoughts down below they quite literally feed my soul and are such great motivators for this series! Love you all! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

@h-doodles @thepotatoislost @longjohnsilverfish @spacezombiez @les-bee @i-must-say-thats-quite-gay @m-for-musings @coratheninth @morganaspet @wineredsea @gaysindistress @trappedinafantasy37 @alicelufenia @damnsupercorp @iprobneedabeard @gingeyart @surrfix

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cutieeva · 4 months ago

Text

Love of blessing or curse in hatred ?

Female reader

Warnings : Infidelity. Murders. Poison. Mental abuse. Blackmail. Power abuse. Rape.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

Finding love in arrange marriage is the same as searching gold inside a ocean. It's a waste of time and can slowly drown the one who has hoped thus, Edward never thought to find love with his arranged wife (Y/N) and found a pretty lady himself who will love him in riches and poor and bear his child but what went wrong to be poisoned by the same pretty woman he loves ? But fortunately god was in his side because he was back to the past and this time he will choose the right bride only.

Yells, screams, insults, hateful eyes, sneers, complain and more. There isn't any left for (Y/N) (L/N) to hear from her husband, Edward Wright. The recent crowned King.

Sadly, from the moment her hand were offered to the man after she walked down the aisle from her father, her doom begun so does his hatred directed towards her. To Edward, she wasn't anything than a measly pest stood between his love of the life and him and all he couldn't await was to erase her existence from the world to live a happy life. She was not at all like his lover, Isabella Relish. Not the gentle soul of her, not the sunrise smiles, not the comforting glance and shy courtesy of her. She was all he could elaborate into a empty shell of an person. The moment their marriage was spread to the world, not once his dearest wife tried to come to him, pleased him, talk to him rather her (E/C) eyes stare back at him after the bow, remained to address him with formalities, never came to his way, always seems to be stuck with his parents— the earlier rulers of the kingdom deserting and not questioning his thoughts or wants. "She is selfish". Was his first realization following was "She is cruel" watching the way at the slightest mistake of a servant lead them of a harsh punishment like fifty whiplashes on their bare backs or if lucky, he hates to recall ice bucket fill wash over them for an hour before standing them two hours bare feet under the blazing sun. Not only wasn't she is a wicked person, her ways of rules as an empress scares him of how less mercy with iron fist she gazes at the kingdom's people.

Edward could find the lingering fragment of behaviors on his chosen bride of his cruel parents that he refuse to love someone as the likes of her unawarely leading his eyes laid over the gentle heart of people, Isabella. Swore on Eros, the god of love. He fell and hard for her. She was the embodiment of what a human should be, she was the light of his dark world and the reasons behinds his smiles thus, he openly propose his love for her and from the tail of his eyes he could watch (Y/N) stood baring an unreadable expression watching the sight unfold.

Unfortunate to him, the gods were not by his side as his cheek burned from the slap his father gifted, strictly announced his wife shall and only be (Y/N) from (L/N) family leaving no room for a say. Yet he promised his heart to the woman belonged to a viscount daughter unlike his fiance, the daughter of the royal duke.

After the marriage closed with kiss and applause with empty room Edward didn't grace his presence into their wedding night rather he shared love with his lover at the very same night imaged her as his wife which few days later crowed by the throne, he made his Isabella his royal concubine deafening the protest of his royal advisors and pleds from the former rulers.

"She isn't good for you, my son".

"She doesn't love you".

"The woman loves her previous betrothed !"

"Your majesty, as empress of this kingdom. A king having a mistress just at the day of your crowned moment isn't well liked by people". Excuses and the last sentences of his wife fuled his want to plant a seed inside Isabella more just so he could at least see the little crack of her impassive facade turn into green with envy.

And the day he confessed patiently to his Isabelle about their shared offspring be the future of the kingdom ruling his throne. She smiled handing him a special wine she made solely for him. The king smiled, drank into the happiness of his future and the sweet taste turning into suffocation, his eyes wide as blood fill his mouth bled out of his lips. Unwelcomed chokes came out of his throat as he fell down helplessly under the woman he thought would be his destiny unlike his wife (Y/N).

"W-why ?" His palm wrap over his throat to put end to his own blood, tasting bitter.

"WHY ? You useless name of the king" The voice he usually never heard being raise than a whisper was filled with unknown anger and hatred he never knew existed. "You were well aware of my prior engagement to another, to whom my heart belonged. Yet, you misconstrued my courteous demeanor towards you as declarations of affection. And despite your own betrothal, you presumptuously demanded my hand in marriage !" Her pain roar was louder than he ever had directed over him, never aside from the one moment of his father slapping him, did anyone dare to even point their fingers at him let alone raise their voice. It astonished him more so angered him of how much the person he loved betrayed him and poisoned him for revenge.

"Because of you, I lost everything, my dignity, my family, my betrothed, my freedom, my life, companions and—". Her voices let the tears slide and her knees fell on the ground beside his fallen body. "Myself". Her eyes flicker with vicious. "Thus, die ! And rot in hell". Soon the agony of betrayed was covered by darkness and before his eyes close. Distant shouting and coldness touch his lips. Exhausted his eye lids widen a little by the presence of his wife, (Y/N) who he ought to despise and preyed to be dead.

"Here drink this". Cold water were slide into his mouth turning the bitter into sweet. "My Majesty, everything shall be right". His closed vision saw her first ever gentle smile and warmth blend with regrets came upon his heart of how fool he was to be blinded by a witch and not love his treasure wife. Before the strings of apologizes were spoke darkness covet him sending him into the eternal slumper.

"Prince Wright ?"

"Your highness ?"

"Your highness ? Please wake up !" Edward grasp and awaken. Sweats dripping from his forehead and heart pumping to send blood and mind races with the pain and betrayal he felt.

"Your highness ? You look quite pale ? Do you be pleased to rest upon some minutes ?" He whip his head towards the man wore glasses, black hair gathered in a rubber and black mix white suit wore, holding an open book and pen. "Your highness ?"

"Instructor Auclair, how on earth are you here ?" Thousand questions and emotions mingling together sending hazy memories and his sight follows how he is inside his former study room present with his former instructor Auclair, a famous French scholar.

"Your Highness, pray forgive my confusion, but I fail to comprehend your meaning. As I recall, we have spent the past several hours engaged in intense study, until you succumbed to slumber in the midst of our tutorial". His frown deepen seeing a name written over his book. The chapter of holy water : The miracle of second lesson. "Wait ! This is a lesson I have learnt already".

"You have your highness ? Why not you told ?" Edward overlooked the confuse man, searching for the date to confirm of something if he ought to think. "I was suppose to be dead". Running out of the study room, his feet run through the hallway scaring the servant away until he collide with a soft figure he never thought he could have a second chance to feel.

"Your highness !" Grasp was utter as her maiden hold her lady to stand properly. "Forgive my impertinence, Your Highness, but I must respectfully entreat you to desist from rushing through the corridors with such unseemly haste. Such behavior is unbecoming of a prince, and particularly one who is heir to the throne". The lady hastily courtesy before Edward who's eyes wide and heart racing.

"(Y/N) !" With that openly the rumored distant crown prince embrace lady (Y/N) who's baffled and straight horrified.

Tons of surprised yells by the servants and butler earned by the bold action from the crown prince. "Your highness, it's broad day light !" (Y/N) exclaimed, shame blush over her (S/C) skin, pushed away the man.

"I must also humbly request, Your Highness, that you address me with the formalities due to my station. While whispers of a potential betrothal between us may be circulating, I must remind you that no official arrangement has been made, and thus, I am not yet your affianced. Let us maintain the proprieties, lest we fuel further speculation and unseemly gossip." This time Edward was surprised.

"What ? We haven't ?" The sentence successfully confuse the lady. "Thus, it means I have been traveled back to the past where I am yet to be with (Y/N)" The date of the timeline confirmed and he slowly question if what his memories were his past life or a measly dream— no, it couldn't be because how he known a person he hasn't met to dream and the pain was too much to forget.

"Your—". Edward snap from the spiraling thoughts heard her voice to see her eyes on something else, following it fell over his own bare wrist curved a golden line horizontally. "I don't recall having a scar".

"Your Highness, I implore you, how did you come by that grievous wound ? I beg of you, summon the royal physician forthwith to tend to it". She suggested. "I shall then take my leave". She bowed once again about to turn her heels.

"No ! (Y/N)— Pardon me, (L/N) don't leave me". His palm grip her arms. "Not worry yourself, we will be wed soon". (Y/N)'s eyes wide at the direct confession even her servant almost faint finding the prince who despise her lady.

"Your highness, why on earth have you left ?" Panting the Instructor asked heard each dripping words from his student.

"Professor Auclair, please excuse myself to have an audience with my father". Releasing the astonished lady, he turned his determined face towards his professor.

"A-As you please, your highness". He stutter, completely perplexed by the scenario played in front of each.

"And lady (L/N), I shall have conversation to be your betroth soon". He walked away filling giggles of some servants and confused painted over (Y/N)'s face.

"However I do not wish to be web". She utter under her breath that only her maiden heard and smiled sadly.

"Crown Prince Edward Wright has arrived". The royal guards announced loudly as the end of their swords clashed with the floor and head bowed however the prince paid no attention the peasants and went straight towards his father, who he sat on top of the throne he recalls will be his few years later with mother beside his father on her throne sat.

"Please forgive my rudeness of such hasty audience with you, your Majesty". He bowed hearing the king release a sigh.

"My son, if the matter that weighs upon your mind pertains to the whispers surrounding you and Lady (L/N), then I must affirm that she is indeed the chosen bride, destined to become the future Empress of our realm. And I must confess, she is a paragon of virtue and wisdom, an exemplary choice for a wife and consort." The king elaborate, desperately wants to change the mind of his stubborn saddle-goose son.

"Indeed, my dear son, listen well. Lady (L/N) is a truly exceptional individual, possessing a heart full of kindness and compassion. She would be a devoted wife to you and a loving mother to your future children." The queen joined unaware how Edward has already has a change of heart.

"Be assured, dear parents, that I am in full concurrence with your exceptional choice of bride for me. No other lady can rival the merits and graces of Lady (L/N), and thus, I have come to you". His parents jaws were almost bound to be detached by how surprised they are. "With a proposal to formalize our union. I ardently desire to spend my life as her devoted husband, and she, my loving wife."

King Wright's eyes twitch at the sudden change of enthusiasm. "Son, do you truly wish to be wed, or perchance, do you harbor some hidden design, some secret intention that guides your actions ?" The queen glare at her husband for further query in case their son change his mind again. It's such a golden opportunity that the king is doubt of.

However to their surprise "Indeed, I confess a secret intention— to make Lady (L/N) mine alone, my sole and cherished wife. I have learned from the grave error of my previous denial, and now, I am resolute in my choice. I shall not be swayed, for I have come to realize that she is the true bride destined for me. I fervently hope that she shall be mine." The queen smiled at her son's burning passion and sincere smile for the woman they choose and the king welcomed with open arms to embrace for such an mature decision he made.

Edward leaned forward. "After my last life, father never spare me any affections yet in the second life. I have already gained their heart, (Y/N) is truly the lucky chosen bride for me". Bubbles of happiness clouded his mind for merely thinking of having her his wife again however this time he won't repeat the same mistake.

Soon the news of upcoming marriage between the crown prince Edward Wright and lady (Y/N) (L/N), the daughter of the royal duke sprinkle each of small corner to large other kingdoms. Celebrations and wishes were greeted for soon to be the couple along engagement of money and gifts were at the doorsteps of (Y/N)'s the very next early morning.

"O, my dearest! Behold the boundless generosity they have bestowed upon us, merely because we have consented to bestow our beloved daughter upon the Crown Prince". Her mother's laughter couldn't be contain as she eyed the glossing dress, shining jewels, rare diamonds and more riches.

"Of course my dear, how couldn't they ? Our daughter is to be wed with the prince crown, son of the ruler". Her father proudly stare at her content wife yet when his eyes met his daughter's, the (E/C) looked dull and lost of hope. His daughter stood wearing the unchanged night gown gazing at the presents in return to send the lamb to be slay to slaughter. Yes that's how she felt and expressed too.

"(Y/N) sweety, my apple of the eye. This marriage will be good". He assured.

"But I do not desire". She argued plainly feeling burns from watching herself to be sold to a stranger she doesn't held affections let alone have positive feelings. Each of their meeting, she was greeted by his sneer and hateful eyes, opens his mouth only to shame her for being not enough for his surname to be wed, look down at her as if she was a pest not even human, spat insults to anyone he deem worthless to stand beside him. He is an man created with arrogance and spoiled riches with no care of anyone but himself.

"Ah, my dear, I am well aware of the circumstances, but behold". He titled towards her mother. "Your mother was also my arranged bride, and yet, our union blossomed into a love that has blessed us with a radiant daughter such as yourself." He praised, hugging her small figure into his. "Marriages are oftentimes a matter of duty, and we must learn to find happiness within them, for society can be cruel to spinster, regardless of their station. I have witnessed it myself, and I would not wish such a fate upon my dear daughter." He cares her (H/C) gently giving the reminders he has seen and wish not to be directed upon his daughter.

"I understand father". She did not. She knows herself she is over the ripe age of eighteen and she must find herself a husband however if men stayed bachelor. They are the talk of gossip and compliments. Unfair. What she ought to spat.

The shine of decoration, lights and laughter of the celebration might shy away the moon itself, with the way each family is showing their beaming diamond, new collection, fashionable dress all in the name of ball held for the soon to be royal pair.

(Y/N) miserably drinks her wine, tears were hidden behind those polite (E/C) eyes. Stood alone at the corner. "I am exhausted by the false wishes". She is not foreign to envy looks and forked tongues. "All fault is the bloody prince". If she bared the power against him, she surely could had slapped him or better punch him.

And speak of the devil. "The King Arthur Wright and the Queen Charlotte Wright and their son, the crown prince Edward Wright has arrived". Each person bowed their heads at the sight of the royal family that (Y/N) passionatly cursed. Her eyes peek a little to find the prince already laid eyes on her.

"What ?" An uneasy creeped over her back, looming like an bad omen. Soon the king allowed everyone to stood properly and indulge into celebration. "He is coming towards me". Panic vines shatter over her how closer he is walking with each step she wished for him to stop. However her wish was unheard.

"Lady (Y/N)". He purposely called her first name. "May I have your first and all of your dances". All ? Really ? All ? (Y/N) already begin to be suffocated by how much this man keeping her within his palm for asking all of her dances not caring to do the same for himself.

"My first two dances is yours and the rest should be used by other gentlemen I believe". She search more excuses to support her words. "As it would not—".

"(Y/N)". She flicker her eyes into his. "We are bound to be wed. If I have all of your dances, none would dare to question. Agree already". She noticed his irritation under the sweet words, noticed his fingers took all her dance cards, noticed he held her hand without her consent.

"But—"

"The dance floor is ours". Edward grin ear to ear, taking her to the spotlight of others, spinning her around, holding her close, breathing their faces near and touching her waist.

Splendid.

Fascination.

Happiness.

These words are enough to describe his feeling as he continued to held her desireable waist, spin her around like an princess, drank into her each twitch, glance of eyes and clench that in his past life he heartlessly abandoned. The way her skin glows, light fall over her figure, grown wrapped her bare skin appeal her as a goddess he question himself how on earth he didn't notice. Her gracefulness, truth eyes, plum lips, soft cheeks are enough to engrossed him to her forever, make him slave to her beauty and kindness she gave his past life is enough to say his heart went to her.

"I love you". He mutter breathlessly boring into those (E/C) eyes he once thought was cruel when in truth was stern and nothing more. (Y/N)'s breath hitch at the sudden confession and all the curses and disheartment she felt was briming heavily.

Suffocated.

Trapped.

Toyed.

These emotions were all she felt. How shamelessly he could confess to her when with the same lips he degraded her, mocked her, laughed at her ? How one could be so cruel to utter love words to their victims as if he didn't torment her enough by claiming her his for eternal.

Before the daughter of the royal duke, before a woman, she is a human bearing her own emotions and wishes. Just because tonight he felt love, she have to bend to his whims, if the next he felt loathe, does she also have to sumit ? Be a toyed and birth cow for him.

"Your highness, I do not share the same feelings as yours". With courage she denied making him pause their beautiful dance and his future fantasy shatter.

"W-what ?" His ears refuse to listen to what her lips convey.

"I said, I do not love your highness to be wed with you". Honestly she spoke, glancing around the whispering crowd looking at them with curiosity due to why they paused their dancing.

"She is lying. There is no way she doesn't love me ! If she didn't love me then she couldn't come to help—" click ! His eyes wide noticing how she never cared for him in his past life because she too didn't bore love that slowly grew the longer she stayed married with him. Yes, that's the correct reasonable answer he come with.

"But in past life she didn't confess to me these— oh !" Because he changed the course of events effecting other's choice of decision too. Which also applys she could annul their engagement. "Never. She was and will be my wife".

"O heaven !"

"What a passionate couple".

"The crown prince is indeed in love". Guests, servants and the duke and his wife and the king and queen all cheer in surprise by the bold action unfold in front of them.

Because Edward insteadly gripped her wrist to lean closer and press their lips together. (Y/N) hopes crash and Edward's wish fulfilled by tainting his wife now no men will dare to ask for her hand if she annul their engagement after all her purity is taken by the famous crown prince.

"Sweet". He thought moving their lips to the taste the untouched lips he was fool to miss in his past life yet this life he was wiser. Soon, the touch of reality hit her hard and she pushed him to run outside not care of the world that the people thought were due to shyness but Edward knew better.

Licking his lips. He looked at the crowd. "Pardon me, my bride has shy away". Walk away confidently wearing the smirk over his lips.

"My (Y/N), why did you ran away ? People would have thought something else". He snicker finding her crouching near the balcony as if breathing the needed air. His predatory eyes scan her taking him back to their wedding night of leaving such a goddess alone to fend herself.

"Not worry, this wedding night I will be the best husband". He promised, hands circle her from behind, caressing the stomach he imaged to be swollen with his seed and kiss her neck feeling her stiff.

Wedding day came sooner than (Y/N) wanted, sitting in front of the mirror painting herself into the white colors of the bride, ready to be sold and a lamb ready to be cut. Tears were wiped faster than she could cry, sadness were heavier than her heart could bear. The veil finally covet her beauty only for her husband to ruin.

"My beautiful daughter is the prettiest bride I ever seen". Mama compliment, sniff happy tears.

"She is". Papa agreed, hugging her tight only to let her go to serve the hand to a stranger named crown prince after she walked down the aisle.

Edward was bewitched to see her once again in the color white to be his bride and later wear royality colors. He firmly held her shivering palms. Confessed "I do". To the priest, to the god who took mercy on him and gave him a second chance to amend his regrets to his wife who also whisper "I do". With a kiss sealing their fate.

"She is the most beautiful creature I beheld" even more than that witch. He looked at her after the kiss to cover the veil again making sure no men could get a glimse of something belongs to his and he smiled, waving to the cheerful crowd when his eyes met Isabella, the witch that ruined his life currently laughing hand in hand with a unknown man he figured was her betrothed she confess in their past life.

"I will make sure she dies with her lover". He planned, snake his arm around his lovely wife's waist awaiting the perfect wedding night where he sweep her feet from the eyes of others, excusing them and lay her on their shared bedroom, watching her to pled.

"How about we rest ? It's not like we must do it—".

"(Y/N), I do know you were taught the next day maids will check whether we consummate or not by the blood you bled thus, let's make love". Excitement was not hidden away the way red colored his pale skin and eyes into cupid hearts staring at the woman belongs to him again.

He hastily unbotton few before diving to kiss those feather alike lips dripping with honey along tongue envade her sweet little mouth tasting each and every corner and intertwining their tongues together like their fate are as his sly fingers find their way to her back to unbotton and rip away her piece of cloth to protect from his gaze that scan her bossom tucked under her corset yet the skin was shown.

Terrified and bare under those sapphire eyes, her arms protest to cover herself that soon were useless when Edward easily with his strength hold in one palm "Don't hide away such luxury from your husband". Hunger lace in his voice as his other hand recklessly tore the corset away unravelling her bare skin and freed bossom that bounce due to the empact.

He almost wished to whistle like a wolf when he saw her bare upper shinning the (S/C) skin donned by the moonlight. Her ample breast would be good to fed his children and the smooth stomach perfect to carry children inside and hips perfect. His arm snake around her bare skin sending shiver at the cold and an unwanted touch.

"Be good". Tears finally fell from her eyes, she no longer able to held the pain and humiliation she has to endured, terrified by the actions rolling one after another. "Shh, everything will be right". He hushed her kissing away the salty tears he tasted sweet, pressing his lips over her cheek sliding down to her neck to the collarbone and finally to her bossom. Butterfly kissing them and foddling them to make her moan, to make her enjoy as much as he does however (Y/N) not at all feel pleasure or any positive emotions rather she is tormented, her stomach is turning in disgust and her hands threat to right at this moment slit the man's throat to put an end of his life.

More tears roll down when she felt his tongue wrap around her bossom buds, sucking and coating with his saliva. "Ahh ! These will be the buds my children will have too but these are only mine". Merely at the thought of it blood rush to his already erection and heat under his skin.

Soon the another bud was equally red from all the sucking while his own skin was drawning blood from the way (Y/N)'s nail was deep into his flesh. This were her way of gifting him pain yet he adore the crescent shapes given by his goddess.

His hands threat trace her stomach to her lower part ripping the remaining cloth to bare entire her. Finally (Y/N) felt she could die if the man touch her another most reserved part she wished to give her lover, she slapped Edward.

The sharp noise fill the silent room for a second startling the patient prince and the blood that spill from his cheek when her nails too gaze harshly over his flesh.

"This is the second time". He counted someone dare to raise their hand yet oddly enough he licked the blood and his eyes decorated with lust. Finally the thread of patient he was keeping was cut and he ruthlessly push her over the bed again earning grasp from her and cries of mercy to be left alone however he ripe his own suit that covered his desire and finally claim the woman of his dreams who was ruined every second of the moment and it lasted until the next day's evening.

—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—

Soon enough the day he was crowned the King in his past life remained the same in his second life along his queen (Y/N) who he made love almost each passing day.

"All hail the new King".

"All wish the King thousands of years".

"All wish the King propitious and happiness". Edward drank all the praises belonging to him albeit he doesn't need it because his wife is lucky charm in his life.

"Now we shall drink wines". Each of his subjects and royals and himself and his wife raise their glasss to connect to their lips. Edward drink, smiling to his wife who remain her eyes over the liquid with an impassive expression.

However soon the pleasure turned into horror feeling the same bitterness and suffocated as his lips were once again tainted by his own blood and heart throbbing. He fell down, hands reached for his wife to touch, eyes ache for her to look when he could feel the royals, others coming closer to him to save and call the royal physician yet his vision darken, his beloved never spare a glance at him.

—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—

"Your highness ? Your highness ?" Edward awaken once again hearing his professor Auclair call him repeating the same words how he had fallen asleep during their lecture and when he ran through the hallways he met with his yet to be future wife (Y/N) (L/N). Confused he held her bittersweet to able to feel her warmth and that's when he saw again. This time curved two golden line horizontally on his bare wrist.

—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—

"Am I given life again ? Is the lines are my lives I live ? My third life ?" This time too he went straight to his father to fix the marriage between them after all they are fated together then he went to library to search for his repeat travel to past.

"The answer lies on the holy book". His fingers brush the pages of The chapter of holy water : The miracle of second lesson. It is written those who the deity deem most sinful mortal to repeat their past to correct their mistakes and if in their second life, the mortals harm another being mentally or physically, they are punished to return to their past once again if they die and the prove of such reoccurring cycle is the golden scar curved on their flesh.

"Because I killed Isabella and her lover in my second life. I was sent to past again ? But the death was an assassination perhaps". He desire to punish himself for being such an fool and let go the life that was perfect however this time he will again get his wife and prevent himself to drink any liquid at any ceremony especially his crowed king moment.

Each and all moment played out the same from the ball event to their wedding to their shared first night expect some changes and currently the crown heavy loom above his head beside sat his queen.

"All wish the King propitious and happiness". All the member within the room sip their drinks expect the King himself who claimed he has sickness to prevent drinking the posion while he watched his queen sip little by little not sparing a glance at him like their second life which he didn't found pleasant thus he fantasize how in their bed he will make her eyes on him the entire time.

"This will be the perfect ending". Or so he thought because why on earth is he laying on the ground, holding his slit throat to end the bleeding and eyes wide at his wife, (Y/N) (L/N) holding a sword that smeared with his crimson hue as she continue to watch his life fade.

"Why ?" Why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? Why again is he betrayed by the person he adores ? How could he be killed by the hands he caress and die at the feet he worshipped.

"Why ? Because why not. Your highness". Her lips stretch into a beautiful smile donned by the moonlight seeking inside their shared bedroom. "You bled my blood in the name of love on bed then why am I not allowed to do the same ?" Giggles echo the cold night.

"Forgive me, it was a comical sentence. I did not murder you in the name of love rather I murder you in the name of hate". He choked more blood.

"Impossible—".

"Impossible right ? Because why on earth would I in our first life would give you water to save ?" She laugh some more leaving him surprise.

"You aware—".

"Not at first yet slowly I do". She crounch, staring down at him alike of his past self who look down on people like they are pest. "Your Highness, the liquid I provided you in our first life was not mere water, but holy water, imbued with the power of rebirth. It was not the deity who deemed you worthy of rebirth, but I, the very same woman you once despised. However—" She put a finger over his lips. "Before you assume or imagine that I saved you out of benevolence, no, I must confess, I tricked you." (Y/N) titled her head.

"Verily, the moment I beheld you proposing to another woman, even as you were betrothed to me, and publicly humiliating me in the process, was the very instant I resolved to make you suffer all the anguish, torment, and disgust that I felt during our wretched marriage. It was then that I devised a plan to manipulate the ritual of the holy water, which grants a second chance to those who drink it upon their deathbed. However, I added a twist to the ritual, a curse in disguise, whereby not only would the person who imbibed it be reborn, but also doomed to repeat the cycle of rebirth, again and again, ad infinitum, like a wretched, cursed loop." Edward's eyes wide at the answer of his questions behind his repeat mercy that was curse in disguise.

"And when I had resolved to take your life, fate intervened, and your first lover herself presented me with the perfect opportunity. Seizing the chance, I administered the accursed drink to you, condemning you to the cycle of rebirth. You mistook my actions for kindness as you lay dying in your first life, but little did you know, my future self would ascend to the throne, reveling in the pleasures of power. (Y/N) loved the horror and betrayed written over his face. What she will never told him that the reason she aware is through her memories that came flashing the moment her eyes fell over his golden lines of lives.

"And my another self in our second life has been wed to another and this time I will be waiting to see what becomes of me". She throw back her head, wickedly laughed.

"I-I will kill you". Edward vowed and glare at the woman he loves.

"Aww, sweet however even if you kill me in my next life. Nothing will ever stop you from dying again and again until all the golden lines are spread over your flesh then when you die again will be your last mortal days". The queen stood up, brushing her white gown and throwing the sword in some corner. "My Majesty, everything shall be right". She mockly titled her bow watching he took his last breath to restart his past.

(Y/N) screamed her lungs out, calling servants, bulter, royal physician "O heavens ! The King has been murdered". She moured, falling on her knees, crying hysterically as every person enter inside the room, dragging his cold wrapped body and her to protect.

"I saw little glimpse of some men who murdered my husband". Tears were streaming over her cheeks however her shoulder were shivering due to her laughter she hid behind her palm.

Soon the royality mour the King's death together and she was crowned the ruler, singing her praises and throwing flowers over her. She grin fleeing from the golden cage she was trapped by replacing her former husband within it. Her (E/C) eyes fell over a certain man bowing his head to the queen and held not only her hand even her heart and body at night before becoming the King consort.

"Dearest, how are Lily and Henry ?" (Y/N) asked finally sitting upon her bed to drain away stress of the royal advisors and royal meeting. A pair of hands message her shoulders while leaving fluttering kisses on her shoulder and butterflies inside her stomach.

"They are good, my love". He carried her on his lap, kissing her deeply.

"Really ? I have my doubt after all Lily is turning five this year and Henry— eight albeit he acts like an bandit not like an crown prince, François". She sweetly giggle at her husband's nuzzling.

"He is growing. Not need to be stern my dear". Her husband gently explained, taking her corset off and laying her on bed with blush beaming from his skin and hearts swimming on those red jewels like eyes. "He is indeed your son with the way he behaves".

"And Lily like her mother". He compliment back.

"Beholding you, none would ever suspect that you are the same formidable Royal Commander of France, whose hands have been stained with the blood of thousands, and yet, you touch me with those very same hands as if I were a delicate pearl". (Y/N) breath contently.

"Indeed, love". He dive for a kiss from the wife he madly is in love with while (Y/N) spoke directed towards a certain someone stuck in an cursed loop "Love of blessing or curse in hatred".

FIN

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