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fishnets-fingers · 2 days ago

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Can I Have This Dance?

“I can recall the dressmakers sewing buttons on your shirt,” she points out, pushing off the door as she saunters towards the dresser. Her eyes unashamedly rake over the exposed skin of his chest.

“Did they?” He makes a show of feeling around for the buttons.

She rolls her eyes, taking off the pins on her head, and her hair cascades down her shoulder.

“I think you left something on the dance floor, Princess.” He produces her anklet from inside his jacket pocket. Y/N lifts up her saree and looks down to see that her left leg bereft of the gold rope.

"I hadn’t noticed,” she whispers, reaching out to take it from him.

“Allow me,” he says, quickly bending down. He looks up at her asking for permission and she nods. He carefully places her feet on his knee and fastens the gold chain, moving it around so the lotus motif faces him. His fingers linger and before he knows it he’s leaning down to press a kiss on her foot.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

warning - smut oral (f receiving), handjob

Word Count - 10.8k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST

….

விருந்து. Feast. Harry’s had many dinners in his life that he’d consider a feast, whether that be hunched close to a boiling pot of stew - absorbing the warmth of the cracking fire - on the ship with his father’s crew, stuffing his face by a candle post near a hole in the wall inn at a foreign country, tearing pieces of cured meat as he rationed his supplies on his missions, and gobbling up anything comestible with the Crown Prince at battle tents. But he’ll never forget the fanciest dinner, the Princes extended an invite for him to come dine with them one night after his riding lesson. So, he put on his best clothing, slicked back his hair using aloe vera, walked into the palace for the feast, and was seated beside the younger Prince. Despite the sumptuous spread in front of him, his eyes kept drifting over to the Princess, who was hunched over the province’s ledgers - absentmindedly chewing - at the other end of the table, shooting glaring looks when they got too rowdy.

Compared to that palatial dinner he’s experienced, the informal dinner at Handuman was pompously grandiose. A feast of sorts. The King, Queen and their children of Handuman sat amongst hundreds of flickering candles. The table was filled with bronze statues and sampaguita garlands weaving between the plates of food. The Queen had just finished telling the Chola Princesses and her children the story of Rosita and Delphin - a favourite bedtime story of hers. She was gracious and kind, often stopping by the servants and guards' quarters to make sure that they were acclimated from their travels. The Queen’s fondness for the two young Chola Princesses only grew since their first interaction, especially since they asked her questions about her homeland - the Philippines. Harry heard from the Guard Captain that the King was very impressed by Y/N’s ingenuity, when it came to changing some of the finer print of the trade agreement.

He'd been in and out of the castle, following up on some leads for the Crown Prince, but he’d made sure to run the security detail with the guards several times before handing over the reins to the Captain - who’d been the Princess’ shadow since the moment they set foot here. The elephant parade and accompanying fanfare led by the Handuman Prince at the port made it clear that it was more than just a warm welcome; he was trying to tout himself for Princess Y/N.

This particular night, he found himself standing a few feet behind Y/N’s seat beside the captain. The two best friends were talking amongst themselves in hushed voices, when Y/N tittered pointing at Princess Shobhita’s lap. He couldn’t see their expressions, but whatever the Princess Royal said, made Shobhita pick up the tassels hanging from the end of her braid and smack Y/N’s arm playfully, making the two giggle. The door bursts open, just as Shobita opens her mouth to say something, and the Handuman Prince saunters into the room.

“Princess Y/N,” he calls. “I have something for you.” He claps, grabbing a velvet box from the guard behind him.

Harry peers to see a necklace with three rows of large jagged white uncut diamonds with irregular long pearls dangling at the bottom. It was an impressive gift but Y/N’s jewellery collection was intricate and magnificent, telling the story of her kingdom and the artists who made them. How gaudy, he thinks.

“Thank you, Prince Vinay. Certainly very gracious of your family,” Y/N nods a thank you towards the King and Queen.

“Only the best for our visitors. I did not forget about you Princess Shobita.” He passes a small brooch to her. She responds with a shy thank you but Y/N notices the corner of her best friend's mouth pulling downwards.

“One could well appreciate the thought you’d put into both of our gifts,” she said sweetly, but it wasn’t lost on Harry that Y/N was pointing out his tactlessness. The Handuman Prince’s generosity towards Y/N’s best friend was merely an afterthought. It was evident that Prince Vinay disregards people unless they’re beneficial to him.

Prince Vinay plops down on the vacant chair at the other end of the table, reaching for the stuffed quail. “Father, did you know that the serfs get paid in Chozhamandalam,” he rolls his eyes, making the King chuckle. “It’s foolish,” he pointedly stares at Y/N.

“It’s hardly ludicrous. I do not think it is just for generations of people to be bound to serve a Crown if they do not wish to.”

“Princess Y/N, people should know their place,” he bluntly states.

“What place would that be?”

“Beneath us, of course.” Prince Vinay laughs. “You plant the seed of social mobility amongst them and they will think they are capable of ruling the world.”

“My Prince, do you not think remuneration is vital for the well-being of palace staff?” Shobita asks.

“A large dose of fear amongst the serfs is all one needs. You would know more about loyalty and fear of the crown better than most, would you not? You are a vassal princess after all,” he sneers.

Harry’s body prickles with rage at the blatant disrespect demonstrated towards Shobita. And the way Y/N’s fingers tighten around the plush armrest, his body springs to a renewed state of alertness ready to intervene. The Guard Captain leans forward in anticipation of the Princess Royal, despite the Princess Royal’s history of maintaining her composure.

“I am done for the night,” Princess Y/N declares. “It was a wonderful spread, my Queen,” she nods graciously, standing up and Princess Shobita follows along.

“Darlings, stay. You have hardly consumed anything,” the Queen implores.

“Princess Y/N, Princess Shobita,” the King clears his throat. “Do not take dinner table conversations to heart.”

“I am not, your highness. It has been a tiresome day of negotiations for a mutually beneficial treaty and I wish to retire.”

“Goodnight, your highnesses,” Shobita says and they both curtsy before leaving.

When they were out of earshot, Shobita pipes up, “I can’t believe you walked out.”

“Would you rather I tell him off for disrespecting you? Twice.” Y/N raises her eyebrows.

“You cannot be quick tempered. We are here for Crown’s business,” Shobita reminds her.

“I am well aware,” she mutters, turning a corner.

“Princess Y/N,” the Captain catches her attention. “The bedchambers are to your right.”

“I am taking a stroll through the garden. They have lilies that bloom at night, I am told. Do you want to join me, Shobs?”

Her friend nods, “Some fresh air ought to do us both some good.”

“Would that be a problem for you two?” Y/N turns around to face the two men.

“No, ma’am. Although I can’t say the same for Harry here, he has had a certain vigour for the nightly excursions since we arrived” the Captain says.

Harry throws him a dirty look. The Captain has gotten in his face about the importance of a fitful night’s sleep to be more alert and he has politely asked him to keep his nose out of his business. He knows the Captain’s pride does not take to the fact that the Crown Prince had put him in charge of the guards.

Princess Y/N raises her eyebrows at him curiously, and before she could comment, Harry reassures the two women, “It would not, your highnesses.”

////

“I do not think it wise to make our way to the markets, Y/N,” Shobita advises, perching on the closest chair next to the window overlooking the sunrise . “The ball is in two days and I reckon everyone in town wants a glimpse of you.”

“You worry too much, Shobs.”

The younger Princess sighs, there was no changing her friend’s mind once she desires something. “How are you planning to convince the Captain for a market visit?”

“Harry is in charge of security,” Y/N reminds her. “I can get him to agree to it.”

“You seem fairly confident with that.”

Y/N shrugs. “I know how to get my way.”

Shobita narrows her eyes. Y/N rarely referred to the spy by his given name and lost was the tone of vexation that came when talking about him. Shobita was no ingenue; she presented herself in a way that was taught to her. The way that delighted people around her. The Princess Royal was brave, generous and curious, so she sought to guide herself in a timid and magnanimous manner. In her reluctance to conduct herself in a boisterous way, she hoped to inspire people to treasure their quiet strength in the face of perseverance. After all, she was raised to become one of the Queens of Chozamandalam the moment she drew her first breath, she only thought it apt to show her people that there was more than one kind of fortitude. But it does not mean that she was oblivious.

She first picked up on the lack of unease in Y/N a few days into their voyage. The way she seemed to look forward to nightfall on the ship, the way she was hunched over the star maps with a look of determination that was only present when Y/N wanted to prove her brothers wrong, the way she would quickly break into a coy smile upon her return to their cabin at dawn. She had deduced that something else was occupying Y/N’s mind, pulling her away, inhibiting her from pondering over her self professed bleakness of the seas.

“What?” Y/N asks, breaking her away from her thoughts.

“You never wish to speak to, Mister Styles,” she points out.

“I do not wish to, yes. But I still have to.”

“Because he is a spy?”

“Precisely. And until we are in Handuman, the head of guards.”

Shobita nods. “Are you not irked that you have to convince him to get to visit the markets?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “What are you fishing for, Shobs?” Her interactions with Harry on the ship only happened in the cover of nightfall away from prying eyes. And since they docked at Handuman, she had made certain that there was not a single glance shared in his direction. She had been busy with her minister and the Handuman court the past days, and he was off doing whatever her older brother had requested him to do.

“Nothing.”

“Look,” Y/N takes a deep breath. “I absolutely hate that the mighty Crown Prince has commanded his way to let the spy,” she laces all the contempt she could muster in that last word, “be incharge of my whereabouts. I want nothing to do with any of it. Truly. But I want to go to markets with my best friend and he annoyingly is the only one who could approve of the visit. So I am merely playing nice to get my way.”

“Alright. Lead the way.” Shobita points to the door and they make their way to the guard quarters.

Need to be more cautious, Y/N thinks. If she is acting in a way that allowed Shobita to pick up on something, then it’s only a matter of time before she lets her guard down in front of her handmaidens. Once they catch wind of anything, gossip spreads like wildfire and it is the last thing she wants. Y/N does not wish to lie to her best friend but this is not the first time she has kept troubling information to herself to not cause Shobita any distress. Did whatever that has happened between her and Harry warrant a conversation? A few shared kisses, hesitant touches, and whispered sweet nothings aren’t novelty for him.

“Your highnesses,” an echoed chant comes after the two princesses' arrivals are announced to the room.

“Let Mister Styles know that we are to depart to the markets in ten minutes,” Y/N commands.

“He is not here, ma’am,” the youngest guard pipes up from across the room.

“Where is he then?”

“We do not know.”

“You do not know?” Shobita repeats, shaking her head.

“I see him leaving the quarters every night, your highness,” another soldier says.

“We believe he makes his way to the, um-” the youngest guard stops abruptly and scratches his hair, and the men in the room share a look.

“Well spit it out,” Y/N says impatiently.

“We believe he is making his way around town to get with the courtesans,” he says quietly.

The handmaidens giggle behind the Princesses. One even whispers, “Of course he is off sampling Handuman’s offerings.” They are silenced by Y/N’s stare.

“Decorum,” Shobita reminds them.

“Soldier!” The Captain’s voice booms as he makes his way to the room. “You are not to use uncouth language in front of your royal highnesses!” He makes his way to the two women and bows.

“Humble apologies, my liege,” the young soldier nods, before scurrying away.

The doors burst open and Harry saunters in and stops in his tracks at the scene in front of him. “Majesties,” he curtsies.

“Ah, man of the hour,” Y/N scoffs.

“I apologise for my absence, Princess. I was out running, um, errands.”

“We depart to the markets in five minutes, Mister Styles.”

“Princess, the Crown Prince has explicitly stated that I am not to permit excursions to places where security threats cannot be fully contained.”

“Did the Crown Prince also explicitly state that you are permitted to scurry around in the town brothels, Mister Styles?” She spits that question out with vehemence.

“Your majesty-”

“I do not care. Make haste,” she turns without sparing a glance behind.

Harry catches the way the Captain throws him an arrogant smirk and he cannot help roll his eyes.

“Best clean the stench of the whores from your flesh Styles,” he comments.

“You know why this is a bad idea, Captain,” he implores. The Handuman Prince was on a boar hunt - a royal tradition to be carried out before a ball. The game is then roasted meticulously by the cooks and proudly presented as the standout meal. Harry personally thinks of it as an excuse for Prince Vinay to show off that he possesses the capable skills for a hunt, even if he has not participated in a single battle before.

The Princesses were not extended an invitation to participate in the boar chase aligned with Handuman customs, it is the men who hunt for game, and even then the invite would be futile. Princess Y/N thinks of the act of hunting animals as an efficacious show of brute strength.

Harry shivers remembering the time he had seen the aftermath of Prince Vinay’s inebriated blood lust at the Chera hunt two years ago. The Captain had been there with him as well. Prince Vinay had repeatedly missed his shot with the deer and the alcohol he consumed did not help with bettering his aim. The evening ended with two women killed: one strangled as Prince Vinay took her and the other with a sliced jaw to better accommodate his girth. He had remembered the look on the Captain’s face when he had returned from overseeing the cleanup of the mess that had befallen at the whorehouse that evening.

“The path to the castle is through those markets and the hunt might be done in a few hours,” he continues. “Prince Vikram would not take kindly if the Princesses crossed Prince Vinay’s path.”

“I will accompany you as well. No harm will befall the two,” the Captain assures him. “We will take every soldier we have.”

////

Harry could feel the buzz of fervour and anticipation as they made their way through the market. The air was laden with scents of fresh delicacies and ripe fruits. Stalls adorned with colourful tapestries were accompanied by merchants in simple tunics clamouring for Princesses’ attention. “Ripest pick from the garden, your highness!” Cried out a merchant brandishing a reddish brown fruit in the palm of his hand. Y/N stops in her tracks mesmerised, she had not seen a fruit like that back home.

“What are they called?” She picks one up from the tall stack, marvelling at the fuzzy texture of the skin.

“Velvet apples, Princess,” he replies, quickly offering her a freshly cut piece. She bites into it hesitantly, taken aback by the hints of caramel that manages to escape through the tart and sweet taste. “Shobita, you must try this!”

“You must take one crate home,” the vendor insists.

“Captain, can you see to it that these crates get to our ship on our eve of return? I would also like a few saplings from his garden to take home.”

“I will see to it, ma’am.”

She produces two gold coins and presents them to the seller.

“Thank you.” The vendor examines the gold, bowing for the graciousness bestowed upon him.

Laughter of children carried over as they darted between people’s legs holding the colourful trinkets that were gifted by the royal visitors. Harry could finally begin to understand why Princess Y/N insisted on visiting town markets. The chatter of the throng idly walking by, the music floating from a group of sullen teenagers, the weathered face of an old woman holding all the secrets of herbs and potions in her cart, women floating from one stall to another in search of the freshest produce and game with a basket looped around their arm humming a melody, men busy haggling as coins clink busy sniffing out the best deal as they barter, all accompanied the warm gleam of the sun was picture perfect. The markets were the pulse point of the town to experience its river of humanity.

The sea of crowd parts for Y/N as she moves, while the onlookers let out several gasps in awe. He is unsure what garnered a gasp - the dazzling display of ornate wealth or her countenance battling the radiance of a thousand suns. I bet it is the latter, he thinks. “Finest silks from the Orient!” A merchant calls out, the one from which Shobita purchased two spools of bright red weaves. Harry quickly glances towards Y/N, who was busy enjoying the puppet show with the rest of the townsfolk. He hangs back with two other guards, on the lookout for the arrival of the hunting crew, while the others surround the Princesses.

“Would you like some sweets, Sir?” A small boy asks, pushing a rickety cart in front of him. “My mummy makes the sweetest treats in all of Handuman.” There were only a few on display.

“These sell out quickly?” He asks.

“Aye, they are gone by the time I get to the market,” he replies, casting a glance towards the direction of the Princess, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards.

“This upsets you lad?”

“I was hoping that Princess Y/N would get to taste one. That would make mummy merry but seven measly sweets is not enough of the Princess’s attention.” He sighs, turning the cart around to head back home.

He examines the colourful cylindrical wax wrappers and before he knows it, the words slip out of his mouth, “Can I tell you a secret?”

The boy nods. “I would not tell a soul.”

“The Princess enjoys a sweet treat. Loves them lots that she does not bear to share them,” he whispers.

“I do not wish to share my sweets too!” He exclaims. “But mummy says I must because it makes my sisters cry.”

Harry laughs, ruffling the boy’s hair. “How about I buy these sweets from you and make sure to hand deliver them to Princess Y/N and tell her about you and your mother?”

“You would?”

“Uh huh. I got into some trouble with the Princess this morning, I think your mummy’s sweets might get me out of hot water.”

He laughs as he makes quick work of wrapping the last of the sweets in a banana leaf as he hands it over. Harry pockets them and hands the boy ten silver coins. “The Pastillas only cost seven coppers.”

“These are for you and your mummy from Princess Y/N.”

“Thanks Mister!” The little boy gleams and treads back home.

////

Y/N’s eyes are closed, face tilted up, her lips pursed in a thin line, breathing in the flowery scent at the edge of the garden. During her daily evening walks on the grounds of Queen’s quarters, she stumbled upon a patch of wildflowers of bright pinks, oranges, reds, yellows and purples dotting the tall blades of green grass. It was behind the tall hedged maze - the only spot in the garden that had not been manicured to perfection - dwarfed by the expansiveness of the former. Even without tender affection from the gardeners, the soil rewarded the onlooker with stunning beauty. A quiet tranquil after the liveliness of the market and the tension that radiated from both the Captain and Harry. Y/N noticed their collective sigh as their shoulders slumped in relief the moment they stepped foot inside the castle.

The market had been a wonderful distraction from what she had learned this morning: Harry’ dalliances. She cannot believe that she had let her guard down around someone like Harry, someone widely known to be indecent. Had you not learnt from the stories handmaidens told about the men and women he had lain with? She chastised herself. She had despised him, the freedom he had to mindlessly pursue corporal pleasure, the swagger he carried himself with, the self assured confidence he had in his ability to charm anyone into bed, the way his lips curled up in an arrogant smile when he would catch her looking, and most of all, his utter disregard over others - always in pursuit of putting himself first. And you still fell into his trap, her jaw tightens, trying to keep the anger at bay. She parts her lips, breathing in through the nose, letting the buzz of insects take over the noise in her head.

“Can I have a word, Princess?” Harry's quiet voice breaks through the silence. He had just relieved the soldier on guard, taking his place a few feet behind her.

Her eyes remain closed and Harry sighs, “Y/N.”

She stands still.

“This morning, I -”

“Mister Styles,” she responds with venom, “I do not want to be disturbed.”

“I know and I will leave you be after I-”

“Stop it,” she warns with a withering look.

“Guards!” She yells, and three come hurrying towards them. “See to it that Mister Styles retires for the day. I am sure he would appreciate his sleep after a night of..,” she trails off as she looks back at him with contempt. “A night of exertion.”

“If you wish, your royal highness,” he mutters dejectedly, walking away.

Y/N sighs, watching his figure disappear into the castle. Idiot, her mind taunts, making her shake her head. She signs the guards to leave her alone as she bimbles around the grounds, kicking off her shoes wanting to feel the blades of dewy grass underneath her feet, the cleaners back home would not appreciate the grass stains on her silks and any other day she would have lifted the fabric up but she was not in a mood to be courteous. She isn’t sure how long she’s walked or if she was still in the compound of the gardens when she stumbles onto a pond and perches on a stone overlooking it, hand absentmindedly coming to play with her anklet. The water at the pond's edge is still, reflecting the powdery blue sky and the green of the trees. But the middle is dotted with broad, waxy leaves that float lazily, rising above the surface. The flowers stand tall - pinks, purples, and white - smooth and translucent in the sunlight.

The light caresses the edges of the pearls, glinting golden. Some shy away from the warmth, curled tightly into a bud, needing a few more coaxes from the sun’s rays. It’s quiet, apart from the occasional splash and rustle from the fishes darting beneath the leaves, and the quiet hum of insects flitting about. She smiles at how the pond seems to be a quiet haven - ancient and ethereal - despite the busyness of housing its own micro ecosystem.

“Princess Y/N,” Princess Vinay calls out loudly. “I have been in search of you.”

“Prince Vinay,” she greets him from the bench. “I seem to have lost track of time marvelling at the beauty of these flowers.” She twists around to find the Handuman Prince making his way towards her still in his hunting attire. The buttons seem to be done up in the wrong manner, the leather vest pulled over haphazardly, and his shirt untucked bunched around his waistband.

“The beauty of this filthy marsh,” he laughs. “You jest, dear Princess.” He stumbles closer to her. “It is the night jasmine you must admire. They are only grown in palace grounds. Fit for us nobility.”

The scent of alcohol permeates off of him and she straightens as it hits her nostrils. “It is indeed a fragrant blossom but something about lotuses -”

“Princess. Princess,” he tuts. “These flowers even bloom in the town's sewage ditches,” he slurs. “Even the common folk do not covet for them. A Chola Princess Royal such as you must distance yourself from this abominable excuse of a flower.” He sways and regains his balance by leaning against the tree trunk.

“How was your hunt?” She asks - heart rate rising - hoping to be rid of the Prince by letting him brag about his alleged kill.

“Splendid. I managed to capture the biggest boar of the season. I had slain it with this very blade,” he unsheaths his swords and presents it to her - tripping over his feet as he did.

She quickly takes it from him, careful to not make any contact with his hand, and makes a show of examining the weapon.

“This blade has been with me for many hunting trips. It is a sign of true bravery,” he steps closer to her.

“Indeed.” Y/N agrees, standing up from her seat, taking a step backward.

“What do you think, Princess Y/N? Have you witnessed what true bravery looks like?” He whispers, gaze trailing down her body.

“One can certainly deduce your strength and bravery from how clean and sharp the blade is,” she slowly starts moving away from him. “The blades my brothers bring back from their hunts are dull and soiled.”

“My strength impresses you, Princess?” He reaches for her hand.

“It impresses your subjects,” she dodges his question, bringing her hands behind her back. “That is what matters.”

“It is a shame,” he slurs. “That you would rather eat like a rabbit tomorrow than feast on the game.”

“I should be heading inside, my Prince.” She says firmly, eyes darting around for signs of any guards and disappointment quickly floods her when she finds no one. Her heart picks up speed.

“Do you know where I have been?” He pushes himself from the trunk and stalks towards her.

She shakes her head.

“Of course, it is not proper to tell such things to a lady,” he chuckles. “But I know how you women speak. I visit the brothels after a hunt. I find it to be the most rewarding conclusion.”

She stays quiet, stepping back.

“I wonder how Chola women are. I have yet to sample one of you.” He laughs. “Do you think I would be disappointed, Princess?”

“This is highly inappropriate. I will take my leave,” she answers, turning away but he’s quick to grip her wrist.

“You Cholas,” he chuckles. “You think of yourselves as high and mighty but you should know that one of your guards has been frequenting the whorehouse. Every night from what I hear.”

“What my guards do outside of their working hours is not my business.” She tries to wiggle her hand free but it only makes him clamp down harder.

“I fucked five sluts bloody an hour ago, Princess Y/N. Do you want me to show you what I am capable of?”

“Let me go, Vinay. I order-” He grips her jaw, silencing her.

“Silence,” he slurs, squeezing her cheeks harshly, forcing her lips apart. “Fuck,” he leans in sniffing her neck. “Fuck,” he groans. “Maybe I still have it in me to put the Chola Princess in her rightful place.” His free hand goes to undo his trousers, looking down to locate the drawstring.

Y/N uses that to her advantage and sinks her teeth into his hand clamping down forcefully, making him yelp. She drives her knee up his crotch with her might. He falls to his knees, eyes bulging in pain. “You bitch,” he curses.

She slaps him. “Shut up, you coward.”

Prince Vinay looks up at her, eyes watering, and he opens his mouth to say something but is quietened when he hears the Captain call out for her. “Here!" She yells out, and he rushes towards them with Harry hot on his heels.

“I will see to it that my father punishes you,” he spits out, rocking back and forth cupping his groin in pain.

“Are you going to tell the King that his son - the brave and strong Prince Vinay who has allegedly slain several wild boars - was brought to his knees by a woman? Let’s see how your senate and court respect you then, you puny scum.

“Go ahead!” She taunts him.

“Your highness, we have been in search of you as soon as we heard that the Prince had entered the compound-” the Captain stops, taking in the scene in front of him, lips curling up imperceptibly in a proud smirk.

“Princess, are you hurt?” Harry asks, eyes filled with concern.

“I am unharmed, Mister Styles.”

“Was he untowards with you, Princess Y/N?” The Captain questions.

She shakes her head. “He did not get a chance to.”

“Harry and I will handle the situation. We best get you back to your chambers.”

She nods, before turning towards Vinay, “I do not want to see or have you breathe in my or my company’s direction for the next few days. You will come forward to announce a twenty percent tax cut for our cargo ships using your docks at the ball or I will see to it that your people see you for the miserable pathetic excuse of a man you are.

“You know how us women speak,” she smiles at him, echoing his words from earlier, turning around leaving the Prince of Handuman writhing in pain on the ground.

////

Thousands of candles lit up the vast ballroom of the Handuman palace, flowers strung all around, Hanuman’s potent toddy - maireya - flowing generously into the guests' glasses, people whirling around to the quartet, but the most impressive of all was the giant boar placed at the King’s table that was roasted to perfection.

Handuman customs were different from what Harry was used to from back home. They required the guards and staff to be dressed appropriately. Princess Shobitha had handed the guards their formal suits a few hours before, and had explained that Princess Y/N had the dressmakers specially make each of them to fit Handuman’s standards. The guards’ suits were simple - black with a leaping tiger embroidered in the lapels. The Captain’s suit was a light grey with the Chola crest on the lapels but it had small marigolds - his husband’s favourite flower - embroidered in a straight line, running down the length of his sleeves. Harry’s was a sage green suit with a silver green silk shirt with the house crest, with a sailors collar and braided white threads - similar to the knots he’d used to secure the masts - running up from his front pockets and around the cuffs of his sleeves. What caught his attention was a motif of a black bunny painted on the white button of his trouser; it looked shabby, the lines were crooked - almost like one had done it hastily in a bobbing vessel. Did Y/N do this? His mind goes back to that night on the boat, his chest blooming remembering the way she’d sweetly smiled at him when he told her that he grew up thinking that the shadow on the moon came from the bunny who lived there. You need to set things straight with her.

Harry notices the way people gasp from amazement when Princess Y/N moves past them, hand in hand, with Princess Shobita. He is tailing the two of them with the Captain tonight. The Captain was busy watching Prince Vinay like a hawk, while the two women were busy conversing with the lord and lady of the southern Handuman province. They took care of the situation earlier today, calling over to his guards and fabricating a story about how he had tumbled to the ground. It didn’t take much to convince them, so they both deduced that him passing out drunk was not an unusual occurrence.

Her laughter tears his gaze back to her. He’s been doing that a lot since the start of the night. Looking at her. A compulsion to take her in every few minutes in an attempt to convince himself that she wasn’t an image his mind conjured from his dreams. Y/N stepped out of her chamber clad in a cream silk saree and a matching corset - shoulders bare, skin luminous, hair pinned up to bring attention to the choker gifted to her by the Handuman family - with the fabric pooling and falling deliciously against her curves.

He has been vying for her attention throughout the evening but she seems content ignoring him, flitting from one person to the next keeping herself occupied, she’d even asked to dance with the Captain - who’d indulged in her with laughter as they spun around for three songs - when she saw him approach her. He’s left with no option but to approach her this way, using Handuman’s traditions for his benefit.

“Princess Y/N,” he says, approaching from behind as she takes measured sips from the glass of toddy. He extends his hand towards her, palm inviting hers, “Can I have this dance?”

She quickly looks to Shobitha beside her and turns to face him. She knows that he knows that in Handuman a lady can’t refuse an offer to dance from a gent. She gives him a smile that’s reserved for the public - a polite one that does not let you in on her feelings. “You may, Mister Styles,” she quietly says, handing over her glass to her friend and placing her hand in his.

He squeezes it reassuringly, as he leads the two of them to the dancefloor. They bow as the music picks up. She places her left hand firmly on his shoulder blade and he holds the other outstretched. He begrudgingly leaves space between their bodies as he puts his hand on her shoulder blade. When they move, he’s surprised at how effortlessly she’s matching his footwork with his galumphing ones. He hasn’t danced the waltz in years - his father taught him because it was his mother’s favourite - and he never once thought it would ever come in handy. But she is forgiving when she glides with him, moving with him in a way that concealed his missteps.

“That must have been one hell of a kick to his balls,” he chuckles, trying to break the ice after a few minutes. “He’s hardly looked your way tonight.” Prince Vinay has kept away from them, moving the other way as the Princesses made their rounds, barely touching her hand when he’d handed over the quill when they signed the treaty, gaze trained away from them and now, busily ushering a young maiden out the ballroom.

“Some people ought to be reminded what I’m capable of,” she replies icily, glaring at him.

“I am well aware, Princess.”

“Why did you ask me to dance?”

“You were avoiding me, your highness,” he replies.

“And you still can’t seem to take the hint.”

“I want you to know what I was doing at the…,” he trails off.

“Brothels,” she finishes. “Mister Styles, I don’t care for your explanations.”

“Even if that meant knowing why the Crown Prince sent me here.” He spins her around.

She laughs dryly. “I am sure my brother did not send you here to screw your way through the whorehouse. Even though that’s what the two of you do back home, isn’t it?”

His cheeks tinge pink, heat rushing to the tips of his ears, and he clears his throat. “I did do that, yes. But I haven’t in several months, Princess. I swear. Not after…”

She looks up at him, his tousled hair dark under the candle light, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to reveal the ridges of his chest, eyes glimmering green as he holds her gaze. She noticed the way the ladies at court made moon eyes at him throughout the evening and as much as she tried distracting herself with pleasantries, their swooning bothered her.

“I don’t care much for your sweet talk, Mister Styles. You got what you wanted. You charmed a Princess into kissing you. Now you can move on. Another notch on your bedpost, right?” She says quietly.

“Y/N,” he says firmly. “Stop that. I do not regard what transpired between us with such frivolity. Listen to me, please.”

She stops as the song ends but he does not let go. He looks down at her earnestly and murmurs, “Please.”

“One more song, Harry,” she sighs, signalling to the quartet to continue.

“One of the men your brother managed to capture at the camps,” he looks around out of habit to see a few eyes on them. “Maybe we should talk about this more privately.”

“People are not going to suspect my guard to be divulging secrets in the middle of a dance with a ballroom full of people. Go ahead,” she prompts.

“They’re whispering amongst themselves,” he notes.

“Hold me closer,” she commands, and he does, bridging the distance between the two. “There. That’s enough gossip to hold them over until the song’s over.”

He smirks, stepping back into waltzing and she follows suit. “I was asked to go straight to camp when I delivered your message to Prince Karthi in Lanka because of this prisoner.”

“What about him?”

“He had scars all over his body. When they had tortured him, they had found a branding on his shoulder. Two fishes,” he tells her quietly.

Her eyes widens and she falters to a stop, but Harry pulls her along, floating along the dancefloor. “How old was he, Harry?”

“Mid seventies.”

Y/N’s heart picks up speed. Branding, apart from livestock - was prohibited in the Kingdom but that particular branding was one given by her grandfather to traitors fifty years ago. Specifically to the traitors from the Pandiyan Kingdom. Hundreds of years ago the South was ruled peacefully by three kingdoms: the Cheras, the Cholas, and the Pandiyas. People were allowed to move freely between the borders, trade flourished, and the families remained friends until the Pandiyan King had struck a deal with the foreign clan and had murdered the Chera King. He had invited the Chera family under the pretence of a feast and had slaughtered the ruler and his heirs. It left the Kingdom in shambles with the aristocrats clamouring for power amongst themselves in the Chera Kingdom - unable to come to the aid of the Cholas when the Pandiyan King had attacked. Her grandfather had fought hard with his men for decades to restore peace to the realm. And during the decade long war, all the Pandiya royalty were slain and most of its people had become a victim to starvation because their King had funnelled all their resources into war.

The people that remained had pledged loyalty to the Cholas, a few migrated to the North, and the Pandiyan empire crumbled. It had taken several years for grandfather and father to foster normalcy and growth in their kingdom - both old and newly acquired. Her father was crowned into an empire that was turning around from the ravages of war.

“The traitors were all killed. Hundred and sixty three of them,” she remembers from the records.

“Spin,” he tells her, lifting their outstretched arm up and she twirls. When she faces him, there’s a furrow between her brows.

“If he was killed, why are you here?” She asks, before resetting her face to look composed with a polite smile.

“He’d mentioned something about an heir. ‘A child coming to claim his birthright,’ he said before Prince Vikarm had killed him.”

“Vikram’s such a hothead. You could not keep him around to ask him more questions?” She rolls her eyes.

“I wasn’t around for his beheading,” he says dryly.

“If there is a child that would mean…” She trails off, shivering at the images of civil unrest, and the threat to their safety of their empire. Their succession.

“Prince Karthi stayed back at your castle to go through the bloodline records,” he tells her. It all makes sense for her, why her younger brother had uncharacteristically hung back in her castle - going against their fathers orders - under the guise of seeing her off on this journey. “We also found a crumpled paper he tried to swallow. It was the coordinates to one of the brothels here in Handuman.

“That's why I’ve been going there all these nights,” he continues. “I wasn’t going for the solicitors, Y/N, I’ve been trying to follow the lead.”

“Do you think they are in on it?” She asks, looking over to Prince Vinay and his parents.

“No, they are unaware. I’ve been trailing them too.”

She nods. “Very well. What did you find at the brothels?”

“Not much but the women talked about a man who’d come in once a while to collect coin from the keepers.”

“You think it’s the person that was caught?”

He shakes his head. “This was someone younger. His face is always covered, never talked but two women recalled seeing a tattoo on his wrist. Two fishes. That’s where my lead ends.”

“Thank you for telling me, Harry.”

“Don’t be angry at your brothers. They did not want to worry you until they’d found substantial evidence.”

She arches her eyebrows in surprise. “How?”

“I think I know your expressions quite well, Princess,” he chuckles.

“Oh, do you?” She smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, as he dips her dramatically, before hoisting her up.

“The music’s ending,” she notes.

“I know,” he smiles wistfully.

“You’re not terrible at waltz,” she jests, leaning against him as they sway. “Could use some practice with your feet though.”

He laughs. “Could use some practice with my lips too.”

“Harry Styles!” She lets out a giggle, before restraining herself, aware that everyone in the ballroom was now looking at them.

“How about we give these people something to gossip about, Y/N?” He asks.

He was right. People will talk. Sure she danced with the Captain and laughed throughout for three whole dances. But no one would care, given his avuncular disposition. She’s been intensely conversing with Harry for two songs. Surely there are a number of stories going around so far about whatever that was transpiring between them. She needed to give the audience something big that would pull their attention away from their conversation. So, she nods as the song ends and he lets go of her.

He bows, sinking down on his knee, bringing her hand he was holding to his lips. “Princess Y/N,” he says loudly before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “It was an honour.”

////

It’s past midnight when Y/N manages to retire from the ball. The party had morphed into something more rambunctious after the Handuman King and Queen bid their farewell. Dances got more suggestive, music got more rowdy, and the younger members of the court surfeited on alcohol had started passing out a pungent herb to smoke. Despite the insistence of people, she managed to get away with Shobita stating they needed to catch up on rest before they set sail tomorrow.

The heavy wooden door creaks as they swing open, revealing the soft twinkle of her candlelit chamber. She leans against the doors, locking it shut, and lets out a sigh. Her gaze sweeps around the room, taking in the way the flames flicker, casting long harsh shadows against the stone walls. The lingering scent of coral jasmine and rosewater fosters a sense of sanctuary within her. She is more than ready to wash away the hours of bearing royal duties and expectations off of her skin. Windows carrying a cool breeze from the dark of the night, makes the thick velvet tapestries billow, and that catches her attention. “You’ve got to step up your spy game, Mister Styles. My handmaidens shut the windows when I left the room,” she says.

Harry steps out from behind the curtain, with a sheepish smile, eyes shining in the buttery glow of candlelight.

“Did they?” He makes a show of feeling around for the buttons.

She rolls her eyes, taking off the pins on her head, and her hair cascades down her shoulder.

“I think you left something on the dance floor, Princess.” He produces her anklet from the pocket of his trousers. Y/N lifts up her saree and looks down to see that her left leg is bereft of the gold rope. She had no doubt that she’d fiddled with it to a point where she’d loosened the clasps.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she whispers, reaching out to take it from him.

She gasps, hand going to steady herself on the table. “Harry,” she murmurs.

“Been craving this since our first night on the ship,” he confesses, gazing up at her. He traces her soft skin with his lips, thumbs massaging the soles. Her anklet tinkles from her squirming but he continues to pepper kisses.

“It tickles,” she giggles, tugging her feet from his grasp..

He rises swiftly, hands coming to cup her cheeks. “Did you really believe anyone could hold a candle to you? All the men and women I have fucked never stood a chance.”

Her brows furrow in confusion, but he continues. “You’ve ruined me, Y/N.” The green of his irises disappears, replaced by a blooming lust. “I may be one with the shadows, surrounded by lies and deception but I only speak the truth when I am with you. You are all my mind can conjure in dreams. You are all I see in the poetry I read. Your smile, your eyes, your wit, your grace, your lips…” He trails off, bumping his lips on her cupid’s bow. “I swore an oath to protect your kingdom, I swore to my best friend - your brother - that I would protect you from threats during this voyage and a part of me intends to honour those promises until the end of time. But you’ve claimed a part of me, one that goes beyond loyalty. A part that a spy like me never intended to give away. And you have it - you haunt me. Ever since I first laid eyes on you.

“I swear, Princess, I did not seek solicitors. I went to the brothels as ‘the shadow,’ the spy of the Chola heirs. Not as Harry. The man whose life belongs to you.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. Not knowing what to say, she gets on her tiptoes, a hand weaving in his curls as she crashes her mouth to his. Harry responds with vigour, groaning as she glides her tongue against his. Chest heaving, fire stirring in their bellies, and the air around them crackle with electricity.

“Y/N. Wait,” he whispers, tearing himself away from her. He opens his eyes to find her looking up at him in confusion. “I want to savour this.” He steps away from her and his hungry eyes rake over the way the light bounces off her skin. He picks up a candelabra and places it on the wooden dresser.

“Do you know how ravishing you look?” He mutters, pushing her hair behind her shoulders.

“Are you going to draw this out, Harry?” She asks, chest heaving, eyes hooded with lust. “I am used to getting what I want, when I want.”

“You’ll get what you want,” he bends down and whispers, his lips moving against the shell of her ear. “Who am I to deny the Princess Royal?”

He cups her face, thumbs stroking her heated cheeks, and he teasingly brushes his lips against hers. His hands move down, brushing the column of her throat, along her collarbone, and Y/N’s eyes flutter close feeling the zips of electricity under his touch. He removes the loose end of the saree that hangs over her shoulders, undoing the pleats tucked into her waistband delicately, and tugging the fabric so that it pooled at her feet. He takes in the sight in front of him: Y/N just in a pair of white panties and the silk corset that pushed her breasts up in a delicious way. She stood proudly in front of him, head held high, gaze piercing through.

“You’re overdressed, Mister Styles,” she notes, kicking the fabric of her saree away, reaching to push his suit jacket off his shoulders. She tugs his shirt from his pants, nimble fingers quickly unbuttoning the one button he has secured at the end. She brushes her fingers over his chest, nails grazing his nipples that harden under the attention. “You have a fine body,” she comments, rocking up on her toes to press wet kisses down the side of her throat. “Must spend a lot of time on it.” She squeezes the firm muscles of his abdomen.

He nods, unable to take his eyes away from the path her hand takes down his belly button, fingers dusting along his happy trail. She tugs on the button, smiling up at him. “I couldn’t resist,” she mumbles, finger tracing the outline of the bunny.

He grabs her hands when she goes to unbutton his trousers. “I don’t think I would last if you keep smiling like that while pulling down my trousers,” he confesses.

“We certainly wouldn’t want that now, do we, Harry? After all you’ve got to live up to the rumours, however exaggerated they may be,” she smirks.

He’s stunned. No once has someone held themselves as his equal while having sex. He’s used to people mooning over him, eyes cast down, eager to please, and here she was jesting, like it wasn’t her first time. “No exaggerations. It’s all true,” he says, affronted, making her giggle.

He shrugs his shirt off, arms circling her waist as he walks them back until Y/N bumps against the bed. “Can I take this off?” He asks and deftly unhooks her corset when he gets a nod. He sucks in a breath as it falls off, “Fuck me.”

Y/N reaches down and peels off her panties and beckons him close. He’s imagined the sight in front of him countless times, but nothing comes close to this sight of her. The wanton in her eyes, the swelling in her lips, the cascade of her long hair, the fullness of her breasts, the deliciously puckered nipples, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the dip of her waist, the pudge below her bellybutton, the curve of her hips, the dusting of dark hair at her groin, the sporadic white stripes running down her thighs, and those damned anklets decorating her feet.

“You’re drooling, Mister Styles,” she chuckles.

It took an immense amount of restraint on his part to not feel her up when they’d kissed in the past. He tried hard to not let his hands wander away from her waist. He’s certain that restraint was something he can’t exercise anymore. “I don’t think there’s a word in any language that could convey the beauty in front of me. And even if there was one, I don’t think it will do you any justice. No dream of mine could compare to how breathtaking you are. Truly. You are beyond imagination, Princess.”

Her cheeks heat but she does not have any time to respond because he’s busy capturing her lips, hands cupping her breasts. She hums relishing in the pleasure that seeps in her veins, spreading through the corner of her being. He kisses the top of her breasts, smiling at the way she shivers under his mouth.

“So soft,” he groans, breathing in her scent, as he toys with her nipples. She’s eager, pushing her chest forward, hands finding purchase at the back of his head, guiding his head down.

A low mewl escapes her mouth as his tongue leaves against her nub. His hands glide down to her bum and he squeezes it, teeth tugging her sensitive nipple. “Harry,” she moans, full of need and his determination to take it slowly crumbles. “Lay down,” he says, hurriedly. “I need to bury myself in your thighs. Please.”

Harry gets on his knees beside her on the mattress, leaning down to kiss her cheeks, breathing in her floral scent. He kisses her as he tenderly moves her hair away from her face. His hand travels down, and stops at the curls of hair at the junction of her thighs. “Can I touch you here?”

“Yes,” she replies, a furrow appearing between her brows. He smooths it away with his thumb. “Harry?”

“What is it?” He kisses the crescent birthmark by her chin.

“My handmaidens tell me that men do not enjoy pleasuring a woman with their mouth. You should not feel an obligation to do so because I am a Princess.”

He pecks the corner of her mouth. “My only obligation is to deliver on what I said that night in your tower.” Another peck on her cupid’s bow. “Make your body feel things that the Kamasutra failed to mention.” His fingers skate between her thighs, finding her damp, he moans.

“Fuck, Y/N. I really want to kiss you here.” His fingers brush against her folds and she gasps. “Will you let me?”

She parts herself and he settles between her legs, hitching her left thigh up to plant kisses on the inside. When he gets to top, he switches to her other thigh, trailing his tongue up biting down on a stretch mark.

“Fuck,” she grunts, chest heaving in anticipation. He feels his trousers getting tighter but he brushes it away, laying down on the mattress and uses his thumb to part her folds.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, blowing on her heated flesh. He swoops in, burying himself in her, taking in her potent scent. He uses tongue to lick her from her opening to her clit, mewling at the taste.

“Ah, Harry,” she moans, fingers burying themselves in her hair, and he continues lapping her up, making lewd sounds as he continues. His tongue flicks the bundle of nerves that’s swollen and she cries out.

He looks up at her to find her eyes scrunched shut, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, arching up from the sensation. “Do you feel it?” He asks, hands clamping down on her thighs.

She nods, opening her eyes to find him staring at her, with every flick of his tongue a zip of pleasure shoots up from her nub to her spine. The faster he does it the stronger she feels these bolts sizzling through her cells. He continues looking at her and he moans, “You taste heavenly, Princess.”

“More,” she demands, tugging on his curls. And he does, wrapping his lips around her clit, he suctions softly in quick successions and she shudders, back arching, thighs clamping down on his head.

He suckles her through the orgasm, feeling chuffed to be the only one who's making her feel this way. He smirks when he hears the tinkle of her anklets as she’s riding it out. “There we go. One more, Y/N, give me one more.”

“Harry,” she squeals when his fingers replace his tongue, rubbing quick circles on the oversensitive bundle of nerves. He dips his tongue in her opening, teasing her. She tries to get up, gritting her teeth at the fire raging deep in her belly, and she balances herself on her elbows to get a look at him.

Her wild eyes take in the way his eyes are closed, as he hums to himself as he kisses her. It seems her handmaidens were wrong, Harry doesn’t seem like not enjoying himself. Her fingers curl around the sheets when he pinches her clit and she comes undone for the second time that night crying out his name.

“Fucking hell, that was-” he’s unable to find words. So he settles by peppering kisses to her centre, as she comes down, body relaxing into the mattress, gasping for air. He wipes her slick on her face using the back of his hand, before adjusting the tent in his trousers.

“I want to help you with that,” she tells him.

He shuffles out of his trousers, and sits at the edge of the bed. Y/N follows suit, scooting beside him. He notices her staring at his cock, already beaded with precum from their actions before, and he twitches under her scrutiny. “What? My manhood’s got you speechless,” he laughs.

“I’ve never seen one before. Would you say you are an average representation of the male reproductive organ?”

“More than average I’d say.” He says, suddenly flustered. “Bigger than most, honestly.”

She cocks her head to her side. “That isn’t what I’m supposed to say is it?” She asks. “My handmaidens say I’m supposed to stroke a man’s ego and tell them that their manhood is impressive.”

“Princess, I do not give a fuck what your handmaidens say.”

“What would you like then, Harry? Can I touch you?”

“Please. Feels like I’m going to burst,” he whines.

Her touch is feathery, curious as she feels the velvety hardness of his throbbing member. “You feel heavy against my palm,” she notes. He lets out a shuddering breath. “You like that?”

“Yes.” He kisses her. “Spit in your hand,” he tells her. And she follows, wrapping her hands around - fingers barely enclosing him. She pumps him slowly. “Oh fuck yeah, just like that.”

A bead of cum blurts out, when she plays with the tip. “Y/N,” he moans. She leans forward, slipping her tongue into his mouth as she moves her hand faster, and he pants against her lips feeling himself climb.

“How many nights have you dreamed of my hands wrapped around your cock, Harry?’ She whispers against the shell of his ear.

“So many, Y/N,” he manages to get out before whimpering at the way she twists her hand around him.

“Does this live up to your expectation?” She asks, mouth nipping the spot she’s found in his throat that makes him putty in her hands.

“Uh huh,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping the edge of the mattress, toes curling at the pleasure that bubbles at the base of his spine. Her mouth continues to suckle down his chest, tongue flicking his nipple like he did hers.

He whimpers, “Kiss me, Y/N.” And she presses her lips to his in a scorching way, and he comes, hot thick ropes, spilling on his stomach and down her hand.

He quickly reaches to the floor and wipes the remnants of his orgasm from her hand. “Why’d you do that?”

He looks up at her confused, “I thought yo-”

“I wanted to taste you like you did me,” she states, looking straight into his eyes.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he laughs. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he kisses her forehead, reaching between her thighs to wipe her clean.

She winces, hands clutching onto his arms at the over stimulation. “I know. Just a moment.” He tosses his shirt on the floor.

She leans against his chest, arms circling his neck and he wraps his arms around her, fingers playing with the bumps of her spine.. They stay quiet, relishing the cool wind against their sweaty skin, feeling their racing hearts calm down. He buries his nose in her hair, amazed that it smells like flowers too.

“Are you okay? With everything that happened?” He asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She nods. “What about you?”

“I’m certain that this is a dream,” he sighs. “That we’re in court back home, and you are busy fucking me with your eyes- Ow!” He recoils, a sharp sting shooting against his love handles from her pinch.

“I did not fuck you with my eyes, Mister Styles.” She tells him firmly, but the heat blooming her cheeks tell him otherwise.

“What was the pinch for?”

“To prove that this isn’t a dream,” she laughs.

“I don’t think a Princess is supposed to go around pinching her spy. What would the Queen Mother say about your unbecoming behaviour, your highness?”

She frowns at the mention of her grandmother. The Queen Mother had always insisted that she uphold her duties to the people. ‘A Princess must always put the interests of the Crown before hers,’ she’d told her. Did you act in the interest of the Crown tonight? She knew how lucky she was to have the King let her act in her own free will. She knows the weight she carries on her shoulders to be worthy of her father’s decision. To prove the naysayers otherwise. She was the only Princess Royal in the history of the Chola kingdom to step into administration. She made decisions independently without needing approval from the King or the Princes.

“Y/N,” his voice pulls her out of her reverie. He tilts her chin up. “Do not do that to yourself.” “Don’t let your duties stand in the way of the choices you make for yourself,” he says firmly.

She nods, this was something someone like Harry would never understand. He would never understand that the sole purpose of a Princess was to expand the empire and forge allies through marriage. Never understand that the power she held at court was an anomaly, not an exception. That her parents and the elders trusted in her judgement to choose her spouse, without pressuring her.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he exclaims, grabbing his suit jacket. He fishes out colourful cylindrical wax papers from his inside pocket. “I got you sweets.”

“Sweets?” She takes one from him, unwrapping one.

“Yeah. Got them at the market. Figured I needed something to soften the blow. Get me out of the doghouse.” He pops one in his mouth.

“You were going to bribe me with sweet treats?” She bites into the milky, peanut filled delight.

“Figured it was worth a shot,” he shrugs.

She hums in delight as the sugary concoction melts in her mouth. “I think I’m going to have to be angry with you more often.”

He laughs, watching her unwrap her second candy.

“I can try and bring more home,” he sighs. He can’t board the boat with her tomorrow. She knows that. He has a mission to complete. To figure out who that man was with the Pandiyan house tattoo on his wrist. To help her brothers and her piece together how that escaped traitor knew him. To uncover if there really was a surviving Pandiyan hair.

He would have to play a role tomorrow, making up an excuse as to why he couldn’t join their party. Maybe he would be so drunk somewhere that he’d oversleep, missing the ship's departure. The many deceit and roles he took on as a spy. But that was tomorrow. His work could wait. For now, he was Harry. The man who had his arms wrapped around the woman of his dreams. He still had a few hours left with Y/N before he would have to slip away, leaving no trace of him behind. So, he focuses on unwrapping the candies he’d bought for the one he fancies, until the first light of dawn.

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